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kiestrokes · 8 months

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astringe | NSFW

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x Reader/You/Yn Rating: NSFW! Mature (18+) Minors DNI. Word Count: 2516 Genre: smut, porn without plot, friends to lovers. Warnings: artsy undercut Hyunjin from the last month + 2023 VMA's, college, art school, a variety of kissing, handholding, Hyunjin is confident, mentions of a fantasy book featuring a blood mage which is a nod to @chans-room and a lovely fic they are crafting up.

Sexually Explicit Content: consented choking (this is the main focus of this fic DO NOT read if you don't enjoy choking in theory or real life), sexual intercourse (penis in vagina) cowgirl, missionary, some breast play but not really, mutual orgasms. let me know if I missed anything!

Summary: Things get a little tense in the library when your best friend innocently discovers your secret asphyxiation kink. He just wanted a better angle of your neck, but now that he's found it, how could he not toy with you a little?

🗝️ Note: sooo this brain rot had consumed me all of my workday yesterday and was only intensified after that undercut reveal at the VMA's. Hyunjin has been a fucking menace lately and I just needed to yeet this my from my brain. So yea, enjoy 🙏🏼thank you to B for their lovely beta read 🖤

Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction; I do not own any of the idols depicted in this story.

Read it on Ao3!

You’re tucked away into what is arguably your favorite place on campus- a window alcove nestled between two rows of bookshelves stocked with the full collection of Oxford dictionaries that nobody ever uses anymore. Thanks to the invention of smartphones.

Your best friend, sketching away on the window sill across from you as the sun descends into twilight.

Hyunjin looks every part the troubled artist; a black sweater draped over his broad shoulders, dark hair pulled back nonchalantly, displaying his freshly shaved undercut, silver-rimmed glasses glinting under the fading halogen bulbs, a singular black nail pinching a bit of oil crayon as it glides across the thick paper of his sketchbook and rambling about how he needs to work on specific body parts more.

You’re immersed in your fantasy novel, humming along, without the notion that you are his current subject or what he is saying at this point. The handsome blood mage has captured the warrior princess and is taking her back to his-

Hyunjin’s hands are suddenly around your throat and your brain doesn't have time to stop the strangled moan that leaves your lips. Your book topples to the carpeted floor with a soft thud, announcing the loss of your place. You regain enough awareness to fight off your body's natural response to this type of touch. How you want to close your eyes, to sink into the hand cupping your neck, and relinquish control.

Hyunjin’s observant gaze catches it and a mischievous smirk marks his beautiful lips. Slowly he begins to toy with your neck, turning you at angles with a slight flex of his fingers and jut of his thumb into your jawbone. Pretending to sketch the slopes and hollows of your throat, his interest already elsewhere. He grasps the column suddenly and your spine snaps arching your chest forward with a moan, your own hands clawing helplessly at the denim of your pants.

“Shhh, you don’t want anyone to hear you.” His tongue toys with his top lip as he strokes your throat firmly with his thumb.

“Hyun-”

Hyunjin squeezes again, his gaze cutting to yours, the intensity of his eyes causing a whine to get caught in your chest.

He abandons the sketchbook and slips up next to you, his large thigh pressing into yours. His arm comes to rest between your breasts, rising and falling with your rapid breathing.

“Does this turn you on?”

You nod subtly. Head kicking back as he gifts you with another squeeze for answering his question honestly, biting your lip hard to keep all sounds locked behind your teeth.

“Why aren’t you stopping me?” He looks at you from under his brow, smiling almost wickedly.

Your lip slips from your teeth and a whimper escapes, Hyunjin rewards you with a firm press to the sides of your neck. You can feel your pulse thrumming against the tips of his fingers, and your eyes close in an attempt to calm your breathing.

“Do you want me?” Hyunjin’s cool breath fans across your lashes.

“Yes,” You whisper.

Hyunjin’s hand slips up to cup your jaw, his thumb caressing your lip before tugging it down. Your eyes snap open to find his gaze focused on his hand, and your lips. Then he's standing suddenly, like nothing had just occurred between the two of you. Calmly collecting his things, and slipping them into his bag along with your book he retrieves from the floor.

Not a word is spoken until he looks down at you expectantly, “Let's go then.”

You stand up shakily and Hyunjin wraps your hand in his, tucking you into his side and turning the two of you toward the exit. Hyunjin smiles politely at the librarians as they wave goodbye on your way out. His other fingers interlocked with yours as he guides you toward the elevators.

Hyunjin had lucked out in having a solo artist suite above the library, your second favorite place on campus.

Inside the elevator, you watch him in the tin reflection. Hyunjin smirks back at you, slipping your hand into the pocket of his baggy pants, and pressing the tips of your fingers into his erection. You gasp and turn to look at him, but he’s already watching you. An unspoken acknowledgment that he wants you too.

Hyunjin’s eyes only intensified behind the magnification of his circular glasses. With all the metal surrounding you, you’re all too aware of the charged energy behind Hyunjin’s gaze. As if you were to reach out and touch the wall of the rattling lift, you would be electrocuted.

The elevator dings and you tear your eyes away from him. Hyunjin removes your hand from his pocket and pulls you out of the elevator, toward his room. He punches the code in with his free hand and gestures you inside, finally releasing your hand from his firm grasp. Inside, the room is the same as it always is; dimly lit by a single lamp by the bed, bathing everything in a buttery glow that softens the sharp edges of Hyunjin’s drawing desk and stacks of sketchbooks.

You slip your sandals off and pad unsurely over to the bed, toes pinching into the soft checkered rug at the foot of his bed. The heat of Hyunjin’s body alerts you that he has moved on from removing his shoes and hanging up his bag at the door.

You tilt your head to look up at him, just as his eyes meet yours his hand is on your throat again, stroking up before spreading firmly across your larynx.

Hyunjin’s lip's part when you press into his hand, asking for more, consenting to be choked. His lashes flutter in a soft laugh when you moan at the squeeze he bestows. He presses his front to your back, his other hand slipping under your sweater, across the soft skin of your stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“What a lovely little secret you kept from your best friend,” His lips ghost yours as he squeezes again, a groan erupting from your throat.

Hyunjin breathes a laugh as he shuffles you over to the bed, the front of his thighs pressing into the backs of yours as if you are a doll, marionetting you exactly where he wants.

Your knees bump into the end of the bed and Hyunjin’s hand slips from your throat, turning you around to face him and tossing you down on your back with a soft push. Your hands fist the soft gray fleece of his bedding, anchoring yourself to something, solidifying yourself in this moment.

He wastes no time ridding himself of his clothing, tugging off the sweater, dropping his pants and boxers to be shamelessly nude before you.

You gulp, gaze bouncing across the chiseled body of your best friend. Hyunjin smiles knowingly, everyone reacts to him this way, he just didn’t expect that switch to be so easily flipped on in you. He rakes a hand through his hair, tugging out the tie and allowing his dark locks freedom. While his other hand rises to remove the glasses.

“No-”

He stops and shoots you a quizzical look, one that is punctuated with a paradoxically cute tilt of his head.

“Leave them on.”

He grins, “another kink.”

Hyunjin rolls his tongue between his lips, as he bends to tug you down the bed by your thighs. The squeak that escapes your mouth earns you an affectionate chuckle from him and you relax at the familiar sound.

This is your best friend, he’s not some inexperienced man pretending to be a dominant. Hyunjin smiles at you as he feels your muscles release underneath his hands.

The urgency with how he undressed himself is the polar opposite of how he unclothes you. His slim fingers slowly unbutton your pants, methodologically like he’s molding your body like clay.

Committing each touch to memory to draw later, each feeling, each sound. The snap of your button, the zip of your pants, you watch his eyes observing every subtlety.

He bites his bottom lip at the tilt of your hips, his eyes tracing how the light casts shadows over the mound of your cunt.

The darkened valleys that your hip bones create as he shifts the denim down your thighs. He tosses them off to accompany his discarded clothing, absently tracing the malleolus of your ankle as he nestles himself between your open thighs.

You move to sit up, thinking your shirt is next, but Hyunjin is quick- he pins you to the bed by your throat and the moan that escapes you is raw.

Hyunjin huffs at you, eyes lidding as the sound impacts him. With his hand firm on your throat, his other fingers dip into the band of your panties, middle finger diving into your slit. He moans himself, eyes closing in pleasure at discovering how wet you are.

Hyunjin releases you altogether, bending over to grab a condom from the crystal ashtray on his nightstand. He rolls it over his length, and everything picks up speed.

Suddenly your panties are gone and Hyunjin spears open your lower lips with one hand, slapping the head of his cock on your swollen clit. You writhe, crying out at the sensation as he circles it with his tip.

“Choking you makes you this wet?” Hyunjin’s eyes are on your face and you blink yours open at him, nodding. “Can you come from it?”

“I don’t know, no one has ever tried. Most guys get too lost in-” You break off and he tilts his head, eyebrows rising slyly.

His tip breaks your entrance, “-this pussy?”

You arch off the bed when he thrusts into your bowed body causing you both to moan loudly.

Hyunjin climbs onto the bed, thighs slipping under yours as he presses your pelvis together.

“Oh fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight,” He heaves out in half moan, half laugh.

“Hyunjin-” you grasp at his arms on your hips and his fierce gaze meets yours as one hand takes its place on your throat, thrusting in and out a few times.

“Squeezing me just like this-shit” his hand on your throat tightens in a way that makes your eyes roll back.

Combined with the sensation of his dick rubbing snuggly into the front wall of your core. He has you panting and whimpering from both.

Hyunjin’s eyes burn into yours as he snaps his hips hard a few times before backing off of you entirely, his chest heaving slightly. You chase after him, legs sprawled open, and tug his mouth to yours with a fistful of his silken hair.

He grins against your mouth, “That's it, show me what you want.”

He slips back onto the bed, guiding you into his lap, and you comply, eagerly. Slowly sinking onto his length, only Hyunjin doesn’t want that, he slams you down by your hips and you both cry out at the stretch and clench of your cunt.

His hands drift up your sides, snatching the hem of your sweater, followed by a one-handed snap of your bra, before both are tossed off into the void of his darkened room.

Hyunjin reclines back against the pillows fluffed up against the headboard, hands trailing down your chest. His right hand, the one that seems to be permanently tinted with oil crayon and kohl smudges your nipples as he grazes them. His pupils spread as he watches you, as you roll your hips forward just a little, to test how he feels in this position.

“It's not too deep for you?” He rolls up into you, bathing in your reaction as you arc forward, breasts thrust towards his face.

He does it again, this time his hand grasping your throat firmly as you shudder against him.

“No,” you moan, rubbing yourself shamelessly into his base.

Hyunjin’s lips part as you continue your gyrations, his hand on your throat constricts in response. You start to pant, your arousal beginning to climb again.

“Fuck” Hyunjin curses.

His pelvis tucking into the bed, away from you as you tighten around him. His other hand rocks your hips encouraging you to keep moving, and you do.

Your eyes lidded as you stare down at your beautiful best friend, his dark hair splayed across the pillows, metal rims of his glasses catching in the light.

Hyunjin smiles at you fondly, his own arousal flaming under your heated gaze. He squeezes your throat again, both of you moaning as you tremble around him. You start to rock, and Hyunjin’s head kicks back as you draw him out and your pussy sucks him back in with urgent strokes.

“Harder,” he bites between clenched teeth, and you slam your ass back, your hands grasping the arm linked to your throat for balance.

You’re not sure who is more lost in the sensation, you or Hyunjin. He lets out a suppressed moan, each time you sink fully into his lap. While you moan and pant unabashedly, gasping for breath as his fingertips alternate long squeezes with short tight ones against the column of your throat.

The coil of your climax sends your nipples into tight buds as it slips across your body, sinking into every muscle.

“Hyun-” you start, and he sits up smashing your lips to his, plush lips parting and tongue diving inside to swallow every moan you release.

With a firm hand on your throat, his hips match your pace, drilling up into you and no longer hiding his vocalization.

Hyunjin’s fingers squeeze tight and hold firm, causing you to burst around him. Overwhelmed not just from the asphyxiation but by his tongue tracing figure eights across yours and the swell of his cock stroking along your sensitive walls.

Arousal gushes out of you, wetting Hyunjin’s lap so that each thrust is announced with an undeniably intimate squelch. You cry a strangled version of his name into his mouth, his lips still working yours until you’re bowing away from him, your spine curving you back.

Hyunjin follows right behind you, fisting your throat one last time before his fingers splay open as he comes apart groaning your name. His head tossed back, hips shaking with effort as you continue to seize around him.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” he whispers as he collapses back against the headboard, “Mmm.”

Hyunjin rubs your thighs affectionately, rolling his hips into you one final time before pulling you down to lay on his chest.

The two of you lay there in near silence, the only sounds are your labored breaths returning to a normal pattern. Hyunjin idly draws lines along your spine, with the tips of his slender fingers as you come down from your high.

“Hyunjin,” you mumble against the valley of his clavicle.

“Hmmm?” He returns sleepily.

“This doesn’t change anything between us, right?” You lift your head to look at his face.

His eyes are closed, and he looks like a Grecian carved work of art. Full lips glistening with your exchanged saliva, cheekbones dewy from sweat.

His hand on your back stills briefly, before flattened palms rub up your rib cage and his eyelashes flutter open to meet your anxious stare.

“A couple of fucks won’t change what's between us, honey.” He says firmly and you smile in relief pressing your forehead to his, he wastes no time in sealing his lips to yours.

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infinitystoner · 1 year

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Lay All Your Love On Me

Read on AO3 | LOKI MASTERLIST Summary: You and Loki seek out some much-needed alone time whilst celebrating Tony and Pepper’s upcoming nuptials. (Or, the gang goes to Mexico.) Pairing: Loki x Female Reader Word count: 6.4k Content/Warnings: Alcohol, Smut, Established Relationship, (Accidental) Edging, Thigh Riding, Delayed Orgasm, Public Orgasm, Multiple Orgasms, P-in-V, Semi-Public Sex, Second Person POV Rating: Explicit; 18+ (minors DNI)

Author's note: Here it is, folks. My first tumblr one-shot.

“Tony wasn’t kidding when he said Pepper runs a tight ship,” mused Natasha as she leaned back against the bar. “We’ve been here for two days. I can’t believe this is the first chance we’ve gotten to actually relax.”

Bruce opened his mouth to respond, but Natasha held up her hand, effectively cutting him off.

“Mandatory meditation is not my idea of relaxation.”

You’d all been a bit disgruntled when you realized Pepper’s bachelorette party was going to be more ‘stringent wellness retreat’ than ‘indulgent tropical getaway.’ And when Tony offered you three extra days in paradise, he conveniently forgot to mention Pepper’s idea of a good time. Jane seemed to be enjoying everything, at least.

And Bruce? Well, he just wanted a few days of peace and quiet at the beach.

Instead, your little group had engaged in a rigid itinerary of sunrise yoga, visualization exercises, nature hikes, and guided meditations.

“Oh, come on. It hasn’t been that bad,” you replied unconvincingly, climbing onto a stool and placing your empty glass on the bar. You let out a sigh as you fidgeted with the strap of your bikini top. “But, honestly? I can’t wait ‘til the guys get here.”

“Hey now, wait just a minute. Am I not fun enough for you?” Bruce asked as he refilled your drink.

“Relax, big guy. No one is questioning your… capabilities,” crooned Nat, giving him a wink. Her gaze then returned to you, a smirk tugging at her lips.

“And don’t you mean you can’t wait ‘til your god gets here?” she mused, quirking an eyebrow at you.

“Yeah! Don’t pretend like you’re not having Asgardian dick withdrawals,” Wanda called from the adjoining cabana.

They’re not wrong, you thought, as a sinful image of an utterly spent Loki infiltrated your brain.

“Oh, come on. I don’t want to hear this,” Bruce muttered as his cheeks flushed.

“Ignore them,” you whispered, rolling your eyes as you hopped off the barstool. “They’re just jealous!” you added loudly enough for everyone to hear.

“Hardly,” scoffed Wanda.

“Jealous of Loki, maybe,” Nat shot back, slapping your ass as you passed in front of her.

You spun on your heels, looking her up and down. “Is that an offer, Romanoff?”

“You’re ridiculous,” she snickered, waving you off. “Go on, little vixen. You better rest up before Loki gets here.”

The sun was slowly setting on the horizon, casting a hazy orange glow over the villa’s patio. You paused to inhale the crisp ocean air before settling into the cabana’s daybed next to Wanda. Your mind, unsurprisingly, wandered back to Loki. Just the playful mention of him had you yearning for your god.

A giddy sensation washed over you as you shifted against the chair, attempting to quell the arousal pooling between your thighs. You crossed your ankles, glancing down as you did so. The bruises Loki’s fingertips pressed into your hips were a memory now, and the markings his sinful mouth left along your inner thighs the last time you were together had all but faded away.

It had been twelve days since you last saw him. Touched him. Tasted him. Ravished him. Twelve excruciating days – the longest you’d been apart since the start of your relationship.

He and Thor had only just returned from Vanaheim when they’d been summoned to some remote part of Greenland on a mission. And you’d already left for Mexico by the time they returned to the compound. Unfortunately, neither Odinson saw the need for “Midgardian tech” such as smartphones, so you’d only spoken with Loki through official comms channels. Which certainly didn’t allow for discussion of personal matters. Like how badly you missed him. And how you thought of him each night and every morning. How you longed to feel the spark of otherworldly power that surged through your body when his skin touched yours. Or how you needed his nimble fingers and warm tongue to make you come. How you craved the euphoric pleasure only he could draw from your body. And how you ached to feel the weight of his heavy, godly cock on your—

“Hello!?” Wanda wriggled her fingers in front of your face, the sound of her rings clinking together snapping you out of your salacious daydream. “Did you even hear what I said?”

“Sorry. What?” you blinked up at her as she rolled her eyes.

“Steve just texted. They’re 10 minutes out.”

You heard blaring rock music as you walked the stone path to the front of the villa, finally spotting the source: two top-down Jeeps ceremoniously circling the roundabout. Tony stood in the passenger seat of the one nearest you, arms outstretched and a smug grin on his face.

“The party has arrived!”

“Tony Stark. Genius. Billionaire. Diva extraordinaire,” mocked Natasha, nudging you with her shoulder.

You snorted. “And he calls Loki dramatic–”

At that very moment, you spotted him in the backseat of Tony’s Jeep, cramped between Thor and a pile of luggage. Loki’s back was to you as you approached, but you could tell by his exaggerated gestures that he was undoubtedly bickering with his brother about something.

“Move over, you oaf!” he strained, pulling against the seat belt covering his waist, the end of which was pinned under Thor’s thigh.

You leaned against the Jeep, draping your arms across the open window.

“Having some trouble there, Mischief?” you teased, biting back your amusement. Loki snapped his head back, the scowl on his face disappearing as soon as his eyes met yours. His lips curled into an impish grin as he flicked his wrist, evaporating the belt in a glimmer of emerald light.

You took a step back as he gracefully exited the vehicle, throwing your arms around his neck as soon as his feet made contact with the pavement.

“Norns, I have missed you, woman,” he growled, nipping at your ear. A few of his windswept curls tickled your cheek as he kissed along your jawline, making you giggle.

“And you have no idea how much I’ve missed you, Loki,” you responded, running your hand along his torso as he hiked his bag over his shoulder. You bit your lip to avoid gawking at the way his t-shirt strained against his muscled chest.

“Oh, I think I have some idea, little one,” Loki whispered, his breath fanning across the shell of your ear and sending a frantic, tingling sensation across your skin.

“Jeez. Get a room, why don’t ya,” Bruce mumbled as he walked by your little reunion.

“That’s exactly what I had in mind.” Loki wrapped his arm around your waist, his agile fingers wandering along the waistband of your shorts, his eyes alight with mischief. “Lead the way, love?”

There was no need to ask twice. You could barely contain your giddiness as you tugged Loki along the trail leading to the private entrance of your suite.

“Hey, hey! Not so fast, you two,” Tony called out. “Everyone! Can I have your attention? Pep just informed me that she and Jane have prepared a delicious meal for us. For all of us.” He cast you and Loki a knowing look. “So, go on, get settled in, and we’ll gather for dinner out on the veranda in fifteen.”

You and Loki quickly made the trek to your room, stumbling through the door in a tangled mess of groping limbs and desperate kisses.

“I hope you’ve gotten your fill of paradise, love, because you and I will not be leaving this room until I’ve thoroughly ravaged you,” Loki said breathlessly, finally breaking your kiss. Your heart caught in your throat at the site of his wicked tongue darting out to wet his lips as he pushed the beach coverup off your shoulders.

“And I can assure you, it’s going to take a lot longer than 15 minutes,” he added before kissing along your collarbones, lightly nipping at the skin with his teeth.

Your cunt throbbed at the idea of being fucked absolutely senseless for the remainder of the trip, and you shuffled as wetness gathered in your bikini bottoms. You couldn’t contain the nervous giggle that escaped your lips as you ran your hands up the plane of Loki’s firm torso, attempting to steady yourself in the presence of the seductive demi-god.

“Oh, is something funny, love?” Loki growled as he stepped back, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it on the floor. Your giggling subsided and your breath hitched as you took in his lithe figure, your eyes trailing down his pale chest and along the distinct lines of his abdomen.

“N-no,” you stammered, instinctively taking a step back as he stalked toward you. He was the predator, and you his prey.

“I didn’t think so,” Loki wryly replied, snatching you by the wrist and pulling you close. Your skin ignited under his touch, arousal searing through every vein and settling in your soaked core. In one swift movement, he spun you around and tossed you onto the bed, your body bouncing softly on the mattress. You yelped as Loki’s large hands wrapped around your thighs, pushing them apart as he settled between your legs.

“My love, I’ve been a wreck without you,” he murmured against your skin, leaving a trail of kisses along your stomach.

“You’ve no idea how much I’ve longed for you. Craved you. Your touch, your body, your magnificent little cunt.” He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, tugging them over your hips and down your legs. You mewled shamelessly as his hand trailed over your bikini bottoms before dipping inside.

“Fuck. Yes, Loki,” you gasped as his practiced fingers easily found your throbbing clit; it didn’t take long before his slow, methodical movements had you teetering on the verge of madness. You whimpered, groping his backside and jerking your hips upward as you chased the friction sparking between your bodies.

“...and those delicious sounds you make. You’re all I’ve been able to think about these past weeks.” Loki placed his hand along your neck, his thumb lightly pressing against the hollow of your throat as his smoldering gaze trailed down to your lips. A soft smile crossed his face as he looked at you with half-lidded eyes filled with adoring devotion. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips against yours in a gentle kiss.

You moaned into his mouth as his tongue slipped past your lips, deepening the kiss. You wanted — needed him so badly. Your hands slid down between your bodies, hastily unzipping his jeans and pushing them over the firm curve of his ass.

“Gods, yes,” he groaned as he grazed his teeth over the sensitive skin of your neck. Loki sucked a bruise into your flesh as he rolled his hips into yours, the drag of his erection against your aching clit causing every fiber of your being to unravel.

“Not again,” a deep voice reverberated through the room, abruptly pulling you from the haze of passion encompassing you. Frozen, you stared up at Loki wide-eyed. He exhaled, a look of pure aggravation on his face as he peered over his shoulder to face the intruder: Thor.

“By all the gods, Thor…” Loki snarled as he effortlessly pushed himself off the bed, drawing the duvet over your body as he did so.

“I swear, I didn’t see anything.”

The usually imposing Asgardian leaned his large form against the doorframe, his eyes squeezed shut and a sheepish grin on his face. He barked out a hearty laugh as he held up his hands in mock surrender. “Except Loki’s arse!”

“Do you have a death wish today, brother?” Loki hissed, tugging his jeans back over his bum.

If Loki didn’t vanquish his brother for his ill-timed intrusion, then you would. You’d never held an ounce of disdain for the God of Thunder, but nullifying your claim on such a divine ass was reason enough to smite him where he stood.

“The hell, Thor. You could’ve at least knocked,” you offered as you scooted off the edge of the bed. Loki glanced back at you, his eyes softening for a moment when he realized you had managed to compose yourself.

“I did knock. Several times, actually. I would like to think I’ve learned my lesson when it comes to you two.”

Loki’s brows furrowed in confusion before a look of realization spread across his face.

“Oh shit. I must’ve gotten carried away when casting the silencing charm,” he murmured, giving you an apologetic glance.

“While also neglecting to secure the door?” you teased, a part of you delighting in the fact that the carnal need to claim you had affected the usually calm and calculating God of Mischief in such a way.

“What can I say, darling. You are quite the distraction.”

“Ahem,” Thor cleared his throat, interrupting your dalliance and once again claiming stake to his irrefutable third-wheel status.

Christ. The elder god was surely hellbent on extinguishing any lingering flames of unsated desire between you and his brother. Defeated, you began to rummage through your luggage for something to wear.

“I truly did not think anyone was inside,” he said regretfully.

“And why, pray tell, are you even here?” Loki asked, grabbing his t-shirt off the floor.

“There aren’t enough rooms,” Thor explained with a deep sigh. You heard him mumble something about doubling up as you pulled a sundress over your head.

“As you can see, this room is already at double occupancy, brother. Now, if you’ll excuse us—” Loki began as he futilely attempted to usher his brother back outside.

“Wait a minute, Loki,” you interrupted, curiosity getting the better of you. “Thor, why aren’t you staying with Jane?”

“Oh. Um. About that. We are, what I believe you call, ‘off again,’” he replied, making air quotes with his fingers.

Loki scoffed, throwing his hands up in disbelief. “Perfect timing, as usual, Thor. Honestly.”

“Jane dumped you?” It wasn’t exactly the most surprising news.

“No. No.” Thor chuckled nervously. “It was a… a mutual parting. But not mutual enough that I am comfortable staying in her room.”

You hummed, daring to glance at Loki as an idea formed in your mind.

“Don’t,” he mouthed, but it was too late.

“Of course you can stay with us,” you blurted out, noting the sense of relief on Thor’s face and ignoring the disbelief on Loki’s. “I think Pepper said that’s a sleeper sofa,” you pointed to the sitting area beyond the bedroom. “So there’s plenty of room.”

After your sudden act of compassion, you could practically feel the frustration rolling off Loki in waves.

“Why would you–” he paused, a frown marring his perfect face as his eyes searched yours.

“It’s going to be okay, Loki,” you said in what you hoped was a convincing tone, even as you silently cursed your own benevolence. As annoying as Thor could be, you still had a soft spot for him.

“I don’t see how being denied pleasure is ever okay,” Loki scoffed, setting his jaw in obvious offense.

“You are not being denied anything, Loki,” you laughed. As you turned back around, he grabbed your wrists, tugging you toward him as he sat down on the bed. You glimpsed over your shoulder at Thor, who was still preoccupied with setting up the sofa bed.

Loki’s hands found your waist, his thumbs rubbing small circles against your hip bones as you returned your attention to him.

“I disagree, pet.”

He’s so dramatic, you thought, standing between his sprawled legs and running your hands along his strong, muscular thighs. His breath hitched as your palms reached the crease of his hips, and when your fingertips brushed against his straining erection, you heard a low rumbling in his throat. A shiver of fervid longing coursed through you as your heart beat wildly against your ribcage. You knew you’d give him whatever he wanted. And you needed him to know that right now.

“I promise you, my king. You will not be denied. Anything.”

Your breath fanned against the shell of his ear before you roughly pulled his earlobe between your teeth. Loki tightened his grip on your hips as you continued your exploration down his neck. A surge of power washed over you when you heard the faintest whimper escape his lips as you flicked your tongue over his pulse point. You were the one in control now.

“Darling, you know I live to serve only you, but—” he rasped, his tone inflecting a hint of warning. A futile attempt to regain the upper hand.

“So you’ll be patient then, yes?” you asked with a coy grin, leaning back to look him in the eyes. You knew you were playing with fire, but sometimes he made it too easy.

Loki’s jaw clenched, a muscle below his chiseled cheekbone flexing in irritation. He exhaled through his nose, his eyes flickering with a primal hunger as his gaze bore into you.

Oh, no.

“But this is going too far,” he murmured through gritted teeth as he stood, the low timbre of his voice sending a thrill down your spine.

“Loki, I-”

“I’m famished. To the feast!” Thor interrupted, casually tossing his arms around your and Loki’s shoulders as he ushered you out the door.

Dinner was an uneventful affair, all things considered. You went back to your room with Thor and Nat in tow, a situation which caused Loki to grow more peeved with each passing minute.

“Why can’t Romanoff adorn her own face? In her own room?” he asked pointedly, following you and Natasha into the en suite.

“Because I am doing it for her,” you said matter-of-factly, avoiding eye contact with the tenacious god.

“But, darling, I convinced Thor to… go elsewhere,” Loki murmured, catching your gaze in the mirror. You quickly looked away, knowing you would give in if you allowed yourself to lose focus.

“Wow,” mouthed Nat, raising her brows in amusement as Loki paced behind you, determined to draw your attention back to him.

“I could— ” he began, tilting his head as a ripple of seidr washed over him, conjuring a new outfit. He stepped back with a flourish, spinning around to give you a better view. And damn, what a view it was. His wild beach curls were now slicked back, and a black knit polo hugged his torso and biceps. His long, muscular legs strained against perfectly tailored trousers as he shifted on his feet (which, of course, now donned his favorite Gucci loafers).

“—quite easily conjure party attire for you. Both.” He smirked as he noticed you lustfully gawking at him.

Absolutely devastating, you thought. Who gave him the right to look so damn good?

It took every last drop of your self-control not to punt Nat out the door like a football and climb him like a goddamn tree. Your face burned under his intense gaze, the obvious desire swirling in his stormy green eyes sending a jolt of arousal through you and causing your cunt to clench in anticipation.

“We appreciate the offer, Loki. Truly,” Natasha mockingly responded as she shooed him out the door. “But we’re gonna go about this the old-fashioned way, okay, lyubovnik?”

Loki huffed and opened his mouth to respond, but she promptly slammed the door in his face.

Shit.

“Well, c’mon,” she said nonchalantly, sitting back down at the vanity and rummaging through her makeup bag. “Time for you to work your magic.”

You and Nat took your time getting ready, and the festivities were well underway once you arrived at the party. Tony, Pepper, and some other members of the team were dancing on the veranda. Bruce waved at you from the bar, excitedly pointing to the platform by the pool, where one of Tony’s iron suits was currently DJing.

You scanned the crowd for Loki, finally spotting him on the far side of the bar: His impressive form leaned back against the cushions of a patio sofa, legs sluttishly splayed wide, clenched fists resting on his thighs. Heat burned your cheeks as you imagined yourself on your knees between his legs, worshipping your god in the ways you knew best. Drawing those sweet, rapturous sounds from his throat as you gagged around him–

Fuck. You were going to combust if you didn’t have Loki soon. As you hurriedly made your way over to him, a strong arm tugged you in the opposite direction and onto the makeshift dance floor.

“Little friend, let us dance!” Thor bellowed, taking you by the hand and spinning you haphazardly into his chest. You could feel Loki’s stare boring through you, but one dance couldn’t hurt, right?

Several dances (and drinks) later, you finally joined Loki on the patio. You were perched in his lap, unable to resist the temptation of his tantalizing thighs. The way the fabric clung to the solid expanse of muscles was enough to drive you mad. As if they're begging to be liberated from those trousers, you thought. Good thing you were more than happy to provide some relief.

“You’re playing a dangerous game tonight, pet,” he murmured, lowering his voice so only you could hear him. He shifted beneath you, causing the fabric of your halter mini dress to ride up your legs.

“Hmm?” you responded absent-mindedly, taking a shot of tequila as his fingertips brushed along the top of your exposed thigh.

“Teasing me. Denying me,” Loki retorted, tightening his grip on your hips. “And worst of all, dancing with my brother.”

“Me dancing with Thor has never bothered you before, Loki,” you responded, purposefully ignoring the first part of his accusation. If he was going to keep playing games, so were you.

Loki hummed. “Well, I’ve never seen the two of you dance quite like that.”

“It’s a party. What would you rather have me do?” you mused, twisting a lock of his hair around your finger. You were enjoying this.

“Dance with me.”

The heated look he gave you in response was absolutely ravenous. The slow spread of a mischievous grin across his face, the suggestive slant of his eyebrows, the wanton glint in his eyes. All of it was familiar to you, and yet your entire body ignited as if he was looking at you – claiming you – for the first time. You inhaled sharply as he ran the tip of his cool nose along the column of your neck.

“Or, if you’re not interested, perhaps I can convince the Black Widow…” he teased, interrupting your thoughts.

“You’ll have to peel her off of Banner first.” You tipped your chin toward the bar, where Nat had cornered a clearly flustered Bruce.

You ran your hand around the nape of his neck and dug your nails into the base of his scalp. As your other hand roamed along his inner thigh, you let your index finger graze over the bulge at the apex of his thighs.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me after all.”

Loki exhaled, his long eyelashes fluttering against his sharp cheekbones. You delighted in the way his leg twitched as his fingers dug into your hips, so you pressed your palm against his hardening cock, determined to fluster him with your touch.

“Heh.” Loki quickly stood, pushing you off his lap but keeping his hands around your waist, nodding to Vision and Wanda, who had joined you on the sofa. “If you’ll excuse us...”

“Why do you insist on teasing me so?” Loki growled, pulling your backside flush against him, the stiffening evidence of his arousal firm against your ass. He leaned his head down, nipping at your earlobe. “You just can’t control yourself, can you?”

“I thought you liked to be teased, Loki,” you taunted, turning around and wrapping your arms around his neck, gently tugging the hair at the nape of his neck.

“It’s cute. When you act all controlling like this,” Loki replied, grinding his hips into yours as you began to fall into a rhythm. “When we both know I’ll be the one having my way with you, again and again, before this night is over.”

Yes. His words sent a thrill through you, and your skin ignited as the need to have him absolutely destroy you took over your every thought.

“You’re so gorgeous when you blush for me, sweet girl.” Loki cupped your face, his thumbs stroking your flushed cheeks before capturing your lips in a fervent kiss. His tongue languidly glided between your parted lips as he kissed you. You responded with equal enthusiasm, letting all your love for him melt into the kiss.

“Norns, woman,” Loki sighed, finally breaking away. He ran the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip as he slowly rolled his hips into you.

All inhibition left your body as the music thumped louder, your heart rate increasing with the beat. Leaning back, you raised your arms over your head as your hips continued to rock in rhythm. Everything else ceased to exist. There was only you and Loki, moving together as one.

Goosebumps trailed from the swell of your breast down to the curve of your hip, igniting under Loki’s fingertips as they deftly roamed the left side of your body.

Had his touch always been this electric? This sensual? This powerful? You gasped, his soft curls tickling your collarbones as he bent down to pepper open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, slowly making his way down between the valley of your breasts. He moaned against your exposed skin, his warm breath teasing your nipple beneath the thin fabric of your dress. The pure eroticism of the moment had you thrumming with anticipation. You hummed, relishing the feeling of his lips exploring your body.

“If you two don’t cool it down, Cap over there is gonna blow a gasket,” interrupted Tony, nodding toward the bar.

Loki huffed, pulling away from you. “Stark, I really don’t–”

“Tequila? No? All right.” Tony waved a glass in your face before downing the drink. “You. Guys. Behave. Okay?” he added, repeatedly poking a finger into Loki’s chest as each word left his lips. Loki glowered, clenching his fists as Tony dramatically sashayed away.

“Relax, Loki. He’s drunk. It’s fine,” you said, placing your hand on his cheek as you pressed your body against his. You weren’t about to let another one of Earth’s mightiest heroes disturb your evening, even if it was his bachelor party. “Forget about them. Just focus on this,” you continued, intertwining your fingers with his. “On us. On me.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed for a moment before a playful grin tugged at his lips. He couldn’t – wouldn’t – deny you. “As you wish, darling.”

You gave him a playful smile, your eyes fluttering shut as you continued to dance, focusing on the sensation of the deep bass thundering in time with your heartbeat. Loki’s thigh found its way between your legs, pressing up into your core as you slowly gyrated against it. A dizzying sensation overtook you as his fingertips dug into your hips, his hands urging you to quicken your unrelenting grind. Your mouth fell open as an intense wave of endorphins thrummed through your body, pulsing in your core as your thrusts met the rising tempo of the song. As if sensing your euphoria, Loki shifted his stance, his quad muscle tightening beneath you, his fingers groping your ass. You let go, relishing the feeling of becoming one with the music.

Certainly, the beat was going to drop soon? The build-up was becoming too much. You were right there, on the precipice–

Your eyes snapped open as the reality of the situation hit you. You lurched upward into Loki’s chest, bunching the front of his shirt in your fist.

“L-Loki–” you stuttered, eyes widening at the sight of him as the light from the tiki torches flickered across his sharp features. His brows were furrowed in concentration and his pupils blown wide with lust. He smirked as his gaze trailed longingly down your body.

He looked like he was going to devour you. And fuck, if that isn’t exactly what you wanted. Suddenly, you became very aware of the wet heat pooling between your legs. A deep, trembling breath escaped your lips as your traitorous hips rolled against Loki’s thigh.

Biting back a moan, you clutched at Loki’s broad shoulders, feeling the muscles ripple under your fingers. You blinked up at him, trying to focus on his godly form towering above you. Any mischief that had been present in his eyes minutes before was now gone, replaced with a look of longing and primal desire.

“Don’t you dare stop,” Loki rasped as he tightened his grip on your hips, tugging your body further up his leg.

You quickly glanced around, realizing that he had maneuvered you across the stone patio and into a darkened corner. He peppered kisses along your neck as you leaned back against a column. Just beyond you, the party was still in full view.

“Loki, I- I can’t– not here.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you replied without a moment’s hesitation.

“Then show me how much you want me,” he responded, his breath hot against your neck as he hiked your leg over his hip, his long fingers wrapping around your thigh. You rolled your hips against him, your mouth falling open in a silent whimper as the fabric of his trousers dragged against your swollen clit. A surge of arousal thrummed through your core, and you buried your face in his chest as you stifled a groan.

Loki gently cupped your cheek, guiding your head back against the column.

“I need to see you come undone,” he murmured as you shuddered against him, every rational thought ridding itself of your mind. You grasped his shoulders, bucking against his thigh and setting a devastating rhythm that drove you to the edge.

“Fuck,” you hissed, blood pounding in your ears. It was too much. You squeezed your eyes closed as the sensations quickly overpowered you, and just as you were about to cry out in reckless abandon, Loki covered your mouth with his, capturing your lips in a kiss. Your body convulsed as waves of ecstasy flowed through your body, your vision momentarily going dark.

“My sweet girl. You were so good for me,” you heard Loki whisper somewhere in the distance as the aftershocks of your climax slowly dissipated.

“Loki, that was–” you panted, finally finding your voice. “I can’t believe– thank you.” The words of gratitude stumbled from your lips again and again as Loki chuckled.

“Oh darling, I’m just getting started.”

He took your hand in his and pulled you further onto the darkened path leading to the beach. Your legs wobbled underneath you, your body still recovering from the intensity of your orgasm as you struggled to keep up with his long strides.

“Where are we going, Loki?” you asked, stopping when you reached the sand. He turned, giving you a puzzled look as you bent down to undo the straps of your shoes.

“I can’t walk in these heels through the sand,” you explained as you caught your breath. “And you need to slow down. I’m still–”

You shrieked as your world suddenly upended. Loki had tossed you over his shoulder, his hands gripping the backs of your thighs as your chest bounced against his back. It was exhilarating, being with him like this.

“Loki! You’re ridiculous!” you giggled as he strode along the tree line, stopping once you’d reached an imposing boulder near the water’s edge.

He placed you down gently, steadying you as his hands trailed along your hips, his piercing green eyes drinking in the sight before him.

“Loki, I–” you started, your heart skipping a beat as you noted the reverence on his face.

“You’re perfect,” he breathed, looking into your eyes as he pinned you against the cool boulder. His gaze trailed down, observing all the places your bodies touched. “And you’re mine.”

He nipped at the corner of your jaw as he hiked up the skirt of your dress, and you wasted no time wrapping your legs around his waist. A soft moan tumbled from your lips as you watched him move a hand between your bodies, rucking up his shirt and unfastening his trousers, freeing his hard, flushed cock.

“I need to see you come again,” he rasped, running his hands over your ass and down the back of your thighs. His touch felt electric, and the carnal sounds rumbling in his throat made you dizzy with desperate urgency. You yelped as he yanked your underwear from your body, the delicate material shredding easily under his brute force.

He hoisted you further up his body, a broken groan slipping from him as he felt your wet cunt slide against his abdomen. Passion sparked in your veins as you tangled your hand in the soft, dark curls at the nape of his neck, and you whimpered as he rubbed the tip of his cock against your swollen clit. The anticipation of your impending intimacy was quickly hurtling you toward another orgasm.

“Please, Loki. I need you,” you begged as he massaged one of your breasts. His masterful fingers tweaked your nipple, the mixture of pain and pleasure thrumming through your body and down to your core. You dug your fingers into his shoulders as your back scraped against the cool, damp boulder.

“You’ll be the end of me,” he murmured against your skin, tightening his grip on your hip as he pushed the head of cock inside you with a swift thrust. You shivered and let out a deep groan as Loki slowly filled you with his girth.

He pressed his forehead against yours, moaning a string of old Norse curses as he rocked into you. The heady scent of his musk combined with the sheer power emanating from him made you delirious, and the animalistic grunts tumbling from his throat had your cunt pulsing with need. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against your ear, whispering words of praise.

“Gods, I will never get enough of you.” The words dripped from his lips like honey wine. Intoxicating. You bucked against him, inhaling sharply as you adjusted to the sensation of your pulsing cunt stretching to take him inch by inch. You were so full. So complete.

Loki groaned, his breath becoming ragged and uneven as he bottomed out. He gazed at you, ravenous lust swirling with reverent devotion in his darkened eyes. As if he was totally mesmerized by how small – how delicate – you seemed, slowly writhing underneath him.

You clenched around him, slowly rolling your hips and grinding into him. Loki let out a strangled whimper and nipped at your neck as he pushed deeper inside you.

He choked out a ragged breath as his hips met yours. “Y-yes. That’s it. Gods, you take me so well.”

So, you did it again, chasing the euphoric feeling taking over your body. You clung to Loki as he bent his knees, shifting his hips in a way that made his cock slowly drag against the sensitive spot deep inside you. You cried out his name, digging your nails into his back as your body responded to the building friction.

“Tell me,” Loki grunted through gritted teeth as your bodies moved in tandem. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want – fuck – want you to wreck me,” you replied, your breath hitching as you arched into him, dragging your clit against his abdomen. He caught your lips in a blistering kiss, full of passion and yearning. You felt him grab your knee, pressing it back so he could fuck you harder, deeper. The new angle made his pelvis grind against your clit with every unrelenting stroke, sparking your need for more. Intense sensations fired across your body in response to the lewd sound of Loki’s cock thrusting deep inside your cunt.

You screamed out as your orgasm ripped through you like a tidal wave, coming even harder than before. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as entire universes revealed themselves to you as your body shuddered in Loki’s embrace.

“Fuck, darling.” Loki clutched at the boulder, searching for purchase and bracing himself against his own impending orgasm. The muscles in his forearm tightened, and just the sight of the tension in them, the strength of his hands, and the way the tendons rose up against the skin sent another tingling thrill through you.

You closed your eyes, focusing on the sensation of being used as he chased his own pleasure. He choked out your name, and you knew he was close. His name became a mantra, falling from your lips repeatedly as you continued to grind into him, your cunt contracting around him as aftershocks rolled through your body.

With a final snap of his hips, Loki spilled inside you, reaching his climax with a guttural roar. He rode through his high with shallow thrusts before he leaned back, his mouth puffing out a satisfied laugh. The two of you hadn’t wandered that far down the beach, and everyone likely heard your cries of ecstasy, but you didn’t give a single fuck. The only thing that mattered was Loki. He was the beginning and end of everything. And he was yours.

“Loki,” you said his name softly as your own orgasm faded. The waning moonlight cast a bluish glow over his dark, tousled hair and pale skin, the thin sheen of sweat on his face highlighting his impossible beauty. He was absolutely breathtaking. Ethereal.

“That was certainly worth the wait,” you said breathlessly, caressing the sharp line of his cheekbone with your thumb as he looked down at you in pure adoration. He turned his head slightly so he could kiss along the inside of your palm.

“Mm,” he hummed contentedly into your wrist, resting his forehead against yours before slowly withdrawing and gently lowering your legs back to the ground.

“I guess we should head back to the party?” you asked after a moment, smoothing your dress as Loki moved to tuck himself back into his pants. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, sending shivers rolling down your spine as your body flared with a new sense of longing.

“Oh, my love. The party can wait,” Loki replied, a devilish smirk spreading across his face as he dropped to his knees, his cool hands running up your thighs. “You and I still have a lot of catching up to do.”

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kookblurx · 6 months

Text

1920 - jjk [ chpt 6. ]

→ SUMMARY: a photo of a beautiful smiling boy; an old tree in your grandparents garden ... and a feeling of sadness. all those things are connected to each other ...

→ GENRE: time travel au; changing fate au; rencarnation au; university au; death; sickness; historical setting; trigger topics; smut; dirty talk; switching between present and the past.

→ chapt. 5 / chapt. 7

→ RATING: 18+

→ NOTE: HUGE DISCLAIMER, this story plays in a fantasy setting. the world YN lives in doesnt exist, neither jungkooks. so please dont mention anything just because its not historically correct. this is piece of art. so yes, jungkook wears armor like a knight and no there are no guns in his time period. thanks.

JUNGKOOK MASTERLIST ♡.°₊ˎ PLAYLIST FOR THIS CHAPTER

The Present

a grunt escaped your lips as the sun peeked through the half open yellow curtains. squinting one of your eyes, sun only became more brightly with each second. a bit clumsy you tried to reach the digital clock on the top of your nightstand. while doing so your phone got knocked on the ground, for the time being this wasnt something which bothered you. another grunt left your lips as the clock showed 8am in the morning, it was still too early to be awake. the events from last night werent present in your mind as you climbed up onto your bed. surrounded by your fluffy blanket, you cuddled deeper into the mattress. as soon as your eyes finally gave in to your tired body something shifted beside you. you didnt even had the time to turn your body around as someone grabbed your right wrist. with a strong pull, your body was turned onto your bed. automatically your eyes widened as you looked into the face of a young man who was hovering over your body. still sleepy you couldnt tell who this man was and how he got into your room.

"its really bold of you to sneak into the bed of a man like this"

his voice was husky as the corner of his lips curled up into a small smile. you heard that voice before, that soft voice. the back of your neck grew hotter as your eyes try to make sense out of this situation. slowly they travelled down on the man's body, as they reached his abdomen and you finally saw the bandages, everything clicked. last night came back into your mind as you looked back into his face. there it was, the cut on his cheek.

"I-I didnt mean to ... wait this is actually my-!"

jungkook still had his smirk on his face as he moved closer to you. one of his hands cupped your cheek before he rubbed with his thumb over your ear a bit. right now you could die out of embarrassement. the back of your neck grew hotter with each inch he came closer to you. by now you were even able to feel his breath on your skin.

"Ugh ..." escaped from your lips as your whole body twitched.

no guy ever touched you like this, at least not on your ears. while you were wiggling underneath him, jungkook clearly enjoyed the few. his thumb travelled down from your ear to your neck.

"You are really cute ... i should thank you properly for saving me yesterday" so he knew who you were, he wasnt playing around.

you were to embarrassed to even move or pushing him away. with every inch he moved closer your whole face heated up more. you surely must look like a tomato right now. before his lips could touch yours the phone on the ground suddenly started ringing. that was the moment when you regained your senses back. with a strong push you managed to get rid of jungkooks body as he fell to your right side onto the bed. but before you were able to grab your phone from the ground, Kook grabbed your wrist again. this time he pushed you behind his back as he had one of your scissors in his hand.

"Stay back Y/N! Whatever this thing is .. i wont let it harm you!" you couldnt see his face but he sounded serious.

of course he would be worried .. jungkook never saw a smartphone before, let alone ever heard of one. with a soft chuckle you placed your hand onto his wrist before you slowly remove the scissors.

"dont worry, it wont harm me ... or you. See?" as you moved over to the edge of the bed you took the phone into your hands.

jungkook widened his eyes as you were pressing something. as you finally held it to your ear he came closer. of course on the other line was none other than jimin:

"hey jimin, what is it?" "hey ... i just wanted to check if .. last night was a dream or if hes still with you?" "well, i wish it would had been a dream but he's here and healthy as it seems ..." ".... can i come over?" "sure. you will be more of a help than i am ... you know more about his family and stuff. might be helpful" "got it. see you later"

after you hung up jungkook still looked at you like you were some kind of alien. unfortunately you didnt had the time to explain to him what that phone was. it was probably better for him if you were planning to send him back. who knows what such knowledge would cause in the past.

putting the phone away on the nightstand you finally was faced with a bigger challenge: how on earth should you hide him from your grandparents.

"is ... everything okay?" jungkook sounded worried as he moved closer to you, to the edge of the bed.

it was really suprising how he wasnt confused about this new place. suddenly you remembered that he lived here, in this same mansion. maybe this place wasnt too strange to him.

"let me ask you something ... do you know where we are?" your head turned into his direction.

"... hm ... i would say we are in my mansion ... i looked out the window earlier and saw the tree but ... " for a moment his eyes looked around your room "i guess ... im not really home?"

it nearly broke your heard because of his last sentence. thats right, he was home but at the same time he wasnt. with a sigh you stood up from your bed and walked over to the closet. luckily your grandpa stored some of his "old clothes" in your closet, so you wouldnt need to steal from him. hopeful that they would fit Jungkook you chose a pair of jeans and a basic black Tshirt. of course he was wary of the pants and the shirt. jungkook was a knight and only wore linen clothes. with your help he managed to change his clothes without opening his wound again. even helping him to get dressed was embarrassing because of the stuff that happened earlier.

you couldnt ignore how well build his body was and how his biceps flexed while putting on the shirt. but that wasnt enough. the pants fitted just fine, the shirt on the other hand was too small and flattered his tiny waist too well. gulping you rushed over to the door, making sure that your grandparents werent near. in the meantime you scolded yourself for acting like a damn teenager in front of a grown ass man. yes, he was good looking but that wasnt a reason to crush on him like this.

"w-wait here for a moment okay?"

after jungkook nodded you slipped out of your room and down the stairs. the foyer was empty so you made your way into the kitchen. no one there, good. after checking the big garage you finally came to the conclusion that your grandparents must be away at the moment. with fast steps you ran back into your room, ordering jungkook to follow you down into the library. even if they would came back, that was your space. while you were here they would never disturb you by walking in.

Inside the Library:

"woah ... this is huge! ... but wait, normally it shouldnt have this much of books" jungkook walked around the various shelves as he raised an eyebrow. "can you ... maybe tell me what is going on here?"

you this question would come up sooner or later but you would have preferred it when Jimin was here. with another sigh you sat onto the ground were some of the papers were still scattered around you. slowly you picked one of them up. it showed his photo, all smiling. it was this damn photo which ruined everything. you just wanted to jump to the moment were this photo was taken. instead you ended up on a battlefield. curious jungkook sat down beside you and snatched the paper out of your hand.

"hey! wait!" you wanted to get it back but to no avail.

jungkook's face grew serious as he studied the paper "... those are ... informations about me. where do you got all these?"

"thats ... okay listen. this might be crazy but i brought you here .. this isnt 1920 ... you are in my timeline and ...here you are already ..-"

"dead."

the word sounded so bitter that it gave you a sting inside of your heart. at the same time you prayed that this revelation wouldnt change something drastically in his timeline. before you could reach out your hand, something got thrown against the balcony window. this must be jimin. leaving jungkook with the papers you ran over to the window to open it. outside you helped Jimin climb up again but as he managed to stand on solid ground again, he didnt walk inside. instead he grabbed your arm, looking at jungkook who was still reading through the various papers

"its really him huh? fuck ... i dont know how you managed that but i think we are in big trouble ..."

"you dont need to tell me that ... im already trying to find a way to bring him back as soon as possible .. but for now its good you are here" slowly you pushed jimin inside before closing the doors.

"huh? why? you mentioned something similiar over the phone earlier"

"its ... Park Jimin is you ancestor and he was Jungkook's best friend. you two look really alike and share the same name ..."

"ah i see .. you want to give him some comfort huh?"

you nodded as you watched how jimin walked over to the confused looking jungkook. as he tapped him on the shoulder a jolt went through jungkook's body. to your suprise he immediately hugged Jimin. expecting that jimin would refuse that hug you were more suprised as he hugged kook back. the scene in front of you was really sweet but at the same time your mind drifted back to earlier as kook ran his fingers down your neck. your cheeks began to burn again as you shaked your head. this wasnt the time to think about such things.

the moment you sat back down next to the guys, jimin already explained to jungkook that he isnt really the jimin he was looking for. somehow jungkook seemed to understand this much.

"so ... that must mean jimin found a nice girl and had a family with her huh?" a smile spread across jungkook's face

"uh yeah you could say that" jimin on the other hand rubbed over his neck, slightly nervous.

"what about me? are there any ...great grandkids or something from me? do i find a wife for myself!"

jungkook seemed so excited as he looked at the both of you. at the same time jimin and you could only look at each other. the fact that jungkook's family tree ended with him, made your heart feel heavy. you didnt want to tell him the truth. that he needed to die without every finding love.

"jungkook listen you-"

as jimin started to speak he suddenly froze mid sentence. confused you waved with one hand in front of his face but there was no reaction at all. this could only mean one thing. the fairy was back. suprisingly jungkook wasnt frozen and looked as confused as you.

a book got knocked from the shelve as the fairy revealed herself. her blonde hair was messy and strands of it fell into her face. quickly you stood up just to take her into your hands

"oh god what happened ... you look horrible"

"we ... we have a big problem ... HUGE PROBLEM .... " the fairy was completely out of breath.

jungkook also finally stood up from his place and walked closer to the two of you "what happened?" compared to your shaky voice, his was more serious.

slowly the fairy finally lifted her face "we are doomed .."

"what do you mean! talk to me finally!" carefully you shaked the fairy in your hands a bit

"its .. its jimin"

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moralesmilesanhour · 1 month

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another dimension.

summary: Miles pays Margo a visit. wc: 970-ish a/n: this mad short but I got rlly busy !! You'll definitely get long3er flowerbyte stuff in the future tho

Margo’s room was so cluttered she couldn’t think.

She’d been letting clothes and unfinished gadgets pile up on the floor and around her desk until you couldn’t even open the door all the way. The realization hit her when she lost a piece of the old vintage radio that Gwen had gifted her to tinker with, and it took her an hour to finally locate it by the foot of her bed.

Margo sat at its edge, re-organizing her gadgets into boxes by size. It made more sense to her than by type or function; when she was restoring an old iPod or laptop, she wouldn’t think, “Where’s the box for tools dedicated to x, y, and z,” she’d be thinking, “Where the fuck is that tiny thing that you need to turn on this other thing?”

At the bottom of one of her hot pink organizers, beneath a tangle of extension cords, Margo felt a round piece of metal. Her fingers brushed over what felt like buttons, and they closed around the mystery device to free it.

It was…oh.

Margo could’ve sworn she had put all of her polaroids and souvenirs in the ‘memories’ box. The memory in question was only a few months old, sure, but it was a memory nonetheless. After Spider Society dissolved, there was no reason for her to use it. At any rate, she had cyber-crimes to stop right here, at her own computer.

Still, she did miss Gwen bringing her old smartphones and wired headphones.

And him.

Margo didn’t like to think about him. Not by any fault of his, but because if she visualized the look he gave her as she tried to send him home, then suddenly those owlish eyes would appear in places they were not supposed to. Then, she would begin to imagine that she saw someone with the same afro pass her on the street, or swear that she heard his voice and wonder if he took his watch with him and kept it.

Margo’s watch was off, but it remained largely intact after The Spot. She stared at it for a moment, before gingerly snapping it around her wrist. She turned it this way and that, letting it catch the dim light of her desk lamp.

E-1610.

Margo had the right dimension this time, all she had to do was just–

She shook her head, hastily taking it off and tossing it back into the box. Now she remembered why the watch had been left there in the first place.

But it was too late, and the image of him grinning at her returned. As she knelt on the floor and resumed her organizing, her mind had begun to weave together a conversation.

Miles would greet her with a “hey”, and she’d “hey” back. Ask him how his parents took the news after everything went back to normal. He’d say he’s grounded, and it’d sound like the funniest thing in the world coming from him. She’d ask him about his hobbies (Miles looked like a gamer), and he would ask about hers. She’d lie and say she didn’t have time for any, and he’d laugh.

“I hear that,” he’d say.

She wondered if her imagination had conjured him up when that familiar flash of blinding light appeared where her closet was and became a spinning portal.

Margo almost didn’t recognize him when he pulled back his hoodie and took the mask off. The high-top fade was gone, replaced by a head of shoulder-length locs that coiled at the ends. But she’d recognize those eyes anywhere.

Her mouth opened and closed as she struggled to locate her words, which made Miles stifle a laugh.

“Miles?”

“Don’t know who else I’d be. Got a minute?”

Slowly reaching back into that same box, Margo breathed,

“Yeah, I…I got a minute.”

“So you’re only Spider-Man when you got the VR thing on?”

Miles called out as he shot another web and catapulted himself off of the roof of a moving truck, and Margo did the same. They landed right on top of Lenny’s Deli, from which they could see a bit of the horizon dotted with skyscrapers in the distance, right where the setting sun started to roll back some of its orange and give way to a wash of coral.

“Pretty much,” Margo answered, catching her breath. “You smell that?”

“Beef patties.”

“I haven’t had one of those in months.”

Miles’ mask squinted mischievously at the eyes. “You want me to get you one, huh?”

“Oh, it’s fine, you don’t have to–”

“I insist!”

Miles was already in the process of swinging down to street level. She shook her head and smiled, sitting with her legs crossed in the meantime.

He was back in a matter of minutes, mask rolled up halfway so that he could carry the brown paper bag from the deli between his teeth as he hauled himself over the ledge where Margo sat.

He opened it and removed his portion before handing the bag to her, but stopped short.

“Hol’ on, can you even eat?”

She threw her head back and laughed.

“You didn’t think about that before you spent your money there?”

“Well, you can take it back with you, probably,” he said as he let her take the bag from him.

“Thanks.”

They sat in silence as only Miles ate his food, watching the world below. Nobody appeared to be committing a robbery at the moment, so Margo eventually broke the silence first.

“So why’d you bring me over here, new guy?”

Miles snorted, “You know I’ve been doing this for almost two years now, right?”

“Well, you’re new to me.”

He leaned back on his elbows and hummed thoughtfully.

“Maybe I’d like to not be so new to you.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

#miles morales #miles morales fic #margo kess #atsv fic #flowerbyte #cybershock #cyberflower #moralesanhour

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alstroemeriadissonance · 9 months

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Compartmentalize (NSFW)

A/N: Aaaa I've been gone for some time (was busy with doing my urban fantasy AU found here), and I haven't been active in my socials including Twitter...I hope I can muster the will to do housekeeping and updating links. RL stuff is just getting a bit too much these days...

NSFW. Dr. Vyn Richter navigates his emotions with the help of his trusty dictaphone. Or, Vyn gets his own bad end. Crossposted from AO3 here

[0:00 - 0:37]

Dr. Vyn Richter

Patient is neatly groomed. Mood and affect is moderately dysthymic. Speech is normal in rate, rhythm, and volume as sampled in this recording. He is moderately distracted, with thoughts that are slightly tangential. Insight and judgment is impaired, with a tendency for emotionally-driven decisions. He has persistent, intrusive thoughts of his limerent object for the past fourteen hours and twenty five minutes since waking up at nine this morning.

[0:37 - 0:50]

Dr. Vyn Richter

Thoughts of jealousy, stemming from mild obsessive behavior towards limerent object have been observed, leading to difficulty with focus and concentration causing two instances of critical lapse in decision making.

“You’re doing it again.” Marius snapped his fingers in front of Vyn’s face, only to have his hand slapped away.

“Stop that,” Vyn muttered, reaching for his cup of tea. “What was I doing again, pray tell?” He took a sip, then made a face once he found out it had long gone cold. Irritated, he slammed the cup back into its saucer, spilling amber liquid all over his documents piled on the glass conference table. “Fuck.”

“Zoning out. Focus, will you?” Marius groused as he closed the document folder in his hands. It was obvious to him that Vyn couldn’t crunch data off the top of his head in his current state of mind. “I don’t like staying here past seven either, but we’ve got a job to do.” He tossed the folder onto the table and reached out for his tablet. “How about you take a quick look at this instead—”

The door to the files room opened, but Marius did not take notice; he was busy flipping through the documents on his tablet to look for the one he needed feedback on. “Vyn—ah, damnit.”

Vyn wasn’t zoning out yet again, but Marius thought what he did was way worse: the doctor’s hawkish gaze was trained at the recently opened door, or more specifically, the couple who had emerged from the files room: Luke and Rosa.

Marius, with his gift for observation that was mostly used in his art endeavors, easily picked out how the doctor’s fingernails dug into his thighs. He was sure that Vyn would bleed it if it weren’t for the sturdy fabric of his khakis. “Vyn?” No response; the doctor was already burning holes onto the backs of his colleagues, both too preoccupied with their light-hearted bantering over their smartphones to notice Vyn’s all-too bitter glaring.

[0:50 - 0:59]

Dr. Vyn Richter

I am looking in the mirror, my rose. Beholding the just deserts of our stubbornness. It is a tragedy that we have to hide the truth about ourselves, what we feel for each other, this beautiful thing that we have nurtured together.

Oh boy. Marius gave up and grabbed his bag to stuff his things, resigned that he would have to wait till their next meeting to get something pertinent out of his usually fastidious tutor. Whatever.

Luke was mumbling something as he hunched over Rosa’s shoulder, pointing at whatever was displayed on her screen. They seemed a little too intimate for work colleagues; Luke pulled Rosa closer to him, his arm wrapped around her as he fiddled with her phone’s display.

[1:05 - 1:13]

Dr. Vyn Richter

Try as we might to separate our personal lives from the professional, the world is trying to take advantage of the consideration that we allow them at the expense of our own needs and desires, Rosa, do you not see it?

Marius wasn’t surprised to see Vyn finally flipping his lid when Luke whispered something to her ear, his lips dangerously close to her face as if he was kissing her cheek.

“Luke, Rosa,” the doctor began, his voice controlled yet loud enough to easily fill the entirety of the sizable conference room. “If you could please keep your voices down. Marius and I are trying to do work here.”

No we aren’t, because someone here is stewing in his jelly juices, Marius thought to himself. He would have said it out loud, but he did not feel like getting in the crosshairs of his tutor’s ire at the moment.

“I have no qualms about any of us pursuing personal relationships, but if you could please exercise enough restraint to keep your flirting outside of working hours?” Vyn, despite his flat, emotionless tone, wasn’t giving any quarter. “I did not sign up for this circus.”

Marius threw the doctor a look that said Are you fucking serious? and nervously shifted his sights towards Luke and Rosa. As he expected, Luke was positively incensed, and Rosa was nothing but downright mortified.

“If you’ve got more to say about me and her catching up, why don’t we take this outside?” Luke nudged Rosa to stand behind him, but she didn’t budge; she remained rooted on the spot, her face red with embarrassment.

“That is not necessary,” Vyn said, his voice clipped. “I am done here. You two can carry on with your business. I care not.”

Marius merely watched as Vyn stiffly gathered his things to leave the conference room; held his breath in anticipation when the doctor had to pass Luke to get to the door—only to be grossly disappointed when they merely stared each other down.

“I bid you a good evening, Rosa,” Vyn said quietly, his eyes never leaving Luke as he addressed her. “Enjoy your time together.”

[1:14 - 1:21]

Dr. Vyn Richter

Do you not see how much it tears me apart?

Later that night.

He drove his head deeper into his pillows, relishing the warmth and wetness of her mouth wrapped around his cock. He let out a moan as she did her best to deepthroat him; he had told her that she didn’t need to, yet Rosa was adamant to try pleasuring him.

Perhaps as a way to make up for what happened back in the headquarters.

The earnestness of her efforts alone was enough to send him almost weeping in his own bed, a mere few minutes until midnight, way past his routine bedtime. But he did not care; sticking to a healthy routine was important if he were to maintain his mental acuity, yet at that moment nothing mattered to the doctor than feeling his lover’s hot, wet tongue swirling around his tip, and how her small lips were stretched to accommodate his girth as much as she could. His head spun in pleasure; the thick thread of precum leaking into her sucking mouth betrayed just how much he had waited for relief.

The muscles of his inner thighs tightened; he was getting near. His fingers twitched and sought her auburn tresses, unsure where they needed to be in his sudden bout of kindness, only for his care and restraint to be undone as she started sucking in earnest; her hand wrapped around the rest of his shaft and jerking off what her mouth couldn’t fit. Shuddering breaths quickly turned to needy gasps as he grabbed fistfuls of her hair, and begged for her to let him come—

But she only stopped and drew back, his still rock-hard cock slipping out of her lips.

Vyn almost wept in abject frustration. “Rosa, I—” His strangled voice told a little too much of just how much of his control was lost, only for him to be thwarted at the last minute. “...Why?”

“You didn’t have to antagonize him,” Rosa muttered, wiping the mixture of spit and precum off her lips with the back of her hand. “He was just showing me the videos he took from his last assignment.” Her olive eyes were clouded with such a mixture of emotions that Vyn couldn’t discern, not when he was too vexed after being deprived of release all too suddenly.

Was it anger? Resentment? Regret?

In the end he decided that none of those mattered, and he roughly pulled Rosa closer to him for a lingering kiss that told of his simmering desire for her, long ignored and neglected during the daytime. “I do not like how he holds you as if you were his possession,” he murmured against her lips, his arms snaking possessively around her sweat-slickened body. “Only I have the right to do so, Rosa. My love.”

[1:25 - 1:37]

Dr. Vyn Richter

Only I should see your smile. Only I should hear you speak, in that sweet voice only your lover should hear. Only I should feel you. Around me. In me. Your intoxicating scent as we make love, only I should know of it.

“I keep on telling you, we were only—ah—” Her protests died in her throat as Vyn pushed her down onto the mattress. “This wouldn't even be a problem if we'd only admit to our rela—”

“Sssh.” Once again Vyn interrupted her from voicing out her grievance, this time with his slender finger across her grumbling lips. “We have already talked about this, pet.” He spared her from his usual vague platitudes about keeping things professional. Now wasn’t the time. The indignation he had to go through a few moments ago was still swimming in his bloodstream, but the need to sate his hunger was paramount.

He spread her thighs open, and a dark chuckle rose from his throat. Despite her misgivings aimed at him the lurid sight of her wet and swollen flesh between her thighs betrayed just how much she was indeed his.

She throbbed for him, and not for whoever she was with during the daytime, certainly not her childhood friend, try as hard as Luke might to worm his way into her heart by taking advantage of their shared memories.

Memories that will be easily edged out by the lifetime of midnights shared only between the doctor and his precious rose.

He could feel his dick harden even more at the thought.

His blood sang in triumph.

“I will now take what is rightfully mine,” he whispered, licking his lips as he pushed her thighs further apart.

[1:40 - 1:59]

Dr. Vyn Richter

I knew my obsession with you was far too dangerous to allow unimpeded, but still I happily indulged in it, devoting my time and energy to your altar. You made me realize how much of a hypocrite I am, that I am no better than any man, just another someone who would squander everything in pursuit of that one woman.

His bedroom was filled with nothing but shared sighs and ragged moans as he sank deep into her, inch by delicious inch, into her hole. He threw his head back, closing his eyes as he relished the heat inside her cunt grasp his cock perfectly as if it was made for him. Yes. For him only, she was his alone, of that there was never any doubt. They fit perfectly, both of them pieces of a puzzle they did not know they needed to solve until their first touch. Vyn knew there was no one else made for him. He was going to make her his, in every sense of the word, but that was for later.

“Sing for me, Rosa,” he murmured, hands sliding down to her thighs and wrapping her legs around his waist. “I want to hear your voice. Tell me you are mine,” he demanded, his voice a touch too needy for his liking. It was difficult to grasp what little composure he had left with how good her hot cunt felt around him.

With a snap of his hips he bottomed out inside her; her moans of pleasure music to his ears as he started moving.

“Vyn, Vyn, I—nngh—” There was no hope for Rosa to come up with coherent words, not with how she helplessly clung to his shoulders, her legs greedily pulling his hips back to hers in time with his hard, deep thrusts. “Yours, I’m…ahh—” Tears pricked the edges of her eyes, to his utter, unhinged delight; a sinister laugh rose from his lips the moment he felt her fingernails drag across the skin of his back, no doubt drawing blood. That is fine, he thought as he hissed in the pain and licked his lips, his darkened gaze locking onto her unfocused olive stare that told of just how far gone she was in her head, focusing on the climax steadily building as he pounded into her, over and over.

“I need to…come. Please,” she managed to whisper, her weakened voice almost inaudible as he kept on rutting into her mercilessly. “Please, Vyn,” she whimpered, one of her hands letting go of his shoulder to reach down between her bodies.

He was going to let herself reach her precipice first, but the feel of her hand desperately rubbing her clit—her knuckle grazing his cock as he kept on fucking her the way God intended him to do her—pushed him past the point of no return. With a loud, guttural moan he burst his hot seed inside her.

She is like a drug, he decided as he slumped over her body, fully spent; and as she came, her cunt milking him for all he was worth with each orgasmic spasm, he knew that his spiraling obsession for her would lead him to nowhere but the abyss, and there was no hope for him to turn back and save himself.

[2:05 - 2:12]

Dr. Vyn Richter

It is unfortunate that you know this side of me, my love. And I cannot afford to let others know of how much of my control I lose over you.

At exactly one in the morning she was already fully dressed, her smartphone in her hand as she booked for a taxi to come pick her up from Vyn’s place.

“Rosa, being out alone at this hour is unwise,” Vyn said, still naked on his bed. “At the very least please give me a few minutes to dress myself and I will drive you home.”

He wanted to tell her that he’d rather she stay the night, for her to sleep beside him, but many things have already been said between them; it was much too late for him to renege on what they have already agreed upon, in the interests of compartmentalizing their romantic entanglement away from their professional lives and, in Vyn’s case, duty of his birthright.

And so all he could do was slip on his robe and see her out his door.

[2:23 - 2:52]

Dr. Vyn Richter

I will now come out and say it: You own me, my beloved. Me, and everything it entails. You own my thoughts, and my feelings. I cannot help it, your ownership of me is etched into my very being. You must bear responsibility for this, my rose. I place my fate into your hands.

“I will miss you, Rosa of my heart,” Vyn solemnly said, reaching out to her with the intent of holding her hand.

His fingers could only brush the back of her hand as she drew back and away from his grasp.

“I know,” was all she said before she stepped out through the door.

[2:52 - 3:01]

Dr. Vyn Richter

But the world is not yet ready to know this. Not yet.

They passed by each other the following morning, when he took it upon himself to personally deliver subpoenaed documents for a high profile case Themis Law was currently working on.

Vyn, on his way to Artem’s office, went past the pantry where he saw Rosa poring over documents spread out over the table with a mug of coffee in her hand.

He was about to approach her and say hello but Artem beat him to it, pulling a chair beside her. Vyn could only look on as the senior attorney huddled closer to his junior, going over the specifics of whatever the documents contained, sharing a laughter or two during their impromptu meeting in the pantry.

He could only watch as Celestine approached the two, loudly calling Rosa ‘Ms. Wing’ in jest, and tasked both attorneys to attend a business function together in her stead. An out of town business trip. Easily two or three days, out in the country together.

I have intruded on her business enough. The doctor pivoted on his heel and strode over to Kiki’s cubicle instead. “Hello, Miss Kiki,” he said in his bright voice usually reserved for the most reticent of patients. “Wing seems to be preoccupied at the moment.” He handed her the folder, along with his favorite green striped pen for her to sign the receipt slip with. “Would you be a dear and receive these documents for me?”

The bespectacled intern was quite surprised to see him, and her cheeks bloomed easily in his presence, ducking her head as she clumsily signed her name at the bottom of the receipt. It did not take her a minute before she handed him back his pen and the signed receipt.

Vyn let their fingers brush against each other as he accepted the items. “Thank you.”

“Y-you’re welcome, Dr. Richter,” Kiki chirped, then surreptitiously hid her furious blush behind the documents folder.

He briefly wondered how easily it would be to bed the pretty, yet painfully shy intern, to fill the gaps of his immensely lonely nights, but shoved it out of his mind just as quickly.

Nobody deserves to be hurt by petty jealousies, and people who manipulate others with the promise of love are nothing but despicable. He knew this very well.

His heart hurt.

Left with no reason for him to linger, his business finally done, Vyn decided to retreat into the comfort and semblance of control that his research center afforded him.

Yet before he could step into the elevator to leave the premises, Rosa emerged from the pantry and brushed past him, Artem in tow.

Their eyes briefly met, only for her to look away and place her hand on her boss’s arm, to Artem’s obvious surprise.

Vyn merely pursed his lips.

“Wing, I left the documents with Kiki,” was all the doctor said, after giving them a curt nod. “Have a good day. I shall take my leave now.”

[0:00 - 2:19]

Dr. Vyn Richter

The patient is appropriately dressed but disheveled. He would describe his mood as ‘within limits’. His thought process lacks flow. It has been sixteen hours and seventeen minutes since waking up at nine this morning, and thoughts of jealousy have consumed his sensorium. I am nothing without you, my rose, and I…

[The recording is cut off here. Faint sound of glass shattering could be heard in the background]

#vyn richter #tears of themis fanfic #vyn richter smut #tears of themis smut #tears of themis #tears of themis au

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collapsedsquid · 5 months

Text

It starts with the simple question of top-line price. There’s a funny caveat in the method the Bureau of Labor Statistics uses to determine the cost of smartphones for its Consumer Price Index. Smartphones, like a lot of other things, have been getting more expensive. They’re not eggs or gas or Coke — you don’t think about their prices every week — but there’s a good chance you buy one every few years. The cheapest version the iPhone now starts at $800; the cheapest version of the flagship model, $1,200. Let’s venture to say that people have noticed this and do not love it. Since 2018, though, BLS economists have specified that, actually, due to the “rapid rate of technological advancements and improved quality to consumers,” including, as an example, increases in screen resolution, smartphones need a “hedonic quality adjustment” before inclusion in the CPI. As a result, smartphone prices have been recorded, in an official way directly relevant to debates about the economy, as going down. Makes sense, maybe. Feels wrong, definitely.

Is funny to ocnsider this a "hedonic" adjustment, today's smart phones are in many ways superior goods to the smartphones of 10 years ago, it's the fun level that hasn't changed or even decreased.

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surrogate-fawn · 10 months

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Quartz and Sea Glass

((Drabble/Short story based on the backstory a rp with @mittysins of Fawn's first step into the world of surrogacy.))

{This drabble is a sequel to "The First Goodbye" and is Part Two of a planned series based on the rp between Mitty and I. This drabble will not make sense without the context of Part One.}

TW: Mentioned miscarriage/stillbirth, infertility, family abandonment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Don't put me on a pedestal for what I decided to do with my life. I ain't a saint.

I'll fully admit that I became a surrogate for selfish reasons. When I discovered there was a market out there of couples who needed a healthy body to carry their baby, I did not give a single shit about helping them -- all I cared about was the money.

I was twenty years old and homeless, still living off minimum wage. Can 'ya really blame me?

Lord only knows how that little worm of an idea got into my brain. Maybe it was during a mindless re-watch of season four of Friends. Maybe it was seeing something on the news. Or maybe it was during one of those three-in-the-morning anxiety attacks -- the ones that had me scribbling down as many outlandish solutions to my life as could fit on a napkin.

Not a lot of good ideas came about that way.

However it got there, one day I found myself seated at a library computer searching up as much information as I could find about surrogacy. As soon as I saw the rates some of these couples were willing to pay, I was sold. Fifty to sixty grand -- paid over the span of months. That sure as hell beat $7.25 an hour! The fact I could be eligible for certain state benefits on top of that money didn't hurt, either.

Best part? The one obstacle that could've been in my way had been crashed down a year ago: at least one healthy and successful prior pregnancy.

This was it. This was my way out!

But I hesitated.

As I sat there, staring at the Google search results that led me down the rabbit hole, I wondered if I was really capable of going through it all again. Not so much the physical symptoms, those all passed as soon as the pregnancy was over.

I was wondering if I could handle saying goodbye again.

My son's first birthday had just passed. I'd put a candle in a cupcake and blown it out for him the day of, alone in my room and still in my UDF uniform after work. I'd wished I'd known what name they gave him. The "Happy Birthday" song is a 'lil hard to sing without a name. I'd just called him "my baby" in the song. At least it fit. He would always be my baby, wherever he was and whatever he was called.

I blinked at the blue-tinted monitor. The screen was getting fuzzy and my eyes were stinging. I force-closed the dozens of tabs I had open, shut the computer off, and began my walk back to the women's shelter.

No, I couldn't. Money or no money, I couldn't go through it again. I never...never wanted to go through it again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week later, I made another trip to the library to borrow some time at the computer. I couldn't afford a laptop or smartphone, so it was a trip I usually made every other day; but work had been leaving me too tired to swing by.

I found an email waiting for me in my inbox, from a surrogate agency site I remembered looking up. In my mad scrolling, I must have signed up for their mailing list without thinking about it. It was from the highest-rated site I'd found, so at least I didn't have to worry about it being a phishing scam or tied to some baby black market or whatever.

I almost deleted it out of reflex, but the subject line read: "The Basics of Surrogacy, Free Information Guide". A brochure? Not an ad pressuring me to join so they could start taking a cut of my pay? Sure, I'd take a brochure.

So, that was the moment I made the best decision of my life: I opened that email.

I'll spare you the business side of things, but once I got in touch with the agency it all started falling into place. The whole process was much more voluntary than I realized. I spoke with several surrogate mothers who had been matched with clients through the site, and they all stood firm that nothing was done unless both the surrogate and the parents agreed to it. I would have a say in who I matched with. I would have a say in how much I was to be paid. I would even have a say in what the birthing experience would be like!

What finally sealed the deal for me, though, was the fact this company only dealt with what I learned were called "gestational surrogacies" -- meaning none of their surrogates were the biological parents of the babies they carried. I'd have someone else's egg inside me -- I would essentially be a walking incubator. That sounds kinda weird when you think about it, but it solved the biggest issue I had with tapping into this gold mine.

Not my baby? Not my DNA? Fine by me. I decided I'd gladly get paid fifty grand to sit around and grow someone else's kid. Sounded like the easiest job in the world.

I sent my application in two days later.

Two months, a psychiatric assessment, and dozens of medical tests later, I was in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Tariqs weren't the first couple who asked to meet with me. There were two other couples I had a first meeting with, but neither of them clicked with me the way Ray and Tess did.

We met for the first time at a park situated alongside the Tennessee River, bundled in jackets to keep out the early-autumn chill. There just so happened to be a food truck parked by the entrance we agreed to meet at, and Tess declared we should get to know each other over lunch. Seeing as I had skipped breakfast to make it to work on time, I didn't mind the idea.

I was standing off to the side while the Tariqs ordered from the truck, counting out the amount of cash I had on me, when suddenly I heard Tess call me over.

"Which one 'ya want, shug?" she asked, pointing to the menu plastered on the truck's side.

They bought me a chicken panini and a hot hazelnut macchiato, insisting it was their treat. If it were up to me, I wouldn't have needed the rest of that interview -- I had already chosen to be their surrogate in my head.

Buying me food is a fantastic way to get to get me to like you.

We sat at a picnic table beneath the golden oak trees and got to talking. Raymond (or Ray, as he preferred to be called) was a second-generation Indian immigrant and Tess, his wife, was a born-and-bred Knoxville gal. They lived on the rural side of Knoxville, just barely inside the city limits, in a 1960's farmhouse they'd refurbished themselves. Both were in their mid-thirties by the time they sought out surrogacy; up until that point, they'd been though quite a battle with infertility:

They'd been trying throughout their four years of marriage, but Tess could never carry to term. The few times her pregnancy tests would come up positive, she'd bleed a few weeks later. Although they weren't opposed to modern medicine, they'd preferred to try more "natural" methods to solve their fertility issue before going to a doctor. Such methods included the Kama Sutra, meditation, crystals, herbal blends and -- of course -- prayer.

Just the year prior, it seemed their home remedies had worked when Tess finally made it into the second trimester with a baby boy.

They'd lost him in a stillbirth days before the third trimester milestone.

Piled onto that tragedy, the hospital discovered Tess had a defective uterus -- it was physically impossible for her to carry to term. So, that's where I came in.

As I told them about myself, they were delighted to know I came from a household that had rather New Age ideas about life. I didn't mention that I no longer lived by those ideas -- it would've opened too many questions.

However, I certainly understood the good home remedies could do! I was more than happy to trade my recipes for salves for Ray's tips on where to buy the best beeswax in Knoxville. So happy, in fact, that I got carried away.

"My mom makes beeswax candles," I said, hurrying to swallow the bite of panini I had in my mouth. "She used to scent 'em with oils from her flowers, but the oil would seep right outta the wax once it got warm." I chuckled, feeling my nose crinkle in the embarrassing way it does when I laugh. "Sometimes, at dinner, we'd light one of her candles at the table. We'd blink and suddenly there'd be a puddle of rose oil dripping onto the beans and cornbread!"

"Maybe I can help her out with that," Ray said with a grin. He took a quick sip of his coffee. "My grandparents keep bees over in India. My family has a lot of tips on how to melt and mix the wax."

I almost choked on my food when I realized I'd brought up my family. Shit...now I had to be careful.

"Maybe," I said with a causal shrug. "She's back home in West Viginia with everyone else. It's a little hard to make time to see 'em."

"Oh, I'm sure," Tess nodded. "It's the same with my daddy's side of the family. We're just so far apart we forget 'ta check up on each other as often as we should." She finished off the last of her bagel. "And with you, Fawn, you work full time with a little 'un at home. I'm sure 'ya family understands."

I didn't blink for a while. I just stared at the river until the cold breeze dried my eyes out. "Oh, well..." I cleared my throat, "I don't have a little one at home."

Tess looked confused. Ray looked mortified.

"But it says on 'ya file you were pregnant last year?" Tess half-asked, half-stated. I could tell from her tone that there was no malice in her. She'd clearly read my profile and made assumptions.

I smiled, maybe showing a little too much teeth. "Yeah, I was. Very healthy pregnancy, very healthy baby boy, but I don't have a little one at home."

Ray put his hand over his wife's wrist, his sea glass bracelet quietly clattering on the wooden table. Tess went pale and her look of confusion faded into a silent scream.

"Oh. I'm...I'm sorry," she stammered. "I didn't mean 'ta-."

"No, no! I don't mind bringing him up!" I said, a nervous laugh jittering my lungs. "I never get the chance to talk about my son, but I think about him all the time!"

I surprised myself when the expected sorrow didn't come. Instead, excitement filled its place -- an odd sense of relief that I could let out some of the thoughts that had been haunting me.

I proceeded to word-vomit about how wonderful it was to be pregnant with my son, and how angelic his parents were to me, and how I knew he would be okay -- even if I missed him -- and so forth and so on. I honestly don't think I stopped for breath.

I saw Ray and Tess glance at each other from the corners of their eyes as I rambled, a pair of knowing grins on their faces.

I'm no mind reader, but I think that's when the Tariqs made their final decision.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tess was with me for the embryo transfer, her ring-laden hand resting on my arm as everything was prepped. I was bloated as a water balloon from the multiple fertility drugs I'd been plunging into my veins -- every day, might I add -- for the past month. I sure was hoping those suckers worked, because being in a permanent state of PMS was ass. Total ass.

I reclined on the exam table, legs up in those familiar stirrups and my hips covered by a thin sheet of paper. I inhaled through my nose as the doctor inserted a long, thin tube of plastic through the ring of my cervix -- the end of which was attached to a syringe full of clear fluid. Somewhere in that syringe, three little embryos floated around -- and one of them was hopefully about to nestle into its new home.

I watched the fuzzy grey blurs on the ultrasound screen as the doctor angled the wand to see what he was doing. As I watched each of the three tiny balls leave the tube...I just hoped those fertility drugs didn't work too well.

Tess grinned down at me once it was over, her blonde braid falling over her shoulder. "We got three good un's in there," she said. I noticed she was clutching the quartz pendant around her neck like a string of prayer beads. "I'm sure one of 'em will like 'ya enough 'ta stick around."

I think she was just as worried as I was. Tess's egg retrieval, the test tube fertilization, the freezing, and my daily injections all combined into almost three months of prep work just for this ten-minute procedure.

And if it failed, we'd have to do it all over again. And if that failed, we'd do it again. And again.

"Yeah," I sighed, lowering my legs from the stirrups, "I hope you're right, Tess. 'Cause if not, I swear to God I'm gonna have-."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"A girl!" Tess screeched to the high heavens, throwing herself against Ray in an attack hug. She jumped for joy while hanging from his neck, almost pulling the poor man to the floor. "It's a girl, Ray! We're havin' a girl!"

Ray laughed, backing up from the table so his wife didn't mule kick the ultrasound technician. "I don't know, Fawn," he said, looking my way with a huge smile and a raised eyebrow. "Do you think it's a girl?"

"Not sure," I said, my nose crinkling in a snicker, "but I think Tess said something about it being a girl."

"Shuddup you two," Tess giggled, sniffling as tears began falling down her cheeks.

Ray held his wife's face in his hands and gave her a kiss deep enough to explore the sea floor. The technician and I decided to focus on the ultrasound images to give the couple some privacy.

I craned my neck to look up at the screen. What had been a microscopic ball four months ago was now an apple-sized baby girl with wiggling arms and legs, and -- thank God -- there was only her in there. The other two embryos had never taken, but this rowdy little girl had held tight. I smiled as I watched the rapid flutter of her heart beating, amazed at the sight. I remembered being just as amazed by my son's heartbeat, what few times I'd gotten to see it.

"Look how active she is!" the technician said, pointing to the baby's constant wiggling. "You should be feeling those little dance moves of hers very soon."

Ray and Tess returned to admire the fuzzy images on the screen. Tess was drying her eyes on her sleeves, and Ray's smile may as well have been glowing. He had his arm around Tess's shoulders as they watched the miniature dance party going on inside me. The sea glass bracelet rattled as his hand came to rest over his heart.

"That's our daughter, Tess," he said. His voice broke a bit as he repeated: "That's our daughter."

"Yep," Tess sniffled, hugging her husband's torso and resting her head on his shoulder, "that's her."

I watched them hold each other like that until the technician turned off the wand and wiped the gel from my slightly rounded belly.

The Tariqs had already begun the steady payment plan we'd agreed to. Even after the agency took its cut each month, it was still more than I'd ever made in my life. That had been why I'd agreed to do this for them, after all.

That ultrasound appointment is what changed my outlook on what I was doing.

These two people. These two amazing people, so overcome with joy because I was carrying the baby that they could not.

I wasn't an incubator anymore. I felt more like a nanny, protecting their baby for them until she was strong enough to come out. They'd wanted this baby for so, so long -- and I was the one making that dream of theirs come true.

I knew what it was like to desperately want to hold a baby you were unable to have. I may not have been able to heal my own hurt, but here I was...healing theirs.

I wasn't doing it for the money after that.

I never did it for the money again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Five days after my twenty-first birthday, I woke up to a rather nasty surprise at one in the morning. I'd gotten kicked in the bladder, and my bedsheets and pajama bottoms were damp and sticking to my skin in the humid July air. Fantastic. Not again.

With a groan, I rolled out of bed and started shuffling my way to my door. I held the weight of my belly in my arms as I made my way to the upstairs communal bathroom, hoping to take the pressure off my hips.

I blinked against the harsh florescent light as it sputtered to life over the toilet. With a gruff sigh, I shut and locked the door.

"Suri, you gotta stop doing this," I slurred, my mouth too tired to move. "I'm letting you use my uterus as a bed and breakfast. The least you could do is not try to pop my bladder every night."

Surinder. Her name was Surinder, but we'd been calling her Suri for short. Ray picked it out. He liked it because it was based on the name of a Hindu god and also sounded like the word 'surrender' in English. Tess had fallen in love with the name. Me? I would've just stuck with 'Suri'. I knew exactly what kind of teasing she was in for at school with a name like 'Surinder'.

You can't exactly walk into public school with a name like 'Fawn' and not get laughed into oblivion.

At least the nickname gave her an extra name to fall back on. If that didn't work, she also had her middle name to use: Elora. I would've done the same back in high school -- I did have three to pick from -- but 'Aspen', 'Coriander', and 'Medulla' wouldn't have made the teasing any better.

I'd gone in at age eighteen and erased two of those names. It was just "Fawn Coriander Sequioa" now. Still not a normal name by any means. I often thought about going back into the records and legally changing my last name, just like my parents had done when they'd joined the commune before I was born.

I didn't need my last name. My family didn't want me anymore.

Alexander may have opened up a whole new world for me, but he made sure I burned every bridge behind me as I crossed it. I was already beginning to question my parents' worldview by the time I started dating him, but he took that little spark of doubt -- a spark that, if left alone, would've grown into a steady burn-away of my old ideals -- and fanned those embers into an uncontrollable hatred.

"They're a cult, babe," he'd told me. "Why can't you see that? I can take you away from that bullshit that says you gotta fuck other guys to be happy. I only want what's best for you, and for us."

After months of letting my teenaged angst and frustration boil over, it happened. An argument started between Mom and I over something asinine, and the geyser fucking exploded.

I parroted everything Alexander had been telling me. I told my parents they were nothing but sexual perverts who wanted me to be a whore all my life. I told them how their "woo-woo" medicine got kids killed all over the country, and that blood was on their hands. I told them how much they'd fucked up in raising me.

I told them I hated them.

I told Dad I hoped the next woman who sucked his dick bit it off.

I told Mom that if it was her, I hoped she died choking on it.

The last time I saw Dad, he was throwing everything I owned out of my bedroom window until I was on the sidewalk surrounded by broken furniture and muddy clothes.

The last time I saw Mom, she was sobbing face-down on the couch and refusing to look at me.

Even now, I would be willing sell my soul -- to lay down and die -- just to undo what I did that day.

I didn't give a shit at the time, though. I picked up what I could carry off the front lawn and walked to the nearest payphone to call Alex. I had to tell him I was finally free.

Free.

Right.

What a fucking joke.

I splashed some cold water on my face to wash off the nighttime sweat. Suri rolled one of her feet against the top of my belly, causing a little moving bump that I playfully poked with my finger.

"I'm going to bill you for all those crazy dance parties you're having in there, missy," I said with a grin, a lot less frustrated with her than I was a second ago.

I grabbed a washcloth to start cleaning myself off, but the realization dawned on me and I stopped cold. That was her foot. Her foot was at the top of my belly...which meant her head was angled down...which meant there was no way she'd kicked my bladder.

As I stood at the sink trying to solve that puzzle, I found the missing piece. My belly clamped down hard enough to pitch me forward. I grabbed onto the sides of the sink with a small gasp, feeling the muscles of my torso all tighten and shrink in the direction of my uterus. As it did, a little more dampness spread across my pajama pants.

Oh fuck.

Oh, holy fuck!

I left the bathroom in as much of a jog as I could manage, rushing back into my room and to the brand-new cell phone charging by the window. I had no idea how to save numbers on that thing, so I manually dialed Ray's number. His was the only one I could remember.

The other side of the call rang for a solid thirty seconds before Ray's sleep-drunk voice picked up:

"Hello?" he grumbled. "Who is this?"

Oh, right. He probably didn't have my new number saved, either.

"Ray, it's Fawn," I said, noticing too late that my voice was trembling. "You and Tess need to come pick me up...like right now!"

I heard a rustle on the other end, and suddenly Ray sounded very much awake. "Fawn? Fawn, what's wrong?!" I thought I heard Tess say something nearby, probably on the other side of their bed. "Why do you need us to get you?! Suri isn't due for another two weeks!"

"She...she had other plans," I said, taking a deep breath to steel my nerves. "My water just broke."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ray's face was illuminated by the highway streetlights as he glanced back at Tess and I in the backseat of the car. "How's it going back there?" he asked, flicking his gaze between us and the road.

"Aughh!" I groaned in response as a contraction stole my ability to speak. I tried to lift my hips off the leather seat as more fluid leaked from me, but the seatbelt held me down. I was already sitting in a small puddle of it, and I was worried I was ruining their upholstery. I was still dressed in my pajamas, but I considered them a lost cause.

"We're doin' fine," Tess said, slipping her hand into mine so I could squeeze it -- which I did. "Focus on the road, Ray."

Tess had buckled herself into the middle seat of the minivan, giving her enough room to tend to me while I was strapped in the window seat. I sat with my legs as far apart as the seatbelt would allow. I could already feel the baby pressing through my cervix, and I recognized the pounding pressure that came with it.

The contraction lasted about forty seconds, and it left me reeling and panting. I had no idea when to expect the next one. "Why is this happening so fast?!" I asked, my voice shrill with anxiety. "I was in labor for over a day last time!"

"It's probably not happenin' as fast as 'ya think, doll," Tess assured me, giving my hand a pat. "You could'a slept through most of early labor. Second baby always comes faster than the first, 'ya know."

No. No, I did not know!

"Tessie, how close did the doula say she was?" Ray asked, obeying his wife and not taking his eyes off the road that time.

Tess's face was bathed in white light as she quickly checked her phone. "Ten minutes," she said. "She'll be waiting outside the house when we get there."

Just before she put her phone away, I saw her clutching the quartz pendant again.

Just as promised, the doula was parked outside the Tariqs' farmhouse when we got there. She climbed out of her car as soon as our headlights lit up the gravel driveway. Ray parked the minivan with a lurch and jumped out to start helping her carry things into the house.

Tess helped me out of the car, letting me use her as a crutch as we hobbled up the front steps.

"You ready 'ta do this, Fawn?" she asked.

"Are you ready to do this?" I rebutted.

Tess paused for a second, and then rubbed my lower back as we reached the porch. "Not really," she said, "but no one ever is."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Turns out, I wasn't as deep into active labor as I thought I was. In fact, I'd barely started it. The doula told me I was six centimeters dilated, and that I'd likely been in labor for close to twelve hours at that point.

"No, that's not possible," I protested from my reclined position on the sofa. "I wasn't having contractions until now."

"Trust me, you were," the doula grinned from her place between my knees. She slipped off her blue latex gloves and tossed them in the trash as she stood up. "I'm willing to bet they were just really mild up until you started leaking."

It was a relief to know my water breaking didn't mean I was going to deliver right there and then; but it also sucked knowing I was still in for a long ride.

I spent the rest of that night laboring around the farmhouse. It was so nice to not be stuck in a hospital room that time. I was free to do as I pleased, which Ray and Tess were sure to make clear.

Ray opened a few of the windows to let the sounds of crickets and frogs in, as well as the sweet-smelling breeze of the countryside. Meanwhile, Tess made it her life's mission to make me as cozy as possible -- no matter where I ended up. Thanks to her, pillows followed me from the sofa to the floor, from the floor to the recliner, and then back to the sofa.

Eventually, I got too restless to sit still and I needed to be upright. I was on my feet for the rest of active labor, hanging from the edges of furniture or leaning on either Tess or Ray for support during the contractions. Neither of them minded a bit.

It didn't hurt any less than the first time I went into labor. At times, I was so overcome by the increasing horrible sensations that I began screaming. Each time that happened, either Tess or Ray (whichever I was currently clinging to) would wrap their arms around me and the other would redirect my focus.

"Look at me, doll," Tess said, taking my face in her hands while Ray held me upright.

I was hyperventilating and sobbing my way through a nasty contraction and had forgotten how to use my legs.

"Look at me," she repeated gently. "Focus on my face. See my eyes? My nose? My mouth?" she pointed to each feature as she listed them. "Just think about what'cha see. Think about every detail 'ya can."

It was a technique that sounded stupid on paper, but in practice it was very effective at keeping me grounded. If I counted each of Tess's eyelashes or tried to trace the shape of her mouth in my mind's eye, then I didn't focus on the pain.

I could do it. I knew I could. I'd done this whole song and dance before without painkillers. I could do it again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At ten in the morning, eight hours after arriving at the house, I finally felt the shift that told me I was almost done with this.

I was kneeling on the hardwood floor of the living room, my thighs supported by the shallow birthing stool the doula had brought. Beneath me was an absorbent blue pad. Based on the design of the packaging it was pulled it from, it was supposed to be for potty training puppies. Weird...but if it worked, it worked -- and it was certainly needed. The head was descending quicky, and a few bloody strands of cervical mucus were dripping from me as the last of it gave way.

I'd shed the damp pajamas I came in, but the sweat rolling down my back made me shiver each time an outdoor breeze came through. Tess draped a thin blanket over my shoulders and stayed at my back, her hands never leaving my upper arms as I bowed my head and wailed through a transition contraction.

Ray knelt a few feet in front of me, the doula at his side. He looked a strange mixture of nauseous and excited -- we had decided he would be the one to catch the baby, and the doula was talking him through the process ahead of time. I noticed he was holding a hand to his heart as he listened to her, the sea glass bracelet hanging from his wrist.

We all knew it was about to happen.

When the head finally lodged itself into my birth canal, I said nothing. I just acted. I gripped the front edges of the foot-tall birthing stool and let out a feral growl as I started to push. A chorus of encouragement came from the people around me:

"That's it, doll! C'mon!"

"Go with the urge, Fawn. You've got this!"

"Very good, that's what we like to see."

Having gravity on my side this time made pushing feel much less like a chore. I could feel Suri working her way down each push I gave, and she usually stayed where she was once I let up. Kneeling on the stool seemed to be easing her down exactly where she needed to go.

I let out a yelp -- of surprise more than pain -- as I suddenly felt her head pressing against the skin of my perineum. The pressure opened my lips up like a flower, and the doula shined a flashlight underneath me to confirm her head was visible just inside the bulge of my lips, sitting there ready to crown with the next push.

And holy fuck, did she crown! The burn started the second her scalp met the outside air.

"Oww! God-fucking-damn it!" I white-knuckled the wooden stool, a strangled scream leaving my throat as I felt the head bulge out further, peeling my vagina apart like some demented fruit.

Ray scooted closer, rubbing alcohol up and down his arms in preparation to catch. With the doula watching over his shoulder and aiming a flashlight down so he could see, Ray slipped his hands beneath me. I felt his fingers prodding the skin around the head.

"Just like that, yes," the doula told him. "Help her open, this baby seems to be eager."

"No shit!" I roared, my arms trembling as another push sent the head rushing downward. "Fuck!"

I felt Ray's fingers trace the circumference of his daughter's head as more of it emerged, heard the quiet squelching of the afterbirth coating his fingers. When I no longer had the contraction to help me, I let up. Ray kept trying to massage my vagina open, even as I was trying to rest.

"Stop!" I snapped, and he withdrew.

Tess was hiding behind me, her hands on my shoulders the only reminder she was there. She peeked over my shoulder at her husband during the brief lull in my screaming.

"How far is she out?" she asked, unable to see for herself.

The doula craned her neck. "Almost fully crowned."

"She has so much hair," Ray said with a breathy laugh.

"She does," the doula agreed with a grin. "Her daddy's hair, too. Very dark."

I tilted my head to the side, panting heavily but morbidly curious. "Can...can I feel?" I asked.

The doula took my hand and lead it below my belly. I gasped in awe when I touched the hot, gooey ball of hair sticking out from my body.

"Woah..." I muttered, not sure what to else to say.

My fingertips wandered between my legs for a few seconds, and it was both fascinating and horrifying how my anatomy felt nothing like my own body. Everything was stretched and moved around, and it didn't feel like I was touching anything resembling a human body part -- save for the head sitting where a head shouldn't be. Frightened, I pulled my hand back just in time to bear down against a new contraction.

"Hands out, Ray," the doula gently encouraged. "Here she comes."

I felt Tess press her forehead into my upper back. I think she was feeling faint.

"Ah!" A sharp cry, almost a bark, shot from me as the head reached a full crown for a few terrible seconds. Then, with a wet slip, her whole head came free.

"Holy Mother Gaia..." Ray marveled in a half-whisper. His hands cupped the head hanging under me with the most attentive care in the world.

He didn't have much time to admire the view, I wasn't done pushing. I screamed through closed lips as I felt the ring of flesh just behind my skin get stretched wider than it had ever been. I knew something was wrong as soon as that stabbing, tearing burn began. Suri was two weeks early, but she suddenly felt bigger than my son had been.

"Pull her out!" I begged, remembering what the doctor had done. "Just pull her out!"

"Can't," the doula said. "Her hands are up by her ears, there's nowhere for us to grab."

"Take it slow, Fawn," Ray offered. "I've got her, there's no reason to rush."

I took a few quick pants and rested, hoping the stabbing burn would lessen if I let myself stretch out. It's no wonder it hurt so bad delivering her shoulders, she was making this part more difficult than it needed to be.

Tess's hands lightly squeezed my arms and I felt her hiding her face in the blanket draped over my back. Yeah, she was definitely on the verge of passing out.

Gravity was pulling on Suri even as I was trying to let myself stretch, and the shifting pressure triggered me to push without the aid of a contraction.

"Aughh, Suri come on!" I begged, pushing so hard my vision was going double.

Maybe saying her name was intimidating enough to get her to move, because with that push I felt her arms pop free. Ray gasped, and I felt his hands shift to support her upper body as the rest of her slipped out of me. I heard fluid splash and splatter onto the puppy pad, and just a second later, Ray lifted a small blue baby up from under me.

"Get her breathing," the doula urgently instructed. "Turn her over and rub her back. Support her head."

Ray obeyed, gently flipping Suri over on his lap and rubbing his large hand over her back. Her head hung disturbingly limp on her neck as he jostled her around, but I knew that's what it was supposed to be like. It still looked scary.

Suri splayed her arms out, as if she's been surprised, and let out a gurgling wail as her first breath.

"There she is," Ray sighed with releif, turning her back over to hold her in his arms. The doula whipped out a small towel and draped it over her body to keep her warm.

Tess came back to life and rushed to be beside her husband the instant she heard the baby cry. The moment she saw Suri in her daddy's hands, she dropped to her knees and covered her mouth. Her eyes spilled over, tears flowing down her cheeks.

"Oh, Ray!" she cried, her voice shaky and breaking. She reached out and pet her daughter's wet mop of black hair. "Ray, she's beautiful!"

Ray couldn't answer, he was too choked on tears of his own. Both parents held their daughter between their bodies, too joyful for words to express. Their tears and shared kisses told the story, though.

As for me, I wasn't too sure what to make of the situation. She was out, she was healthy, and her parents would be taking it from here. My job was done; but it did feel a bit...abrupt.

"Fawn," Tess turned to me, uselessly trying to dry her eyes, "do you want to hold her?"

I didn't think, I just spoke: "Yes. I've never held a baby before."

Ray and Tess lifted Suri up to me. Ray adjusted my hold so I could support the places that needed it, and Tess made sure the bloodied towel was in place so Suri wouldn't get cold. Within seconds, there I was with a minute-old baby in my arms, sitting against my bare chest.

I stared down silently at the tiny person who had been living inside me the last nine months. She was screaming her head off, but her lungs were sounding clearer each time her mouth opened. Her pink, toothless gums reminded me of a fish's mouth.

"Hey, Suri," I said, my voice sounding far away. "Must feel better out here, huh?" Suri wailed again, unhappily flailing her arms and legs around. "Or not."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I rested on the sofa, extra puppy pads beneath me, as the doula and the parents did the 'lotus ceremony' on the other side of the room. I'd had to sit on that stool for an extra twenty minutes until the placenta passed -- Ray and Tess wanted to have a lotus birth, where the cord was burned through only after the afterbirth was delivered.

I didn't want to know what they planned to do with the placenta itself.

Ray had offered to drive back to the women's shelter later that day to grab my duffel bag for me. In my panic, I'd completely forgotten the overnight bag I'd packed. So, for the time being, I was naked and covered only by the thin blanket Tess had given me.

The lotus ceremony finished up, and Ray and Tess pulled up some chairs to sit beside me. Tess had gone topless and had laid a sleeping Suri carefully across her chest, doing skin-to-skin so they could establish the proper mother-baby bond. Her eyes were red and raw, and fresh tears were falling from them.

"Fawn," she began, "you'll never know how much this means 'ta us."

"You're welcome," I said, offering the couple a tired smile. "She was a rowdy tenant, but I'd gladly do it again to give you guys the family you want. You'll be an amazing mom, Tess."

Tess let out a small sob that turned into a chuckle. "Thank 'ya."

Ray rubbed his wife's back, his own fresh tears falling. "We have something very special to give you, Fawn. It's...the closest thing we have to fully repaying you."

Tess nodded. "Money ain't enough. It would never be enough."

In sync, both couples removed the pieces of jewelry I'd never seen them without: Tess, her quartz pendant; Ray, his sea glass bracelet. Without a word, both new parents bestowed the items on me as if it were a coronation. Tess slipped the pendant around my neck and flipped my hair out from under the chain it hung on. Ray carefully slid the band of clattering sea-green beads over my hand until it came to rest softly on my wrist.

I looked at the new gifts with a grateful smile. "Something to remember you guys by?"

The couple gave each other one of their classic knowing grins.

"No," Tess said. "We chose these items months ago. They were always intended for who our surrogate would be."

I tilted my head to the side like a confused dog -- I guess the puppy pads were appropriate after all. "What?"

"From the day we met you, we've been praying over them," Ray explained, repeating the hand-over-heart motion I'd frequently seen him do with the hand that had worn the bracelet. "Each milestone we reached, we made sure our joy in the moment was stored in the crystals."

"Quartz is best to channel the energy of a mother, for Mother Gaia," Tess explained. "Glass shaped by the sea is best for a father's energy, for all life was fathered by the sea."

We were silent for a while, just staring at each other. The only sound was the soft cooing Surinder made in her sleep.

"We want you 'ta be a part of this family, Fawn," Tess said. "We've put a part of our essence into these crystals. Our joy, our love, our gratitude. So, whenever 'ya wear 'em, we'll be with 'ya."

Now I was crying. I opened my jaw to say something, but nothing came.

"We've talked about it, and..." Ray said with a smile. "...if you would like to, we'd be more than happy to have you stay here with us until you get back on your feet."

"Livin' out here has been much less of a headache than in the city," Tess continued. "We could help you find a nice 'lil place of your own sometime soon, a home where you can make a life for 'yaself."

There was another pause. I let tears fall silently down my bewildered face.

"You don't talk much about 'ya family," Tess said. "You don't owe us no explanation, but...Ray and I figured...you might need someone in 'ya corner."

That was it. That was the killing blow.

I jumped forward and threw my arms over Ray, collapsing into sobs I hadn't experienced in months. I would've grabbed both of them, but Tess had the baby. I didn't actually say anything to them, but I think they got the message.

Maybe there was something to those New Age ideas of theirs. As I sat there sobbing, I swear I could feel the warmth of Tess and Ray's love seeping into my skin through those minerals.

It seeped through my blood and sinew, and even though bone. It settled into the bleeding wound in my soul that refused to heal, the one that had been torn open the first time I called my family after the fallout:

My own mother, the one who promised to love me no matter what life threw, plunged the knife in and twisted it. The last words she ever spoke to me...were a threat to kill me if I ever tried to come back home.

The warmth of Ray and Tess's gift poured into that wound like warm honey -- not healing it, but soothing it for the first time in three years.

Maybe I was overthinking it. Maybe the heat in the jewelry was just from their body heat.

But I was sure about one thing:

I wasn't alone anymore.

~ END ~

#Fawn Drabbles #mittysins #birth kink #RP Drabble

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yuurei20 · 2 years

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(Voted 2nd-most-popular-character on the jpn server in a combination of seven different character-ranking surveys held throughout 2021)

Riddle prioritizes rules and regulations above all else. While he can become explosively angry when provoked, no one has been expelled from Heartslabyul Dorm since Riddle became its housewarden and he is normally calm and reserved.

He is at the top of his class, constantly earning perfect marks with the exception of physical fitness tests, where he scores below average (according to Riddle, “A true mage simply excels in magic over fitness”). He is also the best flyer of the 2nd year students, according to Jamil, but in a home-screen line Riddle recommends that the player go to Cater with any flying-related questions they may have.

He legitimately enjoys studying, always looking pleased when Crowley appears for Special Lessons. Despite his impatience with Lucius’ noises during class, Trein is his favorite professor.

Riddle’s love of information does not end at serious subjects such as history and practical magic, but also extends to anything with which he is unfamiliar, such as when he became mildly jealous of Cater’s effortless knowledge of popular trends and vowed to look up trendy smartphone cases.

He holds the record for second-fastest seizing of the housewarden position, defeating the previous (and much more laid-back) housewarden of Heartslabyul within a week of enrolling at the school in his first year. (It is not specified whom it is that holds the record for the fastest promotion, or whom it was that he defeated for the title, although there are many fan-theories).

Riddle feels very strongly about being “correct”, to the point of following rules to the detriment of common sense (i.e. adding oyster sauce to a tart because Trey had added it to the recipe as a joke). In Book 1 we learn that this is because, due to his upbringing, “rules made him who he is” and “to deny the rules would be to deny who he is as a person”.

He is not a good cook as he obsesses over adding the “correct” amount of ingredients to his dishes.

In a vignette where he attempts to make soup for a sick Trey, Trey eats it out of obligation, but with much difficulty. We learn from Trey that Riddle simply does not have a discerning palate and does not care much for whether something tastes good or bad, rating food based on his own, personal expectations (during Master Chef events where he is a judge, he will not touch any dish that he scores under three points).

There are often times when he is gentle, such as when caring for the dorm’s hedgehogs and his beloved Equestrian Club horse, Vorpal.

Riddle compliments others most sincerely when they succeed at something they have been striving towards. After the events of Book 1 he has been working hard to be less judgmental and lower his expectations for those around him, but it is a constant struggle.

He has memorized all 810 of the Queen of Hearts’ laws and believes that everyone should be more than capable of memorizing at least 100, as a matter of common sense.

When asked in a birthday vignette how he spends his free time, Riddle insists that students should have no free time outside of studying and extracurricular activities, but then admits that it’s possible that his caring for the doom’s hedgehogs might not fall into either of those two categories. It seems that caring for the hedgehogs is supposed to be a task that is rotated throughout the dorm, but he is always following up, just in case someone else forgets.

Floyd refers to him as “Kingyo-chan” (goldfish), because--in Floyd's own words--"Small and red--that's what a goldfish is", while Rook calls him Roi du Rose (King of Roses). (“Rose du Roi” is actually the name of a real rose, described as being “magenta-crimson” in color).

Growing up, his mother controlled every aspect of his every-day-life from the clothes he wore and food he ate (forcing him to memorize and recite the caloric intake of his meals) to the friends that he was allowed to make. At her insistence, Riddle has also been trained in dancing (ref: Halloween). He tried fast food for the first time at the age of 17.

In the novel we learn, when he was very young, Riddle’s mother would regularly leave the house for one hour a day to complete an unspecified task. This hour was the only unsupervised time he ever had, and was meant to be for self-study. Instead, for “two or three months”, Riddle sneaks out of his bedroom through a window to play with Trey and Chenya, who were the first friends he ever made in his life (after they knock on his window to get his attention and invite him out).

Upon discovering this, his mother permanently bars the window and forbids her son from ever seeing them again, despite his pleas and promises.

In both the game and the manga, his mother goes to Trey's house and ":...with 10 times more force than Riddle himself, lectured my entire family for five hours straight”.

This was changed on ENG-server to Trey saying that he “got lectured by (his) whole family for five hours straight”.

Riddle is tormented by the thought of never again seeing Trey and Chenya, and by the fear that they have forgotten him and no longer care. Trey and Riddle are then reunited upon his enrollment at Night Raven College, with Chenya attending Royal Sword Academy.

His special talent of crossword puzzles came from such puzzles being included in the back of the textbooks that his mother purchased for him every month. Every other form of entertainment was forbidden in his household growing up.

He has a collection of 3,000 crosswords that he made himself as a child, saying that, when he was younger, he “had hoped to give them to Trey and Chenya one day…”

Riddle’s athletic clothes are slightly oversized, as they were purchased with the belief that he would grow into them. While excelling at horseback-riding and flying lessons, he is not in the least muscular and is sensitive about his physical size. He insists that he has high expectations for a growth spurt in the next year.

His goal for the future is to become a magic-using physician, just like both of his parents: a particularly demanding profession in the Twisted Wonderland universe. This is the career he has been trained for from a very young age, but since enrolling at Night Raven College he has become increasingly interested in law, and is often reading books on judicial administrations.

We know very little about Riddle’s father (aside from his being a magic-using physician), but in a home screen line for Riddle’s Phantom Bride card, he says that he wishes that the Queen of Hearts would share the secret of a happy marriage with his parents.

Riddle learned his unique magic, “Off with your head”, at the age of ten. It is a powerful ability that renders its victim incapable of using their own magic. It has its limitations, however: if the person has a superior defensive magic that does not offer him an opening, it can be repulsed (as Leona does in Book 2). It can also be thrown off if the person’s magic is stronger than that of Riddle himself (i.e. Leona).

Translation: "The desk on the left has a large bookcase filled with books. The nightstand next to the bed and the stool at the foot of the bed are also stacked with books, showing Riddle's studious nature. The headboard of the bed is decorated with red hearts, and the low table has a red rose. Wanting Cater to get a high score on his next exam, Riddle comes up with a study method using magicam and diligently uploads tagged photos throughout the night."

It would appear that Riddle has speech patterns that may have been inspired by the Queen of Hearts in the Japanese-language dub of Disney’s Alice in Wonderland, but I can neither confirm nor deny as I have never seen the dub. This is true of the English-language version, however, which includes lines from the original movie such as "Open your mouth a little wider when you speak".

In the official guidebook, we learn from the game’s creator Toboso Yana that her original concept for Riddle Rosehearts was the exact opposite of what the character became. He was originally a spoiled child that hated studying and would break promises and rules without care, but his magic was so strong that he could not be denied. Unsatisfied with this interpretation of the character, she rewrote his personality completely, but there still exist rough drafts of Riddle character designs from that stage of development.

Riddle’s current styling of his uniform is a holdover from the character he was in the game’s earlier stages.

We learn from Vil that NRC house wardens are permitted the freedom to arrange their dorm uniforms as they like. Riddle does not wear high-heels in order to look taller (though he is very much aware that people will assume that of him), and previous house wardens of Heartslabyul have generally worn sneakers, much like the rest of the dorm’s students.

But, Riddle explains, as the Queen of Hearts herself worn them, so will he. In the Halloween event we learn that Riddle’s dorm uniform was based upon that of the first-ever housewarden of Heartslabyul, including the high heeled shoes, in order to serve as an example of the importance of following tradition.

Soon after ascending to the position of Housewarden, Riddle received tips from Vil on how to grow accustomed to walking in them. He says he has come to like the shoes particularly for the sound they make when he walks, as other students will suddenly straighten up when they hear him coming. In a homescreen line, however, he says he doesn’t wear them because he wants to.

A video of Riddle and Vil having this conversation as they share a dance at a Halloween party

Some great artists for Riddle fan-art and more (SFW, no story spoilers) Black Butler / Heartslabyul Crossover

Dorm Uniform Design Breakdown (feat. Deuce)

Just Riddle

From the novel: saw this on Twitter and loved it

Voice Riddle is voiced by Hanae Natsuki (花江夏樹), whose other work includes Tanjiro Kamado from Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba, Shinkawa Kyouji / Spiegel from Sword Art Online II, Lavi from D Gray man HALLOW, Kokounoi Hajime from Tokyo Revengers, Gremmy Thoumeaux from BLEACH and Kaneki Ken from Tokyo Ghoul.

More seiyuu information available here

A translation of an interview with Hanae Natsuki can be found here

Additional Fact Sheets ・Riddle Rosehearts ・Trey Clover・Cater Diamond ・Ace Trappola・Deuce Spade ・Leona Kingscholar ・Ruggie Bucchi ・Jack Howl ・Azul Ashengrotto・Floyd Leech・Jade Leech ・Kalim Al-Asim・Jamil Viper ・Vil Schoenheit・Rook Hunt ・Epel Felmier ・Idia Shroud・Ortho Shroud ・Malleus Draconia ・Silver・Sebek Zigvolt・Lilia Vanrouge ・Sam・Crewel・Trein・Vargas・Crowley

#twisted wonderland #Riddle Rosehearts #リドル・ローズハート #ツイステ #twstcharactersheet

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vasiktomis · 2 years

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Enclosed Spaces (18+)

Pairing: Travis Hackett/Gender-neutral Reader. Solo. Rating: Explicit (Minors do NOT interact). Word Count: ~4000. Warnings: Sexualisation of a cop (yuck). Passing mentions of gore and violence. Depictions of paranoia. Read it on Ao3!

Tags: No use of Y/N. Light angst. Self-hatred. Masturbation. Pining. Premature ejaculation.

There’s a particular sense of dreariness in diners nowadays, Sheriff Hackett has decided.

It wasn’t always like this. Back before smartphones and the internet — hell, even cable TV — before technology and fast tourism had made damn clear how cut-off from society old communities like North Kill were, Travis had spent his adolescence looking forward to breakfast outings wedged in vinyl booths with his family on this particular stretch of forest road. Even in his youth, it was decades past its zeitgeist, but as a rare treat offered by parents who prided themselves on self-sustainability, he and his brothers had once loved coming here.

The Hacketts were an introverted people by nature, but they held the respect of the county-folk for their dedication to keeping North Kill from being wiped off the map. As time passed and the population dwindled, only the most well-established locals seemed to persevere. Businesses rotated through owners almost yearly. One brother was born. Then the next. Travis's family, while ever-changing, were among the only constants he knew. Them, and this meagre little diner, nestled in the trees.

It was always the same.

Bobby, forever the baby, would be shoved between Ma and Pa’s elbows while they traded conversation with whatever locals stopped by to chat. Chris, while closer to Bobby's age, suffered enough middle child syndrome to boost him half a decade to keep up with Travis. On their side of the booth, the two of them would brag to each other in the hopes of catching the attention of pretty wait staff. 'A copperhead bit me once while I was hunting with Pa, but I was too strong and the poison gave me powers. I have the tooth, still.' Chris would almost yell to him over the table, both of them fixated on the 20-something that leaned across them to top up Ma's coffee.

“He’s so cute.” The waitress would coo at Bobby, not even sparing his competing older brothers a glance while the kid carved yet another crayon into the tabletop, fingers and chin caked with grease and maple imitation.

Those moments were the only instance Travis could recall hating one of his own.

The years came and went. Times changed, but out as far as they were, the routine didn’t. Pocket money and independence turned the spot into a hangout in a pinch. Tourists came through in increasingly modernised cars and wardrobes while their little town — if you could even call it that — drew further and further out of time. Architecture dulled. Classics became white noise.

Family breakfasts dwindled in adulthood, but Travis still frequented for the 24-hour service that shift-work had forced him to appreciate. It was familiar. Quiet. That same side of the same booth, in the same dingy little diner. It had become an especially common habit for him in recent years to hang around the place after clocking off. Ever since Silas had been on the run, it was a handy spot to eavesdrop on late-night chatter when one had otherwise silence awaiting them back home. If there wasn't some muttered tip to follow up on, there was at least the clatter of plates. Some casual wave. A ‘hey, Sheriff’ — hell, even a drunk to ferry home — or lock-up, behaviour permitting.

In the present, there's no better reason to be here than you.

There's you, bearing a welcoming smile, returning to his booth like clockwork while the hours pass in the night to top up his coffee. You, who combats the loneliness and dreariness of this out-of-time place with ill-fitted enthusiasm and daily anecdotes ranging from boring to bizarre. Something about you teems with stubborn, relentless, fascinating life, and when there's nothing else to observe in the room, Travis takes great pleasure in simply existing in your proximity.

He doesn’t speak to you. Not in a familiar sense. Small-talk is a hard habit to break out of when you’d been working here so many years and all he’d grown accustomed to trading for your words were unamused hums and taciturn, one-word responses. He likes to think that despite the lack of chatter, however, your short interactions had stacked enough familiarity over all this time to transcend conversation. Even if he wouldn't dare to ever address you by your first name, Travis likes to think you enjoy having him around.

At least, that’s what he tells himself every time you linger at his table, slowing the stream of coffee from the pot to enquire about his day and he chokes out a curt reply that gives you absolutely nothing to work with. It’s what he tells himself when he barely returns your smiles, far too concerned with family business, work, and nerves to regard you until it’s too late. When you’re already tending to another patron or shuffling menus or cleaning tables. Gaze captured by your retreating form only when the pressure of your attention is no longer on him.

Existing in your proximity is doable. Comfortable. Talking to you, on the other hand; he can't think of anything more terrifying.

Tonight — however — is a little different.

It’s almost sundown when Travis is finishing up. Bobby and his parents are waiting on him to prep for tonight’s hunt. Chris and the kids are most likely sedated and chained up by now.

You’re tugging the ties of your apron as you approach, signalling the end of your shift, and his heart sinks in relief at the prospect that you’ll be home instead of here for the full moon. Unfortunately for the both of you, that weight shifting off his shoulders looks a whole lot more like annoyance on him.

Despite his refusal to match your energy, you seem to hold out. “You need a top-up before I head out for the night, Sheriff?” You ask, beaming bright enough that he can barely stand to meet your eye until you’re finally faltering.

Travis’s jaw rolls. Words jam on his tongue. Silence. At least until he averts his gaze to the setting sun out the window and stands from his seat.

“Making sure you’re the one getting the tip, huh?” He grunts. A breath leaves you. Polite laughter. He’s almost dizzy at the sound. “I’m headed out, too. I’ll, uh— I’ll walk you out.”

He overtakes you on the way to the door, maybe a little too briskly while you stop to grab your things from behind the counter. It feels almost like it could've been an evasion if he willed it, but you're catching up as he slows to escort you out. His intention is to be gentlemanly; commit to the absolute bare minimum of courtesy — maybe even catch a whiff of whatever shampoo you use while you're close enough.

Fuck his life that a group of 5 just so happens to walk through the door as soon as he opens it, ignoring the two of you completely on their way past. Travis's molars grind. Whatever. Maybe that albino shit might scare some manners into them if they stay out too late.

His failed attempt has him distracted enough that he forgets his intention completely and walks outside first, only just remembering to hold the fucking thing for you once you’re already outside.

The summer air offers no reprieve from the heat crawling up the back of his neck while you follow him down the steps, gaze flickering at him in his periphery. It's a battle not to turn his back to you when he slows to a stop in the parking lot — to just pretend you don't exist for a few seconds and claw back a little dignity.

Jesus fucking Christ, he hates himself.

He rifles through his wallet for whatever note seems appropriately sizeable enough to communicate a job well done without seeming like he’s playing favourites among the staff, and half-expects you to disappear the moment the cash is in your hand.

You do not.

“Thanks." You mutter, shrugging a shoulder. The act of giving you money while you're not in uniform almost feels dirty. He's on the verge of asking for it back before the two of you continue on your way. "You, uh, you walking me to my car?"

The curious tilt of your head has Travis frowning. Then, he realises he’s been meeting your stride in the opposite direction of his patrol car.

“Is there a problem?"

"No, you're welcome to." There's amusement in your tone. "Safest 30 steps I'll ever take."

"Sure."

Christ, why couldn’t he have been born with a little of Chris’s charisma? Why does walking you across a parking lot have to be so painful?

“You headed back to the station tonight?"

“Nope.” Fuck. Elaborate, dumbass. “I’m — Out. Off. For the night.”

In the corner of his eye, your gaze wanders elsewhere. The prickling in the back of his neck eases.

“Got any plans?”

“Family business.”

“Which one?”

That almost makes him chuckle. “The hunting one.”

It wasn’t strictly a lie.

“Anything after?” You ask.

“All-nighter. Bastard we’ve been after’s migrated back up North from the sounds of it."

“Sounds pretty elusive."

“You don’t know the half of it.” The corners of Travis’s mouth tug.

For just a moment, while you’re rounding the driver's side of your car and the two of you slow to a stop, he’s finally able to trade a friendly expression with you.

Silence stretches between you for a moment, a little more comfortable now that you seem to be the one searching for your words. With the tables turned, watching your gaze flicker to meet his — then away — then back again — he decides it’s…cute, when you do it.

That smile blooms across your face once more, now trained firmly on him.

“Maybe I’d like to.”

A pit forms in Travis’s stomach. Blood drains from his face. He sobers in an instant. Your words echo through his thoughts, sharpening with mounting anxiety. What exactly were you trying to say? You were interested in hunting?

The smile still lingers on you, and what felt like amusement moments ago has suddenly warped into something harsh and mocking. Did you know what they were hunting? Were you probing him for information?

“What makes my time any of your business?” He snaps, ignoring a pang of guilt at such a confrontation. Perhaps he was being too paranoid. Perhaps you were none the wiser. Just curious. Less sense than caution. He made an effort to ease up at the sight of your brow furrowing. “I think it’s wiser that you get in your car and go drive home.”

You’re pulling the door open. Not quite able to slip into the drivers seat when Travis’s palm presses into the chassis, using whatever presence he could just to make sure you were listening. “Maybe another night, then.”

Another night?

Anxiety turns to panic.

“Don’t let me catch you out here after dark." He insists, voice hardening. "You’ve got no idea what you’re doing.”

“I meant…—“

“I don’t care what you meant. I’m telling you to drop whatever it is you’re hoping to get out of this. No ‘another night’.” Travis grinds out. “Go home. Do I make myself clear?”

The ensuing pause is dreadful.

“Yeah.” Eventually cuts from between your teeth. Your eyes flash disdain at his order. “Sorry. Won’t happen again.”

Travis notices far too late how close you’ve become until you slip out of his shadow. Maple scent disappears with your presence as you get into your car, avoiding his gaze now. His hand still rests against the chassis, preventing you from leaving. He leans down.

He needs to be certain you’re hearing him. He needs to know you’ll be alive in the morning.

It’d be overstepping to offer his number. Let you know you can call on him for help outside work hours. He'd be there in a heartbeat if you asked, if not for the implications.

“I’m flagging your licence plate.” Is all he can offer in lieu of a assurance. “I see your car anywhere between here and my family’s home? May god help you.”

The mortification is clear enough to have him content. You’re not pleased to say the least, but his point is well and truly across. It's fine; it's better this way. There's safety in distance, and he can always compensate with a more generous tip tomorrow.

Travis pushes the door closed the rest of the way, molars grinding at the empty smile that broadens on you.

He’s upset you. He knows it, but he can’t be faulted for steering you clear of the hunt. For keeping his family safe.

Maybe another night, then. That phrase sticks out to him while you start the car and back out of your space. He’d have to keep a closer watch on you if you planned on challenging his warning more than once. Another night, then. You'd never shown an interest in hunting. Why would you do such a thing, if not out of nosiness? Malicious curiosity? Spite, even. It made less sense the more he replayed it. What was that if not an invitation to–

...

An invitation.

Oh. Oh, no.

Travis goes rigid, watching your car pull out of the lot. Hands frozen on his hips. Gawking.

Had he not been on display to the entirety of the diner, he might’ve thrown something. Started kicking the tyres of his patrol car.

You were making a fucking pass at him.

Shit. Shit!

You’d shown an interest in him. In him. In being with him. Off-duty, outside work hours. At night. Recreationally. And he’d just torn you a new one for it.

Fucking piece of shit. Fucking loser. Over and over while he trudges back to his own vehicle, the conversation flickers through his thoughts. How many more ins had you given him prior to today? How many fucking chances?

The sun's half way past the horizon. He doesn't have time to reflect. He has to table this for now. As much as the realisation claws at his insides, he has to focus on the hunt.

Maybe if he kills that kid tonight, he can look forward to making amends.

That's the final reflection he allows himself before shoving the though to the back of his psyche, where it can't bother him.

_____________________________

It does bother him, as it turns out.

It haunts him through the night while he searches for Silas in the undergrowth. The White Wolf hasn't made an appearance tonight and the trail is cold, and while his failure is spelled out by undisturbed frogs and crickets chirping late into the night, the Sheriff is almost relieved. The incident outside the diner and the replaying memory of it deafens him to the ambience. If he's being stalked by the werewolf, he's far too distracted to know it.

Finally, the sun rises, and Travis is once again out of time. Another month to add to the record of the family curse. Another month of Ma's ire and Pa's hard-won, past-his-prime lectures. Chris and the kids didn't deserve this. Especially the kids.

He has to get back to the station in a few hours. Pretend he hasn’t been wandering the woods all fucking night. He has to clean off. Decompress. Take just a little time to reflect on what he’d said to you — on how the fuck he could hope to set the record straight when the mere knowledge that he’d held your interest was trying his stomach in knots.

If he couldn’t work up the spine to speak to you before, he's got no hope in hell of approaching you now.

The moment he’s back in his flat, Travis bee-lines for the bathroom, ignoring hunger and exhaustion and the temptation to retrieve the 6-pack from the fridge along the way. The blood he’s worn to cover his scent on the hunt isn’t so obvious against the black of his uniform, but it acts almost like a sponge, soaking fresh stains over his skin, incriminating him in the light.

He doesn’t bother to let the water run hot before he steps into the shower fully clothed, barring his shoes. The half-minute of icy spray does well to remove whatever rusted pigment his clothes might gain once dry. Momentarily, the chill of the water is enough of a shock to his system that he stops mulling over what happened in the parking lot.

It doesn’t last. The self-loathing seeps back in right while the water pooling around the drain runs copper and crimson. Another night of fuck ups. Another month of cursed loved ones and the overtime it took to keep them safe. Some small part of him protests; maybe they’re asking too much of him — maybe it isn’t fair that it all falls on his shoulders. With Bobby’s disabilities and his parents’ ages, though, who else can keep everyone safe?

He’s ashamed of himself for such a sentiment. And yet —

He feels just as cursed.

To be free of the favours and the corruption and the secrecy — the fucking paranoia that settles over every conversation that someone might know, or find out. He fucking wishes he could spend a moment in that diner with a clear enough head, just enough to be capable of holding a conversation with you.

Maybe he's shifting the blame too much. This has been going on so long that he can't be sure if he was terrified of you before Silas came to the county. It's possible that even if the Harum Scarum hadn't rolled into town, and there'd been no fire, and no witches, and no werewolves — he'd still be sitting in that little booth.

The water begins to warm, and Travis reluctantly disrobes in the cubicle, unbuttoning and peeling off his drenched uniform. Shame hits from a new angle once his trousers are discarded. He’s half hard in his periphery. A frequent state he’s left in while you’re on his mind. While he’s at his booth, thanking his lucky stars to be covered by the table while you wipe down tables, bent at the hip, reaching for too high glasses, body stretching, waist cinched by an apron perpetually dusted with coffee grounds and sugar. While he’s seated at his desk in a silent police department, combing social media for your image despite your unanswered friend request and the access that just fucking accepting would give him and fuck—

He blew you off.

One fucking window of opportunity left wide open to reciprocate a now obvious flirtation, and he’d spent it trying to intimidate you instead.

God, he's repulsed by himself. Even in the wake of the hurt and the gore, he's still suffering an erection. Even when his hands have scrubbed the mask of blood off his face and the smell of rotting flesh is all but washed away, he's still left in disgust.

What if he’d thrown caution to the wind and allowed you to come along tonight? It was quiet. You'd have survived. He'd have had you trudging through the brush, armed to the teeth. Would you still have been interested after that? Would you have pitied him, or laughed at him for his monthly routine of dousing himself in werewolf’s blood, and failing to track a freak show attraction who couldn’t even speak?

On the other hand, what if he’d taken this one night off? Had the common sense to tell you 'tomorrow night, I’m available' ?

Why were you drawn to him in the first place? Did you feel sorry for him in that empty station, in his empty patrol car, in his empty flat? Was it the uniform you liked? Or had his hope that your mutual little routine of small talk affect you as well?

Maybe, somehow, you took him at face value and liked what you saw.

Travis stiffens at the thought. A twitch from below beckons his attention once more. He presses a forearm against the cubicle wall, shifting his weight, contemplating.

Then, he gives in. Takes himself gingerly in-hand and basks in the relief of touch, thoughts clearing, envisioning the potential your interest might have had before he ruined it.

Do you find him attractive? Do you steal your own furtive glances when he isn't taking his own, ignoring the thinning hairline and the way his ears stuck out — or do you like that, too?

Heat licks up through his spine with an experimental pump. Body reacting emphatically to what he's testing.

Travis slackens with a sigh as the tension in his shoulders lessens. Nerve's spark elsewhere now, begging to keep his attention. His forehead comes to rest against the tile beside his wrist, and swallowing back a hesitation, he builds into a rhythm.

Did you want him to fuck you? Did you think about that at all before today? He ventures to hope you’re kind enough not to mind the only experience he has to show for himself is a handful of one night stands dotted few and far between. You’d be patient, and he’d make it up to you. He’s nothing if not dedicated. He’s all too happy to learn.

A scene he's imagined before takes shape on the backs of his eyelids. If you’d let him, he’d take you in your workplace. Late hours of a weeknight. Unlikely that anyone should enter, but always a risk that you could be caught. He’d have you against the counter, apron bunched around your waist. Right now, though, he can’t decide which image he prefers. Bending you over the counter-top or having you spread on your back atop one of the tables. Would you let him, anymore, after how he treated you?

Maybe some fucked-up, fictional version of you might find retribution in sex. Shit, he likes the idea of that. Foregoing verbal apology in favour of physical satisfaction. Something electric buzzes through his nerves, core tightening with a particular throb that simultaneously warns and sings. He's already close, and slowing strokes do little to lessen his momentum.. He has to make the best of the time he has.

Travis changes the scene. His patrol car. Behind the wheel. Sitting back, helpless beneath you while you rock in his lap. Taking what you need from him. Paying no mind if he’s already finished— overstimulated, trembling, slacks a stained mess from how much of him has spilled out of you. It’s only fair, after how he behaved. He transplants the image into as many scenarios as imagination will allow: his office, his couch, his bed. Arms draped around your rib cage, cheek pressed to your sternum. Feeling you make yourself come around him, over and over, flushed from exertion, not letting up until the score is settled and forgiveness is earned.

When you’re finally done taking what you’re owed, you give way to sweetness again. Fingers scratching gently through gelled back hair. Lips ghosting over his forehead. Murmuring praises. Telling him how well he did.

It's the thought of being held by you that brings him undone.

The surge comes too soon, catching him off guard, choking the air in his lungs. He’s emptying into his fist already, bliss and humiliation dragging him through an orgasm that lasts nearly as long as his performance. Whatever hasn’t been spent on the tile wall coats his knuckles in residual little twitches.

The image of you evaporates, and a nearly inaudible curse slips through Travis's teeth.

He doesn't want to leave the cubicle. What he wants is to savour the waning warmth. Enjoy what he can of the afterglow before clarity and guilt creep back into his mind.

Even if you did want him, the truth would change that.

He’d blown you off, but at least you weren’t privy to what he’d done. What he was doing. So long as he kept you at bay, the height of your disappointment would only stem from his refusal.

Fuck. He couldn’t convince himself of that.

At some point, he’d have to decide whether or not he’d be content to remain in the stasis of that booth, in bitter silence, or clear the air. Admit wrongdoing and hope that you’d find his incompetence charming, so long as he hadn’t completely dashed his chances.

The prospect alone terrifies him.

He didn’t want to think about it anymore. He’s so fucking tired.

At least there’s a 10 hour stretch of shift work between himself and that confrontation.

At least there’s still a few minutes of hot water left.

...

He can work with that.

He's got another round left in him.

#i know. i know.#please do not perceive me objectifying another middle aged cop #travis hackett #the quarry

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mcdonaldsnumberone · 1 year

Text

UNDERDOG!

rin knows he’s powerful: more powerful and hungrier than others.

content warning(s): formula one au, not an x-reader fic

It is in moments like these that Rin swears the entire world comes to a standstill.

Before reality can even sink in, his body responds to everything. His blood roars in his ears, and his heart rate refuses to calm down. But even in this adrenaline-riddled state, Rin has never felt so clear-minded before. His inhales and exhales are steady and rhythmic, and his hands don’t even shake once as he drives his car to the winner’s podium and parks it above the CGI of fireworks going off underneath him.

It also fully doesn’t sink in when he’s clambering out of the car. His team is whooping and celebrating over the radio intercom, yelling all sorts of things that his ears don’t register at all. Rin looks almost monstrous, the dark aura radiating off of him in waves as he hoists him over the safety bar of his race car. He feels the thick of it himself. It’s like everything his eyes register is moving in slow motion, and he’s just a spectator caught in the midst of the busyness. His lips are parched when he stands on top of the car to face the endless seas of faces, cameras, and smartphones all directed at him.

But he can’t hear any of it. The flashes in his eyes from the audience are like the stars in the sky. They’re distant and foggy.

He doesn’t even feel giddy. All he feels is the tension in his body, coursing through his honed muscles. His teal eyes pierce through the aquamarine colorscape of his helmet. His entire face remains hooded and masked save for his eyes. It’s good humor for him to take it off and to greet his fans, to be courteous and sportsmanlike, but Rin doesn’t want to. He doesn’t know if it’s shame or a kind of gleeful sadism that forces him to keep his helmet glued onto him, his number and company emblazoned over it. Barely anybody can catch how inhuman he looks when he’s covered from head-to-toe in his helmet and uniform, the crowd distracted by screaming and cheering for him, but Rin knows that he resembles more of a beast than a human in that instant.

He’s done it. He’s won the Grand Prix. On his debut race, no less.

(“Itoshi Rin, younger brother of the favored Ferrari champion, to make his Formula One debut!” The news reports and social media posts all blared the same headlines. “Can the younger Itoshi live up to the hype of Itoshi Sae?”

Rin almost crushed his phone in his hand. He had never felt this kind of rage consume him before in a long while, not since he had first made the decision to become a Formula One driver. Everyone called him crazy and stupid for it, for throwing himself so wholeheartedly into such a risky sport, but Rin was never one to listen.

Rin trained like his life fucking depended on it. The moment he opened his eyes, he was forcing his sleep-logged body to the garage, stuffing himself into his uniform and revving his car to life. Rain or shine, day or night, he’d run the track until the asphalt was branded with the scorching hot skids of his tires. It wasn’t until the smell of fire and gas stuffed his nose that he even thought about taking a break, and it wasn’t until the team literally had to drag him out of the car that he stopped his practice. And much to their dismay, the moment they let their guard down around him, he’d be running for his car as if he was addicted.

Maybe he was. He wouldn’t put himself past it.

Too much practice would only mean that the car would fall apart, they scolded him. But Rin understood the underlying message. It would kill him too.

He didn’t fucking care. None of this was enough. He locked himself in the training rooms, constantly running racing simulations over and over until his eyes were red and bloodshot. While other champions giggled about their hobbies during interviews or relished the wealth their salaries brought, Rin lived and breathed racing.

No matter how much his manager pleaded with him to not overdo it or how much his company rebuked him for abandoning all common sense even before he got to his debut race, all Rin cared about was being better. So he raced, over and over, on the track and off of it, making sure that complete and utter victory was the only outcome he would reach.

He needed to. Ever since that scumbag of an older brother abandoned him and ran off to make a contract with Ferrari, all Rin ever cared about was ripping Sae to shreds. Flesh from bone, champion from podium, he wanted his brother as good as dead.

“You’re being unreasonable, Itoshi!” His manager had gasped, face morphing into pure fear towards Rin as he emerged from his qualifying race. “You’re… not acting right. I know racing means a lot to you, but nobody should be acting like this!”

Pole position. Best qualifying time. Better than Sae, better than anybody else. Having the best time meant that he would be first position tomorrow during the actual race. Even if it wasn’t much and anything in Formula One could change at the flip of a coin, as long as he could beat Sae, that was all that mattered.

Rin ignored his manager, walking past with nothing but a starved, depraved anger scrawled all over his face. He was going to win. It didn’t matter if this was his first race or not. If there were more experienced drivers. If there were more favored cars. He was going to win, even if it meant putting his life on the line.

He was hungry.)

His chest rises and falls as he stands on top of his car, eyes drinking in the sight of everything around him. The checkered flag waves for him and him only, and everyone in the seats that had been underestimating him are all coming to terms with the realization that this fresh-faced boy has uprooted all of the projected winners in one fell swoop.

But that isn’t what grounds him the most. When Rin cranes his neck behind him to see the other racers trickling in, it is the aftermath of his cruelty that brings the world back to him.

The other companies’ cars and drivers slowly emerge behind him. Some of the drivers refuse to meet his eyes, too prideful to properly admit that a boy nearly half their age could best them as if it were nothing. All the experience under their belt dissolved like sugar in warm water when it came to Rin’s raw ambition. Some looked at him with horror written over their pale lips and sunken cheeks, the revelation that a new generation of drivers filled to the brim with an unparalleled craving for victory was here to uproot them all.

“What a demon, that Itoshi Rin!” The sports commentators scream. “He’s gone and done it! The boy that Mercedes managed to bring out from the dust, the one that had all the odds stacked against him! On his first race! He’s managed to beat out all the champions and take first place! What a kickoff to the season!”

God, Rin wishes they would shut up. It was just hours ago that they were all harping about his downfall, snickering amongst themselves about how he was too young to know anything and that his company was making a losing bet by putting so much on him.

“And how hideously he destroys!” They chirp up again, laughing in disbelief. “Those sharp turns, the brutal brakes… No wonder he’s thrown the entire racing world in a frenzy! I’ve never seen a driver so aggressive and so ready to tear apart everybody else on the track!”

Rin sees it too. He sees it in his reflection. The way the whites of his eyes seem to be swirling into black, his teal pupils blown wide open as if he’s taken some kind of drug he shouldn’t have. He’s sent everyone scrambling for mercy, leaving opponents spinning off of the race track and devouring everyone in his path.

But he doesn’t care about all the second-rate champions that sob and wail at his feet. All he cares about is the sleek, fiery red Ferrari car that parks itself right behind Rin’s car. The world spins around sideways, dangerously, when Rin sees a gloved hand reach out and grab the safety bar, and before Rin can even fully turn himself around to face his older brother, Itoshi Sae is hoisting himself out of his vehicle.

The look on Sae’s face is indecipherable. Sae stands on the ground and looks up placidly at Rin, who stands above him on top of his Mercedes car. The redhead’s lips are pressed into a thin line, and his normally well-maintained hair is tousled and thrown all around, like the embers of a dying fire.

Rin can’t make out his older brother’s voice, but through the visor of his helmet, he sees Sae’s lips move.

“So you’ve gone and won, Rin,” Sae speaks, his voice drowned out by the shrieking crowds pressing all up against the partition rails. “I never thought I’d see you making that face again.”

Rin’s heart leaps to his chest when Sae turns around and walks off. Not even with Sae placing second does the older Itoshi brother stick around for the celebrations. Rin doesn’t know how to respond when he sees Sae’s retreating back disappear into the Ferrari garages: the very scene being the material of his dreams.

He’s done it. He’s won over his brother. On his debut race, no less.

And only then does it hit Rin all at once. He nearly stumbles, almost falling off of his own car, but he grips his head as the rush and the endorphins come crashing down on him. He struggles to breathe, as everything knocks into his chest and squeezes the oxygen out of his lungs. It hurts, and his nerves scream with overstimulation. The lights are blinding in his eyes, and everything’s too much. It pierces him, wriggles inside his body like a creature demanding to be freed, burning his organs and skin from the inside out.

But goddamn—does it feel ridiculously good.

For the first time in his life, Rin gloats. He doesn’t show it on his body, but as he properly drinks in the sight of the world being forced to acknowledge him, Rin gloats in the glory of his madness. Never before had they seen anyone like him. Never before had they come across such insanity, such raw drive to destroy and tear apart everything that’s ever been known. Never before had they encountered someone like him, so dedicated and driven to leave everything in his path engulfed in flames. The despair, the enlightenment, the drama: it was all because of him, and it was all for him to take.

Defeating Sae wasn’t going to be enough. Rin knew this much, his eyes narrowing sharply under his helmet. Winning over him was only the beginning, and this was just one battle out of many he would win. The war still was yet to be fully won.

Rin wouldn’t be satisfied until he utterly destroyed Sae. Until his older brother would be nothing more than the shell of the person he used to be, where not even his shining reputation as Ferrari’s prodigy could save him. Rin swore that he would make it so that Sae couldn’t even think about driving without being grief-stricken at what Rin had stolen from him, destroying everything his older brother had built up until none of it would remain. He would make Sae crawl to his feet and beg for mercy, and only then would Rin laugh and do away with it all.

Rin was hungry then.

But he’s so much hungrier now.

x x

#blue lock #bllk #itoshi rin #my writing #hey guys . so i might be a little mentally ill abt this au .

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