#while less skilled ones are worse at that

[iwassupremacy]

Perfect Girl

Sawamura Daichi x f reader

Part one

Summary: It’s been a few days since your night with Daichi and even though you exchanged phone numbers and he texted you, you haven’t yet gathered the courage to answer him and even less to see him again. But you can’t stop yourself from wanting more.

Warnings: smut, aged up characters, softdom!Daichi, sub!reader, inexperienced!reader, sub drop (low key?), age gap of 7 years LEGAL OFC, thigh riding, nipple play,

“YOU HAD SEX?!” your best friend screams and dramatically slaps her hand on her mouth. You visibly cringed and looked away. “Don’t say it. Makes it real.” You mumbled.

“I’m fucking saying it. It’s fucking real, Y/N. You got laid. And looking at the way you’re blushing, it wasn’t bad. I would even dare to say you enjoyed yourself.” She laughed pointing at your neck “And clearly he enjoyed you too.”

You groaned. “Shut up. I’m lost. I don’t know what to feel or to think.”

The look in her face changed to something way more empathetic. She scooted closer to you and wrapped her arms around your fragile figure. “It’s okay, babe. How about you tell me about it first? If you want to.”

“He said all that?! Ohh he’s a talker.” Your best friend was literally kicking her legs in the air and squeaking. You frowned. “What?”

“You know, some guys don’t really talk much during sex. They just do their thing and are pretty much quiet while doing it. Some guys don’t even do anything tho. That’s when you have to take the lead.” She explained.

Your eyes widened. The idea of taking the lead in a situation like that frightening to you.

“But from what you just told me he sounds like he’s got both down just fine.” She calmed you

“Anyway, what next? What did you do? Do you have his number?”

You bit your lip and told her about the night three days ago.

After Daichi made you trink what felt like a gallon of water, you obviously had to go to the toilet. Finally peeing after he annoyed you about that all night.

Not once did he leave your side, checking up on you and asking wether you were fine or not several times.

It made you feel all giddy and made your stomach twist in a very comfortable way. But you still couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling inside you.

You just lost your virginity. Your virtue. To a random man you met at a club.

Sure he made it very clear that he was interested in you beyond just sex and assured you plenty of times that you didn’t have to sleep with him. But still.

What if that wasn’t true? Or worse. What if you did go on a few dates with him and all your chemistry got lost after immediately doing it?

How would you explain this to your parents? You probably shouldn’t. Would he ever meet your parents?

“You’ve been sitting on the toilet staring at me for more than 10 minutes now, sweetheart. I can see the wheels turning in your pretty head. What’s going on?”

You got torn away from your thoughts by his voice and only then realized you were actually staring at him standing across from you, leaning against the sink with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Oh. Nothing. I’m sorry for making you wait.” You quickly wiped yourself and flushed the toilet.

You stood up and now the two of you were just a few inches apart, both still naked and staring at each other.

Daichi’s brow raised. “No need to apologize. You are definitely thinking about something, don’t lie to me. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay.”

Once again his natural dominant behavior and especially his communication skills left you blushing and looking away.

But he didn’t have it. Instead he took your face in his hands and made you look at him again. You quickly realized tonight that he was a fan of eye contact and verbal answers.

“Come on. Let’s take a shower first.” He gently took your hands in his, kissing your forehead and leading the way into the shower.

The hot water soon hit both your hair and skin as well as Daichis and made you relax. Without realizing you had held a breath that you now finally let out.

For a good while neither of you said anything, just standing next to each other, enjoying the hot water.

But for some reason the silence made you doubt yourself. Did he not like your performance? Would he send you home after your shower and never talk to you again? Maybe he was like this with all girls and just did what he thought he had to?

You were clearly not the only girl he had slept with recently and it made you… jealous? Insecure? Maybe both.

He probably had a lot of comparisons he was thinking of right now. You for sure weren’t the best he ever had.

Your thoughts were interrupted by your own loud sob. Your eyes widened immediately and your hand went to cover your mouth. You didn’t even realize you were crying.

Daichi didn’t say anything and instead put his hand on the back of your wet hair and pushed your head into his chest, hugging you to him.

His second hand landed on your back, gently brushing it with his fingertips.

-

Later the two of you were lying in bed, your head on his naked chest and his hand in your hair, both trying to get some sleep.

You hadn’t talked since your little breakdown in the shower and even though you knew Daichi was probably doing it out of respect for you and not because he was angry, you still felt bad.

“I’m sorry about crying in the shower. That must’ve been so offensive to you.” you mumbled, tracing shapes with your finger on his stomach.

“Don’t. Don’t do that. I know all of this is new to you, that alone is a valid reason to feel overwhelmed. And then all that stuff with your family has to be rough. I get it, don’t worry. And you’re definitely not the first girl to cry after having slept with me, I can be a lot in bed.”

You looked up at him with a confused expression “What do you mean? I didn’t feel like it was too much.”

“I said a lot, sweetheart, not too much. Besides you didn’t get the full experience. Or did you think a power dynamic like this was the average experience, hm?” He winked at you, chuckling when your face visibly heated up.

“I- I don’t know what’s average, but I was wondering what all those hints were about…” you mumbled.

“You’ll see soon enough. If that’s what you want of course? Maybe you’d prefer someone softer who’d let you lead if you want?” His face tilted a little to the side with a questioning look.

“I don’t think so? I liked it that way. I mean I don’t know anything different, so it’s just- I am-“ you sighed “confused. I feel exhausted and anxious about what’s to come.”

“That’s okay. Don’t feel pressured. I am sorry to have asked you this when I knew you were struggling. Let’s just sleep, okay? The world will look much different tomorrow.”

You simply nodded but didn’t move, still holding your body up on his chest and looking at him. “Daichi?”

He didn’t reply and instead just raised his eyebrows. Your stomach twisted in a funny way but you still didn’t look away from him.

“Kiss me, please.”

Daichi grinned, wrapping his arms around you and turning the two of you over so that you were now lying under him.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

“Wow. That’s like… such a green flag?? What a man. What happened next? Don’t keep me in the dark here!” Your best friend demandingly snapped her fingers in front of your face.

You cleared your throat. “I left. I-“ you closed your eyes and sighed “I snuck out in the morning while he was still sleeping.”

Your best friends jaw practically hit the floor. “Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know. I- I felt bad, I guess? He was so nice and I am new to all of this. I can’t give him what he gave to me. The communication skills and confidence, I don’t have that.” You rambled, playing with your hands.

“Oh baby.” She pulled you in a tight hug, wrapping her arms around you again. “Look, from what I heard, he is very understanding. So I don’t think you need to worry about that at all. And confidence is something that can be gained. And communication can be learned. It’s not like your parents teached you much when it comes to those things.”

You quickly looked at her, eyes blown wide. “That’s another problem. How do I explain any of this to my parents? They will absolutely abandon me if they hear any of this.”

“Don’t tell them. Y/N, you’re 23, they are not entitled to this information. It’s your life. Your body. Your choice. I know you learned that your opinions and needs don’t matter but that’s so not true! And I think Daichi would be great at teaching you this.”

She silently giggled “Among other things.”

You groaned, letting your head hit her shoulder hard. “I have his number.”

She squeaked. “Even better! I would’ve just asked Sugawara for his number but if you have it already, we can text him now!”

Your face heated up. “He already texted me. I didn’t reply.”

“Rude. Come on, let me see.”

unknown: Hey you, when I woke up this morning you were already gone. Are you okay? Please text me once you see this, I’m a little worried.

saturday, 10:06 a.m

“Girl, you didn’t even safe his number?? And you completely ignored him! Not on my watch. We’re replying now.”

“But-“ “now.” She interrupted you. “How about something along the lines of ‘sorry I had a lot to think about. Would you like to meet up and talk about some things?’ How does that sound?”

“I don’t wanna meet up and talk about some things… he makes me nervous.” This was something you so far hadn’t even admitted to yourself. He made you nervous. What did that mean for you?

“Very cute. But you still have to see him again, babe. If you want this to work that is.”

-

Daichi was just heading out of the police station when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Quickly he looked at him expecting an important call.

What he saw instead surprised him.

Y/N: Hey… I’m so sorry for ignoring you… I had a lot to think about and needed some time, but I’m good now. Would you like to meet up?

thursday, 2:34 p.m

He didn’t expect to hear from you so soon or at all to be honest. But that wasn’t to say he wasn’t glad you answered him. One might even say he was relieved.

Ever since he woke up and you weren’t there anymore he had an anxious feeling in his chest because even though he wasn’t surprised when he couldn’t find you, he still wanted to see you again.

The last time Daichi was in a serious relationship, was a very long time ago and although he was content with being single and having unattached flings, he felt at the age of 30 it was time to settle down.

Of course he would’ve never imagined to meet a random girl at a club who was not only seven years younger than him but also extremely inexperienced. But he couldn’t help it.

You were constantly on his mind and he wanted to show you every thing you were missing out on so badly. Not only sexually but in general.

Due to his dominant character, Daichi was used to being the caregiver and in charge in his previous relationships but with you it was different.

He wanted to protect you, provide for you and make you forget every bad thing that had ever happened to you. He wanted to take you away from your unsafe and toxic environment and show you love. Real unconditional love.

Which was kinda crazy and new to him, considering he only knew you for six days.

Naturally Daichi immediately answered your text once he got in his car.

Daichi: Don’t worry about it. I just got off of work, do you have time right now?

thursday 2:46 p.m

To his surprise you quickly texted him that you could be ready in an hour and you agreed to meeting at your favourite café.

Daichi smiled. You would meet again in an hour and he wasn’t just nervous but also excited to see your nervous composure which you would for sure have. You were cute like that.

-

You brushed down your dress on last time, looking down at your body. You were wearing probably one of the most revealing outfits you had ever worn.

Just two weeks ago you would‘ve gasped at the black dress at it’s low cut neckline, that heavily exposed your cleavage, or the fact that it ended in the middle of your thighs, exposing your legs.

“You had sex with this man, y/n. Wear the damn dress.” Your best friend had said. She also made you shave.

Which was only a little embarrassing to be honest.

“I’m not gonna do it.” you had complained. “If he sees it, I’d seem desperate.” She had only laughed at that. “If he sees it, you had every reason to do it, honey”

She was right with this of course but it still felt weird. If your parents or anyone from church could see you like this, you’d be in big trouble.

“You gonna go inside or just stare at the door?” A hand got placed on your lower back and you immediately jumped.

Your body tensed and all the hair on your body was suddenly standing up.

Just when you wanted to turn around the hand removed itself, brushing your hair off your shoulder. “Relax, sweetheart. It’s just me.”

“Daichi!” You shouted, almost too excited. You went to give him a hug, but stopped yourself. How do people greet each other that are romantically involved?!

Daichi raised his eyebrows at your action and chuckled, hugging you to his chest. “How are you feeling?”

This chest vibrated against yours while speaking, making your body tingle from how deep his voice was.

Slowly you broke up the hug by pushing at his chest. Your hands remained on his chest and you thought of how you were touching him there just a few nights ago when the two of you were naked and how much he seemed to enjoy it.

Your eyes widened in shock. What an inappropriate thought. Embarrassed you took a step back, staring at him with blown eyes.

Once you noticed the amused look on his face you quickly looked back down at your feet again. It was almost as if he knew what you thought.

“How are you feeling, y/n?” He asked again, eyebrows raised again, staring at you a little too intense.

“Good, I think. You?” You tilted your head slightly to the side looking at him through blown eyes. Daichi doubted you even noticed the innocent look on your face.

“You think?” He frowned, slowly starting to push you in the direction of the door of the café.

You almost stumbled at the gesture, luckily catching your step in time. “Yes, been a little… in my head?”

“I see. There’s a lot to talk about, hm?”

You simply nodded at that, walking through the door Daichi held open for you. “Thanks.” You muttered.

Daichi bit his lip at that. He just loved how polite you were. So well behaved.

“Where would you like to sit?” You turned around and asked him. Again Daichi bit his lip, this time you noticed of course, staring at them.

Quickly you cleared your throat, shaking your head a little. “Ehm, I like window seats but we can sit wherever you like!”

“A window seat sounds perfect to me. Choose your favourite one, sweetheart.”

You opened your mouth to protest, you asked him to choose, but you figured Daichi wouldn’t give in anyway so you just opted for your regular seat by the window.

Once you had taken you seat, Daichi pulling back your chair and having you sit first, of course, a waitress came quickly to take your orders.

You chose your favourite caramel latte and a brownie while Daichi unsurprisingly sticked to a simple black coffee and nothing else.

“So… how was work?“ You awkwardly asked, avoiding eye contact. Daichi chuckled and shook his head a little.

“Unadventurous, I got some paperwork done for the most part. What is it you do, exactly? You never told me. I remember you dodging the question several times last Friday.“

Of course you dodged a question like that after all he had said about the religious beliefs of your family. You swallowed thickly and just when you were about to spin some lie for him, the waitress came with your order.

Immediately your shoulder relaxed which Daichi realised, furrowing his brows. Still he politely thanked the woman, his eyes never leaving your shy frame though.

When she was gone and he still looked at you, not saying or doing anything, you felt yourself starting to squirm.

And then the inevitable happened. You began rambling.

“Did you know that in some parts of the world it‘s not allowed to call oat milk, oat milk? Because milk is defined by being drawn from a living animal and therefore-“

Suddenly Daichi grabbed your aggressively gesturing hands, shutting you up right away. “What are you talking about?“ He laughed.

“Sorry“ You muttered embarrassed by your own behaviour.

“Were you trying to make me forget my question?“ He still had a smug smirk plastered over his face.

“No! Yes…“ his smile grew at your nervous breakout, muttering a quiet cute to himself.

“But it wasn‘t on purpose! Sometimes when I feel overwhelmed or just don‘t know what to do I start talking about the most random stuff because I can‘t deal with uncomfortable silence and silence is always uncomfortable.“

“You think so? What about when you were at my place, hm? There was a lot of silence between us, did you feel uncomfortable then?“ His head tilted slightly to the side, mustering you.

You sighed defeatedly. “No, of course not, but that was different.“

“How so?“

You sighed again. No way out of this conversation. At least you made him actually forget about his earlier question. “Because I wasn‘t uncomfortable, I guess? I don‘t know.“

“Sounds very reasonable, sweetheart. I feel proud you are comfortable with me. But you still managed to successfully dodge my question, hm. There‘s no job to be embarrassed about or will you be in trouble when you tell me, because I‘m a policeman?“ He tried to lighten the mood.

You managed to laugh a little, but still looked worried. Daichi feared he hit a nerve and just when he wanted to reassure you that you did in fact not have to tell him anything you don‘t want to, you spilled.

“There‘s no job to be embarrassed about because“ you mindlessly picked apart your brownie like a little kid would “because there is no job at all.“

Daichi only smiled a pitiful smile at that, his thumbs caressing your wrists. “That‘s it?“ He chuckled.

“Baby, you made me think you did something highly illegal or inappropriate. Why are you so embarrassed?“

You frowned, almost angry retreating your hands from his grip. “I‘m not just embarrassed, I am ashamed. I‘m in my twenties and have never worked a single day in my life, Daichi! What does that make me?“

“In your case a young, confused woman. If it‘s so horrible for you, why don‘t you change it?“

You swallowed thickly, now this topic again. You bit your lip, looking away from him and that‘s when he understood.

“Your family doesn‘t allow you to have a job, do they?“ He asked and you slightly shook your head at that. “Poor girl. You really have some issues to resolve, hm?“

You silently took a bite, the fork straying in your mouth for a little so you could subconsciously chew on it.

Daichi watched you for a few seconds before pulling it out of your mouth. You came back to reality and looked back at him with shocked eyes.

Your hand quickly covered your face. “Oh God, sorry! I‘m acting as if my life is terrible or something. Most people would probably be happy to be financed by their family and do whatever they want without working for it.“

“Don‘t apologise, I get it. You want to decide things for yourself and not depend on your parents for everything in your life. You don‘t want to be treated like a child.“ He concluded.

You paused for a second, looking at him through blown eyes. “Yes. Yes! That‘s exactly it. They are trying to make me depend on them, need them until I have a husband I can depend on and stay home and take of our children. I don‘t want that for myself.“

“And that’s fine, sweetheart. You‘re a grown woman, you can do whatever you want. I know that sounds impossible, but it‘s not. I can help you.“ He assured you, taking a sip from his coffee.

You smiled your first real smile for the day. “I think I would like that.“ Your smile dropped “But it‘s not gonna be easy for me… I tend to run away from my problems and ignore them.“

Daichi blew air through his nose, laughing. “I could tell.“

You blushed behind your mug. “‘M sorry.“ You mumbled.

“It‘s okay, I thought this might happen before things even got heated.“ He looked at you, winking. “Don‘t do it again though and don‘t ever ghost me afterwards. I was worried about you.“

“I‘m sorry. I was just so overwhelmed and I didn‘t want to make you feel like it was your fault that I felt this way and I figured it would be best if I handled things on my own.“

“You shouldn’t feel like you have to deal with things on your own. I want to know things, y/n. Talk to me, only then I can understand and help you. The things we did that night can be overwhelming just on their own, especially if done for the first time and with all your stuff on top, I wan‘t to be there for you.“

You put both your hands on your hot, reddened cheeks and simply nodded at his statement.

Daichi raised his brows, urging you to answer. Which you did with a mumbled ‘okay‘. For now he just accepted that.

-

Later when the two of you had finished your drinks and food, it was already getting dark and the shop was about to close.

“Let‘s get out of here, okay?“ Daichi suggested and you nodded.

He stood up before you could, taking your jacket and pulling his hand out for you to take. Of course he paid, too.

You smiled and shook your head a little. Waiting for his change at the register, he heard your laugh, looking back at you with a smirk and raised eyebrows, looking gorgeous in his leather jacket.

You bit your lip, looking back at your phone, where you were texting your best friend about what a gentleman he was being right now.

When he came back, Daichi put his hand on your lower back to lead you out of the café.

“Are you here by bus or is your car parked here somewhere.“ Daichi asked in the parking lot.

You scrunched your nose. It was getting quite cold. “Bus. I don‘t have a driver‘s license.“ You admitted.

Wordlessly Daichi took off his jacket, putting it over yours and said:“Let me guess, your parents said you don‘t need one.“

You nodded and he shook his head. “I‘ll drive you then.“

-

The drive was rather quiet, only the occasional directions given by you interrupted the comfortable silence between the two of you.

For once, you didn’t feel the need to ramble. For once, you enjoyed the silence.

The only thing that got your heart racing, and embarrassingly enough your thighs squeezing, was his hand resting on the inside of your knee every time he had to look back or the car came to a halt.

Of course Daichi noticed you squirming but spared you the embarrassment of saying anything. He couldn’t help but smile to himself tho. Cute.

Once you arrived at your apartment, his hand once again landed on your leg, this time a little higher, squeezing your thigh.

“Meet me again this week, hm? I can’t seem to get enough of you.” He chuckled and started rubbing your leg on the inside with his thumb.

Again you squeezed your legs at that, immediately clearing your throat to distract him from your uncontrolled actions.

“Okay…” you murmured, avoiding eye contact with him.

Daichi chuckled again, slowly removing his hand from your thigh. Without a second thought you grabbed it, looking at him wide eyed.

He just raised his eyebrows at that, smirking a little. But when he didn’t say or do anything except for staring back at you, you all of a sudden felt incredibly nervous, letting go of his hand again.

“Sorry! I don’t know why I did that.”

Without a word, Daichi just smiled and just pulled his seat back, spreading his legs a little.

“Come, sit.” He said, patting his thigh.

Your eyes went even wider. “No, no. The space is-“

“Plenty enough. Sit now.” He said again, this time a little firmer, making it almost sound like an order.

Once you unbuckled your seatbelt, finally did he budge by lending you a hand.

You looked at him, feeling a little helpless but still awkwardly took it and started climbing over the middle console. Daichi watched you with an amused expression.

You clumsily landed on his lap, but only on one of his legs, your core pressing against his thigh. You looked at him with hot cheeks and put your hands on his shoulders to push yourself up again.

When you tried to move and sit on both his legs though, he stopped you with his hands on your waist. “Don’t. Like this is fine.”

Your eyes went even wider, if possible, your hands squeezing his shoulders, still trying to push your weight up. When he carefully, but with force, pulled you down, you could only yelp surprised by his sudden action.

“Are you sure? I know I can be quite hea-“

He interrupted you by putting his hand on your mouth and as if on instinct you grabbed his wrist, with both of your hands.

Diachi took in the sight in front of him with dark eyes, his pants growing incredibly tight. Your eyes were innocently blown, cheeks flushed, thighs squeezed together around his own and hands holding onto him. He had to resist the urge to lower his hand a little and wrap it around your tiny neck.

He groaned at his own, intruding, yet appealing thought. But when he saw the unsure look on your face, he was painfully reminded why he couldn't indulge in such actions with you, at least not yet.

So instead of doing what he so painfully wanted to, Daichi let his hand go through your hair, putting some loose strands behind your ear and giving you an understanding expression,

"Don't finish that sentence, sweetheart, or it will wound my pride." He laughed at your confused look with the little head tilt, you probably never noticed.

But instead of explaining what he meant, he very slowly, very carefully pulled you against him.

Your chest hit his, your arms curled around his neck, having your fingertips play with the hair at the back of his head.

You subconsciously sucked your lower lip between your teeth, biting it.

He car was deadly silent, so was the parking lot and for the moment you forgot that any one of your neighbours could come by and see you like this.

Not that they would care.

Still biting at your lip, you admired the face of the man below you. Sharp jaw, deep brown eyes, a little stubble on his chin, fluffy, short hair.

Your thoughts were disrupted by Daichi’s finger pulling your lip out of your mouth with his thumb, caressing it in the process.

You gasped at that, leaving your mouth open a little, perfect for his thumb to find its way inside.

At first only a little, testing the waters, but when you didn’t resist, Daichi chuckled, this time differently, it was dark and fucking sexy.

It made you whimper and when he pushed his thumb all the way in, you couldn’t help but let out a full on moan.

You can feel your entire face, ears and neck heat up from embarrassment, but you didn’t care anymore, when Daichi, with a hoarse, deep voice orders you to suck.

Without a second thought, you do as you’re told and you wonder if he has you wrapped around his fingers right now, if you would do everything he told you. Probably.

“Good girl. You’re so perfect for me, aren’t you?”

You look at him through hazy eyes when his thumb leaves you with a quiet plop of your mouth.

You can see him swallow thickly, hands wandering down to your ass, squeezing your breasts and hips in the process.

“You tell me if any of it gets too much, okay?” He asks, kneading your ass.

You’re overwhelmed, fisting his shirt but he still has your cunt gushing and clenching.

“Yes. Kiss me, Daichi, please.” You whined, pushing back against his hands.

Your clit rubbed on his rough jeans perfectly from your movement, making you whimper. “Oh~”

“Feels good, hm? Keep moving if you like it, princess.” Daichi kissed your throat as he let his hands wander under the skirt of your dress.

His fingertips felt a thin layer of lace, making him frown. He looked up again your red face.

“Where are your granny panties? I liked those, you know.”

You blew air in your cheeks, letting out an embarrassed squeal. “I just thought maybe you’d like these better?”

He couldn’t help but smile boyishly at your confession. “So you hoped we might have sex today?”

Your eyes grew wide at his bold statement. “No! I- just in case. My friend- oh god this is terrible.”

Your head fell forward, hitting his chest. You could feel it vibrating when Daichi laughed. “I’m just teasing, sweetheart. Wear whatever you feel like wearing.”

You laughed a little at him and for a few seconds you didn’t look up, gathering your courage. “So about that kiss-“

Before you could even finish your sentence, Daichis lips were already on yours, his tongue licking your lower lip, gently nibbling at it.

You sighed, your body relaxing against him, one of your hands burying itself deep in his hair, the other brushing his face while desperately letting him in your mouth.

Daichi’s hands grab your hips and with a little force, he gets you to move again. Your wet cunt rubbing on his leg.

Your breath stuttered at the friction, your eyes squeezing shut.

But you couldn’t stop moving, slowly rutting against Daichi’s leg.

After he realised, you’d move on your own, Daichi slowly started to pull down the straps of your dress, exposing your bra.

It was lacy as well without any cup, exposing your hard nipples. It probably matched your panties and Daichi would love to see it, but the sight of you humping his thigh was much more inviting.

You were pretty much in your own world, barely realizing him removing your bra until he twisted one of your nipples, making you jump and gasp.

Your hips fastened, hands desperately shaking, fisting Daichi‘s shirt and hair.

He was still playing with one of your breasts, while his other hand was slowly moving up your back.

“You okay, princess?” He whispered in your ear, his hand tangling in your hair, slightly pulling your head back to expose your neck.

You moaned at that, quickly nodding your head.

Of course he wouldn’t have that, his hand leaving your chest and touching your neck and chin again. “I asked if you were okay. Answer me properly, sweetheart.”

Your eyes went wide, lips parting slightly to let out a quiet whimper. “I’m okay. Daichi, please. I can’t~ hah.”

Your hips were still moving, slower than before. Daichi raised his brows at you, hands now cradling your face.

“Fuck~” he cursed under his breath. You were literally perfect, with your blown eyes, messy hair framing your face, lips swollen and face read.

“What is it, sweetheart? Tell me, come on.” He leaned in really close, his lips brushing yours. “I know you can do it.”

Your face went even redder, heat spreading all the way to your ears and neck. “I can’t~” your breath hitched “I can’t- cum like this.”

You let out an embarrassed whine, trying to hide your face. He didn’t let you though, still gripping your face.

“Hmm. Thank you for telling me, princess. Such a good girl.” He said against your lips, lightly biting your lower lip and pulling it.

Once again you whined, your hands gripping his biceps. Your hips stopped, thighs pressing together around his leg.

“Come on, princess.” Daichi chuckled, tapping your thigh. “Spread your legs for me.”

You bit your lip, slowly swinging your leg over his, now fully sitting in his lap.

Daichi started getting more comfortable in his seat, pulling it all the way back, sliding down a little and man spreading as far as this position allowed.

You looked at him with hot cheeks, legs now equally spread. Everything he did was just so attractive to you.

So of course you couldn’t keep in your high pitched moan when he pulled your lower half towards him and pushed your back against the steering wheel.

Your dress slid up all the way to your stomach like this, leaving only your lacy, wet panties to cover you up.

Daichi looked at you, taking the way you gave yourself to him so willingly in, smirk plastered on his face.

Suddenly his eyes darkened, expression changing to something that almost looked like possessiveness.

“Fuck I love your body, princess. Especially your titts, don’t get me wrong. But they’re for my eyes only, do you understand?”

You just looked at him with a frown, head slightly tilted to the side, not fully understanding what he was trying to say.

Daichi chuckled again, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe you didn’t understand him. He looked you straight in the eyes, intensely mustering you.

Without another word he slowly pulled the straps of your dress up again, his fingertips brushing your arms in the process, making you shiver.

When he was done, his hands gripped your shoulders, massaging them just the tiniest bit before moving down to your hips.

His eyes were still on you when he quietly said “I’m going to touch you now, okay?”

You squirmed at the thought of that, nodding and letting out a breath of what sounded like an “okay”

One of Daichi’s hands went even further down, pulling your panties to the side and sliding his middle finger from your hole up to your clit.

You hissed at that, trying to close your legs. Which of course Daichi didn’t have, his free hand was now gripping your leg, forcing it open a little more.

to be continued…

If you ever wondered what the man of my dreams is like. This is it. I made myself blush with this skandnwnskwnqne

I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did!

I am also kinda embarrassed how long it took me to write this… part 3 will hopefully not take as long… no promises, though it is already in progress

[alexandralyman]

Frankie Morales x Reader fic

A little "friends with benefits" Frankie fic for my partner in crime @meanderingcaptainswanmusings - who loves Frankie Morales like I love Dave York!

Summary: You and Frankie are friends. Just friends and nothing more. But after a bad breakup with your dickhead ex and a failed attempt at a Tinder hookup, you find yourself on Frankie's doorstep one Saturday night in a bodycon dress and fuck-me heels. Turns out, Frankie is more than willing to oblige. After all, what are friends for?

8,221 words, rated E for general sexytimes and Frankie's skill with his mouth. AO3 link here

Hope you Frankie fans enjoy!

Frankie With Benefits

You step out of the Uber, muttering your thanks to the driver while closing the door with your phone already in hand to give him five stars and a good tip despite your foul mood. It wasn’t his fault that your date was such a disaster after all, plus he didn’t try to make small talk and played good music instead of some douchey podcast. You can still hear the faint Cuban rhythms as he drives off into the sultry Florida night, it’s both hot and humid as per usual and the contrast between the ice-cold AC in the car to the nearly triple-digit temps outside is a shock to your system that distracts you from noticing something is off until it’s too late.

”Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

While the building in front of you is very familiar, it’s decidedly not your apartment complex. Your plans of changing out of your tight dress and fuck-me heels into some ratty old pjs and killing the bottle of wine chilling away in your fridge while you delete Tinder for good because men fucking suck has just been thrown a major curveball. You open Uber back up to check your ride history and squint at the screen through the false eyelashes that took forever to put on, realizing with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that you must have tapped on the wrong destination when you left the bar in such a rush while telling your date where to shove it. That’s the only explanation as to why you’re not currently looking at your front entrance.

You’re looking directly at Frankie’s house instead.

Fuck.

Standing at the end of his driveway feeling very self-conscious in your bodycon dress with your driver already long gone, you go to book a new ride so you can slip away before any of Frankie’s nosy neighbors start to wonder about the woman loitering on their quiet little street in an outfit that’s decidedly not “family friendly.” Or worse, before Frankie sees you. A minute ticks by, then two, and no drivers pop up, not even with ridiculous surge pricing that you’ll gladly pay just to get home.

“C’mon, c’mon. Ugh!”

You finally give up as the streets nearby stay frustratingly empty on the little map, stuffing your phone into your purse with a sigh and turning to face Frankie’s house. His living room light is on so he’s obviously home and not out with the guys tonight, you can see the soft yellow glow through the curtains like a beacon offering safe harbor after a shitty evening.

It’s Frankie. If you can’t be alone in your apartment drowning your sorrows in grocery store wine, there’s really nowhere else you’d rather be.

“He needs to resurface his driveway,�� you mutter under your breath as you carefully pick your way up the asphalt towards his front door. You’re certainly not wobbling with every step because you wore stilettos that make your butt look great but you can’t actually walk properly in. That’s your story and you’re sticking to it. You manage to make it all the way without breaking an ankle, knocking and wondering if it would be less embarrassing to head barefoot to the bus stop at the corner instead of admitting why you’re here. But before you can kick them off and make a break for it Frankie answers, blinking in confusion when he sees you standing on his doorstep in a dress with a neckline that plunges more than an Olympic diver and shoes that cost half a month’s rent, feeling like a complete idiot.

“Hey,” he says, reaching up to scratch behind his neck as he takes you in with those dark, expressive eyes of his. “Um…did we have plans tonight, or something?

He stares openly at your cleavage for a moment before his gaze snaps back up to your face with a sheepish look. If it was any other man you’d be annoyed, but Frankie has never ogled or leered at you in all the time you’ve been friends, and you did just show up unannounced at his door with your tits on full display, after all. You don’t mind if he takes a peek, someone might as well get to appreciate them tonight.

“No,” you reassure him. “Can I come in? I just bailed on a shitty date and must have accidentally picked your address when I ordered an Uber instead of mine. I tried to book another one to take me home but there’s no drivers around right now.”

Frankie nods. “Sure, sure, of course,” he says, shuffling aside to let you in and closing the door behind you with a soft click. You kick off your heels with a sigh because it would be rude to wear them in his house and not because they’re absolutely killing your feet, letting them tangle with his sneakers and already feeling a little better.

“Mi casa et su casa,” he adds with a gallant sweep of his arm once you’re safely inside.

You’ve spent a decent amount of time at Casa Morales since you first met Frankie a few years ago and quickly became friends with him, coming over for everything from backyard BBQs with his Delta Force buddies and their families, to movie nights on his couch just the two of you, to hauling your laundry over in his truck when the machines in your building went out of order again and he insisted that you use his instead of spending money at a laundromat. You know your way around his place. His house is small, but it’s bright and airy just like the ones you sigh over while browsing Zillow in your apartment, and while Frankie’s life can be messy at times (mainly thanks to said Delta Force buddies, Santiago Garcia in particular) he keeps his home neat and tidy and welcoming. When you go into the living room there’s nothing out of place, just a half-eaten bowl of chips and a bottle of beer on the coffee table. On a coaster, no less. The TV is still on, he was obviously enjoying a quiet night in for one when you crashed his evening in a dress that revealed more than it covered and shoes your credit card and arches were both still recovering from.

He follows you in, his presence at your back familiar and comforting despite your current “men fucking suck” state of mind. Frankie’s the lone exception at the moment.

“I’d drive you home but I’ve already had a few beers tonight. Wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

You wave off the apology in his voice. “It’s fine, I’ll just give it a few minutes and book another ride.”

“Uh, about that….”

You turn and look at him, confused. He gives you a “don’t shoot the messenger” look with both hands raised and nods towards the TV.

“The game just finished. All the Uber drivers are going to be down at the stadium by now.”

“Son of a bitch,” you swear, closing your eyes in frustration. You couldn’t have picked a worse night to get stranded without a ride, everyone within a twenty mile radius of the stadium knows it’s impossible to get an Uber after any big event. Frankie knows it, you know it, you just didn’t plan on your date being a lying asshole and having to compete with twenty thousand sportsball fans for a lift home. That’s it, you were done with dating apps for good, if you hadn’t downloaded Tinder again you could be at home in bed right now having a threesome with your wine and your vibrator and as a bonus your feet wouldn’t hurt.

Yeah, you’re pretty sure you have a few blisters. The damn shoes were just like men, looked so great at first and then rubbed you in all the wrong places.

“Sooooo,” Frankie drawls when you flop down ungracefully on his couch, eyeing you carefully from his tactical position behind the coffee table. “You were on a date tonight? I thought you said you’d given up on dating after Dickface McDickhead….oh fuck, please tell me you’re not back together with that asshole again?”

His nickname for your ex always makes you snort. Frankie was never his biggest fan. He wasn’t Frankie’s either, hating the fact that you two were such good friends. When you finally broke up with him for good, Frankie threw a BBQ the following weekend and grilled you the best steak you’d ever eaten with a huge smile on his face.

”What are we celebrating?” Santi asked when he arrived, putting down the beer he’d brought and eyeing the streamers and balloons decorating Frankie’s backyard in confusion.

“The fact that I won’t go to jail for throwing trash out of my helicopter,” Frankie said.

Santi stared blankly at him. “The fuck are you on about, Fish?”

Frankie just grinned at you over Santi’s shoulder while you rolled your eyes and grabbed one of the drinks. He even had a party hat perched jauntily on top of his ballcap, and a piñata hanging up in the yard, “for the kids”.

You took a few good swings at it with the bat he handed you while picturing your ex’s face on the paper-mache.

The mere thought of getting back with Drew, aka Dickface, makes you shudder. “No, I’m not back with him, and I’m still done with dating.”

You swipe some chips out of the bowl and tuck your legs under you, ignoring how high it makes your dress ride up your thighs with only a token effort to tug it back down.

“You’re done with dating, but you were out on a date? Little confused here.”

Frankie sits down on the other end of the couch, muting the post-game recap on the TV and turning so that he’s facing you. He’s all casual in jeans and a faded T-shirt that stretches over his broad shoulders when he twists, hair falling on his forehead in a mop of messy curls without his usual hat to cover them. You should feel out of place in your sexy little dress, full-glam makeup and the “effortless beachy waves” that took you an hour, three different tutorials and a whole fucking lot of effort to achieve, but you’re far more comfortable here with him than you were with the man you ditched back at the trendy bar full of wannabe influencers with insanely overpriced cocktails. Comfortable enough to tell him the truth, with a little help from the tequila in the deconstructed margaritas that you drank.

“It was supposed to be a hookup,” you mumble, feeling your cheeks go warm in a combination of embarrassment and alcohol.

His eyes go wide at that and he lets out a little cough of surprise. “That explains the dress,” he says, glancing down at it again before quickly looking back up at your face.

You wave a hand up and down yourself. “Dress, shoes, lip gloss,” you list off, not mentioning the rather skimpy new underwear that you’re one wrong move away from flashing him with. “I was tired of sitting home alone on Saturday nights, you know?”

”Hey!” he protests, and you duck your head with a wince. It’s Saturday night and he was sitting home alone until you showed up.

“Sorry. No offense, Frankie.”

“None taken, cariño. But only because it’s you.”

The casual endearment makes you feel even warmer, or maybe it’s just the Patrón you downed before leaving Mr. Talk, Dark, and Liar Liar Pants on Fire back at the bar hitting your system.

“Deconstructed margarita” your ass, it was a shot of triple sec and a shot of tequila with a hideous up charge, and they didn’t even include the lime.

You could leave it at that, suggest watching a shitty Netflix movie to pass the time until you can finally book an Uber and go home to change into something that isn’t squeezing your ribs into new and interesting positions and drink the finest chardonnay Publix had for under ten dollars. Frankie won’t push, won’t judge, you’ve been friends long enough to know that. You’ve seen each other through various highs and lows over the years, he was the first person you called when you got a promotion that you’d worked your ass off for, and when he found out his ex-fiancée was getting married you were the one who picked him up at the bar where he was drowning his sorrows and brought him home to drunkenly cry on your shoulder until he passed out.

If there’s anyone in the world who you can trust with this, it’s him.

“Those last few months with You Know Who,” you start, meaning your ex and not Voldemort despite their many similarities, “we were fighting like all the time. I knew deep down our relationship had become this flaming dumpster fire, but for some stupid reason I kept splashing water on it trying to put it out instead of walking away. And then we had the worst fight ever, and he said…he said-”

You could really do with another shot of tequila for some liquid courage right now. You settle for drinking the last of Frankie’s beer instead while he watches you carefully, tipping the bottle back to get every drop and then setting it down on the coaster with an audible thump.

“-he said I was a frigid bitch in bed and he would have better sex fucking a blow up doll instead of me. That’s what finally did it, I told him we were over. He tried to apologize and begged for another chance, but I just kept hearing it over and over again in my head and I was done. Finally done.”

A muscle ticks in Frankie’s jaw like the countdown clock on a bomb, you can see it even through the scruff of his patchy beard. He glances away for a second and you see his eyes close while he mutters under his breath in Spanish too soft and too fast for you to understand before his gaze snaps back to yours.

“I take it back, he’s not a dickhead,” he says, sounding completely calm. “That’s an insult to actual dickheads. And he’s going to be lucky if he can still run his mouth like that once I’ve knocked out all his teeth.”

Even though he’s ex-military Frankie has never been one for that bullshit macho posturing, which is one of the things you like so much about him. He breaks up bar fights, he doesn’t start them. To see him now, so calm and collected but with such an intense expression and not a hint on his face that he’s kidding or exaggerating, it sends a jolt right through you. His threat to your dickhead of an ex-boyfriend shouldn’t be so sexy, but….

Damn.

You reach out and flick him lightly on the shoulder. “He’s not worth it, and I really don’t want to have to bail your ass out of jail at three in the morning again, Morales.”

“Hey, that was one time!” he protests, adding in a mumble. “And it was Santi’s dumb idea.”

His annoyed pout just makes you laugh, shaking your head at how closely he resembles his namesake when he juts his lower lip out like that. Cutest catfish ever.

“So,” he drawls, after you stop chuckling, “since you didn’t go back to that asshole, thank fuck, then who was the lucky guy tonight? Or unlucky guy, since you ditched him for far better company.”

You shrug, plucking idly at the fabric of your dress. “Just someone I matched with on Tinder. I really wanted to prove Dickface wrong, you know? That I wasn’t uptight and sucked in bed. Swiped right on someone who didn’t have a douchey shirtless mirror selfie in his profile, we met for drinks and everything was going great until a text popped up on his phone while he was showing me a picture of his dog. From his wife.”

Frankie winces. “Seriously?”

The notification lingered on the screen while he frantically tried to swipe it away, not that it would do any good. You were a fast reader, you’d already read the whole thing.

“Yeah. Letting him know there were leftovers waiting for him in the fridge when he got home from work, with a bunch of kiss emojis and a ‘love you babe’. He tried to do the whole, ‘it’s not what you think, we have an open marriage’ bullshit, which sure, I bet he does, so I told him to call his wife and put her on speaker so we could clear that right up.”

“That’s my girl,” Frankie grins.

The praise flows through you like the tequila, remembering how your date went pale as a ghost while you stared him down and his immediate attempts to backpedal.

“Obviously he suddenly had a million reasons why he couldn’t, so I stuck him with the bill and left. Hope he had the decency to tip, at least.”

You let your head fall back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The adrenaline rush you’ve been riding since you told off Dickhead McDickface the Second and stormed out of the bar on your fuck-me heels is wearing off. You got fucked all right, fucked over.

“I really can pick em, can’t I?” you ask, a rhetorical question if ever there was one. “Went from one asshole to another. A married asshole, no less.”

There’s a rustle of movement to your left and a touch to your shoulder that makes you turn your head to see Frankie has shifted closer to you on the couch and tilted his head to match the angle of yours while he brushes his knuckles lightly down your arm.

“Hey, do you remember that woman I went on a first date with last year who brought her fifteen year old brother along? And we were supposed to see Poor Things? Who brings their brother on a date, let alone to a movie with that many sex scenes? Really, really, explicit sex scenes?”

You do remember, thanks to the texts he sent you with increasing speed until he was blowing up your phone and you’d barely finished one before the next popped up.

She brought her kid with her?

Wait, not her kid, it’s her brother.

Dude’s like 13, what the hell?????

Okay, apparently he’s 15 he’s just “short”. THAT’S NOT THE POINT!!!!!!!

WE’RE SEEING POOR THINGS??!!!!!

WHAT?

WTF?????????

PLEASE TELL ME THERE’S ANOTHER MOVIE WITH THE SAME TITLE THAT DOESN’T HAVE NAKED EMMA STONE IN IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Fuck, what do I do?

This is so fucking weird!!!!!!!! SHE BROUGHT HER BROTHER TO THE WEIRD NAKED EMMA STONE SEX MOVIE!!!!!!!!! HELP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

His bewilderment came right through the screen with the increasing number of exclamation points and the memory makes you giggle. You still can’t think of Poor Things as anything except The Weird Naked Emma Stone Sex Movie thanks to Frankie.

“See?” he says with a smile, “I can’t pick ‘em either. First date was over before the movie even started and I’d already spent like fifty bucks on popcorn and drinks. Still follow her brother on Instagram though, he’s cool.”

You laugh even harder at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. “Dating suuuucks,” you whine in your best angsty teenager impression.

“It sucks so much,” Frankie agrees. “Fuck that married guy. Wait, no, don’t fuck that married guy.”

Now you’re both laughing, so close to each other on the couch that you’re practically touching at the knees. You think to yourself that Frankie has such a nice smile, none of that closed-mouth, thin-lipped thing some guys do as if smiling is an affront to their manhood. Frankie’s smile takes over his whole face, his eyes going squinty and crinkling adorably at the corners.

“I promise I won’t fuck that married guy,” you swear with mock solemnity, crossing your fingers over your heart like a Boy Scout when you finally stop laughing. You let your hand drop to the cushion in between the two of you and close your eyes with a sigh. “Even though I really, really, really need to get laid.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth you freeze, scarcely daring to breathe even as you’re sure you hear a sharp inhale from Frankie at the unguarded confession. He’s so close to you on the couch. So close.

When you gather the courage to open your eyes and meet his dark gaze the air around you has changed, heavy with the weight of what you just said. Neither one of you moves to put a platonic distance back between you like so many other evenings on this couch when you get too close, sharing pizza and drinks and conversation for hours.

Maybe it wasn’t such an accident that you ended up here, with him, tonight.

“You know I’d do anything for you, right?” he asks in a voice so low and thick with promise that it makes your stomach flip and a sharp throb hits you even lower down.

“Anything?” you repeat, your own voice higher than normal. Is he really offering that?

Frankie picks up your hand from where it lays on the couch, lifting it and keeping your eyes locked while he raises it to his mouth and brushes a slow, deliberate kiss along the back that makes you shiver as every last nerve ending rises to attention and begs for more.

“Anything,” he murmurs against your skin. “Say the word.”

His large thumb strokes over the fluttering pulse in your wrist, back and forth, back and forth, while his heavy-lidded eyes stare into yours.

You can’t say you’ve never thought about it, because you definitely have. Frankie’s stupidly attractive, with those thick curls that always escape out from under his baseball caps and his Roman coin profile. But when you first met he was still with his ex, and then he was single but you weren’t, the timing never quite working out for anything between you except friendship and nothing else. Hell, by now he’s pretty much your best friend, the one you would call if you needed to bury a body knowing he’d bring the shovel. There’s no one else you trust as much as Frankie Morales, and there’s no one else you want as much as you want him, right here, right now.

“Kiss me,” you whisper, saying the words you always wanted to say to him.

He shuffles closer, his other hand sliding behind your neck as he brings your lips together. It’s a little clumsy at first, your nose bumping his before he fits his mouth to yours. You feel his fingers press to the nape of your neck and the brush of his knee against your while he kisses you carefully, so soft and sweet and gentle.

At first.

Heat washes over you and it’s all because of Frankie, his kiss turning hot and hungry and demanding. You gasp into his mouth and kiss him back just as eagerly, hands fisting in his T-shirt to pull him closer. He makes a low noise in the back of his throat that you can practically feel, a sexy cross between a groan and a grunt, and pulls away from your mouth far too soon. But before you can protest the loss with more than a pout and pull him back, he’s dusting more kisses under the hinge of your jaw and along your neck, mapping a hot trail down the wide swath of bare skin your dress reveals between your breasts and nuzzling his face right into your cleavage. His hands go to your hips, bunching the fabric and pulling it up impatiently to your waist as he moves even lower. Everything happens so fast that it makes your head spin far more than the tequila and you lean back on the couch for support with your chest heaving and groping for any part of him you can reach. Frankie kneels on the floor, pulling your new underwear off as he goes and you lift your hips to help with anticipation pooling low in your stomach at the realization of what he’s planning to do.

He spreads your thighs apart and looks down between them at where you’re now completely bare and practically dripping with a rush of arousal. His gaze is dark, hungry, a look like nothing you’ve ever seen before on his face replacing his usual easygoing expression.

“She’s fucking gorgeous,” he says in that low voice, staring straight at your pussy. “All pink and perfect and needy for some attention, isn’t she? Don’t worry baby, I’m gonna take very good care of her.”

The breath catches in your throat at that, more than a little shocked by the filthy promise in his words. No man you’ve ever been with has ever said anything remotely like that. Your nipples are firm points against your dress and you must be glistening with how wet you already are. Frankie kisses your inner thigh and mumbles, “lie back a little more for me,” while pulling gently on your hips to position you the way he wants. You’re not about to refuse him anything at this point and you slide lower, feeling your dress ride up even more as you do. While you’re not fully naked yet you feel so exposed, lying with your legs wide open on the same couch where you’ve watched so many bad movies and argued over words while playing Scrabble, because military acronyms don’t fucking count, Catfish! Now he’s nestled between your bare thighs with his wide shoulders wedging them apart and you wonder dimly why you spent all that time not doing this, his insanely kissable mouth so close to your pussy that you can feel his warm breath when he exhales. It makes you tremble with anticipation and Frankie looks up, his eyes meeting yours with an unspoken question behind them. You nod, answering without words. You want this.

He licks you, a slow, broad swipe with the flat of his tongue that has your head falling back and your legs spreading shamelessly wider. Then he does it again, and again, and again, burying his face so deep that you wonder vaguely how he’s even managing to breathe. He doesn’t come up for air anytime soon, holding you firm against his mouth with his hands wrapped around your thighs and seeking out every last spot that makes you writhe and grind against him with moans and cries that you can’t hold back spilling from your lips. It’s loud, both the noises you make and the wet sound of him eating you out like you’re a feast and he’s been starved for days. Frankie makes his tongue a firm point and thrusts it inside you while keeping you spread, the feeling so intimate and erotic that your clit throbs and you absently cup a breast to ease the ache in your stiff nipple. He fucks you with his tongue a few times before he gives you another one of those long, slow licks that go the full length from bottom to top and he zeroes in on your needy clit as if he had a map leading him right to it. You feel his lips close around the swollen bud with a hard suck that has you squeezing your breast with one hand and sinking the other into his messy curls.

“Oh fuck,” you manage to gasp, “Frankie, it’s so good. So good.”

He finally pulls back long enough to rasp, “I want you to come all over my face, baby,” before diving back in. You feel the prod of a thick finger against your dripping entrance, slipping in easily and soon it’s moving in tandem with the flick of his tongue over your clit. The dual sensation makes you whimper, tugging on his hair to urge him closer and rocking your hips. Another finger joins the first, stretching you even more and pressing along your velvety inner walls until he suddenly curls them and hits that spot, the one you almost forgot was there. He strokes it and it’s nothing but bone-melting, toe-curling pleasure that builds and builds relentlessly under your skin until there’s nowhere else for it to go.

You cry out, your climax hitting with the force of a tidal wave and crashing over you. Frankie groans, a low rumble coming from his position between your legs as he clearly feels it in the squeeze around his fingers and the rush of more hot arousal that makes you even wetter and slicker. He rubs it all over his face just like he wanted, his fingers pumping in a lazy rhythm in and out of you until it’s finally over and you’re left limp and boneless on his couch with your dress bunched to your waist and one strap hanging off your shoulder. You’re not sure exactly how you ended up like this, from knocking on his door ready to swear off men forever less than an hour ago to half-naked and panting from the best orgasm you’ve had since….ever. When you manage to lift your head from the cushion to look at him his expression is just as dazed as yours must be even as his lips gleam and his cheeks and chin are damp with you.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his chest heaving under his T-shirt like he just ran a marathon. “Fuck, are you okay? Was that okay?”

Even with the AC blasting there’s still not enough air in the room, it takes you a moment to find some so you can answer him. “Yeah….yeah, I’m okay. It’s okay.”

Okay is an understatement, you don’t even smoke and yet you’re ready for a cigarette now. You don’t even make any move to tug your dress down and cover yourself, one leg still loosely propped on Frankie’s shoulder. He rubs a soothing hand on your thigh and carefully dislodges it so he can stand up, revealing the prominent bulge in his jeans that’s now perfectly at your eye level. Your pussy clenches and throbs at the sight, he got that hard just from going down on you? He follows your gaze and smirks a little when he sees where you’re looking, brushing his hand against his fly.

“All for you, baby,” he says, and reaches to pull you to your feet. “Not on the couch though. Bedroom. I want you in my bed.”

Bed, couch, floor, you really don’t care and you’re already fumbling with his belt buckle and tugging his T-shirt out of his jeans. You drag your nails along the sensitive skin of his stomach right above his waistband and relish the way it makes him shudder, the muscles contracting under your touch. When you look up again he immediately swoops down and kisses you, this time with the taste of you still clinging to his lips and your scent all over his face. It’s raw and messy, tongues and teeth and the little sound of triumph you make when you finally get his belt open. You feel him smile against your mouth while he starts to walk backwards and you have to follow him to work on your next goal, getting his T-shirt off. He’s leading you towards his bedroom, and thank God his house is a bungalow so you don’t have to waste time going up stairs. All that’s between the two of you and his bed is a hallway, and it might as well be one of those funhouse corridors at the county fair with the way you’re both bumping against the walls and tripping over your own feet trying to navigate it. Frankie unabashedly gropes your ass with those large hands of his while he kisses you, not paying attention to where he’s going and knocking pictures on the wall askew with his shoulders. You keep tugging and pulling at his T-shirt, trying to get it off and thwarted by the fact that he won’t let go of your butt long enough to lift his arms.

“Frankie,” you whine against his mouth, shoving fistfuls of cotton up his back, “off!”

He finally pulls back and yanks the shirt over his head with enough force that you’re sure he just completely stretched out the neck, tossing it aside without bothering to see where it lands. The warm expanse of his broad chest presses against you almost immediately, with what feels like miles and miles of bare skin under your exploring hands. His lips fasten to your neck and you tilt your head back, holding onto his shoulders for dear life while he sucks hard enough to leave a mark. You’ll have to cover it before work on Monday, but, fuck it. That’s what concealer is for. If he wants to cover you in hickies like you’re teenagers having their first makeout session, you’ll let him. You’ll let him do whatever he wants at this point.

“Hang on.”

“It’s the only warning you get before he hauls you up with his hands under your thighs, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist. He carries you the last few steps into the bedroom and closes the door with a kick of his foot that makes it slam shut. The sound makes you start before you grin down at him.

“Impatient, much?”

“To have you in my bed at last?” he says, matching your grin with his own goofy smile. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

You can take the man out of the military but you can’t take the military out of the man, Frankie’s bed is made with such sharp precision that it seems a shame to mess it up.

Almost.

The mattress dips when he sets you down, knocking a pillow aside and the duvet no longer perfectly crisp at the edges. You go up on your knees while he stands next to the bed, reaching for where his belt hangs open and using it to tug him closer. It doesn’t take much work to pop open the button on his jeans and pull the zipper down, the sound of the metal teeth parting shockingly loud against the quiet of the room. You reach a hand in and feel the heat of his skin even through the soft material of his underwear, while he stands as still as a statue except for the rise and fall of his chest. He lets you touch and explore and you trace the very long and thick outline of his erection as it twitches and presses eagerly against your hand. Fuck, Frankie is big. The kind of big that’s going to stretch you so deliciously. The kind of big that you’re going to feel the day after. Maybe even longer.

And it’s all yours tonight.

His jeans are quickly joined on the floor by your dress, as you go from bodycon to full frontal. You might have been nervous about finally getting completely naked, if it wasn’t for the unexpected sight of the pattern on his boxer-briefs.

“Frankie,” you laugh, “you actually have fish themed underwear?”

Sure enough, there’s several different types of fish swimming around on the fabric, including his whiskered namesake. When you look back up from the cartoon catfish smiling jauntily across his groin you can see that his ears have gone bright red in embarrassment.

“It was a gag gift from the guys,” he mumbles, not meeting your eyes, “they’re really comfortable, and well, I wasn’t exactly expecting to take my pants off in front of anyone tonight, you know.”

You rest your hands on the waistband and trace a nail along the bare skin just above, trying and failing to stifle the urge to giggle.

“Wanna put your pants back on then?” you ask, teasing the sensitive spot below his navel.

“Fuck no.”

His lips crash back down on yours again, his arms circling your waist. The Finding Nemo joke you were about to make is immediately forgotten as you blindly peel the boxers off, letting the school of fish puddle at his feet and immediately get kicked away. You wrap a hand around his cock, so long and thick that it makes you ache with the thought of having it inside you. God, you need this. You need him.

Frankie lets out a deep groan against your mouth when you start to stroke, dragging your hand up and down the length of him from root to tip and back again. You rub your thumb over the sensitive head and twist your fingers under the crown, teasing out all the sensitive spots and figuring out what he likes. A hard grip, bordering on rough, has his chest heaving and his hips jerking while his cock throbs in your hand.

“Jesus Christ,” he bites out. “Like that, baby, just like that.”

The sheer unguarded pleasure on his face gives you everything you wanted tonight with your dress and the heels and the lacy underwear. You feel sexy. Desired. Powerful. Able to bring a man to his knees with your touch. Literally, Frankie’s legs start to buckle and he has to brace himself against the bed to stay upright. You keep stroking him until he finally pulls your hand away gently and kisses your open palm before joining you on the bed. He practically jumps onto it in his eagerness, making you bounce with the movement.

“Condom?” he asks, twisting towards his nightstand, “I have some-“

“I’m good,” you interrupt. You want to feel him inside you without that barrier. “I’m on the pill.”

His arm drops from where he was reaching for the drawer. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all month.”

You never would have fucked your Tinder date without a condom, but this is Frankie. Your Frankie. You trust him. He rolls on top of you and your trust only grows when he hesitates, looking down into your eyes.

“Are you absolutely sure about this? We can always stop.”

He pushes a lock of hair out of your face with a gentle touch and you know without a doubt that if you wanted to stop he would without complaint even though he hasn’t come yet. You run your hands up his arms and feel the tension in his biceps, the strain of holding himself back. He’s braced above you, his hair a complete mess, gorgeously naked and hard as a rock, and you are one hundred percent sure about this.

“I don’t wanna stop.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, a perfect fit between your thighs. Frankie angles his hips while he leans down for another kiss and you feel the hot slide of his cock as he finds your entrance with that pilot’s accuracy of his, then the press of the blunt head as he starts to push inside. He moves slowly, carefully, giving you time to adjust to the stretch and burn. And it does burn, in the very best way. It’s been months since you’ve had sex, and far longer since you’ve had good sex, your frustration had built to a fever pitch under your skin and Frankie just lit a match. You both feel it when you open for him fully, that final slide is smooth and easy and he buries himself right to the hilt.

“Fuuuck,” he bites out. “Took me so fucking good, perfect fucking pussy.”

His dick is pretty damn perfect too, in your opinion, filling you up and creating the most delicious friction when he starts to move. You pull his head down for another kiss before he buries his face in your neck and rocks his hips into yours, gradually building the rhythm while you run your hands along his back and feel the muscles ripple and flex with each thrust. It’s everything you needed and more, the thick drag of him inside you has you arching your back and crying out and it only seems to spur him on even more. He plants a knee on the bed and lifts your leg, shifting his hips so that he can go even deeper. You clutch helplessly at his sheets when the tip of his cock finds your sweet spot and make a noise you don’t even recognize, a throaty moan pulls from your throat while your toes curl and your pussy throbs.

“Frankie,” you manage to gasp, clutching both his shoulders and gripping him even tighter from the inside, “oh god, there! Right there!”

“That’s it baby,” he murmurs into your skin. “Come all over my cock.”

He leans over you, thrusting hard and balancing on one hand to reach down with the other so he can work your swollen clit. The first swipe of his fingers on the sensitive bud sends a jolt through your entire body that melts into sheer unadulterated pleasure. With a few more you’re teetering right on the edge, and then Frankie grinds especially deep on his next thrust and presses down hard with his thumb. It grips you and doesn’t let go, your second climax of the night is even stronger than the first and has you squeezing him as if you’re trying to drag him even further inside, contracting along the length of his cock while he grits his teeth and fucks you through it. When the aftershocks finally stop and you relax back into the mattress with a sigh Frankie pulls out, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your lips and laying down next to you.

It takes you a few moments in your post-orgasmic haze to notice that he’s still hard, his cock is practically flush to his stomach and glistening with your arousal.

“You didn’t?” you ask, confused as you glance down.

He follows your gaze with a strangely bashful look. “Not yet. I want…I want you to ride me.”

That sends another hot rush right between your legs, suddenly wanting it desperately too. You’re not sure if you’re going to be able to walk afterwards, especially not in those stupid heels, but it’s going to be so fucking worth it.

Frankie stretches out fully on the bed, those long legs and broad shoulders taking up so much space on it. Luckily there’s more than enough room for you right there on his lap. You swing a leg over, hands pressing down on his chest for balance while he looks up at you with that crooked grin he always gets when he’s especially pleased about something. A sinful roll of your hips along his thick erection only makes his smile wider when he feels how wet you still are.

“Take me in,” he begs shamelessly, hips moving under you and hands roaming over your skin. “Please, baby.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

It’s another delicious stretch, sliding down his thick erection and feeling him rub you in all sorts of interesting new ways from this angle. Once you’re seated fully you give yourself a moment before you start to move, his heart racing under your palm and his cock held snug and warm deep inside you.

Frankie’s done so much already for you tonight, this is for him. You want to give him just as much pleasure as he gave you, make it just as good for him when you start to roll your hips again to take him in again and again and again. His hands find your thighs and flex against them while he watches with a rapt expression, eyes glued to where you’re joined before looking up to take in the full sight of you riding him just as he wanted.

“Good?” you ask, gasping the word out.

“So fucking good,” he groans. His hips lift under you right as you go down on the next stroke and it’s even better, the way you just fit. You use muscles you didn’t even know you had, increasing your pace and riding him hard. The cords on his neck pop when he throws his head back against the pillow, jaw clenched and nostrils flaring with each exhale of breath. He has to be close, you can sense it in the increasingly desperate noises he makes and the way his fingers dig into your skin as he holds you steady on top of him. Your breasts bounce and your thighs are burning with the effort of maintaining the rhythm but you don’t stop, can’t stop, you need Frankie to fall apart just like he’s done for you twice already. You want to see the look on his face and hear the noises he makes when he comes, adding a circle of your hips that makes his eyes close and his body jerk under you. He feels even harder now, and your legs aren’t the only thing that’s burning. Frankie is hitting every sweet spot inside of you, filling you so deep and full that the familiar prickle and spark is starting again. You weren’t expecting to come for a third time, but then again you weren’t expecting anything else that happened tonight and it’s definitely happening. Frankie thrusts up with a growl, yanking you down on him with the same motion and holding you there while you feel him pulse hot and he lets out a long, loud moan like no other noise he’s made all night. The sound and the sensation make you molten, almost there and even deep in the throes of his own pleasure he reaches for your clit and gives it a pinch that’s all you need to fall over the edge with him. With your hands braced on his chest you throw your head back and let it wash over you while you keep rolling your hips to draw out more and more of those gorgeous sounds out of him until he finally starts to soften. You collapse in a heap on his chest and his arms immediately wrap around you, lips brushing against the top of your head while you bury your face against his sweaty chest and your heartbeats slowly go back to normal.

It’s nice.

It’s more than nice.

You could get used to it.

You can’t. You shouldn’t. You’re just friends.

Friends who just fucked rather spectacularly.

Fuck.

After a few moments you slide off of him to lie on your back, looking up at the ceiling instead of at him. Now things are going to be all weird and awkward and as amazing as the sex was, it wasn’t worth the inevitable end of your friendship. Silence stretches between you and creates more and more space in its wake.

“There’s probably Ubers available now,” you say at last, keeping your gaze away from his face so you don’t see his expression shift from lover to stranger. By the time the driver gets here you’ll have your dress back on and your feet shoved into your shoes and you and Frankie can start pretending this never happened. Maybe that will work.

There’s a snort from next to you. “Yeah. That’s not happening, I’m driving you home tomorrow. After we sleep. And shower. And stop at that diner on 53rd cause I’m gonna need one of those giant lumberjack breakfasts to recover from this.”

You feel yourself flush a bit, as ridiculous as it is considering you’re naked in his bed with “this” still sticky on your inner thighs.

“I’m not going to a diner in that dress,” you say, still looking at the ceiling and adding silently, “or those shoes that could double as torture devices.”

“So you wear one of my T-shirts or something,” Frankie’s voice trails away into a jaw-cracking yawn before he continues, “we’ll figure it out in the morning. Fuck, you really did a number on me.”

Yawning is contagious, you can feel one building and you’re suddenly on the verge of falling asleep thanks to the number he did on you and the incredibly comfortable bed that you never want to leave. Best sex you’ve had in….ever, all thanks to Frankie. But you don’t give in to the urge to just close your eyes and go to sleep, as tempting as it is, turning your head to look at your best friend instead and finding him looking back at you in the dark.

He’s still Frankie. You’re still you.

You’re still friends.

“Frankie? Will we figure…this out in the morning?”

His fingers lace with yours under the blankets and he gives you a soft smile.

“Yeah. We will, baby, I promise.”

When you fall asleep you’re on your side with Frankie plastered to your bare back, his arm firm around your waist like he’s afraid you might try to sneak away in the middle of the night. The thought had occurred to you, to escape all the morning after awkwardness. Frankie isn’t just a hookup or a one-night stand though, he means so much more to you than that. So you lay your hand over his and relax into his embrace with a sigh, wondering as you drift off if he’ll let you borrow his prized vintage AC/DC T-shirt to wear home…..

….and if he’d be up for another round in the shower in the morning.

The answer to both turns out to be a resounding yes.

[lucagray813]

Short Drabbles

Summary: Short reflective drabbles for a variety of LMK characters

Chapter: 1/?

Chapter Navigation: First | Prev | Next | Last

Chapter Information

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,067

Characters: Macaque, Wukong, MK, Mentioned LBD

Relationships: Hints of Macaque & Wukong (could be interpreted as Shadowpeach), hints of Wukong & MK

Additional Tags: Angst, Character Study

CWs: Heavy Angst, Musings as to the damage to the body and soul caused by resurrection, mention of impotency

Link to AO3 Version

----

Macaque - Soul

Binding one's soul to a body was no small task but it could be done. And even done relatively pain free if the one casting the spell had the skill and inclination. And while the Lady Bone Demon had doubtlessly had the skill, she'd had no such inclination.

She had torn his soul apart just so she could stitch it back together again.

He couldn't say for certain that she had even stitched all of it back together, for all he knew there was very little of his original soul left, and he wasn't sure if it was worse to imagine it with gaping holes or as an unholy amalgamation of many.

Either way it was infused with her magic, her very essence threaded with his to keep it all together. And he was sure it must be a grotesque thing to look at, deformed almost beyond recognition. The Ten Kings would likely just have it destroyed if they ever got their hands on it again.

But now that she was gone, the magic that had kept it together was fading.

His soul was coming undone at the seams and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

[A/N - Similar vibe to Better to Forget (AO3 | Tumblr)]

----

Wukong - Immortality

Wukong had once feared his own death more than anything else. And that fear had driven him on an obsessive quest for immortality. Taoism, peaches, wine, pills, the book of the dead - he was possibly more immortal than the gods themselves and yet his fear persisted.

Even now, as his immortality haunted him, he still felt twinges of fear at the thought of his life coming to an end. But it was a manageable fear - he no longer ran from it, he no longer obsessively tried to stop it.

Heaven could rest easy.

In its stead however a new fear arose - the fear of another's death. Something that he'd never even truly considered until Macaque's bloody corpse lay at his feet. But the seed had been planted and with every subsequent death its roots dug deeper into his heart.

Where once he ran from his death, he now hid from others'. He isolated himself, he refused to give any soul the opportunity to leave him again. The loneliness was terrible but the grief was unbearable.

And then MK happened.

Wonderful, incredible, mortal MK.

There wasn't a day that went by that Wukong didn't sit with an immortal peach in his hand and consider the possibilities.

----

MK - Pain

We both fight for what we think is right, and that pursuit only leads to one thing...

To pain.

The Lady Bone Demon's last words haunted him. They filled him with a terrible fear of himself - of his destructive powers and of the dire consequences his decisions could result in. He had the potential to cause untold suffering to so many people and the fear was almost crippling in its intensity.

But he was slowly realising that that wasn't all that the Lady Bone Demon had meant, if that's what she had meant at all. He had been so focused on the pain that he could inadvertently cause others, he hadn't stopped to consider the pain that they could cause him, nor the pain he could cause himself.

----

Macaque - Senses

Resurrection really wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Sure, he was alive but there was no denying his body wasn't what it had once been, his senses irrevocably damaged.

Food had to be over seasoned to near toxic levels for it to taste or smell of anything, his remaining eye was less reliable than his shadows for perceiving the world around him, and he could only be grateful that his hearing had been supernatural in nature before his death, for while diminished, it was still more impressive than that of any mortals.

Gentle touches barely registered and his tolerance for pain was now so high he had to regularly check himself over for injuries, not able to rely on himself to register it without physically seeing it. It was a bit of an annoyance to not realise you were bleeding or had broken something but honestly it was a worthwhile trade off to finally have a reprieve from physical pain.

He supposed he had to be grateful as well that he'd never had a great deal of interest in sex prior to his death and that he had little time for it now he'd returned or he was sure he might feel something about his apparent impotency.

Had he come back to life with anything other than a desire for revenge he was sure he'd be agonised over his body's shortcomings. As it was however they were just inconveniences that made his mission all the more difficult. If anything they only added more fuel to the fire.

It would have been nice to get his revenge and live out a life finally free of Wukong but his body had clearly not been resurrected with that in mind, the Lady Bone Demon had just needed him functional enough to complete his half of the bargain.

This body just had to suffice in order to fulfil his revenge. As long as Wukong was finally burning in hell Macaque didn't even care if he was right there with him.

[A/N - Idea explored further in Shadow (AO3)]

----

Macaque - Peace

Finally free, Macaque had taken to doing absolutely nothing. He'd find a spot on Flower Fruit Mountain for the day and just kick back and relish every breath he was alive to take.

Today he lay in the middle of a field, the sun shining upon him as the grass gently caressed him, and his appreciation for the gentle breeze that rustled through his fur could not be put into words.

He didn't yearn for adventure, he didn't want for more, neither had ever brought him the peace that simply lying here with a familiar heartbeat just on the peripherals of his hearing did.

He ignored the small whispers and stirrings in his mind and heart that wanted to reject the peace that stone heart brought him. Let him have this, he told them. In this moment, let him indulge in peace without questioning why it was Wukong that it was forever intrinsically linked to.

[filurig]

updated some humanoid designs for some of mah old basilisk guys to make sense with da updated lore for them hihi

[theworldisabrokenbonebutitishome]

Kang Yo Han is the walking embodiment of I'm Not Okay (I Promise) and relates to Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge far more than is healthy. In this essay I will-

[nomairuins]

and also it doesnt even matter if i miraculously get a job tmrw bc we don't have a car . and im too out of shape to walk anywhere bc everything is far away . so i genuinely dont jnow what to do

[mostlysignssomeportents]

What kind of bubble is AI?

My latest column for Locus Magazine is "What Kind of Bubble is AI?" All economic bubbles are hugely destructive, but some of them leave behind wreckage that can be salvaged for useful purposes, while others leave nothing behind but ashes:

https://locusmag.com/2023/12/commentary-cory-doctorow-what-kind-of-bubble-is-ai/

Think about some 21st century bubbles. The dotcom bubble was a terrible tragedy, one that drained the coffers of pension funds and other institutional investors and wiped out retail investors who were gulled by Superbowl Ads. But there was a lot left behind after the dotcoms were wiped out: cheap servers, office furniture and space, but far more importantly, a generation of young people who'd been trained as web makers, leaving nontechnical degree programs to learn HTML, perl and python. This created a whole cohort of technologists from non-technical backgrounds, a first in technological history. Many of these people became the vanguard of a more inclusive and humane tech development movement, and they were able to make interesting and useful services and products in an environment where raw materials – compute, bandwidth, space and talent – were available at firesale prices.

Contrast this with the crypto bubble. It, too, destroyed the fortunes of institutional and individual investors through fraud and Superbowl Ads. It, too, lured in nontechnical people to learn esoteric disciplines at investor expense. But apart from a smattering of Rust programmers, the main residue of crypto is bad digital art and worse Austrian economics.

Or think of Worldcom vs Enron. Both bubbles were built on pure fraud, but Enron's fraud left nothing behind but a string of suspicious deaths. By contrast, Worldcom's fraud was a Big Store con that required laying a ton of fiber that is still in the ground to this day, and is being bought and used at pennies on the dollar.

AI is definitely a bubble. As I write in the column, if you fly into SFO and rent a car and drive north to San Francisco or south to Silicon Valley, every single billboard is advertising an "AI" startup, many of which are not even using anything that can be remotely characterized as AI. That's amazing, considering what a meaningless buzzword AI already is.

So which kind of bubble is AI? When it pops, will something useful be left behind, or will it go away altogether? To be sure, there's a legion of technologists who are learning Tensorflow and Pytorch. These nominally open source tools are bound, respectively, to Google and Facebook's AI environments:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/18/openwashing/#you-keep-using-that-word-i-do-not-think-it-means-what-you-think-it-means

But if those environments go away, those programming skills become a lot less useful. Live, large-scale Big Tech AI projects are shockingly expensive to run. Some of their costs are fixed – collecting, labeling and processing training data – but the running costs for each query are prodigious. There's a massive primary energy bill for the servers, a nearly as large energy bill for the chillers, and a titanic wage bill for the specialized technical staff involved.

Once investor subsidies dry up, will the real-world, non-hyperbolic applications for AI be enough to cover these running costs? AI applications can be plotted on a 2X2 grid whose axes are "value" (how much customers will pay for them) and "risk tolerance" (how perfect the product needs to be).

Charging teenaged D&D players $10 month for an image generator that creates epic illustrations of their characters fighting monsters is low value and very risk tolerant (teenagers aren't overly worried about six-fingered swordspeople with three pupils in each eye). Charging scammy spamfarms $500/month for a text generator that spits out dull, search-algorithm-pleasing narratives to appear over recipes is likewise low-value and highly risk tolerant (your customer doesn't care if the text is nonsense). Charging visually impaired people $100 month for an app that plays a text-to-speech description of anything they point their cameras at is low-value and moderately risk tolerant ("that's your blue shirt" when it's green is not a big deal, while "the street is safe to cross" when it's not is a much bigger one).

Morganstanley doesn't talk about the trillions the AI industry will be worth some day because of these applications. These are just spinoffs from the main event, a collection of extremely high-value applications. Think of self-driving cars or radiology bots that analyze chest x-rays and characterize masses as cancerous or noncancerous.

These are high value – but only if they are also risk-tolerant. The pitch for self-driving cars is "fire most drivers and replace them with 'humans in the loop' who intervene at critical junctures." That's the risk-tolerant version of self-driving cars, and it's a failure. More than $100b has been incinerated chasing self-driving cars, and cars are nowhere near driving themselves:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/09/herbies-revenge/#100-billion-here-100-billion-there-pretty-soon-youre-talking-real-money

Quite the reverse, in fact. Cruise was just forced to quit the field after one of their cars maimed a woman – a pedestrian who had not opted into being part of a high-risk AI experiment – and dragged her body 20 feet through the streets of San Francisco. Afterwards, it emerged that Cruise had replaced the single low-waged driver who would normally be paid to operate a taxi with 1.5 high-waged skilled technicians who remotely oversaw each of its vehicles:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/11/03/technology/cruise-general-motors-self-driving-cars.html

The self-driving pitch isn't that your car will correct your own human errors (like an alarm that sounds when you activate your turn signal while someone is in your blind-spot). Self-driving isn't about using automation to augment human skill – it's about replacing humans. There's no business case for spending hundreds of billions on better safety systems for cars (there's a human case for it, though!). The only way the price-tag justifies itself is if paid drivers can be fired and replaced with software that costs less than their wages.

What about radiologists? Radiologists certainly make mistakes from time to time, and if there's a computer vision system that makes different mistakes than the sort that humans make, they could be a cheap way of generating second opinions that trigger re-examination by a human radiologist. But no AI investor thinks their return will come from selling hospitals that reduce the number of X-rays each radiologist processes every day, as a second-opinion-generating system would. Rather, the value of AI radiologists comes from firing most of your human radiologists and replacing them with software whose judgments are cursorily double-checked by a human whose "automation blindness" will turn them into an OK-button-mashing automaton:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/23/automation-blindness/#humans-in-the-loop

The profit-generating pitch for high-value AI applications lies in creating "reverse centaurs": humans who serve as appendages for automation that operates at a speed and scale that is unrelated to the capacity or needs of the worker:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/17/revenge-of-the-chickenized-reverse-centaurs/

But unless these high-value applications are intrinsically risk-tolerant, they are poor candidates for automation. Cruise was able to nonconsensually enlist the population of San Francisco in an experimental murderbot development program thanks to the vast sums of money sloshing around the industry. Some of this money funds the inevitabilist narrative that self-driving cars are coming, it's only a matter of when, not if, and so SF had better get in the autonomous vehicle or get run over by the forces of history.

Once the bubble pops (all bubbles pop), AI applications will have to rise or fall on their actual merits, not their promise. The odds are stacked against the long-term survival of high-value, risk-intolerant AI applications.

The problem for AI is that while there are a lot of risk-tolerant applications, they're almost all low-value; while nearly all the high-value applications are risk-intolerant. Once AI has to be profitable – once investors withdraw their subsidies from money-losing ventures – the risk-tolerant applications need to be sufficient to run those tremendously expensive servers in those brutally expensive data-centers tended by exceptionally expensive technical workers.

If they aren't, then the business case for running those servers goes away, and so do the servers – and so do all those risk-tolerant, low-value applications. It doesn't matter if helping blind people make sense of their surroundings is socially beneficial. It doesn't matter if teenaged gamers love their epic character art. It doesn't even matter how horny scammers are for generating AI nonsense SEO websites:

https://twitter.com/jakezward/status/1728032634037567509

These applications are all riding on the coattails of the big AI models that are being built and operated at a loss in order to be profitable. If they remain unprofitable long enough, the private sector will no longer pay to operate them.

Now, there are smaller models, models that stand alone and run on commodity hardware. These would persist even after the AI bubble bursts, because most of their costs are setup costs that have already been borne by the well-funded companies who created them. These models are limited, of course, though the communities that have formed around them have pushed those limits in surprising ways, far beyond their original manufacturers' beliefs about their capacity. These communities will continue to push those limits for as long as they find the models useful.

These standalone, "toy" models are derived from the big models, though. When the AI bubble bursts and the private sector no longer subsidizes mass-scale model creation, it will cease to spin out more sophisticated models that run on commodity hardware (it's possible that Federated learning and other techniques for spreading out the work of making large-scale models will fill the gap).

So what kind of bubble is the AI bubble? What will we salvage from its wreckage? Perhaps the communities who've invested in becoming experts in Pytorch and Tensorflow will wrestle them away from their corporate masters and make them generally useful. Certainly, a lot of people will have gained skills in applying statistical techniques.

But there will also be a lot of unsalvageable wreckage. As big AI models get integrated into the processes of the productive economy, AI becomes a source of systemic risk. The only thing worse than having an automated process that is rendered dangerous or erratic based on AI integration is to have that process fail entirely because the AI suddenly disappeared, a collapse that is too precipitous for former AI customers to engineer a soft landing for their systems.

This is a blind spot in our policymakers debates about AI. The smart policymakers are asking questions about fairness, algorithmic bias, and fraud. The foolish policymakers are ensnared in fantasies about "AI safety," AKA "Will the chatbot become a superintelligence that turns the whole human race into paperclips?"

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/27/10-types-of-people/#taking-up-a-lot-of-space

But no one is asking, "What will we do if" – when – "the AI bubble pops and most of this stuff disappears overnight?"

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/19/bubblenomics/#pop

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

--

tom_bullock (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/tombullock/25173469495/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

[hannieehaee]

OUTTA MY MIND (teaser)

18+ / mdi

summary: getting a brand new job as a senior idol's manager was scary enough on its own, but it became even worse when said idol was jeon jungkook, idol of all idols. what made it even worse? when jungkook began taking a special liking to you, damning any conflict of interest his crush on you may have had.

content: idol!au, staff!reader x idol!jungkook, jungkook is shameless about his crush on reader, but it's fine bc reader likes him back!!, reader acts hard to get bc her job is too important though boo, afab reader, banter, jk is a flirt, reader is a little bit shy, a lot of rlly wrong info about working in the industry, smut, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, etc.

(^ no actual content warnings in the teaser)

wc: 924 (teaser); 7.7k (full fic)

release date: may 31st

or you can check it out on my ko-fi or patreon today by subscribing to either one!

a/n: ive had this in the drafts for a while but kept forgetting to finish it lol anyways i hope u guys enjoy it once it comes out<3 (also not 100% proofread oops..)

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Whenever you'd tell someone you worked within the entertainment industry, – the music industry, to be precise – people always showed a little extra interest in your words, probably assuming you to be involved in the flashier aspects of it. The statement on it's own sounded exciting, enigmatic even. This would only then be followed by disappointed upon finding out your specific profession of choice, deeming it less exciting than most.

You were a manager. No, you were not an active member of the entertainment industry itself, but you were one of the many pillars necessary for the talent to create the entertainment people would always seek.

Being as young as you were, it had been hard to get to where you were so quickly. Networking had been your best friend all throughout your career, eventually landing you in your current role – one that would only open even more doors for you.

It had only been a week since you had received a call from your friend – an old friend from an internship who just so happened to be a former Hybe video producer – letting you know of a recent opening as one of the many managers at the company. Having been between gigs at the time, you jumped at the chance without a second thought. Hybe? The biggest entertainment company in Korea? You didn't need any details before agreeing.

It was a few days later in which you found out the details. The opportunity had been even more life-altering than you'd thought.

Originally, you had believed you'd end up becoming manager to one of the many brand new rookie groups in the growing company. With so many surging youth in the industry, it made sense to you that you'd be assigned such a role, not having had any prior experience within Hybe itself.

Except that wasn't the case. Having previously worked and interned at a few other South Korean entertainment companies through the years, it seemed like Hybe deemed you experienced enough to assign you the role of becoming a senior artist's manager.

Jeon Jungkook.

Senior artist had been an understatement. Those had been the words written in your contract, explaining your role in excruciating detail, yet failing to mention that your client would be Korea's most popular singer.

You couldn't lie, you were insanely intimidated by your new role. Despite being proudly skilled at your job, becoming the manager of an idol who had been in the game for longer than you'd even been out of college was a bit scary. Jungkook had gone from the absolute bottom to the top, he had most likely lived through it all by now – what kind of expertise could you offer someone who had already seen it all?

Being manager of an idol differed slightly from managing any other person. Idol companies usually handled the schedulings, bookings, and the legalities of their artists. As a manager, you somewhat took the role of a bodyguard. You were meant to show up everywhere Jungkook went and become his spokesperson – vying for him as if your life depended on it.

And now it was too late to back out – not that you actually wanted to. All paperwork had been signed, you had your own personal Hybe badge and all the benefits that came along with working at the company. Any feelings of intimidation or fear for the role would have to be put aside as you walked into the Hybe building to meet with your new client; the boy you'd have to stick by 24/7 from now on.

You weren't sure what you were expecting upon meeting him. It wasn't like there would be any special introduction, or even as if you were his sole manager; no, he actually had a few others who would occasionally aid him in the absence of his main manager, which was now you. Today was a workday for him, meaning that he likely already had a few people in supportive roles as he did whatever it was that Jeon Jungkook did while working.

Walking into the huge building, after getting lost a few times, you made your way to the seventh floor, which, as you'd been informed, had various rooms designated for photoshoots. That's where you'd find Jungkook for the first time, presumably having one of the many shoots scheduled for this week.

Having possession of his schedule made you realize how busy idol life was. Despite having no public schedules all this week, he had a packed itinerary, filled with either shoots or signings or producing sessions. You hadn't even met him yet, but you were already assured that he was overly hardworking – and you had maybe also stalked him online this past week.

It was very unlikely you'd even speak to him, seeing how busy he was. Your duty, after all, was just to be one of the many members of his team, taking care of any logistics as you went around with him, but not taking away from his time by socializing with him.

Upon entering the room, he was the first thing you noticed. Ignoring every other person working the room, your eyes focused specifically on him. It was hard not to, since he was quite literally standing under the spotlight, modeling for a camera. But it was more than that. He had an aura that filled up the room. Putting aside every stylist and photographer in the room, every staff member and intern, he was truly the epitome of main character.

Fuck. Was this going to cause trouble?

....

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[rin-and-jade]

Heres a reminder for you that being dissociated isn't limited to the common misconception where you are frozen in place, incapable of doing anything or even thinking, or experiencing a significant time gap,, those things. (This is a very important post, read till bottom so im happy!)

And while its hard to spot the milder signs when you're dissociating, don't worry i got you covered by bringing awareness, im showing what those signs could look like:

Dazing/blanking out several times

Hands looking weird (depersonalization)

Surroundings also looking weird (derealization)

Feeling detached emotionally, physically, or both

Light-headedness

Less reactive in responding

Forget things more often

Unable to focus or keep concentration straight

And many more..!

When you have multiple of those signs at once, then chances are you are dissociating (extra note that it can also co-occur with derealization/depersonalization). While it can be caused by various factors, i would like to add that it may or may not get worse as time passes and no one wants that thing to snowball until it got too bad (remember, preventing now is better than dealing later) so having a few tips would help:

Grounding (sensory): listening to music, feeling different textures, paying attention to things in your surroundings, trying different fragrant or scents, have some snacks to occupy your senses

Grounding (physically): feel your chest as you breathe, get your body moving to redirect focus, splash some cold water, hold something you can squeeze (such as a stress ball)

Practice being mindful. As it can help you re-anchor back to reality faster, regulate better, building more resilience, increasing awareness of oneself's state

Sometimes we go do our day without giving a thought that were detached from reality, usually by going autopilot and scrolling through social medias without being aware (well, atleast for me) and forget lots of things while being dysregulated at the end. So by being aware of the mild signs and incorporating grounding skills im sure memory gaps and those funny aftermath stuffs won't be a problem anymore, have a good day peeps.

EDIT: I forgot to mention that another sign is your hearing feels muffled, that you can hear sounds feel more distant despite close, i thought it could be grouped with the “less reactive” before.

EDIT 2: It is true that sometimes these techniques will not work,, so it's recommended to create a peaceful environment in hopes of going away sooner when waiting it out. grab some videos to watch, put some of your favorite musics or cuddle your soft pillows (if any, pets) and stay comfy! Do not stress about it because it'll be counterproductive. Full explanation at here.

- j

[hashtagloveloses]

The headline is pretty awful but this is one of those things that gets worse as you read it:

The 14-page petition, filed in Shelby County, Tennessee, probate court, alleges that Sean and Leigh Anne Tuohy, who took Oher into their home as a high school student, never adopted him. Instead, less than three months after Oher turned 18 in 2004, the petition says, the couple tricked him into signing a document making them his conservators, which gave them legal authority to make business deals in his name.

"Michael Oher discovered this lie to his chagrin and embarrassment in February of 2023, when he learned that the Conservatorship to which he consented on the basis that doing so would make him a member of the Tuohy family, in fact provided him no familial relationship with the Tuohys."

Oher was a rising high school senior when he signed the conservatorship papers, and he has written that the Tuohys told him that there was essentially no difference between adoption and conservatorship. "They explained to me that it means pretty much the exact same thing as 'adoptive parents,' but that the laws were just written in a way that took my age into account," Oher wrote in his 2011 best-selling memoir "I Beat the Odds."

But there are some important legal distinctions. If Oher had been adopted by the Tuohys, he would have been a legal member of their family, and he would have retained power to handle his own financial affairs. Under the conservatorship, Oher surrendered that authority to the Tuohys, even though he was a legal adult with no known physical or psychological disabilities.

While the [movie] deal allowed the Tuohys to profit from the film, the petition alleges, a separate 2007 contract purportedly signed by Oher appears to "give away" to 20th Century Fox Studios the life rights to his story "without any payment whatsoever." The filing says Oher has no recollection of signing that contract, and even if he did, no one explained its implications to him.

The [movie] deal lists all four Tuohy family members as having the same representative at Creative Artists Agency, the petition says. But Oher's agent, who would receive movie contract and payment notices, is listed as Debra Branan, a close family friend of the Tuohys and the same lawyer who filed the 2004 conservatorship petition, the petition alleges. Branan did not return a call to her law office on Monday.

"Mike's relationship with the Tuohy family started to decline when he discovered that he was portrayed in the movie as unintelligent," Stranch said. "Their relationship continued to deteriorate as he learned that he was the only member of the family not receiving royalty checks from the movie, and it was permanently fractured when he realized he wasn't adopted and a part of the family."

For years, Oher has chafed at how "The Blind Side" depicted him, saying it hurt his football career and clouded how people view him. He has said that based on the film, some NFL decision-makers assumed he was mentally slow or lacked leadership skills.

"People look at me, and they take things away from me because of a movie," Oher told ESPN in 2015. "They don't really see the skills and the kind of player I am."

"Beyond the details of the deal, the politics, and the money behind the book and movie, it was the principle of the choices some people made that cut me the deepest."

[starvail]

you just lost the game

narumi gen / gn!spouse!reader

synopsis : he’s made a recent discovery that for some reason, when you're the one doing his gacha pulls, his account wins the 50/50, so of course he's gonna abuse your luck for all it's worth.

content : only crack, gender neutral reader, reader works in jakdf, jenshin = genshin btw, narumi should have his own warning, narumi and reader are married (to the chagrin of the defence force), brief mentions of gambling, brief mentions of divorce.

words : 1k

a/n : sorry if you expected longer lol, think of this as a lil warm up before we really get into this series. also apologies for the one day delay, i came home from a surprise bottomless brunch and ahahaha...... i think we all can imagine how that ended up....

part one of 'a cheers to our youth'

It’s not until the time reaches two-thirty in the afternoon do you think to yourself that maybe it will be another peaceful day in Japan.

That is until rapid thumping of footsteps can be heard making their way to the Operations Room before someone slams both of the doors open, almost hitting a few operators that were unfortunate enough to be going on their break.

It was Captain Narumi Gen of the First Division in all his... very sweaty glory.

Hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, he’s frantic in the way that he repeatedly yells for your name and demands where you are.

Something in the pit of your stomach is telling you that something is wrong. But for some reason, it’s not the familiarity of dread that twists your insides with foreboding.

Something is definitely up.

You make your presence known and stand in front of him, hands in your lab coat pockets as you watch Narumi gasp for air, his back hunched over and hands on knees. You look down at him with a side eye, there is no way that one of the top protectors of Japan is out of breath running from where you assume is his 'claimed room' in HQ to Operations.

He grabs your shoulders with the kind of desperation that makes something crawl up your spine. "Thank God you're here!"

Okay, maybe this idiot is actually being serious for once.

"Is there an emergency meeting that we need to attend?” You shift his weight so that he has his right arm slung around the back of your neck.

You're rubbing soothing circles up and down his spine and he shakes his head for a no. By now, the entire room is listening in on the conversation.

“A kaiju attack that our sensors haven't picked up? Infiltration of the base? What's the damage? C'mon, work with me here, Stupid."

"Even worse..."

Narumi finally lifts his head up to look at you, red eyes peaking through his black and silver bangs. Anticipation rises and someone in the room gulps loudly.

You hope that the General Commander has sent out a few platoons already to assess the problem.

Has a kaiju alarm been sent out already? Are the civilians going to be okay? Why is this dumbass not changing into his-

"This limited character in Jenshin is leaving in five minutes, I need you to do my pulls for me!"

Narumi pulls his phone out of his pocket and shoves it right in your face.

"...What?"

You smack his arm away so that you don't go cross-eyed and you can only stare at the screen in disbelief.

He flicks some of his hair back. "Y'see, thanks to my spectacular observation skills and analytic abilities..."

As per usual, you drown him out.

There is no way that this guy is being genuine right now.

There is no way he barged in here just to gamble, on company time, no less.

"...coincides with the times that you do my pulls..."

You look away from the screen to observe him.

Narumi is animatedly flapping his free arm around like those inflatable tube men outside car dealerships, while the other keeps the phone steady.

"...not a coincidence, therefore you, my dearest..."

You look back at the phone.

The game character is staring at you, hauntingly.

He's being dead serious.

"...extremely lucky!"

Your eye twitches and you grit your teeth. 'This guy sure does love listening to the sound of his own voice...'

Next thing you know, his phone finds its way to the palms of your hands, and him ushering for you to start.

Still too flabbergasted, too appalled, too dismayed to even comprehend what you were doing, your finger mindlessly presses a button that says '10x Draws', and a golden glow flashbangs your vision.

Is this what your life has come to now?

Being used, being taken advantage of, all for your luck?

Narumi takes the phone back and sends you a triumphant look, as if he didn't just send all personnel in the room into a crippling mental spiral a few seconds ago, and is quick to gaze admiringly at the new character displayed on his screen, as if hyper focused.

"Thanks, Babe. You're a real life saver, y'know?"

It infuriates you how he sounds giddy, but you don't say that aloud, deciding to stew in your internal displeasure.

You mirror his smile and Narumi stays none the wiser to the flashing images behind your eyes of the numerous ways you can dispose of his body.

"See, this is why it's so great being married to someone as lucky as you. Pfft, and those old geezers say marriage is hard." At that moment, as if some higher being wanted to personally laugh in your face, Narumi readjusts his grip on his device and his wedding band shines from reflected light coming from the control monitors .

Your own ring burns at the realisation: you're legally stuck with that for the foreseeable future.

s n a p .

("I'm not the only one that heard that, right?" "Did that sound come from the Head?" "Nah, I definitely heard something too." "If Captain doesn't leave now, Head is gonna force us to help them erase the evidence...")

"Anyways, imma bounce. Gotta grind out the rest of their weapon mats." He carelessly throws up a peace sign without so much as a glance at anybody else, let alone you, and the operations room stays quiet when their Captain leaves with a newfound skip to his step, whistling in tune with the game's music.

Everyone watches on as you take a few deep breaths and walk back to your control panel, landing harshly into your swivel chair with your brows furrowed and a frown that could rival the General Commander's.

Those close enough can hear your muttered curses, "I'll show him. 'Japan's Strongest Anti-Kaiju Combatant', to hell with that! I'll show how hard marriage can really be. 'Another peaceful day in Japan', I should have kept my damn mouth shut."

Your fingers type against the keyboard with a new-found aggression, and soon enough, documents are displayed on the big screen of your monitor. They read 'Divorce Application and Proceedings', in bold font.

'Good luck, Captain Narumi,' the operators all think in unison.

[probablyasocialecologist]

Despite Sparta’s reputation for superior fighting, Spartan armies were as likely to lose battles as to win them, especially against peer opponents such as other Greek city-states. Sparta defeated Athens in the Peloponnesian War—but only by accepting Persian money to do it, reopening the door to Persian influence in the Aegean, which Greek victories at Plataea and Salamis nearly a century early had closed. Famous Spartan victories at Plataea and Mantinea were matched by consequential defeats at Pylos, Arginusae, and ultimately Leuctra. That last defeat at Leuctra, delivered by Thebes a mere 33 years after Sparta’s triumph over Athens, broke the back of Spartan power permanently, reducing Sparta to the status of a second-class power from which it never recovered. Sparta was one of the largest Greek city-states in the classical period, yet it struggled to achieve meaningful political objectives; the result of Spartan arms abroad was mostly failure. Sparta was particularly poor at logistics; while Athens could maintain armies across the Eastern Mediterranean, Sparta repeatedly struggled to keep an army in the field even within Greece. Indeed, Sparta spent the entirety of the initial phase of the Peloponnesian War, the Archidamian War (431-421 B.C.), failing to solve the basic logistical problem of operating long term in Attica, less than 150 miles overland from Sparta and just a few days on foot from the nearest friendly major port and market, Corinth. The Spartans were at best tactically and strategically uncreative. Tactically, Sparta employed the phalanx, a close-order shield and spear formation. But while elements of the hoplite phalanx are often presented in popular culture as uniquely Spartan, the formation and its equipment were common among the Greeks from at least the early fifth century, if not earlier. And beyond the phalanx, the Spartans were not innovators, slow to experiment with new tactics, combined arms, and naval operations. Instead, Spartan leaders consistently tried to solve their military problems with pitched hoplite battles. Spartan efforts to compel friendship by hoplite battle were particularly unsuccessful, as with the failed Spartan efforts to compel Corinth to rejoin the Spartan-led Peloponnesian League by force during the Corinthian War. Sparta’s military mediocrity seems inexplicable given the city-state’s popular reputation as a highly militarized society, but modern scholarship has shown that this, too, is mostly a mirage. The agoge, Sparta’s rearing system for citizen boys, frequently represented in popular culture as akin to an intense military bootcamp, in fact included no arms training or military drills and was primarily designed to instill obedience and conformity rather than skill at arms or tactics. In order to instill that obedience, the older boys were encouraged to police the younger boys with violence, with the result that even in adulthood Spartan citizens were liable to settle disputes with their fists, a tendency that predictably made them poor diplomats. But while Sparta’s military performance was merely mediocre, no better or worse than its Greek neighbors, Spartan politics makes it an exceptionally bad example for citizens or soldiers in a modern free society. Modern scholars continue to debate the degree to which ancient Sparta exercised a unique tyranny of the state over the lives of individual Spartan citizens. However, the Spartan citizenry represented only a tiny minority of people in Sparta, likely never more than 15 percent, including women of citizen status (who could not vote or hold office). Instead, the vast majority of people in Sparta, between 65 and 85 percent, were enslaved helots. (The remainder of the population was confined to Sparta’s bewildering array of noncitizen underclasses.) The figure is staggering, far higher than any other ancient Mediterranean state or, for instance, the antebellum American South, rightly termed a slave society with a third of its people enslaved.

[littlemsshoney]

Hannibal falling in love

It is ridiculous how wrapped around your little finger he was.

From the first moment he laid eyes on you he found his new fixation. Every time you were in the same room with him his gaze was fixed on you, observing silently every detail, getting to know you before you were even introduced.

Of course he would be very careful, almost suspicious of any new person being added to his social circle. For a man obsessed with his social image he had to be cautious of any potential competitor and you were just lovely. So charming, well educated, funny, and polite.

He found you unusually enchanting. Of course he recognised your beauty but there was something less superficial about you that just pulled him in.

The feeling was known to him yet very rare as it never seemed to have a happy end. He knew he tended to be quite intense with his emotions and that never ended well so he promised himself it wouldn’t be that way with you.

It wasn’t long till you happened to be invited to the same dinner parties through common friends. How could he not observe you when you were sitting opposite of him only a few centimetre out of his reach? Every time you happened to talk he found the perfect opportunity to study you, the way you spoke, the way you smiled, the faces you made when you found something funny, stupid or ridiculous. You tried to be discreet not to offend anyone but he noticed, he noticed and he loved every expression your precious face made.

If you happened to sit next to him he would already know what perfume you wore, what scented shampoo you used everything. (And he wouldn’t mind doing some personal research about you beforehand)

With every joke of yours he found himself truly laughing and when you spoke his inner monologue quietened and he didn’t have to pretend to be listening because he actually did.

For a man like him who spent most part of his life stuck inside his head, building fortresses against the cruelty of people you quickly broke down everything while having him feeling so comfortable and at ease with you. You had him hooked.

Of course he noticed the way other people looked at you. Women and men with their envy and lust and he wouldn't be jealous if he only knew you were his.

During his sessions he found himself unable to focus on anything, his mind just replaying every conversation you two had over and over like a broken radio. Almost every night he was awake at the most unholy hours, his mind unable to rest and stop thinking about you. That was when he knew it was inevitable.

His insomnia and love for you he treated with writing love letters and sonnets, making sketches and drawings of you as he imagined you, all of them hidden and locked in the drawer of his office and his heart too.

Now not only were you dominating his every through but his whole life too.

He would take notes into his head of your interests and would say all the perfect things to keep you interested. What were your hobbies? Art, literature, music he would become an expert for you. He knew everything from Taylor Swift's latest album to the full analysis of your favourite poem. He would do and learn about anything you liked and was passionate about, just to keep you talking to him with that sparkle in your eyes. He could do it for hours, days and every minute for the next of his life.

I hope you don’t share your affections with anyone special because if he found out which he would, they would be the next missing person in town or worse.

When you became used to him and you got to know each other better he found his chance to invite you to one of his special dinners. Only that one would be even more special as you would be the only guest hence having his sole interest. He had one whole evening to amaze you with his culinary skills, deep, meaningful conversations about art, philosophy and life. At the end of the night he had you feeling it too.

And when the time came and you became his you and the whole world would see just how smitten he is.

He laughed with every joke, he listened to you carefully and everytime your name was mentioned he couldn't help but smile. Any little things that caught your eyes you would have and if you asked for the moon itself he would find a way to give it to you.

He didn’t mind, he actually loved it. That was love for him. He wanted to be your loyal servant and your beloved and feared god all at once. Could you give him this and he would give you the world.

If you didn’t however return his affections or god forbid you betray him that would be a very different and tragic(for you) story.

[kierongillen]

General Player Advice For RPGs

I published this in my newsletter here a while back, and discourse reminded me I wanted to put it more public. I probably should get around to actually doing a proper blog for this kind of stuff. You can sign up to the newsletter here.

One of the things which I’ve been chewing over since getting back into RPGs is that there’s so much advice for GMs and so little advice for players. I keep thinking over why - though the whys aren’t what I’m about to write about. However, some other folk think any worthwhile advice is system/genre specific.

This got me chewing over whether I agree with that. As the list below shows, I don’t.

The first four are ones where I think I succeeded, and as principles generally guide you towards better play no matter what game you’re playing. The last three are mainly applicable to games with a significant story component (the last especially). There’s a few more I played with, but they were more about being a good at the table generally – about being a better player in any game rather than specifically about role-playing games. I also avoided ones which were more GM-and-player advice rather than just player advice (if there’s a problem in game, communicate out of game, use appropriate safety tools, etc).

I also didn’t include “Buy The GM Stuff”.

Anyway – here they are. See what you think.

GENERAL PLAYER PRINCIPLES FOR BETTER PLAY

1) Make choices that support the table’s creative goals

If you’re playing a storygame, don’t treat it like a tactical wargame. If you’re playing a tactical wargame, don’t treat it like a storygame. If it’s bleak horror, don’t make jokes. If you’re in a camp cosy romp, don’t bring in horror. It also varies from moment to moment – if someone’s scene is sincere, don’t undercut it.

2) Be A Fan of The Other Characters

This is GM advice in almost all Powered By the Apocalypse games – for the GM to be a fan of the characters. It’s a good trait for a player to cultivate. Be actively excited and interested in the other characters’ triumphs and disasters. Cheer them on. Feel for them. Players being excited for other players always makes the game better. Players turning off until it’s their turn always makes it worse.

3) Be aware of the amount of spotlight time you’re taking

This is a hard one for fellow ADHD-ers, but have an awareness of who is speaking more and who is speaking less. A standard GM skill is moving spotlight time around to players who have had less time. Really good players do this too. Pass the ball.

4) Learn what rules apply to you, to smooth the game, not derail it.

To stress, this isn’t “come to the table knowing everything” but learning the rules that are relevant to your character along the way, especially if they are marginal (looking at you, Grappling and Alchemy rules). Doing otherwise adds to the facilitator’s cognitive load and hurts the game’s flow. The flip is being aware that knowing stuff isn’t an excuse to break the game’s flow with a rules debate either – that’s an extension of the third principle.

5) Make choices which support other characters’ reality

If someone’s playing a scary bastard, treat them like a scary bastard. If they’re meant to be the leader, have your character treat them like the leader , for better or worse. A fictional reality is shared, and you construct it together.

6) Ensure The Group Understands Who Your Character Is

This is the flip of the above – having a character conception that is clear enough that everyone gets who you are, what you want to do and how you want to do it. If you don’t, the table will be incapable of supporting your choices. This links to…

7) If asked a preference in a story game, a strong choice is almost always better than a middling choice.

Don’t equivocate. If asked “You’ve met this person before. How do you feel about him?” either “I love him” or “I hate him” is better than anything middling. The exception is if it’s something you’re really not interested in pursuing.

[alexiswritingstuff]

Everyone can heal.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Gn!reader

Summary: Logan falls asleep in the day room at Xavier's school, you accidently startle him awake and end up getting hurt.

Genre: hurt/comfort.

Warnings: mentions of blood, and descriptions of wounds, mentions of nightmares.

This is the first time that I am writing in a while, so I hope this isn't just straight up terrible.

A/n: this if my first fic for Logan, so like I usually say when writing for a new character, I may not have portrayed him in an accurate way. There might be parts that seem out of character and such, so please keep that in mind while reading!

Anyway, I've watched the X-men movies since I was a kid. And after watching the new Deadpool and Wolverine movie I was put right back at square one. So, here you go!

I hope you enjoy!!

It had been a long few days.

It was one of the first weeks that you had actually tried to be a professor. Of some sort.

Now, generally, you weren't exactly the kind of person that worked well with kids. It was a lack of experience on your end, as you hadn't gotten the chance to grow up with much others.

But you wanted to learn. Or... did.

The main fault was that you had forgotten to weigh your personal life, more so the things you needed, alongside being a professor in a school.

See, there were a few things that you didn't know about your abilities beforehand. Charles managed to bring some to light, and in turn, you had to figure out how to use them: Incorporate them into your training, into your fighting skills.

It was a lot to relearn. And you misjudged just how much it was going take it out of you.

Though, you didn't seem to be the only one.

Logan was practically in the same boat. Maybe even a little worse. I mean, he was good with kids, but working with them was different, especially when it's a whole group of them at a time. He even bailed on his own classes once. Or twice... could’ve been more.

But you couldn't exactly blame him.

This was the man that barely stayed a week anyway. He was always leaving, whether it was for a bar or something else, you didn't know unless you went with him.

He wasn't used to it yet. The change of being alone, pretty much all the time, to suddenly being surrounded by a boat load of people 24/7. It was understandable. Especially to you, which is probably why you had got to know him so well.

It was the end of the day. The sun was tucked far beneath the horizon, blanketing your part of the earth in a complete darkness. Minus the slight light pollution.

The hallways of the schools were empty at this time, each kid, hopefully, getting a good night's sleep for the next day of learning. But you could never be sure when it came to the teenagers.

It meant that there were less things in the surrounding area for the sound of your footsteps to bounce off. And that, combined with the size of the archways themselves, allowed the echoes to ring a lot longer than needed. 

You were on your way back to the day room, having made a quick stop by the kitchen to get more sodas in order to soothe the joint annoyance of having a lack of beer. 

It was where the two of you usually set up for quiet moments like these. There wasn't really anywhere else to go, unless you wanted to be stuck in an empty classroom, or have to sit on a freezing bench. And neither of you had an interest in being near a bed.

The most important factor about the day room, however, was that it had a TV. Which just so happened to be the first thing you heard after passing through the final corridor.

It was distant, set at a cautious volume. It must've been one of those talk shows, or maybe some kind of sitcom, as a chorus of laughter would erupt after almost every sentence said.

Either way, it didn't really matter. It had only been put on for background noise. A sound that would carry the silence whenever the two of you had stopped talking, unsure of what to bring up next.

Though, it seemed it had worked a little too well.

The last time you got a look at Logan, he had resumed his usual position. He was upright, back pressed firmly into the sofa as if he were trying to meld with it, and leant against the palm of his hand that had his elbow digging into the armrest.

Your feet halted in a matter of seconds of turning into that doorway. Your tongue was curled in your mouth, lips parted and remaining so, as your eyes had landed back on the man.

He was lying in the opposite direction. His body was sprawled across the length of the couch, though his feet were cursed to hang loosely over the edge. His muscles looked tense, regardless of the usual relief that sort of position was supposed to give a person. But that wasn't the interesting part.

His eyes were closed.

At this point the condensation on the bottles had begun to grow into little drops of water, joining together, one by one, before leaking onto your skin.

Your steps were slow, testing each of the floorboards beneath your shoes to avoid the ones that creaked like an old door.

Logan wasn't a person who got tired easily. It was part of his mutation, that of which you had learned very quickly, but apparently it had manifested into thinking that he couldn't even feel it at all. I guess you were wrong.

Though, in his defence, he may not have even meant to fall asleep when he closed his eyes.

Eventually, you had made it to the edge of the couch. There was a side table on each end of it, the safest and the closest option regardless of the fact his shoed feet were almost right above it.

You took one of the bottles in your free hand, making sure that your grip was just right, before beginning the descent to the table.

You held your breath, narrowed gaze flickering consistently from the eventual destination to the sleeping man. The concentration had even caused your tongue to poke through your teeth as you took about a step closer--

And then bam.

Right as the bottom of the bottle had touched down on the wood, this sudden guttural sound rippled through the air. It had you stumbling backwards, gaping in the direction of the continued noise that sounded like fear itself.

In front of you, now, was not the same sleeping man. In fact, this man was sat up, though almost hunched over most of his body. His arms were raised, aimed straight ahead, and that happened to be right at you.

“Whoa-- hey!”

He was heaving. Each breath taken almost shook his entire body. And the noises... They were almost like growls.

They were so deep and harsh as they pushed out of his throat one after the other, but his inhales were somehow even worse. It was like all the air in the room had suddenly dissipated.

It wasn't until you heard the seams of the couch starting to rip that you realised his claws were even out, the ends just about digging into the pillows beside him.

“Logan, hey, it's me, okay? Look,” you attempted to call, trying to lower your head so that he could properly meet your eyes, “Look, it's me!” And then he did. He saw you, even if It took a moment for it to actually kick in. 

He was still heaving, his gaze was fierce and his eyebrows never eased. He had even slightly choked on a breath on its way out.

But you saw the way he had slightly leaned back. There was a relief within the swirl of other emotions.

Until his gaze lowered.

Now, at some point in the past few minutes, the other bottle in your hand had been discarded. It most likely hit the edge of your shoe, sending it to roll off into some corner of the room where it would be forgotten about until morning... But it hadn't smashed.

So, why did something sound like it was dripping?

“Y/n.”

By the time your eyebrows had furrowed in confusion, Logan had hurriedly shoved himself up from the couch, his claws shrinking back between his knuckles within seconds. “Shit.”

You were lost. The sudden switch in atmosphere had you just standing there, fixated on the man that was moving towards you with this look on his face. Similar to one of guilt.

“Logan?” You had barely gotten the name out before you suddenly felt a hand on your arm. Your head snapped in its direction, lips parting so that you could ask what the hell was going on. And then he slightly tilted your arm.

There was your answer. “Oh.”

Three marks. There were three lines etched diagonally into your arm, one deep enough that it led the pooling blood to trickle down your skin. How did you not feel that?

“Fuck,” Logan's hand was careful. His fingers were light and gentle as they grazed the side of your arm. Hesitant. His breaths were getting louder again. “I'm…”

“I'm sorry,” he attempted, his voice barely escaping as a whisper, “I'm so sorry.”

His eyebrows were more furrowed than they were before. The rest of his face was sort of scrunched up too, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Or he was disgusted by it.

“Logan,” You tried placing your hand on his closest wrist, but he immediately retracted. He let go of your arm, “Hey, look, I'm fine, okay?” you started louder, more insistent, “It doesn't hurt.”

Logan shook his head for a moment. He took a slight step backwards, his stance heavy. His eyes never moved. “I'm sorry.”

He grunted, the frown taking over his lips deepening for just a moment before his torso twisted. He grabbed the neck of the successfully placed soda, and then just walked around you.

“No, wait,” You tried to reach out, wanting to grasp his arm or even the fabric of his top, but he swerved, completely avoiding you, “Logan?”

You couldn't even make another attempt as if your other hand was away for longer, more blood would end up dripping on the floor. So, your body turned, desperate eyes following the man in a way that was more of a plea than anything else.

But he never looked back. He continued walking through the doorway, rubbing hard against his temples with a final grunt before disappearing behind the wall.

~~~

The time, at this point, was unclear. The clocks in this school were usually around the learning areas, mostly in the classrooms, which created a sort of guessing game anywhere else.

It was apparent, however, that the sun had just begun to rise. Peeking over the horizon enough so that a bright mist seeped into most of the corridors.

You found yourself back in the hallways. There wasn't a very clear reason as to why than this inability to sit. A failure to be still for seconds at a time, regardless of the tiredness that had started to cling to your skin.

But that was the last thing on your mind.

You kept thinking about it; the previous encounter. It was sort of plaguing your mind, more so how you handled it.

Granted, it was in fact your first time having to deal with a situation like that, and usually you were on the other side. Though this seemed different, like something had just been exposed.

You were aware of the fact that Logan had nightmares. I mean, it was one of the most believable things about him, considering the things he'd gone through. The extent, however, was undetermined.

Until today.

A huff of air sifted through your lips as you attempted to straighten your spine, stretch the accompanying muscles that had grown tense over the past few hours.

The aimless walking was almost nice. The surroundings were mostly quiet, excluding the wind that whistled against the glass of the windows, having picked up some time earlier.

It was that time of year again. The group of months where the weather grew cold and the plants began to change. It almost made the school feel cosy even if there was no heating in the hallways.

In fact, where you were now was the coldest, and it wasn't until you looked up properly that you realised you were about to walk into a dead-end.

Slowly, your feet came to a stop, your lazy eyes blinking hastily in the blaring yellow light, which was starting to mix into this sort of orange.

Your shoulders lowered, a sense of relief filtering through your system as the decision had been final. You were going to go to your room, maybe even get to lay down for a few hours until it was time to teach.

So, you turned on your heel, taking about a step in the other direction as your blurry eyes attempted to focus on the closest doorway, until you could note the surroundings. It was the kitchen.

Now, that door was always open, usually swung all the way back and held by a stopper. But a light was on. Allowing you to properly get a view of the room and what was in it.

More so who.

Your movements had halted right as you were about to take another step.

Logan.

He was sitting at the narrow table at the back, set between the array of windows. His elbows were against the surface of it, one of his hands clasped around a bottle he had just set down. He swallowed, and so did you.

There was an initial pause, seconds taken to calculate the right decision, before you went in. Your lips parted, ready to release the script you had gone over in your head for the last hour--

“I didn't mean to hurt you.”

Instead, you were frozen. The volume of his voice, and the angle he sat at, almost made it seem like the words didn't even come from him. He probably heard you before you had even come down the hall.

Your eyebrows furrowed, “Logan–” you tried, but his mouth opened before you could even finish, “Just let me talk,” He hadn't moved. He was in the same position, still holding the bottle, and staring straight forward like there was someone there across from him. “Okay?”

You brought your lips together, placing a hand on the kitchen island to distribute your weight. Logan took the silence as acceptance and he cleared his throat. “I'm sure you already know,” he had begun, sparing the slightest glance your way for confirmation that didn't even need, “about the... nightmares.”

It was as if something in his mouth went sour when he said it, like the words itself tasted bad.

“Some are about the past, you know-- bits and pieces of it, anyway, but…” Logan paused for a moment, both verbally and physically. It only held for a few seconds. And then he sighed. “There are other ones too- Ones... ones where people get hurt, and, I'm…”

“I'm the one doing it.” It was a slow movement, an action that looked like it had to be forced, as Logan suddenly began turning in his seat. He met your eyes with a look that had your eyebrows furrowing all over again, “I'm the one hurting people.”

“Y/n, I'm sorry.”

“Logan,” you started, shaking your head in disagreement with the apology, but he only repeated it. “I'm so sorry.”

You made your way to the edge of the island, pace slowing once round the corner, “Hey,” Logan's gaze had shifted as you moved. It was lower, directed at a specific point. He was looking at your arm.

It had been engulfed by a layer of, hopefully, the appropriate bandaging. An attempt at following the tips Jean had given you from previous injuries.

But it being covered somehow made it seem worse than it was.

“Hey, look at me,” you called, stopping at a good place where you were actually in front of him, yet still a good distance away so he wouldn’t want to back off. “Look at me.” 

The next words only left your lips when he had finally decided to comply. “I'm fine.” you assured, the tone of your voice much lighter than before. But that made the look on Logan's face shift, “I hurt you.”

“It was an accident,” Your response was quick, your voice making it sound so simple. Like the sentence said should’ve been accompanied by a shrug of the shoulders. Logan didn't like that, “Accident or not, I still hurt you, Y/n.” His tone was riddled with this disbelief, as if he couldn't believe that he had to tell you that in the first place.

“And, I'm still here, Logan.”

You didn't understand it. The two of you had trained together many times, each round ending with either one receiving a new injury until your skills developed. Hell, you had been in battle together.

A little scratch was nothing. “It was a mistake-- my mistake. I'm the one who startled you, shit like this happens.” you tried to assure. Logan scoffed immediately, “What-- Does that make it magically okay for me to hurt people?”

“No!” you huffed out, the ability to contain your annoyance dwindling the more he challenged your statements. “No, okay? But-- You know, what-- Look.”

You took a few more steps, the care for all of the previous caution going completely out the window as you grasped an end of the bandaging, and unwinded the material before pulling back the padding beneath.

“See?”

Logan almost looked like he had buffered for a few seconds. He blinked, and then again, and then twice really fast, as if it would change what was in front of him. His hand had even flexed, like he wanted to reach it out, though it remained on the table.

They were gone. Each mark, each line that was carved into the skin had completely gone. Disappeared without a trace. There wasn't even a scar.

“You…” He spoke slowly, his eyes trailing up the length of your arm to your shoulders. And then your face. “You can regenerate?”

“Granted, a little... Well, a lot slower than you-- But, yeah.” you confirmed, wrapping the bandage up in your hands before placing it on the kitchen aisle behind you.

Logan leaned back slightly in a way that straightened his up spine. He brought his legs from under the table and set them in the direction the rest of his body was facing. He had turned right towards you.

“Are you serious?” The complete deadpan had you staring right back at him. You couldn't read the expression, nor the stance. You didn't even know what to call it. “Yep.” You blinked. Logan didn't move a muscle, “You can heal.” 

Now, you could hear it in his voice. It wasn't just a statement, a form of repetition to clarify the new information. He was getting mad.

You furrowed your eyebrows, “I... I don't really know what else you want me to say.” Which was the truth, the whole healing thing was one of the things you had discovered with Charles. 

It's an entirely different process than it is for most anyway, let alone when it comes to Logan. At the moment you actually had to activate the process for anything to heal. But you were working on it.

I guess it just slipped your mind.

“So, you were just willingly acting like a damn damsel?” The lines around his eyebrows deepened the way they usually did when he was getting angry. And they weren't stopping.

“A damsel?” you repeated, even tilting your head as a wordless question, and he just nodded. “You stood there. You just stood there until I came to you-- You didn't even try to stop the bleeding. Hell, did you even notice?”

That look on his face never changed. You hated it. The way it darkened his eyes, or tensed the surrounding muscles. The most bothersome thing, however, was the fact that it was aimed at you. “No,” you started, this time with a deeper voice. “No, I didn't-- You know, why?”

“Why?” Logan commanded, the veins around his neck becoming apparent. It was as if he was trying to win an argument, get the upper hand and serve some kind of justice, like you had done something wrong.

He was supposed to be relieved.

“Maybe, it's because that was the last thing I cared about, Logan!”

The two of you were just staring at each other. At this point, both of you were almost heaving, the past few minutes taking the air out of both pair of lungs.

The expression on Logan's face twitched for a moment, a crack in the anger that usually wasn't breakable. His posture had become more of a slouch as he suddenly decided to lean back a little, like before.

You watched with curious eyes when he then sighed, breaking the held gaze to grab his bottle of soda and bring it to his lips.

It all resembled a puzzle. A constant attempt to find the right piece, the right thought, that would fit it all together. But there was a lack of progress. You were at a loss. 

Was he mad that you didn't tell him? Was he actually mad that you didn't do anything about the scratches? Were you reacting the wrong way? Did he want you to hate him? Were you supposed to?

Or did he think that you couldn't grasp the situation? The severity. The big 'What if?' Maybe he was in fact tired. 

Just a different kind.

You started to move after another few seconds, the sound of your shoes against the tiles piercing through the layer of created silence. It was apparent that Logan was watching, albeit discreetly, following what he could as he took another swig.

Your movements concluded by the length of the table he was sitting at. You leaned onto it, releasing that weight that had started aching both your knees and your feet from standing for so long.

By the time your eyes were back on Logan, his own had snapped away.

You took in a deep breath of the cold air, feeling it hit the back of your throat, your shoulders deflating, “I get them too, you know... Nightmares.”

There was a beat of silence again. A lack of movement, or reaction. And then he met your eyes again. Slower this time, almost hesitant. He set his drink down ,listening. So, you continued, “I wouldn't go about comparing them,” 

“But, I understand enough to know what it's like.”

Logan sort of huffed a laugh after that. Not a malicious one, or in disbelief of the sentiment. He was acknowledging it. “You shouldn't have to.” 

He was back to that whisper of a voice again. It was still deep, and a tad gravely, almost forceful. But it conveyed enough. “Neither should you.. yet,” you paused, shrugging your shoulders, “Here we are.”

This time, the huffed laugh was louder. More pronounced in a way. It left a mark on his lips, leaving them curling at the corners. It fit right in. You wanted it to stay. Maybe a little too much, “At least, now, I get to say that I was attacked by The Wolverine and survived.” 

The comment was a little dangerous, especially if taken the wrong way. In all honesty, your eagerness allowed it to be blurted right through your lips before you could catch it. 

But Logan practically snorted. “Shut up.” he breathed, bringing the soda back to his lips. You pretended that you didn’t hear him, even crossing your arms over your chest, though a grin had slightly appeared, “I could even say that I defeated him.” 

In about a second his eyes had snapped to yours, a singular brow rising as the bottle smacked onto the surface of the table, “Okay,” He swallowed, “you did not defeat me, bub.”

“Oh, really?” you challenged, attempting to mimic his expression. “You were done after one move.”

Logan pushed the chair with his back in a way that had the legs screeching against the tiles. He stood from it, moving about a step to the side before continuing towards you.

“I was distracted.” he pointed out, gaze narrow as his eyebrows decided to furrow in an attempt to support his justification. “Excuses, excuses,” was all you said, accompanying it with a light shrug.

Logan was right in front of you now. He was close, about a step away. Though, the longer he looked at you, his eyes scanning across the skin of your face, that amusement once held had begun to fade.

He became sort of serious, the tension making the lines of his face more prominent all over again as his lips curved into more of a frown.

“I don't want it to happen again.” He was avoiding your eyes now, his own gaze cast downward. They were following his hand as he had brought it to your arm, the fingers of which ghosting across where the marks had been like he could still see them.

“Logan,” you started, your voice quiet yet loud enough that his attention was recovered. The two of you were looking at each other again, this time properly. Your features eased, all of the concern and the previous anger completely melting away.

You brought the hand of your previously injured arm upward, and he watched it until it went out of his vision.

You gently placed your hand on the side of his cheek, your palm pressing into the hair of his mutton chops which brought his gaze back to yours. And then you smiled lightly, just enough that he could see it, “Even if it did, I am not going anywhere.”

There was this quick twitch in Logan's expression. A split second of movement that had almost gone unnoticed until it happened again. His eyebrows pinched together.

Before you could say a word, he had suddenly pulled you forward, away from the table you were once against.

By the time you were up straight, his arms had wrapped around your body one after the other, entrapping you in this warmth that the kitchen could never achieve. It had you copying him as fast as you could, letting your hands land across the skin of his back and the fabric of the tank top.

Logan's head was planted on your shoulder, his hair sort of tickling the side of your face as he tucked himself in further. 

His body slightly deflated after a moment, a sort of gravelly hum of content rumbling from his throat. He obviously wasn’t putting his entire weight on you, the two of you would've tipped over within seconds. But you could feel it.

An extra weight that you were glad to carry.

[anantaru]

DAY 12 — COCKWARMING

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

𖧡 — including — heizou, alhaitham, baizhu

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, cockwarming, tit play, teasing you to the brim like staaaaaahp, a sprinkle of brat taming because why not, mean genshin boys

𖧡 — HEIZOU

"ah- i could get used to this."

and needless to say, it feels good, largely to heizou though— especially when he shadows his skilled fingers over your bare chest because he knows it'll drive you insane, his hand slowly settling down on top of your breasts, squeezing and massaging the mounds before groping your tits, together with his cock slipping past the solidness of your slit— throbbing, pressing and stretching inside.

you cling to him for your dear life, the fulfillment of his erection jammed within the bounds of you swelling pussy, candidly battering your cunt when you attempt to press down on his hips, or perhaps move for that matter, instead whimpering sweetly as heizou stills your hips with a solid arm whilst the other pinches your aroused nipple and tugs on it ever so slightly.

you pout out deliberately, yearning for him so terribly you cannot help yourself but moan into his neck, "heizou.." you say, stumbling over your words, "don't tease me now.. please." and it's not necessarily something your boyfriend would consider teasing— especially since in his opinion, you should be utterly aware on how his real taunting looked like.

in the span of no time, it had gotten to the point where it became a game between you both, one which he would most likely end up winning the moment he shushes your cute sniffles with a kiss, idly shuffling in his seat before unintentionally (it was very much intentional) moving his cock and thrusting up hard against one cloying, pressing, spot.

"fuck— well, you faced worse before, haven't you?" his words, although dripping of artificial consideration, vibrate all the way from your pouty lips, to your sensitive nipples being played with, to your wet messy core slicking up his buried shaft, shortly gushing around it so much that a white, thick ring of whites took shape around the base of his cock— he’s still entirely buried in you, with that single thrust hitting you like a sudden hot fever dashing on top of your shoulders.

heizou continues to keep you pressed against his cock, one hand long since branding the flesh of your juddering hips— and it's almost bruising to you, long fingers plunging into the skin hard enough to make you wince out and beg again, only to be met with a cocked up brow, a wet smirk and an even deeper throb of his erection.

your quivering body was exceedingly past recovering by now and you helplessly swallow down a bubbling sob from your throat when he grinds inside you again, yet with barely any strength aiding the move— the stiffened veins of his erection melting with your walls that the combination of those very sensations heizou brought forth focused on intermittently inching you into madness.

𖧡 — ALHAITHAM

your thighs clamp against each side of alhaitham's hips while one arm freely closes around your waist, the last thing he'd want is for you to move and disturb his peace— whilst the other, well, was occupied in holding a book he was currently reading, adventurous eyes deciphering each and every little letter printed on top, eagerly memorizing and pondering about a much deeper, more crucial interpretation behind the portrayed story.

yet you're taking him just like he needed you to, raw and hard, while he barely gifts you any attention. ugh, some sort of punishment coming from the scribe? might be, but you knew alhaitham very well and that his mind simply wasn't wired that way, instead he probably thought that it would cost him far less effort to put two into one, pleasure and knowledge, as he referred to it, stitched together with both sides unable to slip past his grip.

it's mostly exhausting around your legs, specifically the insides of your thighs that began to stiffen and ache, forcing you to taste subtle early signs of lightheadedness from your desperate attempts to not move nor clench down on him so strongly.

another breathy gasp, and you let him know that you're obviously struggling with his cock being way too big and heavy to remain in that way without moving at the very least— a warm puddle of your arousal exuding from your hole and divulging at the foundation of his shaft, sending droplets of the mixture on the office floor.

"please, oh, please." you whine, suddenly flustered when you realize you just blurted those frenzied pleas out loud, establishing them right against the shell of his ears, his headphones since long disposed of and placed on the table next to you— whilst beyond questioning, besides the fact that alhaitham was wholly absorbed into the fantasy novel in his hand, he'd never pass up on an opportunity to listen to your short-lived whines, the cute weeps or the loud thuds of your heart beat reverberating against his chest.

"already?" he speaks softly before you meet his eyes, surprisingly enough his pupils were blown wide and you cannot even fathom this level of discipline when it probably hurt him too to not move at least an inch up and down your fluttering hole. "i barely started this chapter."

"then read faster!" you interrupt him, no, practically snap at him, nervously licking your lips as your hands run over his cheeks to make him kiss you, his raw erection throbbing at the bold move as he for once redirects his entire attention from that pestering, bothersome, annoying book in his hand that you would love to just dispose of entirely.

"okay, okay," the man shuffles around, "you better make it worth my time then." and he teases you, always, then drinks up a trembling moan that spumes up on your mouth as his quick tongue darts out to run around your lips and wet them with his saliva, your throat aching in excitement for what's about to come. 

alhaitham bites back a groan when you swiftly mould your walls over his cock, needful and slobbering your arousal once more— you're so soft there, ah, it never fails to amaze him. but to get himself on top of things again, most importantly to not lose himself in you, he traces your back up and down with his palm before teasingly rutting into your wet sex, it's barely perceivable to you and maybe that's what would ultimately tip you over the edge if alhaitham does not stop those cruel tactics.

although, pondering over his honesty, it's quite cute when you're frustrated and bitter because of a situation he put you in, or how much harder it was to stay disciplined in focusing on his book when a coat of a heavenly expression litters across your bristling cheeks— it just feels so dreamy to be inside you.

alhaitham might just look past the little shifts of your body that you sneaked between pauses, despite them offering you the tiniest teases and moments of friction on your overflowing hole, and yes, your leg muscles were screaming for some sort of pleasure, regardless keeping yourself still and happy to take his perfectly shaped length.

𖧡 — BAIZHU

you brace yourself, without further questioning settling on baizhu's lap before lining your slit up with his leaking cock— his pre like a translucent film sheer on top of the rosy tip.

and for the most part, this scenario appeared to be quite familiar to you— at the end of the day, your boyfriend could never be entirely satisfied when you ride him for hours, he needs it without pause. it warms his heart when you’re on top— as if you were somehow claiming him, his groans exuberant with lust, a velvet tune on your ears so exciting as you watch how he succumbs to the touch of being engulfed by a warm, soft cunt.

this time, although, something didn't align with previous scenarios— because the second you had pushed him in, touched up his shaft with your wetness, baizhu instantly places both hands on your moving hips, breathily laughing in both bliss and an ulterior emotion as he squeezes the flesh of your ass, your pretty noises almost making him decide against doing this right now.

of course, you try to lift your hips so you could bounce up and down, his cockhead snugly enclosed and piercing your swelling flesh as he spread you apart by his girth, your body desperately clinging against his chest and it's only then, when you realize what's going on, your hot, breathless moans garnering his gentle attention.

"uh?" you tilt your head to the side, then wince when his cock reaches impossibly deep and nudges over your sensitivity, the infused tingles of that singular drag holding you captive, intimately trapped within his arms, "ah— is something wrong?"

"no, nothing." baizhu coos, mouthing a wet spot over your jawline before slotting his lips over your own. you fall into a kind of daze when he keeps you strong against his thudding cock, your hands on his shoulders when you press your nails into the clothed skin, breathing deep, slow, at least trying but your attempts immediately fall flat when he offers your body some teases of friction.

"is something supposed to be wrong?" you're sweating at his words, your leg muscles screaming when you gaze at him through confused, widened eyes, "i- i'm not sure," you babble, the shivers in your lower area doing everything in their limited power to keep the pleasure going for as long as possible, anything to make you feel at least something but baizhu wouldn't let you.

"think harder, darling." he grins, letting the exposed warmth of your cunt wrap around his cock as he lifts you up, "is this better?" no, of course not, you panic, this was even worse and you whine at the lost fullness, leaning against him to wrap your arms around his neck, his cock head still nudging at your slit.

"it's not, it's not, it's not.." you can hardly move, and baizhu swallows down your mewls with a lick into your mouth, nibbling at your bottom lip before smirking when he feels how you're rolling your hips, or at least, try— despite that, you're being met with strong resistance again, wondering how someone such as baizhu, who was perceived as a frail man, suddenly claimed such sturdy force in his arms.

"easy now.." he whispers cruelly, and you can practically taste his amusement on your tongue.

"maybe then "i'll move."

©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify