#posts that give radiation damage | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lazyevaluationranch · 3 years

Text

On a post about the Blue Haired Girlfriend's quixotic citrus breeding experiments, @voidingintotheshout asked:

I mean, if you wanted a hearty citrus relative, why didn’t you just grow Osage Orange? They can grow as far north as Michigan which is surely further north than anyone could reasonably expect to grow a citrus tree. They’re not edible but then hearty orange isn’t either. Osage Orange are so cool and such a interesting historical plant from the Shelterbelt era of American agriculture. Apparently they do smell like citrus.

This is part three of three. Part one. Part two.

Now you've done it! It's time for A Very Brief (But Also Insufficiently Brief) History of Twentieth Century Hardy Citrus Cultivation! Growing citrus trees this far north is kind of nuts, it's true, but I promise you it is not even close to the weirdest things people have done to grow citrus in places where the citrus doesn't think it should grow.

A note: This post will written using the Swingle citrus taxonomy system, including things that are definitely wrong. The citrus taxonomic tree looks like that one box of orphaned computer cords I keep moving with me to new houses "in case I need them" except some sort of adorable five-dimensional kitten has entertained herself with them and some of the resulting knots are not technically possible in our space-time continuum.

The powers that be gave us citrus because nothing pleases them like seeing a geneticist cry.

1. The Migrant Trees

The Soviet Union wanted lemons for tea, and they wanted to be independent enough not to have to trade with anyone else to get them, which meant they wanted to grow their own citrus. That part of the world is not a great place to grow plants that die when the temperature goes below zero, but at the foundation of the Soviet Union, there were citrus orchards in the warmest part of Georgia, along the Black Sea. Specifically, there was about, uh, one and a half square kilometers of somewhat implausible citrus orchard.

Hang on, it is about to get way less plausible.

This is the great citrus migration: any tree that did well in one spot, they'd try planting its seeds a few kilometres further north, or a few kilometres further east. Prizes were offered for breeding hardier citrus. Slowly the orchards spread, but they were extremely weird orchards.

It's usually a few degrees warmer at ground level than up in the air, and there's way less wind. So as the trees grew, they were bent over and tied along the ground. Some of them had the central trunk run in a straight line along the ground, with branches spreading out from it like the leaves of a fern, like an espaliered tree on its side. Others were starfish shaped, with the central trunk looped down until it ended up next to the base, and the branches sprawling out along the ground from the centre like starfish legs. The citrus trees were no taller than particularly vigorous strawberry plants, but they survived the winters, and you could throw a blanket over them to help them stay warm.

None of that helped if the ground froze solid, so they needed Underground Citrus. You'd dig a ditch, down below the lowest area where the ground froze, and you'd plant flat Starfish Trees or Flat Frond Trees running along the bottom of it, too deep to freeze. In winter, you'd just cover the ditch with boards any time the temperature was expected to go below freezing - citrus would tolerate the lack of light, but not the cold. Mandarins (Citrus reticulata) seemed to do best, so that’s most of what was grown.

It is a nearly unimaginable amount of work to grow citrus this way, along the bottoms of pits and trenches. We are experimentally trying to grow a Soviet-developed mandarin breed of unknown parentage, Shirokolistvennyi, but we will definitely not be putting in that level of effort.

2. The Mixed Up Trees

There are a couple species of citrus that tolerate cold well, but taste awful. A lot of effort has gone into crossbreeding them with more edible citrus. The results are ... mixed.

The Ichang Papeda (Citrus cavaleriei) generally survives temperatures down to -18 degrees C. It is stoic and calm and has mastered emptiness. Unfortunately, it has mastered emptiness too well. The fruit smells like lemons, with maybe a hint of rose, but there's nothing to eat here. It has a rind and seeds. No juice, no flesh.

(Photo by Michael Saalfield)

The Ichang Papeda is the parent or grandparent to several delicious, extremely sour Asian citrus types. Yuzu/yuja smells like grapefruit and clean wet stones from the bottom of a fast-flowing stream. Sudachi smells like grapefruit and leaves with dew on them. (I haven't met kabosu or any other papeda hybrids personally, but they are numerous.) They're all too sour to eat plain, unless you really need to turn your face inside out for some reason, but make for excellent flavouring.

(We have a yuzu tree and a sudachi tree and they're surviving, but no fruit yet.)

Trifoliate orange (Poncirus trifoliata) can survive temperatures down to -30 degrees C. This may be partly because, uniquely amoung citrus, they can drop leaves in autumn or winter and regrow them in spring, like a maple tree. They also produce an internal antifreeze. They are angry, twisted, thorny little plants that yell swears when you walk past them. They make a great hedge. The fruit is furry, smells like flowers and pine trees and taste like burnt, bitter plastic. It may or may not be possible to breed the horrible taste completely out of trifoliate oranges without losing cold-hardiness, if it's due to their antifreeze chemicals. Here’s Stabby:

(Photo by Rob Hille)

Even the least terrible trifoliate crossbreeds are bitter enough to qualify as “acquired tastes.” There are recipes for trifoliate marmalade: put a dozen trifoliate oranges, a kilogram of sugar, and a kilogram of pebbles in a pot, cook until it gels, then sieve out the oranges and eat the pebbles.

We are growing a trifoliate orange / minneola orange hybrid. And, of course, someday our own trifoliate hybrids. The Blue Haired Girlfriend planted 200 trifoliate oranges a couple years ago. There are fewer now, but the survivors have lived through two winters of snow and frost, and they might have somehow gotten more stabby. We're going to breed them, to each other or to less angry fruit, try and make something new and good from them.

I've limited this post to twentieth century hardy citrus breeding, but I have to give a shoutout to somatic hybridization, a decidedly twenty first century technique, where you take a cell from each of two different plants, remove their cell walls, put them next to eachother, and shock them with electricity until they merge into a single cell whose nucleus contains all genes from both plants. Then the new plant is like, "Wow, I guess these are all my genes? It seems like a lot, haha, but it's not like somebody made me from dismembered body parts and electricity, that is not how science works. Anyway I guess it's time to do some plant stuff now."

3. The Mutant Trees

In the 1950s, people started using radiation to randomly scramble the genes of plants. You'd irradiate seeds enough to change the genes somehow, and then you'd have to plant them to see what had happened. Maybe it was people horrified by the atomic bomb desperately wanting to find some life-supporting use for atomic fission, maybe it was government-supported cold war "atom bombs are good actually, look how many we have, USSR" propaganda. Probably both.

This time period also saw serious plans for Orion, a spaceship with a huge metal plate for a butt, intended to be propelled by exploding atomic bombs under it, which I am not actually making up.

Thousands of people in Europe and the US signed up to receive seeds with random mutations in the mail, plant them, and report back on what they heck they grew into and if it had any useful weirdness. (The gamma radiation used to mutate the seeds did not make them radioactive themselves - the seeds were completely safe.) There were also more formal and carefully controlled university research programs in China, Japan, and the US, where plants where grown in a circular research garden with a coverable radiation source at the centre, so that the farther you got from the centre, the less radiation the plants got. Radiation breeding is less popular than it used to be, but Japan still has a very productive citrus radiation breeding program.

The most popular radiation-bred citrus is the "Rio Red" grapefruit and its offspring, which has a much deeper red than non-mutant red grapefruit.

There aren't many radiation-developed citrus breeds noted for cold-hardiness - with radiation you get whatever you get - but there are a few, and I want one just because I think they're neat, a monument to that lovely human vision that looks at terrible weapons and somehow sees glossy-leaved trees with bright fruit.

4. The Monster Trees

Citrus are usually grown via grafting. That is, you plant a seed from a fast-growing sturdy breed, you let it grow roots and all that, and then you cut the top off and replace it with a branch from a more delicious breed. The two citruses grow together, and you end up with a tree that's disease and cold resistant in the roots, below the graft, but makes tasty fruit above the graft.

Occasionally, this process goes Wrong.

The first recorded instance is the tree called Bizarria, discovered in 1640. Someone attempted to graft a sour orange branch onto a citron. But instead of a clean line between sour orange branches and citron roots, the graft was damaged somehow, and the two different species of cells got tangled and mixed through the whole tree. It has branches that produce citron fruit. It has branches that produce sour orange fruit. And it has branches that produce, uh ... these:

(Photo by Labrina)

Most graft chimeras are made accidentally, when the graft site is damaged. Trifoliate orange is often used as rootstock, so there are many reported chimeras involving trifoliate orange and a nicer fruit. The mixed-up cells can be arranged a lot of ways, but it's possible to have the outside layer of the tree be trifoliate orange, and the core of the tree be the other citrus (periclinal chimera). This means you could theoretically get a tree with frostproof trifoliate leaves and branches, but fruit that doesn’t taste like burnt plastic rolled in quinine.

This lucky monstrosity has, in fact, reportedly happened. Twice. There is the Prague Citsuma, discovered in a greenhouse in Prague and suspected to have been created by a Soviet breeding program. And then there is the Hormish, discovered in China and thought to have been made by frostbite messing up the clean lines of the graft. The Blue Haired Girlfriend has managed to track down budwood from the Prague Citsuma - I’m so excited! - so we'll see how the fierce thorny monster tree with a heart of gold, or at least heartwood of gold, does for us.

5. Conclusion

Humans have been trying to grow citrus trees where they don't belong for nearly two thousand years, at least since the Jewish Diaspora and people trying to grow holy etrog trees - trunks gnarled as barnacle stones and the whole tree scented like the best dream you can't remember - in Europe. Maybe longer.

The Blue Haired Girlfriend's citrus-breeding schemes aren't going to singlehandedly transform Canada into a net citrus exporter. But history shows us: it might be possible to have a little gleaming sweetness from the stony ground here, with the ravens and the fir trees and the auroras. A sweetness we made ourselves, that exists nowhere else.

Or maybe we'll just have a bunch of weird inedible fruit. I don't know, but it's worth finding out, worth weaving together leaf and thorn and stone and the light of our hands as the years unwind. Worth it to have a quixotic project we can expect to spend decades on together, hands and hearts. This is how home is made, sometimes, with a balcony full of angry thorny little trees that shout swears at passerby.

#part three of three #so much doesn't fit in this post #fog gardening #how lemons started the mafia #etrogs in diaspora #citropsis and the african citrus species #we are still discovering new citrus species in oceania!#who knows what we'll make?#and one day we'll scoop up hydrocarbons from Titan's stormy seas and polymerize them and make huge bubble greenhouses filled with citrus #small children will fling squishy citrus at their siblings by the coiled light of Jupiter #which is as it should be #thank you voidingintotheshout for an excuse for all sorts of ranting

835 notes · View notes

prettyboykatsuki · 3 years

Text

»» — { ♡ } —— { ♡ } —— { ♡ } — ««

winner takes all | k. bakugou

➳ tags ;; fluff, fem!reader

➳ wc ;; 1k

➳ a/n ;; ari stop posting fics at 2am challenge failed.

➳plot ;; you and katsuki make a bet. it doesn’t go how you hope.

»» — { ♡ } —— { ♡ } —— { ♡ } — ««

“This is a stupid,”

You frown at him, arms crossed over your chest. Bakugou looks down at you with an unimpressed expression - not budging. His scowl deepens at your stubbornness, watching with disdain as you clasp your hands and bow your head.

“It’s not, you’re just no fun” you insist.

He glares at you even harder and you flinch a little under his gaze.

“I won’t hit a woman unless they’re heroes or villains,” he replies, smirk evident. You smack his chest.

“Hey! I’m a hero, what the hell?”

He sighs. You’re an idiot he thinks to himself read between the fuckin’ lines.

He doesn’t say any of that though, simply ignores you as he brushes past and continues walking. You’re supposed to be on patrol right now - you know, being heroes like you’ve mentioned. But you’ve spent the last 30 minutes pestering Bakugou about making a bet.

It’s simple really - if you can top him on the rankings this week (where he’s been sitting pretty at 12 for the last 3 weeks) you get to flick him as hard as you want on the forehead. It’s a childish bet, yes - but the pure joy at the thought of flicking thee Dynamight on the forehead is a good motivator. You’ve been wanting to get your ranks up anyway.

“And anyway, you’re not really hitting me perse - it’s just a little flick on the forehead,” you remind him. You pause, giving a dramatic gasp before you cup a hand over your mouth “Surely, you’re not scared you’ll lose right?”

Bakugou stops dead in his tracks, glowering at you. You and that shit-eating grin plastered all over your face because you know how fucking easy he is to irritate. You look around innocently, hands tucked behind your back as you walk away.

“No no, I’m sure that’s not it, right? Our dear Dynamight would never be afraid of lil ol’ me -”

He snatches you back to his side with the collar of hero outfit, clicking his teeth at you. You stumble back, still shocked by how strong he is.

“Damn brat,” he huffs “Fine. You wanna be like that, I’ll do your stupid fuckin’ bet. Don’t come cryin’ to me later, yeah?”

You jump excitedly next to him as he walks away from you, itching to catch up. Bakugou forces himself to bite down a smile opting to roll his eyes instead.

“You’re so annoying,”

“You love me”

Obviously, you damn dumbass

God, or whatever other thing resides and controls the universe, has not been on your side lately.

You and Bakugou made a deal that you had two weeks to climb the charts, plenty of time since they update almost daily. It should’ve been a piece of cake really - just pick up the slack on your work a little bit and hustle to get those points in. You know Bakugous schedule like the back of your hand and while it wouldn’t have been the easiest thing ever, it was super doable with some patience.

It would’ve been, anyway. It would’ve been except for the fact Bakugou got himself into the sticky situation this week.

There was a shootout on the lower east-side of town - a villain raid of a small group that the police had been apparently tailing for months but failed to catch. Not only did Bakugou take out the full, armed group - but he also broke a record for least civilians injured in a raid of that size.

No property damage either, he quite literally set a new record and shot from 12 to number 4. It’s the highest he’s ever made it thus far. It’s literally in every single newspaper and on every story - he’s gotten about a hundred interview requests.

You are the only other person aware of your own crushing defeat. You’re happy for him, obviously - but you can’t help but hope he’d forgotten about your silly little deal.

Who are you kidding. Of course he didn’t.

You chuckle nervously as you watch him take off his gauntlets and pull his mask up so it looks like a headband on him. He stretches his arms out in front of you, very dramatically practicing his flicks.

You frown.

“...Is all that really necessary?”

He scoffs, flicking off some sparks from his fingertips with a cocky grin. You flinch, backing away from his.

“Tch, ‘course it is princess. A deals a deal and I never do anything half-ass,”

Your frown deepens as you cross your arms over your chest as Bakugou dramatically reanacts the flick. He pauses, stretching his arms over his head once more for good measure, before signaling you towards him.

You stiffen - awkwardly shuffling towards him until you stand facing him but still too far from his reach. He narrows his eyes at you until you stand closer and closer and closer. You stop once his fingers are within flicking distance.

He bites back a laugh.

“You ready?”

You brace yourself for impact, screwing your eyes tight as you nod rapidly. You can feel the presence and warmth of his hand radiating - heart racing rapidly as you become more and more nervous. Seconds start to feel like minutes as you tap your foot impatiently.

“Cmon, cmon, cmon - d-do you’re worst damn it,”

“You asked for it, brat”

You suck in a sharp breath and hold it, preparing yourself for whatever comes next when you feel the softest little tap on your forehead.

What the fuck?

Your whole faces falls, brows furrowed in confusion as your eyes snap open. Bakugou is already putting his suit back on, gauntlets and all. You wave your hand infront of his face but he doesn’t seem to react at all.

“Hey, what the hell? What was that?”

Bakugou sighs at your little tantrum, pausing before staring at you with his arms crossed over your chest.

“Hurting potential romantic partners is domestic abuse, ya fuckin’ dweeb. Move before I make you move,”

You blink owlishly, watching with wide eyes as he moves past you back into the hallways. You inhale a sharp breath, a warm flush painting on your skin as you take in what he just said, rushing to the door.

“Potential romantic - oh my fucking god, wait! You can’t just drop that on me what the hell!”

Faintly, you hear Bakugou’s snickering down the hallway.

»» — { ♡ } —— { ♡ } —— { ♡ } — ««

#bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #bnha x you #bnha x y/n #bakugou imagines #bakugou imagine #bnha imagines #bnha imagine #writing tags

997 notes · View notes

danidrabbles · 3 years

Text

OCTOBER 7: MASTURBATION

Notes: Hello all!! Today’s pick is Masturbation. I’m excited and nervous to leave the Pedro characters be for a night and post about a different man (*gasp*). This was hugely inspired by this gifset and a conversation I had with @frannyzooey. Dearest Kelli, I know I've been giving you quite a...hard...time with all my Kinktober posting, and this doesn't help, so I do feel like I have to apologize for the pussy damage, but this one's for you ❤ I love you and your brain like crazy. I will be your fic god who writes this for us — actually, now I am!!!

This takes place post Ted Lasso 2.01.

Pairing: Roy Kent x f!reader (I'm sorry Keeley ❤ - anyone who reads this and feels bad, too, feel free to picture her.)

Rating: Explicit (18+!)

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: established relationship, masturbation (m), mentions of oral (m receiving), edging... yourself?, honestly this is pretty tame, oh! but there's also quite some body description in this - it's all very loving, but in case that's a trigger regardless, proceed with caution. I do think that's it, but if did forget something, please shoot me a message!

“You can beg for forgiveness later, I can swing by and wake you up.”

That’s what he’d said on the phone earlier.

You meant it when you said you’d be awake when he arrived. You’d waited for him, a little dolled up — nothing too crazy, just something black, lacey, something that said, “I’m really fucking sorry and I can’t wait for you to tear this off me so I can show you just how sorry I am.”

Turns out Roy really meant it as well when he said you’d be begging for forgiveness.

He arrived home just now, you can tell there’s something different about him when he allows you one kiss - one that tastes of rosé as he slides his tongue against yours, one that makes his beard prick against your face and makes a fresh rush of arousal wet the triangle of fabric between your legs at the memory of how it feels elsewhere. Quickly, you put it off your mind. You owe him an apology, after all. Tonight is about him.

“Come,” is all he says when he pulls away.

You let him guide you to the bedroom, where he sits you down at the edge of the bed, and you sit up for him, puffing your chest out and looking up with expectant eyes. The corner of his mouth turns up—almost a smile—a rare occurrence, saved for the people closest to him—and he disappears from view when he pulls the soft fabric of the salmon coloured t-shirt he’s wearing over his head. He comes back fluffed up—his hair has grown longer since he retired from football. The more relaxed look suits him, the slight curl to it, the fullness of his beard—and the fullness of his body with it.

He’s no longer training every day, and it shows; the extra bits of him visible above his pants when he makes you dinner, the softness of him when you wrap your arms around him, the slight swell of his belly sliding against your own when he’s on top of you in bed. It’s only natural, the body of an athlete adjusting to normalcy, and you love it.

You show your appreciation for it now, while he gets naked for you, your hand coming up to slide along his chest, fingering the dark hair that’s scattered all over him. The look of it—the sheer virility that radiates off of him because of it—one of your favourite things about how he looks when he’s exposed for you, especially here in the soft, orange light the bedside lamp provides. You make your way down to his belly, over the space of his navel and to the soft give of his stomach. The touch there makes him tense up, and with a grin, you avoid going lower just a little longer by palming what you can reach of his arms, stroking up, then back down with a slight squeeze to appreciate the muscle there before moving to his other arm. You do go for the coarse hair below his belly button then, leading your hand down to his cock; he’s already halfway there, heavy, and thick, and swelling still.

You have every intention of putting your hand on him—putting your mouth on him—but he stops you, hand on your wrist.

With a frown, you look up at him. “Wha—”

“Said I wanted you to beg, didn’t I?” he says—rasps, really, and there’s an amused lilt to his tone. He cocks his head, placing your hand on your thigh before closing a hand around himself to tug at his cock. “Take your bra off.”

“Looks more like you want to punish me,” you say, doing as he says regardless, shifting on the bed so your legs dangle off the edge, one on either side of his where he’s standing before you.

It earns you a smile, one that shows a flash of his teeth and causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle, and it makes you want him even more, all but salivating over the show he’s putting on for you. “Maybe a bit of both,” he admits.

Your hands land on the outside of his thighs, the muscles there flexing under your palms, and you pull him closer. “I’m sorry,” you say, looking up at him before you lean in and press a series of wet kisses to his abdomen. “I was an asshole.”

He grunts in agreement, still stroking himself to the sight of you, only pausing to swipe his thumb over the swollen head of his cock. He uses the precome he finds there to ease his movements, carefully avoiding your chin, until the slick sound of it begins to echo through the bedroom.

“I shouldn’t have pushed anything,” you continue, casting your eyes back up while your hands find his hips and squeeze him there. “I just want you to be happy, babe.”

He swallows thickly, throat bobbing with effort before saying, “Keep watching.”

You drop your gaze, watching as the wet head of his cock disappears and reappears in the tight ring of his fist. The muscles in his forearms flex as he works himself over, a grunt rumbling from deep in his chest as he twitches in his palm. You’re pulsing for him, fluttering with want, with the deep desire to taste him...

Maybe he’ll give you his fingers.

The thought of it alone makes you sigh--his thick fingers, shiny with his arousal, spreading the taste of him all over the flat of your tongue and returning even more glossy. Your mouth drops open just the slightest bit, and you reach for him, you try, but he pushes your hand away.

“Roy, please—,” you begin, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“Keep. Watching,” he presses.

“I want you to come,” you say, trying a different direction. “I want you to come on me.” You don’t change your tone, you make it sound just like your apology, like a plea for him to claim what is his.

Clearly, it affects him, his steady rhythm faltering as a dollop of precome swells from his tip and drips on the floor. “That what you want, yeah?” he grits out as he reaches for you with his free hand, tilting your chin up. He rubs a thumb over your bottom lip, giving you that much. “Where d’you want it?”

You exhale with relief, tongue darting out just enough to lick at the pad of his finger. “On my face, on my tits—” His breath hitches at that, and you continue on that path, “—you can spread it around, rub it in, I know you like that, baby... You can have anything you want, I… Please, I’m sorry.”

Roy’s nostrils flare, his chest heaving with effort while his hand speeds up. You’re well on your way to a smug smile, pushing your breasts together… and then he releases you with a flick of his wrist.

“You’re gonna have to beg a lot prettier than that.”

I don’t know how many of you made it here, but of you did, thanks for reading! Tomorrow’s the 8th, and the subject is Spanking. Good luck trying to guess who it is (it’s a surprise 🤫 A Pedro character I have never written for! What an adventurous couple of days!). If you do manage to guess correctly, however, I will reward you with a sneak peek line at the fic in your DMs.

Taglist | Sign up HERE.

This isn’t my usual! I’m gonna tag @silksaddle, my fellow Ted Lasso fan who might like to see how this changed since she generously read this over for me and @javier-pena because she was curious 😌

#dani writing #kinktober 2021 #roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent x you #ted lasso #ted lasso series #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso fanfic

245 notes · View notes

frost-queen · 2 years

Text

Stirred up memories┃Star Wars

Requested by: Anon, Forever tag: @missmelodramatic, @theletterhart, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @denkisclown, @automaticbakeryfreakshoe, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @october-leaves, @struggling-bee

Summary: Krrsantan is Reader’s wookie partner. Leia, Han, Luke and Chewie have different reactions to your fury partner with the constant cold threat on his face.

A/n: Did I get carried a bit away... yes, yes I did. Sorry not sorry but Han Solo made me create a little backstory around the two of them with vague mentions of it.

You flicked with your wrist so that the blaster you were holding, landed on your shoulder. A smug expression on your lips whilst walking fiercely away. Not a moment later exploded a compound behind you. The explosion did you nothing. True you couldn’t deny the heat radiating from the blast. It was hot, but you had an image to uphold. You kept walking away with the cloud of smoke emerging up behind you. A stormtrooper’s helmet landed somewhere before your feet, rolling away. A loud huff made you peek briefly to the side. A dark shadow casted on the sand beside yours. It overtowered your shadow with superior.

The dark-haired Wookie came walking beside you, his enormous weapon in his hand. He snarled at some townsfolk that were hiding behind crates. They gulped, ducking out of sight. On your path stood the gentleman you had made a deal with. His lip was trembling with fear. The distance between the both of you closed in. He shrieked loud, lifting his foot up as a burning object nearly dropped on his foot. You held your hand out. – “As promised.” – said you. The wealthy man stuttered and shuddered. – “That was not the deal!” – called he out.

Krrsantan took a step closer to him. He didn’t have to do much as his expression said enough. People were scared of him. He was after all not your friendly looking type of Wookie. The man gulped, holding his hands humble up to his face to hide behind it. – “The deal was to get rid of those troopers.” – informed you him. Reminding him of the deal he shared with you. – “Yes, not to blow the entire compound up!” – bit he back at you. He lashed out, clearly forgetting the presence of your fury friend for a moment. Krrsantan growled loud, pointing his blaster at the man. He whimpered in response, making himself even smaller then before. – “I got rid of the threat is it not?” – You quirked your eyebrow up. How could that have slipped his mind.

The man huffed once with a simple gesture of yours, made the Wookie lower his blaster. – “I don’t care about the damage.” – you took a step closer to him, giving him a smug look. – “You hired me to do a job and I did it.” – with a giddy smile, presented you, him your empty hand again. To even encourage him more, moved you your hand up and down as if you were weighing something in it. Preferably coins.

“Your ‘damage’” – emphasized he. – “will cost me more then for what I hired you!” – you loved it when they talked back. It made those dull days less… well dull. – “Then you better pay up.” – shoving your hand in front of him again. – “I can’t say how much longer I can hold my dear friend back?” – you glanced to the side with pouty lips. Krrsantan snarled. He didn’t even have to try. He didn’t need to force it. He had this naturally look of menace. The kind of eyes that made you drop to your knees and beg for your life. This guy clearly had some stubbornness or foolishness left inside of him. The man stood his ground, standing firmly. You sighed annoyed with a roll of your eyes. Removing your blaster from your shoulder, pointed you it briefly at him.

The man shrieked for a second, till you shifted the end to another spot. – “That yours?” – questioned you. He looked over his shoulder, widening his eyes. – “Yes! Yes, please don’t!” – he dropped to the ground, folding his hands together in prayer. How easily someone could drop. – “Please… I’ll…I’ll pay you… I’ll do.” – shakingly said he, your blaster still pointed at his precious bar. Whatever business he dealt there was none of your business. You only came for the payment. With shaking hands pulled he his little sack of coins out. He let them fall in your hand as you hummed unsatisfied. Weighing them in your hand.

He kept tossing in coins, not adverting his gaze from your blaster still pointed at his bar. – “That… that is all I owned you.” – said he, dropping his arms to the ground, bowing down before you. Krrsantan and you shared a look, wondering if this was enough. He roared briefly, letting you know what to do. – “I’d like you to pay my partner as well!” – the man pulled his upper body up confused. – “But…but that was not… not what we bargained for.” – whispered he to you, eyeing your fury friend. You came leaning in closer to him. – “Don’t make me sad.” – whispered you back. A plastered pout on your lips. – “What will he do about his children.” – sighed you out dramatically. Krrsantan pulled his upper lip a bit up, looking stunned at your little performance. – “Oh, those poor children.” – called you out, nearly fainting.

Krrsantan rolled with his eyes, finding you a tat theatrical just to get more payment. The man shuffled on his knees closer to him, offering him coins as well. Krrsantan swayed his head to the side, his way of an eyeroll as he held his hand out. Pulling yourself back up, tugged you your blaster away. – “We thank you!” – said you, bowing a bit over the top. The man hurdled back to his bar. Once out of sight, laughed you loud. Krrsantan looking at you. Not even needing words to communicate with you. – “What?” – called you out. – “We got more then we bargained for.” – stated you. Krrsantan shook his head slightly, following after you.

The two of you went back to your ship. You handed the coins over to him to stash away. Krrsantan roared loud, almost conversating in words to you. You rolled with your eyes, flipping some switches in the cockpit. – “You know you love me.” – teased you, spinning your seat over to him. Krrsantan kept his face straight. You smiled giddy at him, wiggling with your eyebrows. That seemed to crack him up, putting something up that would be seen as a smile.

Krrsantan came stomping over, laying his heavy fury hand on top of your head. He roared with different sounds. – “Love you too.” – interpretated you. Krrsantan came sitting beside you, pushing some buttons. Your craft got lifted up from the ground, hovering there for a moment. Krrsantan was steering, guiding you into space. You leaned back, letting him handle it. Once in space, hyperjumped the both of you to another galaxy.

***

Shots fired around, hitting the walls, the ground. Han, Leia, Luke, and Chewie were hiding behind some pipes. Leia got in sight, firing her blaster in front of her. Two stormtroopers came out in sight, blasting right back at her. Leia had her jaw clenched, aiming for them. A shot almost hit her, going just over her shoulder. That made Han pull her back by her collar. He shoved her against the wall. – “You got a death wish, princess?” – asked he, poking his finger at her. Leia slapped his hand away, coming up in his face. – “At least I am not hiding!” – responded she boldly.

Han and Leia glared at each other for a moment. Luke kept low, shooting at the stormtroopers. – “Can we do this another time?” – hissed he at them, clearly agitated by their constant bickering. Han quirked his eyebrows intriguing up to her. Leia rolled with her eyes, pushing him off her. Leia jumped back in sight, aiming at a stormtrooper in the back. Her blast went straight through his armor, leaving a hole in his shoulder. She smirked, pleased with herself. Luke was firing at the other one when at least ten more of them came joining in.

“Of course!” – stated Han with a loud huff. Chewie roared loud, standing over Luke’s shoulder to fire shots. Luke pulled Leia back out of sight when a rain of shots got fired at them. Luke almost got hit in the shoulder, jumping away at the last second. – “We’re trapped!” – breathed Luke out. – “There are to many of them.” – Leia shook her head, going for another shoot at them. Still hiding had her shots little damage. Chewie roared, swaying his hand around to explain. – “I know!” – replied Han annoyed.

Luke dared to peek around the corner, sensing something. – “More are coming!” – stated he, making Han grit his teeth. – “Well what do we do now, Han!” – Leia mocked out his name a bit, clearly stating this was kind of his fault. Han quirked his eyebrow up at the attitude in her voice. – “I’m not the one who took this path!” – responded he, puffing up his chest. Leia laughed dreadfully. – “Useless!” – scoffed she out. Luke sighed deep, letting his hand slide down his face in disappointment. Chewie was roaring loud, bopping his head. – “Stay! Out of it.” – forced Han out, turning sharply to his fury friend. He pointed stern at the Wookie, not having liked what truth he had said.

Luke was the only one still having a bit of care for the stormtroopers that seemed to get closer. He was firing at them, not looking to where he was shooting. When blasts got fired all at once at him, hid he behind the metal pipe. His entire body shuddered, his hands against his head at the sounds of the blasts. – “Perhaps a bit of help?” – called Luke out, having enough of being caught so close. Leia and Han were still bickering, Chewie trying to cool things down when Luke sensed something. He heard blasts being fired but this time followed by loud groans of pain.

Something of weight dropped to the ground like a flock of birds falling from the sky. It made Luke raise his eyebrow in confusion. Was someone else here? Where the stormtroopers going against each other? He dared to look around the corner. To his surprise was his first thought reality. He gasped with a slight widening of his eyes at the sight of a girl. A girl fiercely going against the stormtroopers with… Luke gulped loud at the sight of the enormous beast that gave him chills.

Another Wookie? Chewie sensed one of his own kind, looking behind the pipe as well. He started patting Han against his shoulder, getting his attention. Han wouldn’t have ears for it, only interested in bickering with Leia that stirred up the usual tension between them. Krrsantan and you kept fighting off the stormtroopers. Chewie kept demanding Han’s attention till it almost let him explode. – “What?” – shouted he out, turning sharply to his friend. Chewie roared, pointing to somewhere. Luke pulled himself up, coming to stand beside Leia. Han dared to look behind the pipe, widening his eyes at you.

Leia peeked for herself, seeing the familiar look in Han’s eyes. – “You know her?” – questioned she, holding her blaster up. Han couldn’t keep his eyes off you, staring at you with admiration. Luke noticed it, looking from you to him. – “A friend?” – asked he, wanting to know if you were friendly. Han slowly nodded with a smirk. – “Old acquaintance.” – he chuckled a bit, nervously. Leia looked questionable at him, sensing there might have been something in the past between the two of you.

Han came out of his hiding place, firing at the remaining stormtroopers. The rest followed, joining in with the fight. Leia gasped in shock once the other Wookie looked in her direction. Her breath caught in her throat. Luke swallowed nervously, after having seen him earlier, had he still the same effect on him. You shot the last stormtrooper through the helmet, exhaling deep. Of course had you spotted the others during battle, but it was only now that you paid full attention to them. A closer look. – “Y/n!” – called Han out, happily, widening his hands to you. Your smile faded at the sight of him. Krrsantan stomping towards him, grabbing him by the throat. Han got pinned up against the wall, grasping for air.

Luke and Leia were frightened, not having the heart or the courage to go against your Wookie. – “Y/n!” – squeaked he out. You crossed your arms at him. – “Sorry…” – his voice barely a whisper as his airpipe got squeezed. With a nod loosened Krrsantan his grip around Han’s throat. Han sunk to his knees, falling to the ground. His hand around his throat, took he in as much air as he needed. – “I can see you still haven’t forgiven me.” – his voice crackly and hoarse. Han pulled himself up as you walked around Krrsantan to him. He bended double, receiving a blow of yours in his stomach. – “Backstabber.” – whispered you to him.

Han held his finger up, keeping his smile up. – “Got it…” – breathed he out. Leia snickered at the sight of Han being handled by you. – “Friends of yours?” – asked you. Luke took a step back when Krrsantan turned towards him. Chewie and Krrsantan stared at each other. Krrsantan his stare was stern and threatening. – “Uhm…Luke Skywalker.” – Luke humbly approached you, not taking your Wookie out of his sight. You shook hands. The girl approached you. – “Leia Skywalker!” – introduced she herself. She came leaning in closer to you. – “May I ask how you know Han?” – you laughed soft, Han nervously smiling.

You looked at him with a smug glare. – “That scoundrel double crossed me!” – spitted you out. Han held his hands up in defense. Krrsantan snarling at him. He clearly hadn’t forgotten about it as well. – “Come on Y/n that was hardly double crossing.” – snickered he out nervously. – “Oh really!” – you walked firmly up to him, Han backing up against the wall. – “You and I remember it very different then.” – you gave Han a poke in his chest. Han swallowed at the cold stare of your fury friend. – “I hate to be a dealbreaker, but could we perhaps get a move on?” – informed Luke. You blinked surprised; haven completely forgotten you were at enemy territory.

All of you started to run for it. Leia came running beside you, huffing, and puffing loud. – “How… how did you… two meet?” – she nudged to your Wookie, who was running firmly behind you. You smiled, thinking back about it. – “Let’s say a sticky situation forged our friendship.” – answered you. – “Move it!” – snapped Han at you, resting his hand briefly on your shoulder. He found that the two of you were not going as fast as needed. Krrsantan roared at Han, making him remove his hand from you. Luke smacked his back against the wall, in cover.

The rest of you came kneeling around him. – “It was a matter of life or death!” – continued you, speaking to Leia. – “Neither one of us could get out of there alive without the help of the other.” – you smiled, looking over your shoulder to him. Krrsantan was observing his surroundings, shoulder to shoulder with Chewie. – “We chose for each other that day…” – your voice drifted a bit away. Luke motioned for everyone to follow him again. You got up, still running close by Leia. – “And Han?” – breathed she out. You frowned, wondering why she would ask about him. – “How’d you two meet?”

You clenched your jaw, but had to admit you had to smile at it. – “How do you think we met?” – responded you. Leia kept quiet, filling in the answer for herself. You noticed the troubled expression on her face. All of you hid again, Han and Luke firing shots. – “It was just a fling.” – reassured you her. – “Nothing serious….” – you pushed Leia down by her shoulders. – “You can call it the heat of the moment… or the heat of the assignment.” – corrected you, yourself. Han looked over his shoulder at you with a confused glance. – “Trust me there is nothing between us!” – Leia gaped at you. She was so easy to read it made you snicker. – “He cut me too deep for that.” – your face folding into a neutral fold. – “By double crossing you?” – asked Leia.

You hummed loud, getting up to shoot. Once back knelt down, out of sight continued you. – “I should’ve seen it coming. I know his type… cause I’m the same. We only look out for ourselves. He found an easy way out with a bit of my treasures.” – You pulled Leia up, dragging her with you, going after the boys. You still had to get out of here. This time you were prepared for double crossings. Krrsantan made sure that never happened to your heart again. That dreadful assignment still had a toll on you. It gave you a little push back in faith. Almost losing faith in him as well. He promised himself he would always be there for you. He had to admit the bargain with you so many years ago turned into trust, friendship and loyalty to one another.

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

Read more fics on my Masterlists!

68 notes · View notes

cyanocitta-cristata-au · 2 years

Text

Inside the mind... (5) - [Mass Posting - Part 35]

There is a tremor in the place; this is the necessary warning signal for the three of them to hurry to get the children out of there...

"You have to go, now!" - The three mention at the same time, scared of the creature approaching...

Not that the creature was going to harm them, between the three of them they could stop it.

But Hunter and Luz are external entities, if something happened to them while they were there, the damage would be terrible.

"We'll buy you time, go!"

With this, Hunter and Luz follow 'Emperor' Philip to a secluded location, just far enough away to give the battle raging space, to get away from the entity's proximity, and allowing him, to draw on the ground, an exit for the children.

"Can they stop that thing?"

"Well, they're a part of me, and I trust myself... but there's always that possibility, so let's not waste time..."

The children have their way out, Luz still distrusts him and Hunter is thoughtful, this person was his uncle, his only family.

"I'll see you again, right?"

Because there was no other explanation, this person was different from the uncle he knew, a hard man, with rules, with orders, who said he appreciated him, but didn't show it much.

Instead, the uncle in front of him seems to radiate happiness at his very presence, so happy to see him that even the three versions of the man completely agree on that.

Philip stops in his tracks, just in time for his face to be out of sight of Hunter.

He would have preferred the child not to be so insightful...

Part 1... / Part 2... / Part 3... / Part 4... / Part 5... (Here) / Part 6...

33 notes · View notes

satellite-starss · 3 years

Text

finally starting to design and write for the au idea i’ve had for a while >:D

i currently don’t have a name for it :’) but here’s the skeletons!! :D

edit: i’m calling it dwindletale! the other ideas you gave me were great but already taken :’)

my app didn’t have the comic sans font :(

please ask me questions about the au if you want to :D even ask the characters stuff if you want!!

i’ll be doing frisk next :D

more info on the skeletons and the au in general under the read more :)

the au!!-

the barrier is a lot stronger than the one in undertale and radiates powerful magic that damages and mutates souls! (humans and monster alike)

the weaker the soul the stronger the effects, humans and boss monsters having the least mutations while weaker monsters (like sans for example) have faster and stronger effects.

it’s the royal scientist role to find solutions to each effect as they pop up (if they are harmful)

Sans-

due to his low hp, the barrier just started to dust him instantly. he has a constant steam of magic into his soul to keep the damage from spreading further. he wears a mask to hide the damage to the side of his face, he has lots of different designs and colours which he makes himself and lets papyrus paint. His magic is extremely weak, and can be dangerous for him to use so sans avoids using it unless it’s an emergency!

Papyrus-

Papyrus has a similar effect to sans but on a smaller scale due his stronger soul and magic. instead of dusting his bones are just a lot more fragile and break very easily. he hides these cracks because he’s self conscious about them. He’s often underestimated but is a very skilled fighter and is an amazing engineer.

that’s all for now!! :D i’ll be posting more about it later :)

i hope you guys like it!!

please give me name ideas for the au :’)

#SatellitesArt✨#sans #papyrus #undertale #undertale au #dwindletale #dwindle sans #dwindle papyrus #my refs

240 notes · View notes

storiesforallfandoms · 3 years

Text

the day after ~ aaron tveit

word count: 1505

request?: yes!

“Aaron Tveit smut?”

“Can I get Aaron Tveit smut?”

description: after a night of rough sex, he decides to make her feel good before he has to go to work

pairing: aaron tveit x female!reader

warnings: swearing, smut (oral f receiving, mentions of sex from the night before)

masterlist (one, two)

You woke up to the sound of someone shuffling around your room. You rolled over - although your aching body protested against this action - to find the space in bed next to you was empty. You opened your eyes and found that the source of the noise was your boyfriend, Aaron, attempting to silently get ready for work. When he heard the bed make a subtle noise, he turned to see you looking up at him and smiled.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You shook your head. “You didn’t, don’t worry. Do you have to go already?”

Aaron nodded, a solemn look on his face. You pouted at him, which made him chuckle. “I know babe. I’d much rather spend the day in bed with you.”

“Not like I can really go anywhere after last night,” you muttered. You meant for it to be a comment to yourself, but when you saw the cocky smirk on Aaron’s face as he pulled his shirt over his head, you couldn’t help but feel a tingling sensation between your still sore legs.

“I really did a number on you, huh?” he said. You nodded. “Mind if I inspect the damages?”

You opened your mouth to question what he meant, but he moved before you could answer. He slowly pulled the blankets from under your chin, pulling it down just enough to expose your still naked breasts. In almost a perfect line from your jaw down your chest and over your breasts was a trail of hickies that Aaron had left. To say he had attacked your neck with kissing and sucking would’ve been an understatement. It was like he was making it his life mission to make you as his, while also railing you till you couldn’t walk the next day.

He smiled at his work as he ran a finger gently over the hickies. You shivered, feeling goosebumps rising where he had touched.

“You’re gonna have trouble covering those,” he commented.

“Who says I want to cover them?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

He smirked as his hand trailed to your breast. He flicked one of your nipples with his finger, causing you to gasp. He seemed to like the response and began to play with your breasts, cupping them in both hands and kneading at them, occasionally pinching or flicking your nipples. You started to moan, your throat burning and feeling scratchy from the screaming the night before.

Aaron took one hand from your breast and used it to pull the blankets the rest of the way down. You were laid on your back and still completely naked, your legs slightly apart to give him a good view between your legs. Your pussy was still pink from the excessive abuse it got the night before, a fact Aaron looked at with pride.

“Maybe I should just call in sick today,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind spending the day like this with you.”

His hand started to trail towards your swollen clit. While you would normally encourage this, you pushed it away before he reached there.

“I don’t think I could physically handle you having the day off today,” you told him. “I’m still sore from last night, I think you’d break me if you tried to have sex with me today.”

Aaron’s smile dropped and he looked genuinely concerned. “Is it really that bad? I’m sorry, babe, I didn’t mean to go that hard last night.”

Trying to conceal your wince, you sat up so that you could reach Aaron’s level. You cupped his face and kissed him lightly, looking into his eyes. “Don’t actually worry about it, love. I’m okay, just a little sore. It happens! I’m not upset about it, and I’m not actually hurt. If anything, I would love to re-create the actions of last night when I’m no longer sore.”

He smirked and kissed you again. You felt his hands on your ass, giving it a squeeze for just a second, before they ran up your back. Gently, he lowered you down onto the bed again. He took your legs and positioned you in such a way that they were hanging off of the bed. He hovered over you for a moment, kissing all over your face before moving to kneel in front of you.

“Well, even so, I’d like to help you feel better,” he said. “If this hurts too much just tell me to stop.”

Before you could ask anything else, you felt his tongue against your clit. You gasped and moaned, arching your back involuntarily as he started with long strokes. A tingling sensation went through your entire body as you tried to grab for whatever was within reach. One hand gripped at the sheets beneath you as the other found its way to Aaron’s hair. You tightened your grip, holding him against you as you did so. He must’ve liked that, because he moaned against you, the vibrations radiating through your body.

The aching feeling you had felt since you woke up started to dull a bit. It was replaced with the cool feeling of Aaron’s tongue against you, a well needed cool down, as well as immense pleasure. Of course, being a singer, Aaron was particularly skilled with his tongue.

You felt the tip of it poking at your entrance as his strokes became quicker and shorter. Every time he teased you like this, your body twitched with pleasure. You wanted nothing more than to feel him inside of you, although you knew you should take some time to rest after the night the two of you had just shared.

You looked down to watch Aaron concentrating on his work. His hair was falling in front of his eyes, creating a sort of barrier between the two of you. You let go of the back of his head to run your hand through his hair, pushing it back so you could see him. He looked up at you, the breathtaking blue eyes capturing you the moment they locked on you. Despite his mouth not being visible, you could see the smile in his eyes as he looked at you. You tried to smile back through the whimpers that were escaping your lips.

“Oh,” you breathed, feeling his tongue teasing your entrance again. “Oh fuck, Aaron, that feels so good.”

He hummed in response, a new kind of pleasure building in your body.

Usually, you could take foreplay for such a long time without the fear of finishing. You loved when Aaron prepared you like this, and you loved to prepare him in return. But you were so lost in lust that you could feel the familiar pressure building within you. Your legs started to tense as you draped one of them over Aaron’s shoulder, trying to keep him as close as he could be.

“F-Fuck,” you moaned. “God, Aaron, I think I’m g-gonna c-cum!”

He pulled away from you just long enough to tell you, “Cum in my mouth baby” before pressing his tongue as far into your entrance as he could. His dirty words were enough to drive you over the edge and you threw your head back, screaming his name and tightly holding his hair as you moaned in pure ecstasy.

He continued to lick around for a while, lapping up your juices as you came down from your high. You were having a hard time trying to focus your eyes. When Aaron pulled away, you whimpered at the loss of contact.

You looked up at him through the fog of lust that clouded your vision. Seeing his mouth and chin slick with you was enough to turn you on again. You’d be ready for a morning quickie, if only the aching feeling between your legs hadn’t been trying to make a reappearance.

You sat up and pulled Aaron close by the loops of his belt. You started to fiddle with the button on his jeans, attempting to open it but struggling with your post-orgasm brain. Aaron chuckled and took hold of your hands, pulling them away.

“I have to go to work,” he told you.

“But don’t you want me to do the same to you?” you asked, furrowing your brows together in confusion.

Aaron smiled and cupped your chin. He kissed you lightly and passionately, the taste of you still lingering on his lips.

“I just wanted to make you feel better,” he said, “and I think I’ve successfully done that. If you’re not as sore when I’m finished, though, we can gladly do a second round of last night.”

You smiled back at him. “Oh, I think I’ll definitely feel better for that.”

Aaron kissed you again before getting his things together to leave. You laid back down on the bed, laying in a way that showed Aaron everything he was going to miss. He let his eyes linger over you for a moment, cursing under his breath before finally walking out the door.

#Aaron Tveit #aaron tveit imagine #aaron tveit smut #imagine #one shot #smut #request #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

205 notes · View notes

voidmenace · 2 years

Note

Just read the post abt redstone and my brain instantly attached to Etho so!!! Can we hear more about the funky man with that artificial bioluminesence

okay so here's the thing; etho didn't start out as the local cryptid slash underground mercenary. actually, he used to be a part-time hero, going out into the field for reconnaissance missions and would help with rescue and recovery efforts. most of the time though, he was a researcher, one of the first to actually discover redstone and realize that it would work really well as a power and conductive source. at this point, so little was known about redstone that there weren't much more than very basic safety precautions, you know? just about anyone in the science or research field could get their hands on it for experimentation.

the problem with redstone is this; when first working with it, you don't really notice much. yes, it'll take power put into it and transmit it somewhere else, and yes, it can be used by itself as an energy source, but no one initially takes into account the long-term effects it has. in small doses, it's fine. you may notice a slight headache, a quick flash of dizziness that barely registers as a problem, or you may come out of the experiments feeling just slightly more tired than you anticipated. nothing to be concerned about, right?

redstone effects accumulate very quickly, and etho and his team are the unfortunate first people to find this out.

etho is the only survivor of a redstone explosion that leaves an entire laboratory and the surrounding twelve mile perimeter basically uninhabitable to most life.

this isn't to say that etho comes out completely unscathed, no. he loses sight in one eye, gains many new chemical burn scars, and causes so much damage to his lungs that he's forced to be on a constant supplementary supply of oxygen. his mask he starts wearing is part aesthetic, part covering the burns from the public eye, and a very large portion a way to give himself that much needed oxygen.

most noticeably, he's gained a faint glow. it's best seen at night, and practically radiates from his blind eye. honestly, it's part of what starts his legend as a cryptid. i mean, if you were to see a vaguely human-shaped figure with a single glowing red eye, you'd be pretty freaked out and say there's a creature haunting the redstone wastelands too, i'm sure.

he kind of....disappears shortly after he recovers from the accident. some say he was taken by the government for experimentation, to further see the long-term effects of redstone on people. some say he crawled off to die on his own like an animal.

his roommate iskall says that he showed up on their doorstep and became a permanent nuisance.

for the most part, etho works as a mercenary, appearing where he's needed and disappearing when he simply doesn't want to be found. he still helps where he can, but tries not to stick around people too much, mostly because the accident also kinda made him permanently radioactive. he doesn't want to risk hurting anyone with his presence.

alright ive given up on vague story-telling, so here's some more little things about etho:

between his lab work from before the accident and the accident itself, he's built up enough of an immunity to redstone that he can handle it bare-handed, and he takes pleasure in doing so in front of others specifically to freak them out

he takes care of a community garden!! no one ever personally sees him out there watering and weeding and planting things, he tends to it when no one is around. some people have tried to leave cameras to catch him in the act, but all photos come out super grainy, and he once again just looks like a dark shadow with a glowing red eye.

he's nearly given iskall a heart attack with that eye, multiple times, when they get up late at night for water and turn to see an ominously glowing eye. he could absolutely warn them that he's there, but he thinks it's just too funny to hear them yelp in fright. they smack him and curse him out every time.

#this turned out longer than anticipated #not really proper writing either #but thats alright #etho #rendog #roommate au #mcyt #i love him your honor #gremlin man #menace original

28 notes · View notes

redrobin-detective · 3 years

Text

Side Effects of ghost powers

Hey all! I’m writing a DP fic called Side Effects exploring the physical and later mental/emotional impact of Danny initially getting his ghost powers. As an ICU stepdown nurse for 3 years, I wanted to view Danny’s accident through a slightly more realistic, medical lens.

Note: I had to fudge a good amount because Danny really should have fucking died and there’s no getting around that.

I do recommend you read the fic first before reading this as there’s some spoilers. Or if you don’t care you can read on. So! The two factors we are looking at regarding the accident are: ecto-contamination secondary to electrocution.

Electrocution

I was forced to downplay a lot of the severe symptoms of electrocution because, again, a bad enough shock will kill someone. My hand-wavey explanation is simply that the portal didn’t activate at a deadly voltage so he got a good shock but not enough to be fatal. I guess.

Muscle weakness/spasms: intermittent muscle spasms are common from shocks, muscles being activated by electricity and reacting to the lingering impulses. Danny’s is transient but quite annoying for a time. But his muscles are gonna be weak and achy af for days if not weeks after from the massive contractions caused by the shock and the after effects. Sensory issues: lots of things can cause nerve damage, including electrocution so Danny is experiencing some pretty severe neuropathy primarily manifesting with numbness and tingling throughout his body. His entire skin and peripheral nervous system got fried so while its mostly numb it’s also super sensitive for a bit of time causing massive pain and discomfort from your body tingling like a thousand bee stings. It’s worst in the hours after the accident but is something that never quite really goes back to normal both from the electrocution and his ghost half taking over and generally dulling his sense of touch.

Hearing/Vision loss: Like skin/nerves, your sensory organs in your eyes and ears would be affected by such a severe and allover electric shock. Danny has some blurred and occasionally double vision from his eyes not properly receiving/understanding input. Hearing loss is common following electricity given how delicate the inner ear is but I just give Danny some nasty tinnitus (ear ringing) for a bit. This inner ear problem also massively throws off his balance when he’s trying to move post accident. These factors are exacerbated by the ecto-contamination and mostly fade in the days following the accident before going away as his superhuman healing kicks in.

Heart Arrhythmia: an irregular heartbeat caused by the electrical impulses that control basal heartrate not coordinating they they should for a variety of reasons, in this case, massive electric shock. Danny would be somewhat aware of it, its not exactly painful exactly but you can just feel that your heart isn’t beating right. Secondary side effects are dizziness, chest pain, fatigue and shortness of breath. This resolves almost entirely when Danny stabilizes

Cognitive issues: Danny got his brains a little scrambled in addition to his molecules being rearranged. The first third of the story Danny is very clearly NOT thinking straight and Tucker/Sam should not have left him alone. Shocks can cause things like irrational emotional behaviors from hormone release along with memory loss and depression. He constantly waxes and wanes in mood and opinions on what to do in the story and never comes to a true decision that, damn lucky for him, worked out on its own.

Ecto-Contamination

Alright so Danny got massively shocked, sucks right but people live through that all the time. Ecto-contamination is more tricky (not only cause its made up and I had to think about what symptoms it would theoretically produce) but because the effects are more life threatening. It’s also irreversible, once he was contaminated it was only something that could be survived not cured.

So I theorized that Danny got shocked by the accident and was slowly dying of ecto-contamination and was pretty much clinically dead for a brief moment there, the death was enough for the large quantity of ectoplasm in him to immediately coalesce into a ghost (Phantom). So Danny was mostly dead but not quite, I’ve coded and brought back enough people to know it can be reversed somewhat. Danny becomes Phantom but the sudden stable formation of the ectoplasm into what its supposed to be, a ghost, caused his body to stop fighting the ectoplasm as a foreign invader and become part of the self. His core finished forming in his chest and his body started back up again, his ghost safely nestled in his once again living body as he slowly comes to grips with his actual death experience.

Nausea/Vomiting: I likened the idea of ecto-contamination to radiation poisoning, something that is essentially the antithesis to life. One of the first symptoms of radiation is n/v which is also why it’s one of the first overt symptoms Danny has. He was heavily electrocuted/irradiated and his body wants to expunge it all. As for the ectoplasm/blood he vomits, that’s the next section.

Gastrointestinal (GI) Bleed: So I was a little mean here. When one vomits up blood (or in this case ectoplasm/blood mix) it has to come from somewhere and a lot of the times it’s a GI Bleed. These are nasty, they need to be either cauterized or surgically repaired not to mention replenishing the blood lost. Fanon says that ectoplasm is at least mildly corrosive to humans so it is here, as it’s bonding to him, it’s literally eating him very slowly from the inside out which is causing a great deal of his internal pain. It’s not enough to be immediately life threatening but would kill him eventually. He developed some nasty bleeding ulcers in his stomach which let in blood and ectoplasm which were expunged. Danny’s core formed overnight and began healing the damage it had previously been causing but Dan is still gonna be vomiting excess blood/ectoplasm not to mention having black, tarry stools for at least a few days afterwards.

Hypothermia/Tremors: Hypothermia is when the body hits 95F/35C which Danny is just above at the start of the chapter. Danny initially starts shaking really bad (rigors) but as his body temperature cools further his shaking slows and eventually stops, a sure sign that the body is rapidly losing the fight to hypothermia and will likely die soon without immediate intervention. This is caused not only by the ectoplasm but his ice core shakily starting to form inside of him. Once he fully turns half ghost his hypothermia doesn’t change but it just no longer negatively affects him (I say Danny hovers naturally around 96-95F/35-33C getting much colder as Phantom at baseline. His body still can be damaged by going too cold but that’s a whole other post.)

Incoherency/Hallucinations: I mentioned in the electrocution section that Danny is more than a little addled and the contamination didn’t help in that regard. Not only is he not thinking clearly but he’s also getting a little delirious and seeing things. Common hallucinations I see are: someone in the room watching you, things crawling on the walls, creeping shadows, you’re in the wrong place. I think its a solid 50/50 as far as Danny straight up hallucinating but also becoming more aware of natural ectoplasm that hangs around in the atmosphere. (And before anyone asks, yes Clockwork did come and visit, Danny just doesn’t remember)

Pain: Being electrocuted, irradiated, being dissolved slowly on the inside is enough to cause massive amounts of pain. Danny is 14, he doesn’t understand true pain and probably underestimated how much it would hurt. Once it got bad, it was almost paralyzing so it got to the point where even when he wanted to call for help, he couldn’t move or think past the horrible pain of his every molecule slowly dying and rearranging itself.

Weakness/Fatigue: I don’t really have anything much to add for this section that hasn’t been said in the others. Just the combination of all of the above meant Danny is so incredibly weak and fatigued, this will be problematic in the days and weeks following the accident as his body heals from the stress put on it. Poor boy was probably just getting past the worst of his symptoms by the time of the Lunch lady attack one month in.

Ghost instinct: Going off the medical rant for a minute to go into another aspect of the contamination present in the story, the idea of ectoplasm adding inherent ghostiness to Danny. Its common fanon that all ghosts (through ectoplasm) have their own unique code and language that is just omnipresent and instinctive. Such a massive, body altering dose of ectoplasm saw those things start to leech into Danny even before he became half ghost. The biggest is his fear of being seen, majority of ghosts are completely invisible and don’t want to be seen by the living. As Danny’s suffering and literally dying, he can’t bring himself to confess to his loved ones for very understandable reasons but also this ghostly instinct in the back of his head telling him to hide and get away. Other instincts are a strong attraction to the portal/Ghost Zone, lowkey being able to sense living people around him and a bit of an emotional dampener when Phantom.

#danny phantom #danny phantom meta #danny not only got his skinny ass electrocuted #but also the ghost equivalent of radiation poisoning #kid is lucky af he survived #this fic took so long to write bc!!! I kept adding in more symptoms and details #and I just do not have enough words to convey how horrible Danny would have felt at the height of his contamination #poor baby #he's a little better next chapter

325 notes · View notes

sardonicallys · 3 years

Text

𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸, 𝗻𝗼 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆 | 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗻𝗲

mobile masterlist | web masterlist

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Jaebeom + Female!Reader

𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: Corporate AU, Mature, Smut, Angst, Enemies to Lovers

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: Cursing, sexual content, mentions of trauma

𝗦𝘆𝗽𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: You don't like to think of the word "workaholic" as an insult, but rather as a title of prestige. Everything you have accomplished in your career has been reflected as a glimmering treasure in your trophy case that doted on your work ethic and undying tenacity to put your best effort in everything you have involved yourself in. When you're transferred to what feels just a step away from a demotion, rewritten as an opportunity to "help" the new CEO, you find yourself in a predicament when you realize he's an unbearable nuisance.

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 7,946

𝗔𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗲: I haven't written anything and posted for many moons, I feel so out of place. Enjoy.

In most scientific experiments — particularly chemical ones — the expression "precision over accuracy" reigned over the conducted research, for the purpose of retaining the proper prestige that came only with the robotic and recycled theories of a mechanical process. Taking into account the possible inaccuracies that only human variables could create, focusing on precision would eliminate most — if not all — of the blank shots that could warp results. With deft, calculated movements, you humbly thought of yourself similarly, someone who acted as a piston amongst a well oiled machine. Your process was methodical and it made sure your results embodied the effort you took to keep every step precise.

In other words, you did your job, and you did it well.

Maybe, too well.

The sudden sensation of the dulled nail of his thumb digging deeper into the slope of your bare hip, sinking a bruise into your skin, caused you to jolt. You weren't entirely sure whether you impulsively gripped his wrist to indicate and warn him of the the sudden force he applied, or because you instinctively wanted to touch him again and weren't coherent enough to know exactly where you wanted to place your touch.

It would be a lie to say he's not drunk, but he's not quite sure on what exactly. Maybe the overflowing alcohol that spilled over his fingers as he caught each pour for himself, and inevitably, you. But he could have sworn that the bergamot and jasmine he drank from the valley of your collarbone was intoxicating him in an entirely different manner, his uneven panting annoying him as his throat grew dry and sprung its ricochetting echo into the dampened pounding that formed at the back of his skull that matched the rhythm of his hips meeting yours. So he sunk his teeth into your skin to exchange his ragged breathing for your own.

Regardless of every overthought prose that he's versed out in the compounded hazy pink matter that sloshed in between his slurred, desiring words, he was drunk. And he kept asking himself what he was doing, why he was doing this. And the answer came to him, over and over, in the form of the vertices of your fingertips, luring him back as he felt your nails carve into his skin.

Ah fuck it.

And his tongue splayed over your neck, licking a stripe right up along your pulse and towards the juncture of your jaw. Giving your hip a squeeze, he managed to articulate himself the best he could amongst the various obstacles that kept him from clearly expressing the eloquence he would much rather have, "...You feel so good."

What could you say? You did your job, and you did it well.

“It’s a good deal, sure you’re losing that title, but you’ll be working directly for the main CEO,” clearing his throat, Mr. Lee — your soft spoken supervisor of two and a half years — gently pushed a bleached packet towards you from across his desk. The scrape of the envelope skidding along the vinyl finished mat gripped at your chest, your eyes wandering desperately along the uncreased plane in search of something you weren't quite sure existed. At least not in a tangible sense. It felt as sterile as your hostility, simply allowing the careful steps of your career to crumble and sift through your fingers in a hasty effort to replace it with this makeshift offer of opportunity.

Your silence was all too telling to your superior who guided and observed your pristine work ethic, “This is just a branch, even being a janitor at the main office has more prestige than any of us here!”

Silence.

Mr. Lee spoke your name gently as you pressed your lips into a tight line, teeth sinking deeply into the flesh to encase the expression as you scoured to find the words to say, “…May I ask why I’m being transferred?”

Finally lifting your gaze to meet your superior’s, riddled with absolute hesitation and your own increasing impatience from the lack of response. Clearing his throat when your sharp expression finally seared through his last defense, he began stuttering, “I need you to keep this between us because we have taken every precaution to protect this information from any unnecessary…Talk.”

You simply nodded, a gesture to have the disclaimer sped up rather than with promise and understanding. Mr. Lee continued, his tone shifting an octave down as his volume diminished, “As you recall, last month, CEO Im suffered a sudden and unfortunate passing. However, he had specific directions for his stepson to take over his position. Whether that was meant for the future, as we did not expect his untimely death, or if this situation was accounted for, there is no way to interpret it other than properly following his wishes.”

“And what does that have to do with me?” Interrupting through a breath but without cutting him off, you gently reached for the envelope while carefully pressing the prongs together and releasing the flap to inspect the documentation. Your well manicured fingernails slipped into the gap, retrieving the glossy sheets as your eyes analyzed the words and each contingency they passed.

Clearing his throat once more, he shifted in his chair before straightening his jacket — a fidgeting habit he had whenever he was in a situation where he struggled to find the proper verbiage to express himself, “…They saw you as the perfect fit to—”

Before he could finish, your eyes landed on the bolded new title that you would receive once you decided — accepted? Did you have a choice? — the position, which garnered frustration and anxiety to crawl up your throat and before you realized it, the words flew out your mouth like daggers against a board, “Secretary?!”

The disbelief strewn across your features had your superior speechless, apologetic, and absolutely mortified by the intimidation that dripped and radiated from you. Though it was mid-afternoon, sun perched high against the periwinkle canvas and melting through the windows to paint the inner walls of Mr. Lee's office, he could have sworn he felt you drink every last drop of light in the room.

“I know this isn't— I know it’s not necessarily a lateral transfer, but since you’re an operations manager—” “I’m giving up the successes and accomplishments of digging this godforsaken branch out of the hole it was in to deliver coffee and schedule meetings to some incompetent imbecile?” Mr. Lee flinched at the calm demeanor you held, your tone barely bubbling over as your words started to fire out quicker than before.

“…They,” he cleared his throat once more, “The board, wants you to train him because—” You ignored every word Mr. Lee attempted to comfort you with, “Someone who wasn’t even born to Mr. Im living a privileged life. I wish I was as fortunate.”

Honestly, you could barely register the words leaving your mouth. But who could blame you? You took pride in the streamlined efficiencies you carried through your innovation as an entry level sales operations analyst, and you quickly proved that your processes were better matched at a higher position. Two years later and without any difficulty, you climbed your ranks with precision and were just a step shy away from directing the entire department at your branch. Sure, it was simply an extension of the main company, but you took pride in everyone below and above you at your office, something you couldn't necessarily assure elsewhere.

“Well, he comes from the late CEO Im’s wife, and he had adopted him…” the mumbling didn’t cease as you continued on, “Imagine thinking I would want to leave all of this behind to follow behind and pick up after some silver spoon orphan. Ha!"

Mr. Lee and you were engaging in two entirely different conversations, mostly as you spoke to yourself and your supervisor — soon to be ex supervisor — attempted with his best speech to damage control all your troubles about the transfer.

“Well," he changed into formalities as he uttered your last name with clarity, in hopes it would hold your attention, "They want you to train him with his duties."

It did, “The board wants me to what?”

"They want you to—"

"Then have the operations manager at the main branch teach him," the apathy that leaked and wove between your words as your back met the support of your chair finalized your attitude about the situation, your shoulders shrugging before your tipped your head to the side.

"...Like I said, you're losing the title, but I promise it's a good deal," in an even quieter voice, one just faint of a whisper, Mr. Lee spoke with desperation, "The pay is higher, it's the main branch. I recommended you myself. I know you're perfect for the job."

You weren't sure if you were supposed to feel pity for your supervisor, attempting to provide you with reason to this whole situation or if you were insulted by the fact that it seemed he really did not know you at all. Tongue over teeth, you swallowed the maniacal laughter that threatened to seep through your lips as you placed the envelope onto the desk, "...When am I supposed to start?"

"Next week," Mr. Lee knows by your tone that you aren't the least bit convinced, so he clears his throat again before going for his last attempt, "...There's room to grow, and if you are at the main office, you will definitely be in favor if there is a position open. I assure you. First in line."

They're not magic words, they're barely comforting to you, but you take them because you know your alternative is to leave and start over entirely from scratch. Was this quite that different? You weren't sure. Biting back every last ounce of pride, you simply nodded — this time with understanding — as you soundlessly scoot your chair back, bowed, and departed.

That was the last time you were in that office.

Tracing his hand down your inner thigh, his rough fingers left imprints of hazy memories ablaze as the sensation bloomed over your skin. Thumb meeting the bundle of nerves that held your arousal, he applied just enough pressure for you to tilt your head back and let a moan escape, contorting as he moved in a clockwise pattern. He's drowning in sensations, from the elongated welted crescents all across his skin, to the scent of your muddled perfume mixing between the perspiration in the forgotten scenery of some unnamed room, mesmerized as the circumference of his cock that pushed into you stretches perfectly around him with each thrust. You have him drenched, and the unintentional squeezes of your indicative pleasure had his eyes rolling back.

"Don't do that," he exhaled hard through gritted teeth as your half lidded eyes managed to find his, a cheshire grin tracing over your mouth, "Why? Don't you wanna cum?"

With that, he realized almost instantly that he had sobered up once you both excused yourselves from dinner, even long before the walk towards the station and now, with complete confidence, he definitely had been drunk off you. Gripping your jaw just beneath your chin, he squeezed the plush material of your cheeks as you pursed your lips in a joking manner. Pushing his thumb into your mouth, you swirled your tongue over to tease him.

The winding in your core dwindled near it's last rotation as your erratic breathing became more evident, hips squirming against him, thighs shaking as one of his hands held your legs apart. You refused to give in first, however, so you simply grit your teeth as you refocused your attention to how he rowed his hips with careful precision. Somehow he managed to sheathed his entire length inside of you without missing an inch, and pulling out almost entirely only to return and leave you breathless. You clench hard around him, threatening silently that you were the one in control.

Removing his wet thumb from your mouth, he pressed it right back up against your clit as his ministrations were now more pressured and intense as to combat your attitude from refusing to listen to his request. Almost immediately, you felt the snap and all you could do was gasp, sucking in every ounce of oxygen your lungs had allowed before feeling your climax crash right into you, "Fuck! Jaebeom!"

"Hey," two gentle slaps on your cheek, and he suddenly grabbed your jaw again as you writhed beneath him, a feeling of vertigo practically encapsulating your vision, "Thought you said you were gonna be professional? Stick with "Mr. Im"."

Tongue in cheek, you quickly felt the high of your orgasm diminish with his arrogance, and he must have been good at reading your actions by now because before you even had the chance to retort his hand was wrapped around your neck. Pressing against the outer columns, he held your breathing all with one hand as his pace intensified, fucking into you as you were reminded of your climax just seconds ago. The overstimulation had your knees attempting to snap shut, a gurgled and agonized moan attempting to crawl out of your throat.

"Nuh uh, it's my turn," he hushed you in a crooning manner as his grip on your waist assured you that there would be a mark later. Chanting curses that seemed like a spell, he lasted no longer than another breath before he pulled out and released both your neck and himself, spilling over your abdomen.

"And here is your desk," the representative from human resources gestured towards the desolate furniture paired with a lonely matching chair as you gave your best customer service smile before being dismissed. Orientation was an absolute blur, formalities at best, to describe what your role had implied — at least on paper — and the administrative process was more or less the same in all departments. Not that you belittled this work, secretarial staff was indeed necessary and a core component to the corporate hierarchy however, being that you felt your skills could have been honed much better elsewhere, you couldn't help but feel deflated even after your first day. It didn't help the amount of socialization you had been invited to engage in, much to your distaste. Smoothing your navy chiffon dress, you adjusted the hem length to give weight against the way it rode up from when you toured the building before investigating the lone mouse, keyboard, and dual monitor screens that sat untouched at your new desk. Glancing down at your watch, you noted that Mr. Im should be back from his lunch break, signaling the meeting that was scheduled for you two to become acquainted. As if on cue, the bellowing steps of the CEO's stepson beckoned from the elevator down the hall, as a well suited and broad figure strode out of the compartment with his pockets tucked into his slacks.

Punctual, at least.

Accessorized with a rather young face, pomade slicked back dark hair, you were surprised that he was appointed to take over such a large scale conglomerate — he looked like he had barely graduated from whatever flashy international university's business program he must have attended on daddy's money. But rather than chastise him further — you would have more than enough time to do so that night over a bottle of wine and your own company — you let your saccharine grin drip from your lips before bowing towards him as he neared your desk and towards the glass french doors at the opposite end of the hall.

"Hello Mr. Im, starting today I will be your new secretary. I hope we can become well acquainted," as you straightened back out, you flinched as you saw the deadpan expression in the CEO's stepson's eyes, his expression stoic and rather blank. Mildly surprised at this response, you continued with your speech you memorized and prepared to present, "I was given your schedule but wanted to go over a few nuances with you to confirm—"

"Just e-mail them to me," and without a single look back, he strode into his office as the dulled sound of the frame clasped the door into place. You had never received this amount of disrespect in your career, not from the retail jobs you juggled through college, not from your superiors through the unpaid internships you haphazardly took up, not even from the individuals that loathed you from the branch office that purposely threw you under during sales calls. You weren't expecting a formal tone, but at the very least, you expected to be looked at when spoken to. And especially not to be looked at like some small, feeble, insect by someone who only gained their position through privilege and water of a womb. Inhaling deeply, you held your breath in as you counted quietly, eyes closed to calm yourself before you trailed towards the double doors, clutching a three ring binder filled with the notes you intended to sort. Knocking your knuckles gently, though you could see he was on the phone and turned towards the floor to ceiling windows on the opposing side of the entrance, you allowed yourself in before catching a bout of words that were being spoken into the receiver, "...I thought I asked for a male secretary?"

Balling your fingers into a fist, your nails burrowing into your palm, it took everything in you not to completely dissect the misogynistic bigot that languidly rotated his chair around to lazily look up at you — in half surprise and half disgust — and turn him into a med school anatomy demonstration.

"Let me call you back," placing the phone in its cradle, he wafted out an exasperated sigh, "Didn't I say to e-mail—"

"You can say anything you like, that doesn't mean that's how things work, Mr. Im," laced with rigid toxicity, you strode closer towards his desk before dropping down the binder with a hard thud. The sound doesn't seem to disturb him, but it was one of the only gestures you could demonstrate that did not include violence. With a deep, unsaturated, breath you flipped it open, "I was unwilling sent here to train an incompetent CEO, and I certainly will not be taking any disrespect from him so long as his father is in the ground."

The silence grew thick as he narrowed his eyes at you, wetting his lips before grimacing at the hostile way you spoke back to him. It seemed as though he was contemplating his options — even if you weren't sure what they were or what they entailed, the way his onyx orbs seemed to dilate indicated he was deep in thought. Leaning back in his chair, he lifted a hand and gestured for you to sit, "...We have a meeting to attend in an hour, say what you have to and fast because you won't be here tomorrow to say it."

Not a single sound escaped your lips as you took a seat, internally feeling your temperature rise with rage and frustration against someone who was absolutely nothing compared to you. Instead, you reminded yourself to keep it professional until the very end.

You did your job, and you always, did it well.

Propping open the binder resolutely, you turned to the first flag that was indicative of your notes. If he really did manage to get rid of you by tomorrow, at the very least, you would prove that there was nothing on your end that could have possibly caused the termination. Before you had a chance to speak, he stole away the silence, "...And you're still trying to figure out my schedule."

"Yes, so for Thursday—"

"You'll be gone by tomorrow."

"Fantastic. You have two overlapping meetings—"

"There really is no point in us going over—"

"Can you shut the fuck up for one second, Mr. Im, and let me get through my notes so we can stop wasting time with this binder and can arrive at the meeting with the director of the potential merging company on time," eye contact locked in place, you recited every word robotically before ending your sentence with a smile. The question was rhetoric as he folded his arms over his chest, a brow perked up curiously.

"You can terminate me tomorrow, but right now, we have a lot of work to do. You'll regret not having this done now, I assure you," leaning into his desk, you felt your thoughts wander to wanting to curse every hair on his head, every surface area of his skin, his parents should have been cursed, his grandparents, his ancestors that lingered within his genetics should be cursed and taint his kin for generations to come.

"...The representative call will only take a few minutes, he's a curt conversationalist, so I wouldn't worry about rescheduling either of those meetings. Leave it."

"Thank you."

The process continued with mechanic efficiency as you arrived at each flag, receiving clarification for the nuanced citations that you were looking to collect. You were unsure of why he was so difficult and rigid to start, but you managed to get the information you needed without missing the time of departure that you two needed to adhere to as so not to be late for the merger meeting. Standing at the front of the building in search of the company car you had instructed the reception to call for, you directed yourself and Mr. Im towards the sleek foreign automobile, door held open by the driver. You insisted for the passenger seat but was denied due to "company policy", much to your distaste, as you sat as far away from the CEO as you possibly could.

Rather than clean up his mess, he unceremoniously gripped your hip before swiftly flipping you over — the buoyant material capturing you with Newton's force as you settled — the residue of his climax melting into the sheets as you hissed and shot him a look over your shoulder, "You're disgusting—"

To your surprise — and horror? — you could tell he was still semi-hard and the way he grasped your thighs to drag you closer to him confirmed that he was continuing without question, "Are you still hard?"

It's really just an observation, and he knows that too, but he nods, "Uh huh."

The shock that traveled warp and weft up the nerves that intwined your spine earned him the symphonic moan he was starting to be pleased with, your back arching as you felt the dulled stretch of his cock reenter you. You couldn't figure out how to breathe without feeling like you were going to cum again, shallowly attempting not to fidget as he agonizingly pressed every inch into you. As his fingers ghosted up your torso and onto your breast, you were tempted to lift yourself up and away as his thumb and index went to twist at your already sore nipples — erect for the entirety of when he first fucked you. Squirming your hips against him, the right side of your face pressed into the mattress, you could barely utter a noise as he suddenly began creating a pace once more. The amount of overstimulation had you listening to your heavy breathing in an almost anxious pattern, Jaebeom spreading you from behind as you heard — and felt — his warm saliva drip down your ass and over his cock as it entered you.

"Slow down," you moaned, shivering as he managed to find the exact location that caused you to even unravel the first time. As the arrogant imp he was, he responded with the same words you had used on him earlier that day, "You can say anything you like, that doesn't mean that's how things work."

With that, he bit down on his lip before slamming his hips right into yours, causing you to choke up as your vision further blurred into a galaxy of exposed peppered lights. You whined in pleasure as he repeated this same technique over and over and over, the sudden impacts were so gratifying you didn't even realize how quickly your next orgasm crept up on you until all you could do was gasp, feeling the sudden release as your ears went mute — the lack of oxygen cutting into your passageway even without his hand on your throat.

Growling at the feeling of how hard you clenched around him, he managed his composure as he groaned out in exasperation, "Already?"

Yes already, your chest heaved as you felt your body wash over with soreness and delight while Jaebeom kept thrusting into you. Shivering, you felt his fingers find their way back to your swollen clit as he rotated his middle finger against your overstimulated bundle of nerves, "S-Stop!"

Of course, he ignored you. Burying your face into the feather stuffed pillows, you cursed as you felt your eyes well up from the immense pleasure, a descent down to a labyrinth you had never explored even on your own. You swore you were going to black out if Jaebeom didn't hurry and finish, your hips quivering and threatening to fall flat without the iron grip his fingers had. Leaning forward, he pressed his chin into your shoulder before nudging his nose into your neck, "I'd think you were falling asleep if you weren't so fucking noisy."

The way he spoke into the bowl of your ear, dousing his warm breath against your hair matted skin, forced you to melt closer into him to your disdain. Reclining back without warning, he hoisted you up with your back against his broad chest, "Fuck you." It was honestly all you could manage as you hiccuped through his sharp thrusts, moaning and hooking your free arm around his neck to balance yourself against him.

"You are, don't get too ahead of yourself."

Much to your surprise, you realized internally that both you and Mr. Im had assumed the worst with the new work colleague situation and were pleasantly met with competence and preparation on both ends. Despite his horrible attitude towards you, his temperament towards other business partners and clients surfaced as mild mannered with a tasteful personality; it honestly felt like you were observing an entirely different species — as if the moment you exited the car together and entered the new building it had garnered some sort of genetic mutation at that very moment which rendered his origins slack. Suddenly he was the new overseeing CEO, Mr. Im, and he created such grace in a room you hardly believed he wasn’t body swapped when you had been looking down at the business card you received or pressing a button for your floor in the elevator. It didn’t, however, fool you into thinking otherwise of his prior behavior — he was still a menace — but you hoped that the well showered compliments and kindness from the opposing party’s head of the hierarchy that were poured over you as an administrative lead proposed at least some doubt if he were still pondering to terminate you.

“And to think she’s here on her first day,” the conversation was rerouted to you suddenly as everyone wrapped up their finalized closing comments. Clicking your pen to return its nib, you gave a humble smile before bowing your head forward, “It’s been a pleasure and a very special opportunity granted to me.”

These were business lies, but what was new in the superficial world created by massive empty headed moguls who were puppeteers amongst their greatest talent? Prepared to give your final exit and head home to wash away this nightmare, you were held steady by Mr. Shin — the director who was initiating the merger — as his expression seemed to have some sort of excitement zip past it, an impression of exuberance you weren’t quite sure how to place. Vocalizing your last name, he continued, “You and Mr. Im have nothing else after this, right?”

No, but I want to head home and drown in my bath tub and maybe a glass of pinot noir.

“No sir, we do not.”

“Please join me for a drink! We should celebrate your first day.”

What a pitiful and pathetic excuse to create faux harmonious feelings with Mr. Im — though you respected his decision as not to completely accept the terms that were laid in front of you today — this was a redundant way of creating an even longer appeal that could possibly only infuse tension. Parting your lips to politely reject the offer, you felt Mr. Im suddenly cut into your response, “Honestly we’re both rather busy.”

Though a paraphrased version of these words were on your tongue, you couldn’t help but be annoyed because for the past three or so hours, all you did was watch someone who had the highest level of social awareness and emotional intelligence communicate flawlessly amongst a room of stiff business men and yet he could not spare you? You simply nodded in agreement as Mr. Shin frowned, “Nonsense! There is always time for a drink.”

Stealing a peek at Mr. Im, your lungs almost burst as you suppressed them from your laughter — his jaw clenched in frustration. Instead, to appeal to the devil’s advocate, you decided to fuck with him, “We’d love to attend, did you have a place in mind, Mr. Shin?”

You may have been socially exhausted but if you were going to be executed, you weren’t going alone. Again with the saccharine grin, you beamed at your CEO as you watched a flurry of rage shutter through his eyes — only for a moment — before his polite demeanor resurfaced, “…Yes of course.”

Silent through dinner, as you had expected, the conversations furthered to delve into the hearty relation of the two conglomerate leaders. You were a good listener, most of the time, and especially now since you wanted nothing more but to be home. You learned that Mr. Im was named Jaebeom, that he was likely going to die alone with his cats — he had five — in his vague description of the neighborhood he resided it, which only made you assume he was private. You also learned he held concurrent degrees in international business and economics, both furthered in graduate school from — against your better beliefs — full scholarships. You also learned his stepfather seemed a saint, taking in his single mother and him, no questions asked and full of love.

“What year were you born?”

“1994,” the polite reply had you suddenly choking on your sip of soju. Mr. Im turned to you with fake concern as you held a hand up, “My apologies.”

“Not great at handling your liquor huh?” Mr. Shin commented, another misogynist’s proverbial response, as you smiled and shook your head, “Oh no, I just assumed our CEO was younger.”

It sounded like an insult and you intend it to be in some ways, but you weren’t lying, you did think he was younger than yourself. Jaebeom narrowed his eyes at you but the feigned smile seemed to hide his sinister expression, “Now why would you think that?”

“No reason in particular.”

You also learned that, even though you were not anywhere near on good terms with Mr. Im, he did hold some mercy for you. After the director’s comment about your alcohol consumption, which was wrong but regardless, he began catching your pours — despite the fact you were watching him grow exhausted, dehydrated, and inevitably drunk. You assume it was for appearances but were thankful nonetheless since your haze was finally starting to let up, and the sobering process had started. After several hours of banter, you finally bid your goodbyes with one another before starting towards the station. You were hoping to catch the last train before the rails shut down for the night. Not without a shadow, however, Mr. Im quietly following behind you as he shot off unsolicited comments, “Not sure why he had to make an excuse to give you a welcoming party.”

You simply rolled your eyes as you scanned your card against the sensor to a nearly empty station. Hearing the dim “beep” behind you, you wondered why he couldn’t have just taken a taxi. Shuffling down the steps, you wanted to get as far away from the tower figure stalking you. Too bad he was a giant lump of matter that traveled at twice your pace, “Maybe this was more of a goodbye party.”

Oh so he was still on the termination thing, right*. Rolling your eyes again, you sat down on one of the empty seat slots as he plopped down beside you, “The station is empty and there’s so many other chairs can’t you sit somewhere else?” Hissing at him, he turned to you as his eyes seemed to search for something that wasn’t there and simply laughed before looking towards the empty rails in silence.

“…You sure don’t act like you were born in ‘94,” scoffing you stood up and attempted to find another seat a row down before his reflexes seemed to show they were completely in tact, fingers shackled your wrist with contempt, “And what’s that supposed to mean.”

“That you act like a brat,” retorting at him you shook your arm in an attempt to get free as he yanked you over. Yelping, you tripped towards him with a frown, “I’m surprised you say that.”

The feigned expression of hurt wanted to make you dry heave as you stood in front of him, arm limp in his hold. Another sudden unsolicited comment fell through his lips as his eyes dilated in a different way than they had when you had entered his office unannounced earlier that day, “…You smell nice.”

Disgusted, your expression contorted when you felt his thumb gently glide over your wrist. However, you were afraid to snatch your hand away in fear his reflexes would yank you back even harder. You stood, instead, stoic as you stared at him incredulously and praying for the chugging wheels of a train to appear and allow you to depart. There wasn’t more you could possibly endure, you think, but you were met with yet another surprise as your looked down, horrified, to find your CEO’s stepson really had to have been born some years more recent as he had his hormones on full display.

“…Mr. Im, please let me go.”

“Mm…” his voice rattled quietly, but you could tell he had sobered up already — entirely annoying for his own benefit — as his fingers continued to clasp your wrist in his hold.

This was the most vile man you had ever encountered — which said a lot when you were nearly always in male dominated environments — and he seemed to know and fully understand that. There was something so infuriating and rage filling as the spaces even in the depths of your being could not fathom, encasing a frustration that knocked through your caged silence that finally caused your outburst, “Why the fuck is your dick hard you pervert, let me go!” As you wailed in the empty station, there’s a moment of confusion that winded over Jaebeom’s face. It’s as if he was missing some pieces to your claim, and when he realized and really understood what you were concerned about — and you can tell — he flushed with embarrassment. Suddenly, for the first time today, he was bowing and profusely apologizing.

It was a nice sight but didn’t change the fact that you were absolutely petrified that this towering man, after everything he put you through, was visibly hard in a public space with you. Exhaling as a sense of release however, that he acknowledged his crimes, you began to step away before hearing some mumbled reasonings that were beyond you. Even Jaebeom wasn’t quite sure why he began spouting them, “I have trouble around women, so it wasn’t you in particular. I’m so sorry I gave you a hard time, but I thought it may have been different because I spent most of the day in your company—”

“…You have trouble around women?” Hard to believe when the entirety of the female population at main branch’s office was ready to sit up on his desk and spread for their new CEO — not that you were eavesdropping, but you heard a lot of chatter before and after you were transferred. When you repeat his claim, you realize immediately that he wasn’t bluffing and that his shame grows apparent. It is the first time you see the expression of guilt and defeat as his features revert to an even more childlike demeanor.

The train finally arrived, the little chime playing in the speakers and echoing through the surfaces as you stand silently awaiting his explanation, ignoring the last departure. The contemplation that riddled his face seemed to go between completely discarding everything he mentioned to simply being honest, “…Yes.”

“In what way?”

Knitting his brows together, he seemed to be unable to tongue out the words he wanted to use to properly articulate himself without seeming more like a pervert, “In a traumatic way.”

You practically snorted at the excuse before rolling your eyes, it seemed like some pathetic way to weasel out of the fact that he was some sick fuck but by the way he was speaking, perhaps it wasn’t? This wasn’t some glorified explanation but rather a sacred and honest confession held in a booth, between two strangers. You wanted to trust him, truly, but he made sure you shouldn't have after his performative gestures today. Hesitation filled his dreaded voice as he surrendered, “…I really struggle interacting with women in general—”

“And you really expect me to believe that when there are women in our office?”

“I try to avoid them, and it’s why I requested a male secretary in particular.”

For some strange reason, this suddenly made sense and somewhere deep in a crevice that was lost in the galaxy of your being, you felt a sense of pity, “…I see.” But it was somewhere really, really, deep.

“I spent most of the day sitting beside you, entirely focusing on keeping you as more of a fragment of my imagination rather than an actual person,” this seemed insulting out of context, but you continued to listen, “so I assumed it would have been fine to interact with you since we were talking normally at the meeting and dinner.”

The tone in his voice turned shy, but not because he was finding a scape goat to protect his actions rather, because he was disappointed in the resulting outcome from the lack of experience and unstable accuracy brought him. Gently dragging your eyes down his figure, seeing the still apparent source of your horror which made chills infect you, you snapped out of your pity filled daze when security requested that the two of you leave the station as they were closing up for the night. Shoving your portfolio case at him, you gesture for him to shield his eyesore of an erection as you exited the station with him silently. The awkward steps onto the empty sidewalk had you searching for a solution in the cracks on the concrete, as you often found yourself attempting. The curse of being an instrumental communicator. An unlikely scenario came to mind but you decided to wait on that particular weighing before offering Mr. Im to share a cab.

“It’s late shouldn’t we head home?”

The erratic pace hinted to you that he was getting close, sloppy and lacking purpose or precision, even his skilled finger against your clit began apply just a bit too much pleasure as you doubled over and realized the blinding release that seeped down your thighs in a snapping constriction, "Jaebeom please." You had never heard yourself beg so wantonly as you squirmed to get your hips away from him.

Twenty minutes pass and not a single car — let alone a cab — passed the road in sight. It was a normally, busy, street filled with commuters and yet not a single soul graced your line of vision. A few feet away stood your very uncomfortable CEO, marked with shame as he awkwardly held your portfolio in front of him while he messaged several drivers to see if any of them were free and awake to give both of you a ride back to your homes. You wanted to commend yourself for the amount of pity you were able to have for such a vile human being, but you remind yourself exhaustion and the lingering taste of alcohol were rendering you soft.

"Any luck?"

"None," turning the screen of his mobile towards you, your eyes skimmed the little "1" besides all the unread, repeated messages.

"...Fifteen minute grace period, right?" You were referring to the time frame of most appointments before finding a bench and dropping your weight onto it. Jaebeom sat beside you quietly, staring at the screen of his phone, as if he could control the actions of the message receivers with his mind through sheer concentration.

For the first time all day, the silence felt less like viscous tar strung between you but as if you were swimming in honey besides someone you may have been misunderstanding due to misconstrued circumstances, "...You said you had some trauma?"

"That's really not something I think I want to share right now," the mumbling filled his mouth through a sigh as he stared off at the brightly outlined skyline in the distance, creating a fake horizon amongst the navy light polluted sky. Pursing your lips, you nodded quietly before following with a sigh of your own, "...I appreciate your honesty, at least."

"Yours too."

If you weren't exhausted, you might have been able to offer a better laugh, "So are you still going to fire me?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"Are you going to blackmail me?" Jaebeom tipped his head back to capture more of the sky before lazily dropping his head to look over at you. Returning his gaze, you furrowed your brows in confusion, "For what?"

"Sexual harassment." It took a moment for you to connect what he was referring to before you burst into laughter, still hoarse and not quite as strong as you could have emitted, "...You know, I don't think you're lying for some reason."

"I wasn't."

"Yeah, so I'll let it slide," you pause before snorting.

The silence consumed the night as you checked your watch, before Jaebeom's voice broke through once more, "You did good today."

"Thank y—"

"For a secretary," you rolled your eyes as he ruined the compliment, frustrating you, "You know I was an operations manager."

"You sure are proud to tell me you got demoted." Absolutely awestruck, you felt the relaxation that had entered your body moments ago turn back into frustration. On a whim, one you probably would have never dared to attempt had the situation been different and you weren't so exasperated and absolutely annihilated from the day's events, you took your fist and slammed it into the portfolio that was sitting on Jaebeom's lap. Absolutely breathless, he choked out violently before glaring at you with seething anger.

"I didn't, I was forced to transfer to teach you how to do your job, to help you."

"You're not doing a very good job at it," rolling his eyes, voice still strained from the pressure and soreness you offered his condition you smiled triumphantly, "Says who?"

"From my experience, good employees don't go around punching superiors in the groin."

"We're even now."

"This wasn't sexual harassment, it was battery," deadpanning, he checked his phone again. Rather than ask if he got a response, you hear another echoed sigh that signaled you both probably weren't going anywhere anytime soon.

"...So do you just get erect whenever you're around women?"

"Why do you keep bringing this up?"

"It's kind of funny, it's like the opposite of erectile dysfunction right?" It's the first time he looks mortified, pale, when he looked at you and the way you phrased his condition. The stiffness in his body hints that you're probably right on the money, "Let me guess, you probably went to dozens of doctors and medical professionals and they say it's probably a psychological thing that has manifested into your physiological response."

Silence.

"So, because you think you're a big strong man," cooing at him, you pouted your lips to sear into him deeper with your taunts, "you've been warding off confronting your trauma of women and through sheer willpower, avoid them. But every once and while, there's something like this, and you decide to act like an unbearable prick so you can pretend women don't exist."

The way you've read into him has him absolutely speechless, vulnerable, and frustrated that you were able to peel back his layers so easily and swiftly from just a few focused interactions alone. There is nothing he can offer back to rebuttal and salvage the very little of what his pride had left. Instead, he sat quietly and gripped his phone, the glazed over expression on his face indicating he was no longer listening but he wasn't thinking of anything in particular either. You were still human so in some ways, this caused an induced amount of guilt to wash over you, "...Have you ever tried to fix it."

"Of course."

"How?"

"I tried to interact normally with women, naturally," nodding slow, you mirrored his gesture in understanding before fidgeting with the chiffon material of your dress, "And that didn't work out?"

"Not really," he laughed bitterly.

"...Do you think I can help you?" You convince yourself it's an instrumental solution, it's something you want to think is part of your job. The thing you were good at, you know, and the thing he took the severest blow in belittling you about. Maybe part of it even involved spite.

"I don't know, can you?" Rolling his eyes, he stared at you in disbelief before you nudged yourself closer on the bench beside him, risking a lot more than you could have imagined, "I'll only tell you once, Mr. Im, but I'm very good at my job."

Peering down at your watch, you point it towards him, "Fifteen minutes are up."

"Why? Don't you wanna cum?" He used a taunting tone, again repeating something you had uttered earlier. Almost regretful, your ears became even more dull as he roughly pulled out while you winced, being forced onto your back as he hooked his hands beneath your knees. What was the result of this man's stamina and why was he able to fuck this long? Rolling your head back in surrender, you no longer attempted to swallow your noises as he reentered — hopefully for the last time — slowly rowing his hips back and forth as your toes curled, feeling the sensation of your circulation lapsing through your extremities. It takes only a few gently pushes, and he pulls out before finishing on your chest for the last time.

He's lost all his focus, and in a shitty attempt to regain it, he leaned forward to press his forehead to yours — lips ghosting near and swallowing your curses. As you feel his weight pull closer, you placed your palm over his mouth, "...Don't."

This was only work, and like every precise decision you ever made, every experiment you were — you made sure to do everything well.

[ chapter two ]

all work, no play series masterlist

#got7 #got7 scenario #got7 scenarios #got7 imagines #got7 jayb #got7 jaebeom #jaebeom scenario #jaebeom scenarios #jaebeom imagines #jayb scenario #jayb scenarios #jayb imagines #jayb smut #jaebeom smut #smut #got7 smut #got7 fanfic #got7 fanfics

142 notes · View notes

glimmerglanger · 3 years

Note

One more Make Your Bed prompt for the road, because I have no shame: I'd love Cody's perspective on their first time. :D?

:DDDDDDDDD GUESS WHICH PROMPT I TOOK FIRST. I couldn’t resist, I suppose.

ANYWAY, this is obviously post-“Make Your Bed.” It’s a spicy time! Not safe for wizards fic about a couple figuring out how they might fit together. Mentions of canon events and trauma, but not very much. Codywan, first time, sweet and slow.

~~~~~~~~

Cody caught on to kissing quickly. They didn’t do much beyond that, not at first. They were both recovering from exhaustion and injuries. Grief. For the first few days, Cody’s body didn’t even really...respond in the way he expected.

He got no more than half-hard, despite the way his heart picked up and raced with the brush of Obi-Wan’s mouth against his. Apparently, there was only so far he could push his body. He’d reached a limit, somewhere along the way.

They healed, planned, and slept and at some point, he must have...recovered.

He woke up sprawled across Obi-Wan one morning, and it was such a relief, still, to wake up to the immediate reminder that Obi-Wan was alive, with him, and safe. Cody drew in a breath, shifting, and realized that he’d...woken up in a very familiar predicament.

His cock pressed against Obi-Wan’s hip, warm through the fabric of his sleeping clothes. He’d woken up in such a way...more times than he liked to think about. Usually, he rolled out of the bunk and went to handle it in the fresher.

But that had been before they discussed things. Before they kissed.

Cody felt hyper-aware, all at once, of the sprawl of his body against Obi-Wan’s. He recalled, with stunning clarity, the feeling of kissing him. He swallowed, loudly, and Obi-Wan rasped, “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Cody murmured back, fleetingly grateful that Obi-Wan had said nothing about being, well. Up. He held himself very still. His hips wanted to roll, instinctively, but he’d long ago learned how to control that impulse.

They’d kissed. And now they were lying in bed together, both of them...hard, and he wanted.

He shifted. His mouth was very close to Obi-Wan’s throat, and he’d learned - already - that Obi-Wan liked to be kissed there. He slid closer, heart beating fast, and brushed his lips to soft skin, Obi-Wan making a low, welcoming sound.

Cody’s breath stuttered out at the response. Something ached in his gut, fast and hot. Obi-Wan slid a hand up his arm, tilting his head to one side on the pillow, and Cody forgot about why he wasn’t rolling his hips, shifting in a slow grind that sent a flare of pleasure up his spine and made him groan.

He realized, waking up faster by the moment, that he could slide his hand up Obi-Wan’s stomach, under the hem of his shirt, dragging the fabric up. Obi-Wan gasped, twitching under him, pressing into his hand, and--

That was, of course, when Bones commed them to let them know that Amidala was finally waking up.

Cody swore and sat up, half-ready to throttle Bones. Obi-Wan pushed up on an elbow, and Cody glanced at him. He looked… soft. Rumpled. Sad, still, but Cody could hardly fault him for that. Cody’s gaze slid further, quite without his permission, and he shivered at the stretch of fabric across Obi-Wan’s--

Hips.

Cody blinked hurriedly, looking away again, and rasped, “Kriff.”

“Almost, but not quite,” Obi-Wan chirped back at him, with a fast little smile, before rolling out of the bed. And Cody stared at the far wall after Obi-Wan disappeared in the fresher, aching.

Cody felt distracted throughout the day. He was sure that it had been easier to set aside the flares of want in his gut, before. Then again, things between them had...shifted. Just a little. He found himself thinking about that shift, again, after they returned to their quarters in the evening.

He set out the food he’d grabbed from the mess, and Obi-Wan brought over two cups full of tea. They ate, discussed their next move - they’d almost finished the de-chipping enough to consider going to Kamino - and through all of it, Cody’s gut felt tight.

He cut Obi-Wan a sideways look as they straightened away the remains of their meal. They’d lived together for so long, fallen long ago into ritual and pattern. Obi-Wan would, likely, go meditate after the meal. Cody would clean his blaster, review reports.

He had no idea how to...adjust that schedule, to fit in the other things he wanted.

Cody blew out a breath, watching Obi-Wan rinse out their cups in the kitchenette, the throb of want in his gut getting stronger. He flexed his hands out, and, when Obi-Wan turned, washing up finished, Cody put a hand on his shoulder and rocked up against him, brushing a kiss to his mouth.

Obi-Wan made a sweet sound, hand settling at Cody’s hip, tugging him a little closer, so apparently he wasn’t terribly put out by having his meditation delayed. Cody slid fingers back into Obi-Wan’s hair, neck protesting the angle for a tinging moment, before Obi-Wan let himself slouch, leaning a hip against the counter, diminishing the difference in their height.

Cody groaned, because the shift in positions left them pressed together, and he couldn’t stop the roll of his hips. It felt good, and--

And Obi-Wan drew back from the kiss, nuzzling back towards Cody’s ear, and murmured, “I could give you a hand with that, if you like.”

The words made Cody’s hips shift again, and his voice sounded strange when he said, “Yes. I’d like--yes.”

He felt the curve of Obi-Wan’s mouth into a smile against his jaw. “Alright,” Obi-Wan said, and nudged him, coaxing him across the room and to their little bunk. Cody had vague ideas about how - this kind of thing was supposed to go, gathered here and there over the years, but they’d all of them fled his head as he eased down onto the mattress, Obi-Wan joining him a moment later.

He pulled Obi-Wan back into a kiss, pressing against him. It was second nature to press close to him in their bed, after all. Obi-Wan murmured against his mouth, a moment later, “It’s often nicer, without fabric in the way.”

Cody tried and failed to bite back the sound in his throat. He shifted, twisting up enough to pull his shirt off and toss it somewhere far away. He reached for the waistband of his pants and froze as Obi-Wan pushed off his undertunic, and--

Obi-Wan was still too thin. The remains of the damage to his shoulder and back hadn’t completely disappeared, the black and purple color a reminder of what Cody had ordered done to him, and--

“Cody?” Obi-Wan asked, quietly, tunic halfway down his arms, something tense in his voice. “Ah,” he said, a beat later, and started to tug the fabric up again.

“Don’t,” Cody blurted, reaching out to catch his hands, to arrest the movement. “I just.” He shook himself and, still squeezing Obi-Wan’s hands, leaned down into him, pressing a kiss to the edge of the purple mark, hearing Obi-Wan suck in a sharp breath at the touch.

“Oh,” Obi-Wan said, faintly, as Cody brushed kisses around the edges of the mark. He sank back against the mattress, and Cody followed along, releasing his hands to tug at the tunic, easing fabric out of the way. Obi-Wan ran hands over his skin, in return, touching here and there, everywhere.

Cody half-expected a comm to go off, as Obi-Wan tugged him up to kiss him again, but they stayed blessedly silent.

They stayed silent even as Obi-Wan nudged him over onto his side and slid a hand down his stomach, pausing at the edge of his pants to raise an eyebrow, to say, gently, “We don’t have to.”

Cody jerked out a nod. They’d had...an awkward conversation a few days past, during which Obi-Wan had felt the need to make it very clear that he was not simply expecting sex and would happily go without indefinitely, if Cody had no interest in it. Some people didn’t, he’d said.

Cody felt like he might perish if they didn’t proceed past the current moment. He lost patience and reached down, undoing the latches on his pants himself, and Obi-Wan grinned at him, leaning in to kiss him again, sliding his hand past the waistband and--

Cody had taken himself in hand too many times to count. He’d suspected, vaguely, that it would feel much the same to have someone else touch him. He groaned in pleasure and shock at the first brush of Obi-Wan’s fingers along his aching cock.

Obi-Wan’s fingers were long and slightly cool, callused here and there from years of lightsaber use. But he was so gentle. He stroked carefully, so different from the often perfunctory way Cody touched himself, just trying to bring himself off so he could get back to the rest of the day.

Cody groaned when Obi-Wan finally curled his hand. He pushed his hips up into the circle of Obi-Wan’s fingers, holding onto Obi-Wan’s forearm with one hand, some part of his brain desperate to make sure that Obi-Wan didn’t stop or go anywhere.

Obi-Wan pressed kisses to his jaw and throat as he moved his hand, not going fast as all. He shifted, and Cody gripped at his shoulder, well-aware that he’d...stalled out, almost, that he was just lying there and getting touched and perhaps he should--

“Hm,” Obi-Wan murmured, kissing his chest and shifting again. “I’m going to try something. I suspect you’ll rather like it.”

“What--” Cody started and stopped as Obi-Wan slid down his body, still moving his hand, shoulders bowing over and--

Cody made a strange, ragged sound, all the thoughts running out of his head at once. Obi-Wan had--curled over and licked him, hot and wet, lips just sliding over the tip of Cody’s cock and--

Obi-Wan made a sound that was almost a cough, strange and muffled, because he didn’t lift his mouth away when Cody’s body bowed up and he came, just like that, the touch so surprising and good. He’d had no defenses against it.

It felt--amazing. Cody slumped fully back against the mattress, breathing hard, pleasure radiating up through his gut and leaving him dazed. It was, he thought, not really comparable to what he’d been doing to himself in the fresher for years.

Obi-Wan leaned up, after only a moment, dragging his thumb across his wet bottom lip, a smile crooking up the corners of his mouth. There was no sign of a mess, and Cody groaned again, because - because he was used to the sonic blasting away any evidence, but Obi-Wan had swallowed it, it was inside of him, and--

“I’ll take that as a ringing endorsement of--” Obi-Wan started, and Cody grabbed him, pulling him down to kiss his mouth and shoving him, at the same moment, getting him sprawled on the bed. “Oh,” Obi-Wan said, a moment later, and then, voice getting breathier as Cody focused, “Oh.”

And, after, they curled together just as they’d always done at night, except without any clothes in the way. Skin pressed to skin, Obi-Wan’s back cradled against his chest. Cody let out a shuddery breath, tracing his fingers down the line of Obi-Wan’s side and back up again.

He...hadn’t known what to expect from sex. He’d heard plenty of his brothers talk about it and he’d seen some pornography. But-- he’d been unsure if it would--change things, or…

He slid his hand down Obi-Wan’s side again, around to his stomach, moving his palm up until it rested over Obi-Wan’s heart, beating steady and strong. He blinked his suddenly stinging eyes, burying his face against the back of Obi-Wan’s shoulder, realizing that it hadn’t, really, changed much of anything.

It hadn’t changed how he felt, or - or rewritten the stars. It was just...another little piece of their lives together, slotting into a new shape, a piece of pleasure they could share together and--

“Rest,” Obi-Wan said, softly, covering Cody’s hand with his own, warm and soft and safe in their bed, where he belonged.

#glimmer replies #ask me anything #make your bed lie in it #snippets #codywan #spicy #not safe for wizards #soft and sweet

247 notes · View notes

pilvimarja · 2 years

Text

Prompt used: “Indulge” and “Happy anniversary, baby.”

Post-college AU or as I like to call it, the Livin' on a Prayer AU, established relationship, pet names, belly kink (I'm not super experienced with this particular kink), eating, anal s3x.

Daniel is almost dead on his feet as he drags himself up to the third floor of their dilapidated apartment building, cheeks stained with oily smudges from his last repair job of the day. His stomach lets out a loud growl at the delicious smell of something spicy just outside of Mrs. Oliveira’s apartment, and he hopes Johnny's remembered to get some groceries or they’ll have nothing but stale saltines and ketchup for dinner. Again.

He’s greeted by Princess Cindy Clawford the moment he sets foot inside his and Johnny’s little shoe box of an apartment. “Hey, girl, did you miss me?” Principessa rubs her flank against his shin and offers him a pleased purr. “Hey, Johnny, I’m home!”

Johnny pokes his head out of the kitchen door and waves a cheese-stained spatula at him. “Oh, hey, babe. Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Great! I’m starving, man. Didn’t even have time for a lunch break. ” Daniel makes a beeline for the bedroom and shimmies out of his oily overalls, hopping from foot to foot as he leaves them in a heap on the floor.

“You won’t believe the day I’ve had." He grabs one of Johnny’s t-shirts from the laundry basket, gives it a quick sniff and pulls it over his head as he hurries to the kitchen. “This lady from Encino wrapped her Lambo around a lamp post. I spent almost four hours trying to undo the damage and—”

Daniel freezes mid-step when he sees that Johnny’s set the table, like, really set it, candles, fancy tableware, the whole shebang. “Um. What’s this?” He narrows his eyes at Johnny. “Did you break something again?”

“What? No!” Johnny cries out, shooting Daniel an offended glare over his shoulder, “and the radiator in our bedroom was already broken. I just gave it a little encouraging kick.”

“Repeatedly,” Daniel snorts.

Johnny grabs the kitchen towel and wets it under the sink, patting it against the oil stain on Daniel’s cheek. “You seriously don’t know why we’re celebrating?”

Daniel’s brain comes to a jarring halt. “We're celebrating?”

Johnny yanks on the collar of Daniel's t-shirt. “You know I love to see you in my clothes, but are you sure you wanna have our fifth anniversary dinner smelling like my BO?”

“What?! That’s today?” Daniel smacks his palm against his forehead. “Oh man, I feel like a total dumbass for not remembering.”

He rushes back into the bedroom, rummaging through their wardrobe for something more appropriate than a sweaty Van Halen shirt.

"There sure is a lot of flannel in here..."

Principessa lifts her head from her rumpled nest of sheets and gives Daniel a disinterested meow.

He's pretty sure he’s never owned a suit that fits, always forced into hand-me-downs from his older cousins. He struggles into an old dress shirt and presents himself to Johnny with a little twirl.

“Better?”

“Well, someone made an effort,” Johnny observes, giving Daniel an impressed whistle, “did that shirt shrink in the washer or something?”

Daniel tugs on the starched collar. “Hey, gimme a break here, I haven’t worn this since Nonna Valentina’s eightieth birthday.” He curls his fingers around Johnny’s mullet and pulls him down for a kiss. “And I’m sorry I forgot our anniversary.”

“It’s okay, babe, I know you’ve been working long shifts all month,” Johnny sits Daniel down at the table, the yellow vinyl cushioning on the chair’s squeaking under his weight, “but I’ve got something here that’ll knock your socks off.”

Growing up in a house where every meal was made by a professional cook had left Johnny a little culinarily challenged, but he’s come pretty far from the diet of TV dinners and beer he was living on when they first got together.

He sets a large pot in the middle of the table and lifts the lid, beaming like he’s revealing a masterpiece at the Louvre. “Tada!”

Daniel peeks into the pot and his eyes threaten to bulge out of their sockets as he lays them on golden, creamy deliciousness that is macaroni and cheese.

“Oh, Johnny, baby.” He smacks a kiss to his fingers and reaches across the table to press them to Johnny’s lips. “I love you man.”

Johnny’s ears flush pink and his mouth pulls into a smile that’s almost a frown. “It’s probably not as good as yours, but you know, dig in.”

Daniel does exactly that, piling cheesy pasta on his plate until it’s threatening to spill over the edges.

“Hey, hey, save some room for the dessert,” Johnny snorts, but Daniel doesn’t miss the way his pupils spill over his irises as he watches Daniel shove a forkful of pasta into his mouth.

And they don’t do this often, but he knows Johnny has a thing for watching him… indulge.

He strokes his toes up and down the length of Johnny’s shin as he tells him about his day at the garage, but he can tell Johnny is more focused on the slow swell of his stomach as he fills his plate with a second serving of pasta.

The seams of his shirt strain against his sides by the time the pot is empty, but Daniel drags his fingers through the cheesy remains on the bottom, popping them into his mouth with a satisfied groan.

"That was so goddamn good, Johnny. Eleven out of ten."

“You ready for dessert?” Johnny grins, conjuring a tub of gelato from the ice box.

Daniel makes a show of rubbing his palm over his stomach. “I don't know, I’m pretty full, man.”

Johnny’s eyes are dark as he circles around the table. “I told you to save some room for dessert, but you got greedy,” he scolds, tapping Daniel's nose with a spoon. “Come on, baby, just a little more, for me?” he helps Daniel up from the chair and nips at his bottom lip, “it’s chocolate.”

Daniel rolls his eyes and grabs the tub of gelato from Johnny’s hand. “You know that’s an offer I can’t refuse.”

He shuffles into the living room and slumps down on the sofa, scooping his spoon through the gelato. It's not as good as the fresh-made stuff at his aunt's diner back in Newark, but the chocolate is nice and sweet on his tongue.

"Christ... My jeans feel three sizes too small." Daniel lowers his hand to his zipper, but Johnny rushes to stop him.

“No, let me do that.”

He drops down on his knees and settles between Daniel’s spread thighs, his breaths heavy as he pops the button on his jeans.

“Now this is a nice view,” Daniel murmurs, running his fingers through Johnny’s feathery hair.

Johnny grins up at him, pulling Daniel's shirt tails out of his jeans. He drags the zipper down slowly, like he’s savoring the way Daniel's belly spills out.

The first couple of times they did this were a little weird, and Daniel still doesn’t know what about his full gut gets Johnny so hot, but he’s happy to humor him, especially if he gets to stuff his face with gelato while doing it.

He savors another chocolaty spoonful and watches Johnny stroke his fingers over the pearly buttons of his shirt, feeling the way they strain against his stomach.

“Fuck, Daniel.”

“You’re really into this, huh?” Daniel asks, a little overwhelmed by the raw desire he sees on Johnny's face, "making me big."

“Yeah.” Johnny brings his fingers to the collar of Daniel’s shirt and begins to unbutton it. “I know it’s a little weird, but I love you like this,” Johnny sighs, rubbing his hands over Daniel’s stomach, "full and content."

Daniel drags his tongue against the spoon with an appreciative mmmh and flicks his eyes to Johnny’s crotch where his cock is threatening to bust through his fly. “Yeah, I can tell.”

Johnny undoes the rest of the buttons, and Daniel breathes out a relieved sigh, trailing his fingers over the pink imprints on his skin. “Jesus," he gasps, staring at his belly with stunned eyes. "It's huge."

“Yeah, but I bet you can fit a little more in there.” Johnny pats Daniel’s stomach and takes the spoon from his hand, feeding him generous spoonfuls of half-melted gelato until Daniel’s ribs are starting to ache.

“No more, or I'll burst,” Daniel pants. “Besides, this ain’t the dessert I’m hungry for," he grins, rubbing the sole of his foot against Johnny’s crotch.

“You sure you can handle that tonight?” Johnny asks, eyeing the curve of Daniel’s full belly. “I don’t want you puking half-digested mac and cheese on me.”

Daniel wrinkles his nose. “You’re a real Casanova, you know?” He shoves his hand between the sofa cushions, wiggling his brows as he waves a tube of Slippery Stuff at Johnny. "Come on, babe, give it to me.”

Johnny yanks Daniel's jeans down his legs, his voice a low growl. "Oh, I'll give it to you, LaRusso."

Daniel lets Johnny undress him and drifts into a haze of bliss, his leg thrown over Johnny’s shoulder as he savors the stretch of his fingers. It’s been a while since they’ve done this. With Johnny’s late-night shifts at the diner and the extra work Daniel's been doing for Monty at the garage, even the occasional rushed hand job has felt like a rare luxury.

Daniel reaches down to touch Johnny’s pinky finger and gives his hand an insistent tug. “Give me more?”

“You sure? You’ve already got three.”

Daniel bites his lip, clenching around the girth of Johnny’s fingers. “Uh-huh.”

Johnny snorts, squirting more lube onto Daniel’s pink rim. “You’re such a size queen.” He works his pinky finger in with the rest of his fingers and leans down to mouth at the swollen curve of Daniel’s stomach. “You feeling full?”

“Yeah," Daniel sighs, curling his toes against the sole of his foot. "I can barely move.” He eyes the tented crotch of Johnny’s jeans. “You could make me even fuller, you know?”

Johnny breathes out a watery moan, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he unzips his jeans, cock so fat and flushed that Daniel’s hole clenches at the sight.

He tries and fails to get up and makes grabby hands at Johnny. “Come on, put those beefy arms to good use and help me up. I wanna ride you.”

Johnny laughs, giving Daniel a little flex. “You mean these beefy arms?”

Daniel lets out a pleased squeak as Johnny wraps his arms around his waist and lifts him up like he's still the scrawny little twig he was back in high school.

His knees dig into the peeling faux leather of the couch as Johnny settles him on his lap, and he tries to reach between his thighs, flushing red when he realizes that his stomach is in the way.

Johnny’s mouth pulls into a toothy grin. “Can’t reach?”

“And who’s fault is that, huh?” Daniel pouts.

Johnny drags his gaze over the bloated curve of Daniel’s belly, the very picture of self-satisfaction. “Mine.” He fits his cock against Daniel’s lube-slick hole, giving him the full length of it in one go.

“Ah!”

“You okay?” Johnny pants, blinking at Daniel with boyishly big eyes.

Daniel nuzzles his nose against Johnny’s flushed cheek. “I'm good.”

And it’s nice, the stretch of Johnny’s cock and the heavy fullness of his gut, the open desire in Johnny's eyes as he slips his thumb into the dent of Daniel’s belly button, fucking his finger in and out, in and out.

“Are you-are you into this?” Johnny asks, a little breathless.

“I like that you’re into it,” Daniel says gently, stroking his fingers over Johnny’s knuckles.

Johnny’s mouth stretches into a dopey grin. “I’m into you.”

The struggle of staying afloat with minimum wage ain’t no bed of roses, but Daniel wouldn’t trade his life with Johnny for anything, and he presses a gelato-sweet kiss to his lips. “The feeling’s mutual.”

Johnny drags his fingers through the trail of dark hair below Daniel’s navel and slips them under the obscene curve of his underbelly, jerking him with lazy strokes as he fucks into him.

“I can’t believe it.”

Daniel blinks at Johnny, eyes heavy-lidded. “Huh? Can’t believe what?”

Johnny stills his hips, his gaze darting around the small living room. “That you’ve put up with me for five years…”

“Oh, Johnny.” Daniel strokes his thumb against Johnny’s chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. “You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, baby.” Daniel leans in and plants a soft kiss to Johnny’s lips. “You’re so good to me. And you know my Ma loves you, as does my Nonna and my cousin Livia, especially after you played the guitar at her wedding like you were Eric Clapton or somethin’,” he snorts, “I bet they’d want you to put a ring on my finger if we could get—”

They share a knowing look and Johnny seals his lips against Daniel’s mouth as his smile begins to falter.

The kiss is hungry, all teeth and desperate want, and Daniel wails as he comes against the hard line of Johnny's abs in wet spurts, shaking with his orgasm.

Johnny presses his finger to Daniel's mouth. "Shh, not so loud." They both turn their eyes toward the ceiling, snickering at the familiar thump thump thump of frail old lady feet.

"I swear, one of these days, you're gonna get us evicted, you little slut," Johnny snorts.

"Hey, you're the one fucking me," Daniel grins, "I'm just enjoying the ride." He reaches back to touch where he's stretched around Johnny's cock. "You close?"

"Y-yeah," Johnny pants, hips jerking up from the couch. "You want me to pull out?"

It'll be messy with no rubber, but Daniel shakes his head, pressing a kiss to Johnny's flushed cheekbone. "I want you to come in me."

Johnny thrusts into him, his palms splayed over Daniel's belly as he fills him up like a round little cream puff. “Happy anniversary, baby.”

#Lawrusso #Lawrusso drabbles and ficlets #This one took a while because I rewrote most of the smut to include some belly kink #fun fact: i've never eaten macaroni and cheese

45 notes · View notes