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lustbile-archive · 4 years

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Freak

MarkxReader

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary/Warnings: Based off of Freak by Doja Cat

because Mark listens to doja cat and doja cat put freak on spotify and both of these things did a lot for me personally.

Smut, but also some angst and fluff.

Warning! Switch!Mark and Switch!Reader, jealousy, unhealthy relationship and reactions, reader is kind of dramatic ngl, and like a daddy kink for like 2 seconds. I really just wanted to write a smut based off the song but somewhere along the way it developed a plot. The song also uses ‘girl’ but as per usual this fic does not use gendered pronouns (also I would put a read more on this but I don’t have my laptop so I’m so sorry)

“Is it too tight?” you try not to laugh as you whisper in his ear, your lips brushing against his skin making a shiver wrack his body and his hips cant upwards.

You bite back a whimper when the bulge pressing against the fabric of his jeans bumps into the seat of your underwear, a devious and satisfied grin pulling on his lips before he responds, “just tight enough baby.”

He tugs roughly at the cuffs that lock him to the head of your bed to prove his claim, the dull metal denting his skin. You had only asked to be nice, the irritation that swirled in your belly fed the evil little monster in your mind that screamed, ‘I don’t care about you Mark. I hope it hurts.’

Truly, you never would want to hurt Mark, unless it turned him on obviously, but unintentionally? Never. But where you sat straddling his lap and he laid shirtless and restrained below you, you can’t help but itch in anger and jealousy. A need to make him hurt as much as you wouldn’t admit out loud that he hurt you.

You had met Mark through mutual friends, and it wasn’t too far into the night that you realized you were hooked onto the grinning boy, an evil need to see what he could offer clawing at your skin. You ignored the concerned lingering looks your friends passed you when they noticed your interest, and you definitely ignored your best friend when she tried to discreetly mention that Mark may be a little too soft hearted for your shenanigans, too puppy like to keep up with what you liked to do. You were absolutely giddy as you watched the wide eyed pretty boy laugh and grin at the conversation amount at the group, and you were even giddier when his face flushed a deep red when your eyes met in response to your foot brushing his leg under the table.

Every time your eyes met that night, you’d offer a less than sweet smile. One time even adding a gentle wave of your fingers when you caught him staring. Excitement finally flooded your veins when you motioned to the exit of the small bar your friends had gathered at, and he gulped and nodded in response.

So no, you didn’t listen to your friend, and to hit the nail in the coffin, you drug Mark into the backseat of her car. She had very politely agreed to be the designated driver of the night, and you very nicely returned the favor by stuffing your mouth full of the nice boy she warned you to leave alone while you sat snuggly on his face. The evidence of your terrible listening skills left across both of your chins, and even some drops left on her upholstery.

No one seemed to notice your absence when you crawled back into your seats, or the way Mark wouldn’t stop licking his lips throughout the night. Every time his tongue peaked from between his lips making warmth tingle between your thighs.

Your friend figured it out. Of course she did, when she found your panties stuffed under her passenger seat and a few suspicious dried spots on the seats, and of course she gave you an ear full. ‘Mark is too sweet for this,’ and ‘you can’t play with him like this, he’ll start to feel something.’ Her words only passed over your head. You're an adult, and so is Mark, so it’s not like what you were doing was bad. The disappointment shaking of her head was the only response you got when you told her this, and all she got was a roll of your eyes.

So no, you didn’t leave Mark alone. Far from it actually. You found yourself magnified to his side whenever your friends gathered, childish grins shared between you two at the knowing of what would happen later that night, and you even wormed your way into his life outside of your friend gatherings. His boyish charms, and the warmth he offered brought you back to him every time, and not to mention the way he could use his tongue. Sometimes you two even revisited the back seat setting of your first meeting when your friend shot you one too many warning glares and you wanted to prove a point.

And maybe you shouldn’t have told him that you don’t date. ‘I don’t really do relationships,’ you whispered into the thick air of his room as you lay naked next to him, your head laying on his shoulder as his fingers brush your skin. You ignore the way his chest deflated at your words, assuming it was just his breath relaxing, and instead focus on his acknowledging hum and the quiet, ‘yeah, um.. me neither,’ he mutters. Those words being the last of the night before you fell unconscious, warm and naked in his sheets.

No maybe, you definitely should have never said that. Not when you could already feel the boy clawing out a nest in your heart and building a home. Not when you could feel your body light up whenever you found him amongst the crowd of your friends. Not when you found yourself enjoying the time spent tucked into his side just as much as you enjoyed the time that you were stuffed full of him. But you only realize this when you see him standing with her.

“I don’t see the problem,” you friend brushes off your grumbling question of ‘why is he with her’ with her hand swatting at the air, “it’s not like you were going to date him anyways. All you do is play games.”

You feel your face heat up at her words, anger and a tinge of embarrassment stinging your nerves, “but still,” you dumbly respond, no other words forming from your irritation.

“But still what?” she finally turns to lock her eyes on you, “I told you not to mess with him. Mark Lee is a boyfriend guy. He wants to be in a relationship so bad he can’t stand it.”

“That’s not what he told me,” you bite back, a petulant attitude filling every space inside of you.

“Of course it’s not, what like he’s gonna scare off the best lay of his life by admitting he’s a hopeless romantic?” her eyes go wild as she tries to reason with you, a task she’s not very unfamiliar with, “you might be a great fuck, but you’re also incredibly dense.”

You feel your chest cave at her words. The reality check squeezing your heart in sharp claws. The only small comfort you get is the small smile of pity she offers when you begin to resemble a kicked puppy.

“Just talk to him about it some other time, or if you really want to know what I think, just leave him alone and forget about it,” she puts down her now empty glass to free her hand to pet at your arm, her warmed palms making you melt slightly, “just don’t do anything stupid please.”

But of course you have to do something stupid, if you didn’t it just wouldn’t make sense. So you pull yourself away, a quiet, ‘I’m gonna get a drink,’ falling from you pouting lips as you turn away. An uninvited grin momentarily breaking your moodiness when she swats at your butt in encouragement.

And you do head towards the table covered in drinks, but unfortunately Mark and the mystery girl had moved themselves right into the path you had to take to get there. The smile he offers when your eyes meet feels like a punch to a chest, the small wave and a bubbly ‘hi’ chilling your skin.

If you were a real adult you’d smile, nod, and keep walking. Maybe trying to talk to him in the morning, or taking the advice you’d been handed and just end what you had with him before it got any worse, but you weren’t a real adult. A jealous child that had their favorite toy taken by a sweet girl that didn’t know it had your name scratched into it was hiding in the shell that was your body, and that child started to break your shell when instead your face twisted up in a grimace. You make sure not to let your eyes fall on the girl next to him, she hadn’t done anything and you didn’t want to start something with a stranger, but after a dramatic eye roll, you locked a harsh glare on the boy.

He jerks back as if your stare was a sharp knife digging into his stomach, a flash of confusion and hurt landing on his face. His mouth gapes open to question your attitude, but there’s no time for words to escape him before your turning and heading towards the exit.

It’s as if the room is suddenly filled with dozens of more people than there were before you saw him. Elbows and shoulders hitting you as you move through the ocean of bodies, every contact on your skin sparking your irritation up by a few degrees as you start to get overwhelmed by the activity around you. Being touched felt like a demon was dancing around your shoulders to see how much he could get on your nerves, to see how much he could push you until you made a bad decision.

The cold air that hits you when you get outside turns your stomach, your nails clawing into the railing of the house’s porch in an attempt to calm your breathing and cool the fire burning in your belly.

You wanted to be angry when you heard you name coming from his lips, but the concern in his voice and the warmth of his hand running against your back makes you melt in both happiness that he followed you and shame at how that made you feel.

“What’s up? Are you okay?” he asks and you decide then that you don’t want sympathy. You wanted every other part of him all to yourself and if that wasn’t realistic, then you might as well take what you know you could get.

You turn faster than he expected as he jumps slightly as you move in his arms. Your fingers immediately grab the collar of his shirt to pull him closer, your nose pressing into his as he grabs at your hips to steady himself.

“I need you Mark,” your sudden whiny tone throwing him off from what he had witnessed in the house. You tug on his shirt and pout up at him in a way that, no matter what the situation, has made him give you exactly what you wanted, “please?”

“Um.. yea- yeah okay,” he shakes his head to clear his thoughts, a small smile pulling on his lips, “are you sure? You’re good right?”

“Yeah,” you lie, as you move to press your mouth along his jaw to avoid making any more eye contact, “just need to get fucked real bad.”

The laugh that shakes his chest feels like nails being pressed into your heart.

The drive to your house was used to plot your revenge, and maybe your last time having Mark to yourself. You had pulled him away from someone else tonight, but how many more times could you do that before he decided he didn’t want to be pulled anymore? Your friend had said he was a boyfriend type, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he sees you as someone to date.

And that's how you got where he laid now. You barely gave him time to park before you were jumping out of his car and stomping to your front door. Your quick strides made him have to pick up his pace behind you, only just getting his foot in the door before it slammed in his face.

You only glanced behind you as he locked the door behind him. You voice cold as you walk to your bedroom as you command, “take off your shirt.”

You heard him fumbling behind you as you strip to your underwear and climb onto your bed and once he had walked through the doorway everything was a blur.

Your nails dig harshly into the skin of his chest as you sit up, a small smile pulling on your lips when he whimpers out from the pain. You run your hands up and down the skin of his stomach as you take in his form, trying to memorize every inch below you. You feel your breath deepen as you move over the boy that’s ruled the space of your mind for so long.

“C‘mon sweetheart,” he encourages, your eyes falling shut when his voice wraps around your bones, “do something to me.”

The quickness of your response is almost embarrassing, as you sit back on his hips. Your fingers grip tightly onto his belt when his bulge digs into your core, the rough fabric of his jeans sending you reeling. Your shoulders shift forward and your thighs tense as you begin to slowly rock against him.

You whimper as pleasure runs up your spine, your arousal already beginning to seep into the fabric of your underwear and dampening his jeans as you move desperately on him.

It’s always been this way since the first time you had each other. Your mean attitude melts once you're on top of him, even when he’s locked up the way he is now. Even with the upper hand he’s still made his claim on your heart and you’d do anything to please him. But that doesn’t stop you from loving to watch him squirm.

“Fuck Mark,” your words are raspy as they leave you mixed with a groan. Your hips rapidly rutting against him as your body craves the type of orgasm that only the boy below you has been able to pull from you.

“Move down to my thigh,” he demands, his hips tilting upward to try to get you to move away, “wanna watch you come on my thigh before I'm inside you.”

You shake your head defiantly as your hips start moving in circles, your clit meeting the spot where his tip presses into the fabric and making you tremble and moan.

“Mm fuck,” his hips lift off the bed to match your pace, this and the way his teeth digs into his lip and the fact that he refuses to say the safe word you two agreed on is all you need to keep continuing, “fuck stop I don’t want to come in my pants.”

“Then don’t,” you sneer as you slow your hips to press harder into him. You both moan in the stuffy air that fills the room, the promise of an orgasm finally starting to bite at your skin.

“I can’t stop it when you’re acting like this,” he pleads and swears loudly as you continue your motions. His conflicting emotions of wanting to hold off but also wanting to come so badly showing blatantly on his pretty face, “fuck you’re always so mean when you’re in control.”

“Deal with it, you wouldn’t come back if you didn’t like it,” your words are punctuated with a throaty groan as you start to come. The muscles in your stomach flexes as you clench hard around nothing. Your body shakes as you fall forward, you palms lying flat on his stomach to hold you up as it feels like you’re being ripped at the seams. The static in your brain almost fully blocks out the irritated swearing you hear from below you and loud metallic sound that follows.

You can’t stop the scream you let out when you’re suddenly pressed face down into your sheets, your ass pressed back into his crotch as his harsh fingers curl around your hips. Your body still shakes in aftershocks and makes your head feel like it’s filled with water.

“I told you to move to my thigh,” he voice is rough, but not truly angry as he sits up behind you. He shoves his thigh between your legs to make a point, the friction from his jeans digging into the sensitive skin of your core makes you whimper as he uses his hands to pull you back and forth on the length of his thigh, “why don’t you ever fucking listen to me?”

“Don’t act like you don’t like it,” you bite back. Your nails claw into the sheets below you as you move with his hands. The pleasure and the pace of everything happening around you melts your brain as you speak before you can stop yourself, “if you didn’t you would have stayed with that girl from the party instead of coming back with me.”

He stops moving once your words reach his ears, his fingers massaging your skin the only part of him that moves as he lets the sentence move through his mind. You cringe at the realization of what you said and at the feeling of his nails scraping your skin as he pulls one hand away.

“Are you by any chance jealous sweetheart?” you hurry your face into the mattress in shame, your ears perking up only when you hear the clicking noise of his belt and the sharp sound of his zipper being pulled down.

You hum into the fabric pressed to your face as you sink further down towards the bed at being caught having feelings like this.

You hear the cracking sound of his hand meeting your skin before you feel it, the dull throbbing pain spreading as the seconds tick. You do feel your body jump in response and more arousal begin to drip from your body.

You loudly whine in protest when his fingers gently wrap around your neck and pull you up to press against his chest, and once your face is placed next to his, he places a soft kiss on your cheek.

“Answer me baby,” his thumb runs circles into the skin protecting your jugular making you melt back into him, “were you or were you not jealous tonight.”

“Yes,” you admit, placing your pride in a wood chipper.

“Yes what?” you impatiently grunt at the question, but can’t help but love the way he’s playing with you.

“Yes daddy,” you punctuate with a roll of your eyes.

“You shouldn’t be,” he continues to press soft kisses across your skin as his body warms every inch of you. His tone is full of patience making you calm and dazed in his hold, “I’m all yours.”

You yelp, as once he’s finished speaking, he simultaneously digs his teeth into the skin of your jaw and shoves himself fully inside of you. You scratch at his arm as you flutter around him in an attempt to adjust at the sudden intrusion.

You can feel your tongue moving as you plead into the air, but when he begins thrusting into you all the sounds are formed into one mass in your mind and your toes painfully curl. His hips smacking into your skin and the way he makes you stretch around your eyes roll back.

“That’s right,” the steady tone he holds as he knocks into you is almost unnerving as you begin to ragdoll in his hold, “and this little jealous streak you have going makes me think you belong to me just as much as I belong to you.”

He shifts on his knees in search of a better angle, and once he hears your breath pick up he knows he’s found it deep inside you. The way you crumble against him makes him wear a mean grin.

“All mine aren’t you?” he sounds far too proud of himself for your liking. There’s a beat of silence before his open palm lands harshly once again on the tingly skin of your ass, “aren’t you?”

“Yes Mark,” you spit out before you begin gnawing on your lip. Tears form across your water line as once the words finally leave you, he rewards you by moving to press his calloused fingers against your clit.

Incoherent words spill from you as you jerk against him, but he only laughs in response. He immediately starts moving tight circles against the buzzing skin, enjoying the way your chest moves from the way your body arches away from him, your nipples pressing against the thin fabric of your bralette making his brain go haywire.

“You need to come baby,” his voice is gruff and strained as he bosses you, finally showing the way your so tightly wrapped around him is affecting him, “after the little game you played earlier, I’m not gonna last long. You know that don’t you? That’s why you did it?”

“No Mark, I promise,” you shake your head as you grind against his fingers, a second orgasm looming over your head.

“Now don’t start lying to me now, you evil little thing,” you can feel yourself start to shake and your legs start to tingle as he whispers his taunts in your ear, “come for me.”

His fingers, his words, and the way he splits you apart pushes you flying over the edge. Your orgasm floods your veins as you clench harshly around him, the pleasure rocketing up your spine and making you cry out.

The way you wrap around him as you come, makes his hips stutter as he begins to come. He lets out a long groan into your ear and the sound and the feeling of him releasing warm and thick inside you makes your hands reach back to desperately grab at his hips. His fingers speed up as he comes, his orgasm making his brain too foggy to register that he’s elongating your orgasm until it’s bordering on painful.

His adrenaline subsides as he releases the last bit of come inside you, making his balance falter as he collapses both of you to the bed. He’s conscious enough to move his hand from your throat, and instead moves it to pet your face in an attempt to sooth you.

He’s still deep inside of you as he presses his chest against your back to curl around you. His heated breath hitting your face as he uses your face as a pillow as both of your breaths even out. You feel his knee push between your legs, and it feels like your muscles have been turned to jello.

It feels like decades before he finally whispers, almost like he’s afraid that speaking too loud would scare you away, “I didn’t know you’d be jealous.”

“Stop,” you cringe at how sinscere he sounds.

“No we need to talk about it,” his arm wraps around your ribcage and pulling you closer, wanting to make sure you feel safe before entering the conversation.

“I never thought about how you were feeling, so I really never expected you to get jealous over something like that, so I’m sorry.”

“Mark stop,” you don’t think when your hands falls to lace your fingers with his, “I’m the one who overreacted and got jealous over something that wasn’t my business. You shouldn’t be apologizing.”

“But I want to,” he shifts onto his elbow to peer down at you, the emotion behind his eyes scaring you, “if you got that jealous, that means you were clearly feeling something deeper that I wasn’t noticing, and considering how strongly I feel about you, it’s disappointing that I didn’t notice.”

“What do you mean how strongly you feel?” the insecurity in your tone makes your stomach turn, but you need to know.

“I like you a lot,” he sighs deeply once the words are out in the open, “and I have since we met, but when you said you didn’t do relationships I convinced myself that I couldn’t lose you so I just agreed. It was stupid, but I really change your mind if I just stuck around.”

“You did though,” you hand mindlessly moves to grab onto his ear, your fingers kneading the cartalidge and making him shiver, “I like you too, and I should have told you but I was being a brat about the idea of actually liking someone.”

“Oh so we‘re both dumb hm?” he teased leaning into your touch, the fondness behind his eyes making warmth spread across your chest.

“Yeah but I think we already knew that.”

“True,” he lays back down to wrap himself around you and press his mouth tightly against yours momentarily, “also that girl was only a classmate. You got jealous for nothing.”

“Nothing is an understatement,” you groan in embarrassment, “we never defined what we were, there was no reason for me to get wound up like that.”

“If I had just gotten the nerve to tell you that I wanted a relationship you never would have gotten wound up.”

“We really are both dumb,” your blank tone pulls a boyish laugh from him, making him smile and press kisses across you skin.

“You wear me out you know that?” you grin up at him, batting your eyelashes in a way that would read as innocent if you weren’t tangled together in the way you were.

You lean up slightly, crowding his space with your breath, before running your tongue over the seam of his slightly parted mouth, “like you’re not obsessed with it.”

He darts forward, catching you lips in his and making you squeal both from shock and the feeling of him slipping out of you from his movements. He circles your body with his arms and pulls you to lay on top of him.

“You know I’ve never met anyone like you,” you squirm against him, not actually trying to get anywhere just to annoy him a bit. Your legs fall to the sides to straddle him, reminding you of the way the series of events that happened in your bed tonight started. You squeak and pout when he digs his teeth into the skin of your jaw to still you as you keep shifting, “and I don’t think I ever will.”

“Same to you Mark. You’ve ruined me.”

#nct smut #mark smut #mark lee smut #nct imagines #mark imagine #nct fanfic #mark fanfic #nct oneshot #mark oneshots

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mirror-juliet · 3 years

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Hard Time {Hongjoong X Reader}

know this is late but i procrastinated again. I sowwy

Requested by anon

Warnings) teasing, hard dom, bondage, punishment. vampire gloves, wartenberg wheel, nipple clamps, spanking paddle, degration, orgasm control, edging, slight mention of blood from bondage toy

Seonghwa had invited everyone over for dinner at his place, not only to hang out, but to also discuss the next comeback on the horizon. You always come to these dinner's with Hongjoong, not only to keep him company and visit with the other members, but Hongjoong likes to show you off.

But tonight you had something up your sleeve. The talk was getting too boring and Hongjoong wasn't giving you the much needed attention you so desired. Who could blame you? Attention is what you thrive on! And Hongjoong was neglecting you to talk with his best friend. So you may have taken matters into your own hands and started playing footsie with Hongjoong's penis from across the table.

You also may or may not have sat right across from him for this exact reason.Hongjoong takes a quick glance at you to give you a sign of warning. One that you ignore and press harder into him while talking to Yunho like nothing is wrong. In fact you and him begin to take selfies together. Though, your attention is brought back to him by force. He slammed his foot into your toes that are exposed by your heels, so hard so that you have to bite your lip to stop from yelping out in pain.

Hongjoong scratches his eyebrow in your direction, another warning sign meaning "Behave" You would, but how could you when you're having so much fun feeling his bulge grow steadily from underneath your foot.

"If you would excuse me, Seonghwa." Hongjoong steps back from the table, Choking slightly on his own spit, but no one notices it besides you. "I need to use the gentlemen's room." As he walks away, you're sure you're the only one who see's it, but your lips quirk upward as you see the thick erection through his pants.

"Is Hongjoong okay Y/n?" Yunho asks, face laced with concern. "He looks a bit flushed, i hope he isn't running a fever." You cant help but coo at how concerned he is for his leader, patting his head for his comfort.

"I'm sure he's just gotten a hot flash, it is quite warm in here after all." Seonghwa hears this and offers to turn the air on, but you gently decline, saying that you'll be fine.

After five minutes of radio silence form Hongjoong, you were starting to get concerned yourself. Usually by this time he would have texted you to get your ass in the bathroom."I'm gonna go see if Hongjoong is okay." You excuse yourself from the table, going to rasp gently on the bathroom door.

Instead of a verbal answer, the door is thrown open and you are yanked swiftly into the bathroom like a scene out of a snuff movie. Right before the main character is killed. You catch yourself having these thoughts, they're so strange to have in this situation.

The look on Hongjoong's face has you concerned, not to mention the mess he has his hair in, pushed back and in every which direction besides straight. "Baby, are you oka-""Look what you did!" He whisper shouts as he pulls his pants down hastily to show a painful erection standing tall and proud, drooling precum down the head"You are such a fucking brat! Fix this. Now." Hongjoong pushes you onto your knee's giving you a moment to pull away if you really wanted to. When you show no sign of resistance, he slips himself into your mouth; grunting in a euphoric and beautiful way.

"Jesus fuck bitch. Fuck, you're gonna make me yell if you keep up your mouth like that." Hongjoong pushes you off of him and rapidly pumps himself like a jackhammer. One wrong move and he'll break his penis. With a small grunt Hongjoong finishes into the toilet."You don't deserve to eat my cum, you're a bad girl." Hongjoong sighs at the release of pressure on his lower region. He tucks himself back in and pulls you up off the floor.

The both of you go back to the dining room like nothing's happened with a suspicious look form Jongho, but no one else. As you sit down, you press up closer to Yunho. The poor boy flushing bright red as you pull your shirt down to show your clevage. Yunho takes a few moments to look, but then quickly averts his eyes and swallows a few times.

"I hate to be this way." Hongjoong stands up and walks over to you. "But i'm not feeling too well. Is it okay if we go home a little early?" Seonghwa quickly swallows his drink and reaches out to Hongjoong."Yea, no problem. I'll text you the details Feel better man." The both of you say your goodbyes and grab your coats to head out to your cars. On your way out, you notice the smirk Jongho has on his face, raising his glass to you right before you leave.

The car ride home was filled with silence, leaving you to soak your panties with dangerous thoughts floating through your head. He's going to punish you no doubt, a sickening sweet smile plays across your lips. Oh how sweet that sounds to your mind. It wasn't too long of a drive though thanks to Hongjoong's speeding.

It takes him mere seconds after you exit the car to grab ahold of your wrist and drag you up to your house and into your bedroom. Not even bothering to let you take your shoes off."I'm going into the bathroom, now when i come out you had better be undressed and on the bed. Do i make myself clear?" You nod your head, crossing your fingers behind your back; you're already in trouble so why not make it worth your time to be underneath him. So you take off everything except the baby blue lingere set you had on underneath your clothes, hoping it would come to this.

Ten minutes is what it takes Hongjoong to get out of the bathroom, clearly have taken a shower and freshly shaven. By the look in his eyes as he looks at her, he's less than pleased."I thought i told you to get undressed. So why are you in that?" Hongjoong doesn't bother to put a shirt on, letting his sweatpants hang dangerously low to his v-line.

"Not even gonna answer me? God you really are just a spoiled brat huh? Cant even follow simple orders." He stalks up to the bed. "So now you're gonna get treated like a selfish brat."Hongjoong kisses you hard, chasing after your lips and you chasing after his own. He tangles his fingers in your hair and grinds against you. His other hand keeping yours at bay from touching him. He pulls back from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting you two. His eyes grow soft and he chuckles.

Then he moves his hand in your hair down to your face, squeezing your cheeks so your mouth opens. A glob of his spit trickles down into your mouth and he expects you to swallow it.

"At least you're able to do one thing right, Stupid girl." And there's that smile again, the soft one that really isn't. Then he does something that has you gasping in shock. He ripped your lingere off completely, completely ruining the garment. You'll have to worry about the price later."On the ground, on all fours." Hongjoong commands as he sits in the chair across the room, crossing his legs and thinking about his next move.

This is like a game to him, you're both on a different team, yet the same coin, merely just different sides. And it's his move, you used all of yours up at the dinner party and now he gets to use his that he has delicately been saving up. He needs to calculate the next move and then strike. How childish this is, to think of it at as a game, Hongjoong thinks.

He uses his fingers to beacon you forward, he smiles again as you obey rather quickly on all fours still. He's going to have so much fun watching you squirm for him. He's already taken care of himself twice tonight, once with you and the second time in the shower. So he has no need to use your cunt other than your torture.

Once you get close enough to him, he positions you sideways in front of him with his feet, then using your ass as a foot rest. Scrolling through his phone while he waits for you to get tired in this position."You have twenty minutes, try not to move too much." Your eyes widen, twenty minutes on the hardwood? On hands and knees?

As time passes you grow more inpatient, trying not to move to much but you cant help but sway your weight to one knee at a time. Occasionally Hongjoong will dig his heel into the small of your back to get you to cease movement."Hongjoong. It hurts~" You whine and it's like music to Hongjoong's ears, But you still have ten minutes left and he's not done taking pictures of you yet.

"If it hurts that bad, use the safeword." He barks, feigning annoyance at her whining. With a few more pictures and liking a few posts on Instagram he tells you to get on the bed, pulling out the cuffs to tie your hands to the bed with, snacking your tits a few times.Then he goes to the spare dresser you keep in the room for all your toys for the bedroom. Hongjoong takes his time browsing through the items, picking out the right ones that will reach the itch he has to punish you and make you cry out in lust. Then he see's it, the one toy he's been dying to use on you and blood nearly goes to his lower head.

You watch as he puts the spikey Glove on the edge of the bed, pulling out another pair of cuffs, attaching your ankles to the cuffs on your wrists."This my little brat, Is called a vampire glove." Hongjoong says as he slips it on, the spikes reflecting light into your eyes."So you know what it's used for?" You shake your head no, truly not knowing what the use of it is. Maybe to leave scratches along a sub?"Spanking." the word leaves you scared, not truly, but the kind of scared that is unsure of itself. Hongjoong is notorious for spanking hard, so what would the gloves do to your poor ass? You shiver thinking about it.

He doesn't leave you much time to process the idea of blood being possibly drawn when he pulls his hand back in the air. You clench your eyes shut right before the impact and leave a yelp at the pinprick feeling on your ass, feeling something trickle down.

"Who would have known you're so prone to drawing blood little brat." Hongjoong comes up to you before continuing, kissing your forehead and breaking his dom complex for a moment."I'll be gentler." And his next swing is more gentle, not going deep enough to draw blood but still breaking skin. The blood that does come out only comes in tiny dots littering across your cheeks.

Even with him being gentler, the glove still hurts, enough so to bring tears to your eyes that fall down your cheeks. It most definitely is a punishment and not one made for you to enjoy. Hongjoong gives you a two minute time out before he moves onto the next toy-The wartenburg wheel, also not one of your favorites for what he always does with it.He rolls the spikes over the puncture wounds, allowing you to cry even more at the pain, but not painful enough for you to use your safeword."I wouldn't have to do this if you were a good girl." Hongjoong argues. "But since you were a brat, this is what happens."

"I know, i'm sorry sir, it wont happen again." What a beautiful sight you are in this state, crying, begging, unrationally thinking in hope for a climax or some sort of pleasure to combat the pain. He feels a little softer than he did earlier, so he lets your legs down and allows you a moment to cry and calm down from the pain. Hongjoong strokes your face as he admires you, you're so gorgeous and perfect for him, the missing piece to the twisted puzzle he is in his mind.

"I think that's enough for tonight darling." Hongjoong makes the decision for you as he see's you aren't calming down enough. Sure you seem fine but he knows with another punishment you'll go into a sub drop. So to the bathtub you go in his arms. He cuddles you and washes you in the tub, pressing his hips to your head; making sure you know you did a great job. Also telling you how beautiful you are.After the bath he puts aloe on your bum and dresses you in some panties and one of his shirts, taking you both to bed.

#ateez smut #ateez hongjoong smut #Ateez hongjoong #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez seonghwa #ateez aesthetic

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mattgambler · 4 years

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Phoenix Point and why I want it to live

No TLDR this time. I said in the past that I could write pages over pages about this. I guess its time to see how many pages we are actually talking about here. Phoenix Point is currently rather mediocre. From the soundtrack to the many bugs and rather rough implementations, the missing features that were envisioned in the kickstarter campaign, the 5 scheduled DLCS, the epic store exclusivity, the inferior graphical polish in comparison to Firaxis’ XCOM reboot, the inferior complexity in comparison to Longwar, probably even the inferior Idontknow in comparison to the very first XCOM games from way back when, I didnt play those. If you are looking for something to hate in this game, you dont have to look too hard, there is something here for everyone. The reason Ive been a determined defender of Phoenix Point is not simply because I have a different taste in games than the mainstream however, but because I feel there is a way deeper underlying problem at work here. I’ll come back to that later. Btw starting now, when I say XCOM, I mean Firaxis’ XCOM. Personally I want more games like XCOM. More games like Battlebrothers, Mordheim: City of the Damned, Invisible Inc, hell, even Bloodbowl, even though I dont dig the sports angle. Games with permadeath, nameable characters, dynamic overworld systems and missions and situations that are created ideally by circumstance, not by simply playing mission 1, then mission 2, until you reach what the devs decided to be the last one they would make for the game. I thoroughly enjoy that concept of progression and many turnbased strategy titles just dont do it for me because they are too linear, even when they are otherwise nicely crafted experiences. Druidstone: The Secret of the Menhir Forest is a nice example of this, the game looks nice, sounds nice and is very well made, but it lacks the one thing I enjoy most in all the games I mentioned earlier. Along comes Phoenix Point and the moment I look at this game I know that it is all about scratching that specific itch. Not only that, it also brings with it a variety of creative features to even improve the established turnbased squad tactics formula. I didnt lie when I said I think that it is in many ways better than XCOM. Just that... WHAT?!?! ...the overall game doesnt compare well if we look at the sum of their parts at the moment. YOU CANT BE SERIOUS!!!!! About Phoenix Point being better in many ways? Sure, let me make a list. 1) Aiming In XCOM you aim, you have an x% chance to hit, you either hit or you dont. While widely accepted because of the quality of the overall games, its a pretty simple system that becomes especially frustrating when your guns model on screen is touching the enemies forehead and you still manage to miss. Or when a flashbanged and suppressed sectoid crits you in full cover after rolling a natural 20. In Phoenix Point bullets get simulated and trace a path from the barrel of your gun to a target that they then either hit or miss. Smaller enemies in Phoenix Point are hard to hit not because the game designers arbitrarily decided so, but because smaller enemies are simply smaller. In comparison, in XCOM you roll dice. 2) Modular enemies Similar to Battlebrothers, Phoenix Point has you encounter the same brigand thug (crabmen) over and over again. The enemy itself doesnt matter as much, its more about the number of different variations you can encounter. Brigant thugs can come equipped with simple helmets and/or armor as well as different weapons that have different abilities. They also have different faces on top of that. They are by far not the only enemy in the game, but even if they were, by the time you encounter the exact same thug a second time you wont be able to tell anymore because you have seen so many others inbetween. The same goes for most enemies in Battlebrothers (with a few exceptions), it becomes way more about your opponents equipment than about his actual type or class. Phoenix Point goes for the very same approach, but falls short because of a variety of reasons. To name just one, the first time you encounter New Jericho as a faction, you fight four New Jericho soldiers and all four of them have the same armor, the same weapon and even the same face. To hammer it home the mission also always takes place on a variation of the exact same map. It is an absolute travesty. The ambition is there and in random encounters on the map you can see where it is supposed to go, with every enemy type in the game being designed in a way that allows for as many variations as the devs can think of, from paralysis tentacles and bloodsucking arms to mist generators and everything inbetween. The possibilities are endless and from the standard crab to the giant bosses every enemy is designed with this modularity in mind. In XCOM in comparison, you have a variety of different enemies, but for the entirety of the first month (what is that, 3-7 missions?) you only fight the sectoid. Or maybe the drone too, I havent played vanilla in forever. Longwar tries to spice that up by using preexisting models and assigning new abilities to them, making some models bigger and giving others new abilities, but at the end of the day the sectoid looks the way the sectoid looks. I love what it looks like btw. But modular enemies are decidedly cooler. 3) Scale In XCOM you control 4, later up to 6 soldiers at the same time. In Longwar it goes up to 8, or 12 in that one mission. In Phoenix Point you start out the same way, but to my knowledge you can bring as many soldiers to any mission as you can get there via aircraft. Meaning that as soon as you get a second manticore you can theoretically have up to 12 soldiers in a mission, or 18 with a third. Naturally you would probably want to split your forces instead and be in 3 places at the same time (and you can), but this sort of thing being possible, both the 18 soldiers in one mission as well as the 3 different squads doing missions in 3 different places of the planet, is something XCOM simply does not offer. 4) Other features Be it vehicles, giant enemies, diplomacy or the amount of control you get on the overworld map, Phoenix Point does (or attempts to do) a huge number of things that in XCOM are simply nonexistant. In XCOM you dont get to decide were to fly, missions are simply spawned in popup fashion, the skyranger is on autopilot, “diplomacy” is managed by talking to top secret bald guy representing the council and by sometimes fulfilling a councilrequest. The only opposing faction apart from the aliens is EXALT which can be regarded as more of a separate mission type with human enemies and not really as a faction that contributes in any diplomatic way. Dont get me wrong, I dont think XCOM needs diplomacy in order to be good. XCOM is already good, fantastic in fact. But if we compare based on features alone and not the quality of their implementation, then Phoenix Point is doing A LOT of things that XCOM never even touched. This is in no way me trying to trash XCOM. I love XCOM, especially Longwar. However for the sake of an at least somewhat fair comparison the only games we should compare Phoenix Point to at this Point are XCOM Enemy Unknown and XCOM 2, both at launch. Bringing Longwar into the mix is something I do for the sake of providing a third angle, not because I am blind to the fact of how ludacris it would be to compare a newly launched game with an extensive overhaul mod that was in the making for years after the vanilla game and even its expansion were already released. As I was saying, along comes Phoenix Point doing all those very ambitious things. And it gets DESTROYED. To quote Beaglerush, the probably best known XCOM streamer out there: “But honestly, for anyone with experience in the XCOM genre, anyone who likes XCOM games, and anyone particularly who likes XCOM games at a harder difficulty or likes to obviously, like, play well, I do not think it is possible to enjoy this game unless you are getting a big paycheck and you are a good actor.” To be clear, I didnt watch the entire footage that made him come to that conclusion and I dont want to comment too much on what “playing well” means, but i have played Longwar on the highest difficulty in ironmanmode for 2000 hours (without beating it, but also always with Training Roulette active) and I have beaten XCOM 2 on highest difficulty in ironman mode. I do consider Longwar as one of my favourite games of all time and I do consider myself as someone who has experience with the genre, likes games and likes to play them “well”, or at least on highest difficulty. I dont agree with Beagle (duh), but I can of course see where he might be coming from. In its current state Phoenix Point is not finished. Playable, but even for an early access game its still pretty rough, with many mechanics not or only sometimes working (leanout, aim and aimsnapping, end turn, details, you get the point), features missing, performance issues, lackluster soldier customization, lackluster diplomacy options, a rather simple skilltree, questionable balance, etc. Don’t look at me like that, if I wanted to I could jump that hatetrain any time! But if I was to do that, where would that leave us? The XCOM genre, as Beagle calls it, is a niche genre at the best of times. Not only regarding the playerbase but also regarding game developers willing to invest time and money into creating something new. Xenonauts 2 is a year or more behind its originally panned release date with not much news to speak of, Terra Invicta is a distant memory of a game that will maybe one day still be released and Im still waiting for the XCOM 3 announcement and who knows if it will even come. Especially after we, the players, completely demolish Phoenix Point to the point where I would just cancel the 5 planned DLCS right now if I was in charge of the devteam. The main reason I defended Phoenix Point was not because of what the game currently is but because of what the game could be after 5 more DLCs. Ive played every backerbuild of the game and statements like “the game is still what it was 2 years ago” are simply and factually false. Especially between backerbuild 4 and 5 there was a huge jump in quality and between 5 and the release version that same jump has ocurred again - with an entire game that is now playable and completable. Yes, it could have more voiced lines instead of text, yes, it doesnt have the sexy “alerted sectoid” animation sequence when you run into a new enemy pod (pods dont exist in PP but you get me) and sure, the epic exclusive sucks I guess and I dont care much for the soundtrack. But after Backerbuild 5, who knows where the game will be after the next DLC? And the next? If you compare XCOM Enemy Unknown with XCOM Enemy Within, the difference was breathtaking. And here we have a game that has so much work already done, so many assets created, so much code already in place, and we, the players, punch them in the face and shout “NOT GOOD ENOUGH!”. You wanna go back to the drawing board, have somebody else start fresh on something that could be better in a year or two if we are lucky? Ive been looking for a game like XCOM for literally years. Battle Brothers was the closest I found. Tens, if not hundreds of others inbetween failed hard, from “Warhammer 40k: Mechanicus” to “Legends: Viking” to “Wildermyth” and basically everything inbetween. And here we have a game that seems to have the right idea, the right amount of ambition and a good amount of the work already done and we are bitchslapping them left and right just so we can go back to getting hyped about the next mediocre linear story experience. Sure, them releasing already is a shame. But if I was the one to decide, I would give them the same amount of money again and triple it and tell them to finish the job instead of spitting in their face when they come to us and lowkey tell us that they ran out of money. And I would send them flowers and tell them that Im sorry. Anybody can polish a game with extra cash, but getting the core idea right is something that even Firaxis almost failed to do with XCOM 2, as far as Im concerned. I said earlier, that there was a deeper underlying problem here and that I would come back to it and here it is, ladies and gentlemen. Modernday gamers are an ungrateful, hateful bunch of whiny spoiled brats, who think they are entitled to only the best of the best while in fact they “deserve” nothing. The entire concept of a kickstarter campaign is that you provide funds and trust so a bunch of people can try to realize their vision. If you dont like the outcome, then that doesnt mean they betrayed you, it means you have poor judgement. Notice how I say judgement and not taste. You dont have poor judgement because you dont like the outcome, but because you gave them money in the first place. I should maybe add at this point that my anger is mostly directed towards the public reaction and the phoenix point subreddit and not towards my own viewership. (hello) Phoenix Point is not the first game that has had me feel like the entire gaming landscape is slowly spiraling out of control. 5 years ago I thought quality means sales. At this point Im worried that a high marketing budget means sales. And I dread the possibility that 5 years from now I might be convinced that a high marketing budget means quality. Some of the best games this year were literally destroyed by players. Artifact wasn’t only boykotted, but actively brutalized, with people at some point purposefully streaming porn and torture under the Artifact tag on Twitch. Pathologic 2 had the devteam almost go bankrupt after poor sales and unfavourable reviews by people that barely grasped the basics of the game. All the while people feed money to the ginormous immortal that is Magic The Gathering and praise Hideo Kojima for his “unique vision” for Death Stranding. I didnt play Death Stranding and Magic can be pretty fun, but does nobody see the smothering double standards in play here? Im not saying that Phoenix Point has no problems right now in terms of quality. Some of the issues player encounter are in fact inexcusable, at least longterm. But XCOM 2 also had a bumpy launch with long loading times and tons of bugs and then they were fixed and today there are people that think XCOM 2 is better than Longwar. Incomprehensible to me how anyone could think that, but time and some postlaunch fixes did clearly change peoples minds. I think the main reason Phoenix Point got so much hate on launch in comparison to XCOM 2 (which also released 3 DLCs ,or was it more) is because its drastically different and more ambitious in many ways, not because it is half as bad as people make it out to be. XCOM is just like Phoenix Point, just dumbed down I guess. Kappa. (I hate it when people use the term “dumbed down”. This is a joke. Ffs why do I have to explain this)

#XCOM #Phoenix Point

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imaginationstimulation · 4 years

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I recently read A Visit From the Goon Squad written by Jennifer Egan.

This novel reads more like a collection of short stories about different characters who are almost inconsequentially related to various degrees.

One obvious theme is about the interconnectedness of all people.

More deeply, the book is a reflection on time and the endlessness of growing up; how our values and, more seriously, our identities change--or don’t--with time.

These are the lines and excerpts I highlighted as I read:

“I’m always happy,” Sasha said. “Sometimes I just forget.” (Chapter 1).

“She could tell that he was in excellent shape, not from going to the gym but from being young enough that his body was still imprinted with whatever sports he’d played in high school and college.”

“...something more than relief: a blessed indifference, as if the very idea of feeling pain over such a thing were baffling.”

“In fact the whole apartment, which six years ago had seemed like a way station to some better place, had ended up solidifying around Sasha, gathering mass and weight, until she felt both mired in it and lucky to have it—as if she not only couldn’t move on but didn’t want to.”

“She wanted badly to please him, to say something like, It was a turning point everything feels different now, or I called Lizzie and we made up finally, or I’ve picked up the harp again, or just I’m changing I’m changing I’m changing: I’ve changed! Redemption, transformation--God how she wanted these things. Every day, every minute. Didn’t everyone?”

“Bennie knew that what he was bringing into the world was shit. Too clear, too clean. The problem was precision, perfection; the problem was digitization, which sucked the life out of everything that got smeared through its microscopic mesh. Film, photography, music: dead. An aesthetic holocaust! Bennie knew better than to say this stuff aloud.” (Chapter 2).

“an urge to confess the malapropism to his fourth grader.”

“As he sipped, a sensation of pleasure filled his whole torso the way a snowfall fills up a sky. Jesus, he felt good.”

“Hearing the music get made, that was the thing: people and instruments and beaten-looking equipment aligning abruptly into a single structure of sound, flexible and alive.”

“The baby he and Stephanie had nuzzled and kissed—now this painful, mysterious presence.”

“He remembered his mentor, Lou Kline, telling him in the nineties that rock and roll had peaked at Monterey Pop. They’d been in Lou’s house in LA with its waterfalls, the pretty girls Lou always had, his car collection out front, and Bennie had looked into his idol’s famous face and thought, You’re finished. Nostalgia was the end—everyone knew that.”

“Rich people like to hostess, so they can show off their nice stuff.“ (Chapter 3).

“Hey, Lou goes. He leans down so our faces are together, and stares straight into my eyes. He looks tired, like someone walked on his skin and left footprints. He goes, The world is full of shitheads, Rhea. Don’t listen to them—listen to me. And I know that Lou is one of those shitheads. But I listen.”

“I can’t tell if she’s actually real, or if she’s stopped caring if she’s real or not. Or is not caring what makes a person real?”

“Lou is one of those men whose restless charm has generated a contrail of personal upheaval that is practically visible behind him:” (Chapter 4, [My favorite chapter]).

“Structural Resentment: The adolescent daughter of a twice-divorced male will be unable to tolerate the presence of his new girlfriend, and will do everything in her limited power to distract him from said girlfriend’s presence, her own mascent sexuality being her chief weapon.”

“Structural Affection: A twice-divorced male’s preadolescent son (and favorite child) will embrace and accept his father’s new girlfriend because he hasn’t yet learned to separate his father’s loves and desires from his own. In a sense, he, too, will love and desire her, and she will feel maternal toward him...”

“Structural Desire: The much younger temporary female mate of a powerful male will be inexorably drawn to the single male within range who disdains her mate’s power.”

“These four are locked in a visceral animal-sighting competition. (Structural Fixation: A collective, contextually induced obsession that becomes a temporary locus of greed, competition, and envy.)”

“The members of Ramsey’s safari have gained a story they’ll tell for the rest of their lives. It will prompt some of them, years from now, to search for each other on Google and Facebook, unable to resist the wish-fulfillment fantasy these portals offer: What ever happened to...? In a few cases, they’ll meet again to reminisce and marvel at one another’s physical transformations, which will seem to melt away with the minutes.”

“Structural Dissatisfaction: Returning to circumstances that once pleased you, having experienced a more thrilling or opulent way of life, and finding that you can no longer tolerate them.”

“My questions all seem wrong: How did you get so old? Was it all at once, in a day, or did you peter out bit by bit? When did you stop having parties? Did everyone else get old too, or was it just you?“ (Chapter 5).

“Your desultory twenties,” my mother calls my lost time, trying to make it sound reasonable and fun, but it started before I was twenty and lasted much longer.”

“The TV is new, flat and long, and its basketball game has a nervous sharpness that makes the room and even us look smudged.“

“Seventeen, hitchhiking. He was driving a red Mercedes. In 1979, that could be the beginning of an exciting story, a story where anything might happen. Now it’s a punch line.”

“...how better to mark success than by going to a place where you didn’t belong?“ (Chapter 7).

“I don’t want to fade away, I want to flame away.”

“It felt impossible, as if Jules’s excitement were being siphoned from inside her, leaving Stephanie drained to the exact degree that he was invigorated.“

“All that can be said for sure is that in the presence of Kitty Jackson, the rest of us become entagled by our sheer awareness that we ourselves are not Kitty Jackson, a fact so brusquely unifying that it temporarily wipes out all distinctions betwen us--our tendency to cry inexplicably during parades, or the fact that we never learned French, or have a fear of insects that we do our best to conceal from women, or liked to eat construction paper as a child--in the presence of Kitty Jackson, we no longer are in possession of these traits; indeed, so indistinguishable are we from every other non–Kitty Jackson in our vicinity that when one of us sees her, the rest simultaneously react.” (Chapter 9.)

“At what precise moment did you tip just slightly out of alignment with the relatively normal life you had been enjoying theretofore, cant infinitesimally to the left or the right and thus embark upon the trajectory that ultimately delivered you to your present whereabouts—in my case, Rikers Island Correctional Facility?”

“Bix and Lizzie’s apartment is tiny, like a dollhouse, full of plants and the smell of plants (wet and planty), because Lizzie loves plants.” (Chapter 10).

“It’s okay,” she says, and you know you should leave it there—it’s fine, leave it alone, but some crazy engine inside you won’t let you stop:”

“He has an optimist’s attraction to everything new—a faith that it will enrich him, not hurt him.“

“The two of you reel away from her. Hilarity keeps you busy for several blocks, but there’s a sickness to it, like an itch that if you keep on scratching, will grind straight through skin and muscle and bone, shredding your heart.”

“We’re going to meet again in a different place,” Bix says. “Everyone we’ve lost, we’ll find. Or they’ll find us.” “Where? How?” Drew asks. Bix hesitates, like he’s held this secret so long he’s afraid of what will happen when he releases it into the air. “I picture it like Judgment Day,” he says finally, his eyes on the water. “We’ll rise up out of our bodies and find each other again in spirit form. We’ll meet in that new place, all of us together, and first it’ll seem strange, and pretty soon it’ll seem strange that you could ever lose someone, or get lost.”

“Sunsan was baffled at first, then distraught. [...] But eventually a sort of amnesia had overtaken Susan; her rebellion and hurt had melted away, deliquesced into a sweet, eternal sunniness that was terrible in the way that life would be terrible, Ted supposed, without death to give it gravitas and shape.” (Chapter 11).

“...all of this bolstered his awe at the gymnastic adaptability of the human mind.”

“...a fibrillating excitement such as he hadn’t felt for years in response to a work of art, compounded by further excitement that such excitement was still possible.”

“A feeling,” Bennie said, rousing himself slightly from his deep recline. “That we have some history together that hasn’t happened yet.” (Chapter 13).

“Her confidence seemed more drastic than the outcome of a happy childhood; it was cellular confidence, as if Lulu were a queen in disguise, without need or wish to be recognized.”

“There are so many ways to go wrong,” Lulu said. “All we’ve got are metaphors, and they’re never exactly right. You can’t ever just Say. The. Thing.”

“They could meander indefinitely, these conversations...”

#A Visit from the Goon Squad #Jennifer Egan #quotes #liteary quotes #book recommendations #book review #bookstagram #bookstagrammer

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sabraeal · 5 years

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Thy Body Under My Command

Obiyuki AU Bingo Fate/stay night AU

Some dialogue is directly from this Fate/stay night AU comic @septhi made for last year’s bingo

Dawn breaks over Wistal as it always has, pierced by the jagged teeth of the city’s skyscrapers, a dark maw awaiting the sun’s offering. Shirayuki’s hands don’t even shake as she buttons her blazer, not even when she realizes the red is the same color as the blood that had been on them only hours ago, running down the drain of the sink as she struggled to get them clean, to remove every last trace of the night that had dried on her skin.

Obi is waiting for her as always, looking entirely normal in the school’s uniform, nothing like he had last night, nearly bleeding out on the floor of the Seiran estate.

“Ojou-san,” he greets brightly, falling into step with her. “Good morning.”

Even when he’d arrived, breaking half the pots in her gardening shed, she’d never felt so shy around him so left-footed. “Good morning, Obi.”

He nods, pleased with the completion of their usual morning routine. Still, he’s quiet; ever since he -- well, since she summoned him, accidentally, afraid for her own life -- she’s known no peace, the air constantly full of his chatter.

Aren’t you Assassin? Kiki had asked, only days ago. Shouldn’t you work quietly?

Obi had only shrugged, mouth canted in that strange way of his, half mischief and half melancholy. I wonder...

But he’s been oddly silent, since last night. Almost dying does that to a person.

He keeps his normal pace, walking one step behind her -- she’s told him he shouldn’t, that despite what the rules say, he’s her partner, not her servant, but he never listens -- and when she glances at him from the corner of her eyes, sly, she sees that he’s holding himself stiffly, like he’s pulled a muscle.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks, ducking her head, trying to catch his eyes. Obi jolts in surprise, blinking away the distance in his gaze, and smiles.

“Of course, ojou-san,” he tells her, as bright as always. “It’s only a little scratch.”

Shirayuki doesn’t think having his shoulder run through is just a little scratch, but Obi is covered in scars, a record of all his victories in life. Having another must just seem like business as usual. He breathes, he gets another scar.

She eyes where his uniform gaps -- he refuses to keep it zipped outside of school; Servants may magically have the right knowledge of their current time, but it doesn’t mean they have to like it, if Obi is any indication -- catching the ragged, silvered edge of another scar.

Ah, they are records of his victories, save one. But still, she understands Obi might have trouble telling what is actually a big deal, when he’s used to relocating all his own limbs after a fight.

She doesn’t have to like it, though. “You should let me look at it.”

His eyes round. “Now?”

Cars zoom past them on the street, the high school just visible at the bottom of the hill. They are the farthest away they can be from private.

And yet here he is, pulling at the zipper on his uniform with a sigh, as if she is the incorrigible one --

“No, not now!” she protests, waving her hands, trying to find an angle to shield his undress. She should have known better that to insinuate he needed to take his clothes off, not when he’s always looking for an opportunity to offer. “I meant tonight. At home.”

“Really, ojou-san,” he sighs, zipping his uniform jacket. “It’s not a big deal.”

Shirayuki tilts her chin up, trying to look down her nose on him; a plan that is ruined by the six extra inches he has on her.

“How about you let the mage decide what’s important, Assassin,” she tells him, feigning haughtiness. The both of them know she’s just barely scraping the requirements, and half of her clout is just the fact that he exists.

Obi laughs, shaking his head. “Of course, Master. I shall defer to your superior wisdom.”

“Good.” She levels him with the sort of rich girl glare only Kiki could pull off without looking entirely ridiculous. “I’m glad you understand how these things work.”

His mouth twitches, just at one corner and -- and it’s impossible to keep up the act, if he’s going to break like this! Her giggle bursts out of her, and his follows, making her duck her chin, cheeks flushed.

“Ah, ojou-san,” he sighs, rubbing at the back of his head. “A mage like you should have been matched with one of the noble classes.”

Shirayuki blinks. “What would make you say that?”

For a moment he stills, but then he shoves his hands in his pockets, giving her his most self-deprecating smile. “Ah, well, you like to leap before you look. Someone like Mitsuhide-danna would at least keep you safe during hair-raising things like that.”

She gives him a reproachful look. “You keep me safe just fine.”

A breath huffs out of him, doubt etched on every line of his face. “You’d do better in this game with someone more suited to your...style.”

“Well.” She puffs up her chest, trying to seem like an authority, to live up to the title Master, even if the top of her head is only level with his chin. “You’ve got me, and I’m not giving up on you. Or the Holy Grail.”

“Haah.” He looks like she’s punched him. “Right.”

“Come on.” She nudges him with her shoulder. “We don’t want to be late.”

He lags slightly behind her as they walk down the hill, and when she sneaks a look at him from the corner of her eyes, she sees his hand lift, sees it settle on his shoulder and squeeze.

There are only a handful of people she can go to for -- for Master things; it’s not like her father left her anything, and nearly any mage worth their salt has summoned up a Servant for this War, but --

There’s at least one in her corner.

“Have you seen Obi?”

Zen looks up from his bento; it’s pale pink, rice balls shaped into smiling kitty faces and fruits pressed into flowers and hearts. Not something the Wisteria’s fifty-year-old French chef would have made for him, no matter how good a mood he woke up in this morning. Shirayuki forbids herself from thinking too hard about which girl in their class did. He is the class prince; it would be more of a surprise to see him without a stack of lunches, carefully prepared by his bolder admirers.

That doesn’t make this, well, more comfortable.

“Wasn’t he just here?” He blinks, craning his neck to look at Obi’s empty seat. “Did you lose him already? You should really keep a tighter rein on him. If you’re caught without your Servant --“

“Yes.” She knows all too well what happens when she lets Obi wander away from her side. “I -- he’s just talking to Kiki.”

Zen leans back, and she knows the moment when he sees him; something subtle in his face relaxes, and his mouth spreads into a smile. It’s nice see, but --

But she knows that Zen must wonder if Obi was meant to be his, if she hadn’t bumbled along, summoning the last Servant out from under him. It’s better this way -- at least now it won’t be him facing off against his brother at the end of this war, deciding how much blood it would take for the Grail to appear, but...still. Whenever he allows himself that wistful expression, she just feels like an interloper that stumbled into this whole magic business, even if her father is some -- some famous mage.

After all, it’s not like he prepared her for any of this.

“I meant, have you looked at him today?” she clarifies, wishing she sounds less shrill, less unsure.

At least Zen doesn’t seem to notice; he just turns grim, assessing. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” She shrugs with her whole body, at a loss. “Obi says he’s fine, but -- something doesn’t feel right. And he seems...stiff, I guess. Not moving like how he usually does.”

They both peer out the door, watching him talking animatedly with Kiki. He’s all chaotic motion, limbs flying everywhere as he tells his story, Kiki’s mouth curling up into a reluctant smile. Part of her is glad to see it, happy he’s making friends, that he can charm even stoic Kiki Seiran into liking him, but --

But the other part does not miss his wince when he gestures a hair too far, does not miss how his hand flies to his shoulder, rubbing it as if it aches.

Zen settles back, mouth thin. “Hm.”

“Hm?” She drops into the seat next to him. “What does that mean?”

“It just...doesn’t look like it healed,” he remarks, and Shirayuki just bites back, oh, do you think? He’s trying to help her, she’s just -- impatient. If Obi’s in pain she wants to help him now, not after Zen is done leading her down the garden path.

“Why?” she says instead. “It’s never taken so long.”

“Rider’s hit must have damaged some of his magic circuitry.” Zen stares out the door, mouth twisting with concern. “He can’t passively get enough mana from you to both exist and heal. And since your summoning was well --” a complete and utter accident -- “untraditional...”

“He can’t go incorporeal and heal himself that way.” Shirayuki lets out a long breath and nods. “How do I fix it?”

“Well,” Zen drawls, suddenly too much like his brother. “If you were a trained mage, you could do it through active transfer, but --” he glances at her, guilty -- “I don’t think you have those sorts of skills.”

She could have, if only her father had stuck around to teach her properly. “There isn’t another way?”

“Um.” Zen’s face flushes, eyes darting to look anywhere else but at her. “N-no! I think you just might, ah, have to, you know, let it...heal itself?”

Her mouth pulls thin. “How long will that take?”

“Ah...” Zen grimaced. “I don’t know, exactly. But...a while.”

“Oh.” Her hands clench in her skirt. This is the Holy Grail War. As little as she likes it, she needs him in top condition now, if they’re both going to survive.

Zen shrugs, but it’s stiff, like he had an itch. “Don’t worry, Shirayuki,” he says, hardly sincere. “I’m sure it will work itself out.”

After running into Rider, Shirayuki can’t say she’s too confident in that. Especially not with two other servants unaccounted for.

His hand rests gently on her shoulder, and he smiles so kindly when she meets his eyes. “Kiki will protect you.”

Chain-link bites into the soft flesh of her fingers, but Shirayuki doesn’t let go, just rests her body on the fence. She’s so light it barely chimes at all. The baseball field is empty this evening with curfew still in place, and she can’t help but think that if she hadn’t been in the wrong place, that if she hadn’t gotten so lucky, she would be at home now too, worrying about all the strange deaths in Wistal.

Now she doesn’t have to. She knows exactly who is causing them, what is causing them.

Maybe she would have been happier not.

Obi laughs, dodging another of Mitsuhide’s heavy blows. He’s not in uniform anymore, instead in his battle gear, skin-tight and cape fluttering, mouth canted in a cocky grin, and --

And even so, she can’t make herself regret this. Any of it.

Obi falls for Mitsuhide’s feint, only just saving himself with a quick cut of his short sword. Metal hits metal with a shriek and --

And Obi flinches, his other hand coming up to grasp his shoulder until he stops himself, until he shakes it off.

Shirayuki grimaces. She doesn’t regret anything, save for that.

“That hasn’t healed well,” Kiki remarks, fence jingling as she comes to lean beside her.

“No,” she agrees, watching as Mitsuhide stops, leaning in to clap Obi on the shoulder. The other one, she can’t help but notice. “Zen says his magic circuitry must be damaged after last night.”

Kiki eyes her with a blend of wariness and incredulity that she is coming to realize is distinctly Kiki’s. Shirayuki bites her lip, pretending that her attention is fully on the fight, not -- not thinking about how she’s so tired of being treated like she’s, well, stupid.

Intellectually, she knows that despite their truce, Kiki is an enemy, one she shouldn’t be handing over her weaknesses to on a platter. But at the same time, she’s the only other person she can talk to, whose ideas on the bond of Servant and Master aren’t just all academic. Zen can help her only so far, but Kiki -- Kiki has practical knowledge, as much as someone can have, without having already survived a Grail War.

That’s the kind of information Shirayuki could only get from her father. Too bad he isn’t around to give it.

“Aren’t you going to fix it?”

Shirayuki blinks. “Zen said it would fix itself, with time.”

Time they don’t have.

“We don’t have that kind of time,” Kiki tells her, as if she weren’t already aware. “He needed to be fixed yesterday. You, of all people, can’t have your Servant be weak like this.”

Shirayuki ducks her chin, hoping Kiki can’t see the flush across her cheeks. She’s well aware that she has limitations the rest of them don’t have, that she doesn’t belong in this war of mages, that she barely belongs in magical society in general. Even if her dad did, it wasn’t as if he’d left any of that for her, not like how Kiki is branded with the Seiran crest, the culmination of every mage her family has ever produced.

And if she ever forgot, Obi was always around to remind her. She was lucky; as soon as she’d put the school uniform on him, Obi had transformed from deadly assassin to handsome school boy. If she’d summoned a Servant like Mitsuhide --

Well, it was good Kiki was a top-notch mage. Shirayuki wasn’t even sure the uniforms came that big.

“I’m not a real mage,” Shirayuki reminds her, every word like a knife. “I can’t do a transfer spell.”

“I know that.” Kiki waves her hand, as if she hadn’t even considered the option. “Why don’t you just do it the other way?��

Shirayuki’s head snaps toward her. “There’s another way?”

Kiki stares, at a loss for words. “Zen didn’t tell you?”

She shakes her head. “He said there wasn’t one.”

“Well,” Kiki drawls, voice thick with sarcasm, “isn’t that surprising.”

“Please,” Shirayuki pleads, fingers catching in Kiki’s sleeve, making her eyes as big and desperate as she can. “Do you know another one? I can’t leave Obi like this.”

For a long moment, Kiki stares at her, considering. It reminds her of the only time she’s met Izana, his icy eyes taking her in without comment and assessing her threat to him.

Kiki must come to the same conclusion as him and sighs.

“Mana is in you, Shirayuki.” She eyes her warily. “Are you sure no one has ever taught you this? Not at all?”

“No,” she says with an emphatic shake of her head. “I was raised by my mother’s parents. They didn’t know anything about magic.”

Kiki lets out a long breath, utterly still beside her.

“Mana is in every part of you,” she says after a moment, softer, as if she were trying to teach a child. “That’s why some mages sell their blood when the family fortune runs out. I hear it sells for a hefty bit of cash.”

“Why would people buy it?” Shirayuki asks, wide-eyed.

“To drink, of course.” Kiki says it as if it were the most obvious thing in the word, as if she were the silly one for thinking someone wouldn’t drink blood.

“People drink mage blood?” Somehow, out of all the supernatural reveals she’s been privy to over the last few days, it’s this one that is the most outlandish. “Why?”

“For power.” Kiki shakes her head. “There’s no limit to what a mage will do for power. You should know this, after last night.”

Her mouth thins. Yes, she’s learned that lesson all too well, now.

“So, I just need him to drink my blood?” She’s not sure how he’ll take that request; in terms of things she could ask him, Master to Servant, it’s mild, but still. “How much? Is it just a few drops, or should I be worrying about getting needles and syringes?I think the nurse might let me have a tourniquet if --”

“Shirayuki,” Kiki laughs, waving her hand. “There’s a much, much easier way.”

She considers the bodily fluids she has available to her and decides, “I really don’t think I could spit in his mouth.”

Kiki stares. “That was absolutely not about to be my next suggestion, but thank you for that delightful image that will almost certainly haunt me for years to come.”

“Does it have something to do with crying?” she asks, even more confused. There can’t be anything easier than that, though crying enough tears to drink seems like an insurmountable task.

“Shirayuki, no.” Kiki’s lips twitch. “That is not what I meant.”

“Well,” she sighs, frustrated. “I’m fresh out of bodily fluids!”

She does not like the way Kiki’s lip quirks. “Are you?”

“Oh,” Shirayuki murmurs, too short a time later. “Oh.”

Kiki’s teeth flash in a feral smile. “I thought that might be your reaction, yes.”

“I’m supposed to--” the words won’t come -- “and he’d supposed to...?”

“Yes.” Kiki stiffens beside her, tense. “After we fought Berserker, my mana was just barely keeping Mitsuhide together. His circuits were far too damaged, and unless I wanted to weaken myself trying to force the mana into him...”

“Oh.” She’s never heard Kiki talk like this, admit she was anything other than utterly prepared for any eventuality. It’s...nice to know she’s human too, even if she’s also a world-class mage, destined to be picked up by the Clock Tower after this is all over. “I hadn’t even realized.”

“No, you wouldn’t have.” Her mouth curls with satisfaction. “He recovered...quite nicely, afterward.”

“Are you going to work, ojou-san?” Obi asks as he walks out of the changing room, uniform jacket still half unzipped. Above the vee of his t-shirt, the raised ridge of his death scar peeks out. She’s seen his clothes ripped to ribbons, blood coating his skin, but she’s never seen the whole of that scar, never seen the thing that killed him.

But she would, if she listened to Kiki.

She jolts, shaking her head. She can’t think about this right now, not when he’s talking to her. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” His fingers tug at the zipper, and she -- she’s always noticed how long his fingers are, how slender, but now her skin feels hot looking at them, thinking of the way he could so easily hold her in those hands, how his grip is so strong she could bruise -- “Just give me a minute, and I can --”

“No!” This is -- she needs to think about this, and she just can’t if he’s around, making things -- things difficult. “You should go home and rest. I can take care of myself for a night.”

“Ojou-san,” he protests, mouth pulling into a hard, disapproving line, and --

And she should really, really not be thinking about how easy it would be to wipe that expression off his face. These are not very -- very Masterly thoughts.

“You’re already hurt,” she tells him. “And you need to keep up your strength. We don’t know who the other two mages are, or their Servants.”

“That’s the perfect reason for me to --”

“If they haven’t come for us already, they don’t know who we are.” She thinks of Rider, of how he and his mage are still out there, nursing their wounds. “Or they are waiting for the rest of us to kill each other. Either way, they aren’t going to be checking a drug store for a Master.”

“Everyone needs aspirin, ojou-san,” he protests, but he knows she’s right. Mages are used to power and money; her after school job is the best cover she never asked for. Even Kiki had been surprised.

“If anything happens, I can just call you to me.” She lifts her hand, showing him the jagged lines on the back of her hand. One of them is already smudged and dim, a legacy from their less than ideal first meeting. He scowls when he sees it.

“It would be better if you didn’t waste a Command Seal to get me,” he tells her. “You’ve already done that once.”

“I wouldn’t have had to, if you had been nice,” she reminds him.

“I was stubborn.”

“Telling me I’m your Master, and then saying I’m too stupid to command you isn’t stubborn,” she says with a quelling look. “It’s mean.”

His mouth curves, gaze tilting down, and she knows he’s laughing at himself. “No arguments here, ojou-san.” He slides his hands into his pockets with a resigned sigh. “All right, I’ll heal at home. But you’ll call me if anything happens.”

She puts her hand on his elbow, drawing his gaze down her. Maybe it’s just the light, but his eyes seem more amber today, like melted honey instead of cold coin.

Now is a really bad time to notice that.

“Always,” she tells him with a smile. His narrow brows arch upward and -- and he smiles too, warm and trusting.

That-- that’s not fair, him being so handsome. “I’ll be waiting, ojou-san.”

“I’m home,” Shirayuki calls out, toeing her shoes off into the waiting tray. Obi’s shoes are there as well, scuffed up Oxfords Kiki thought her father wouldn’t miss, but the house itself is dark, cold.

Dread claws at her, but she pushes it down, lets reason rule her instead of fear and habit. There’s still a draw on her mana, tiring but satisfying, an invigorating buzz just under her skin. He’s nearby, he’s safe.

She pads into the main house, socks muffling her footsteps as she makes her way across the wood floor, first looking into the kitchen, then into his room, then into hers. All of them lay empty, though his room does have his school bag on the floor, and his school uniform balled up in the hamper. There’s only one other place he could possibly be.

There’s a flagstone path to the dojo, and Shirayuki hops along it, wincing as she nearly misses a step, toe scraping into the gravel. She’s lost enough stockings already to this Grail War, she’s rather not have another casualty just walking across her own yard.

The door slides easily under her hands; only a week ago it had barely moved, swollen and crooked from disuse, but now it glides silently on its path, planed and reset by Obi’s own hands. It’s the same for the rest of the dojo; tatami replaced and floors shined, looking like it must have back when her father still used it. Obi’s only been here days, and already this place has been changed.

She doesn’t like to think what will happen when he leaves. After all, the Grail War can’t last forever.

The dojo is dark inside, just like the rest of the house, but her eyes adjust quicker this time, used to the dim. It takes her no time at all to make out his shape knelt over on the floor, oddly broad shoulders tapering down to a lean waist, the sort of body made for dexterity, not power.

That only reminds her of what Kiki said, of that -- that other way to heal him, and she had to grip the door to keep from bolting, from just pivoting on her heel and flying back to the house. She could just -- pretend she was asleep. That was a good excuse to give to Kiki tomorrow. She’d just fallen asleep --

“Ahh,” he hisses, palm slapping the floor. “Fuck.”

His fingers dig into the mat, rigid with pain. She blinks, chest clenching as she follows the tension up the stark lines of his arm to his shoulder, to where he sits, body contorted, one hand clenching at his wound. It’s hard to see his his face in the dark, but his teeth gleam, mouth pulled into a grimace.

She’s never seen him like this before, never seen him weak. “Obi?”

He jolts, hand dropping at lightning speed. He spins around, a bright smile painted on his face. There’s no hint of the agony she saw, no tell-tale wince or grimace. It is as if it were a dream, a nightmare borne of her own guilt.

It is too bad for him that she knows for certain that she is awake. In fact, she has never been less tired in her life.

“Ojou-san! You’re back.” His mouth widens into a playful grin. “Welcome home!”

She stares. There is nothing else she can do, now when she knows that all of this is -- is little more than kabuki, an act played out for solely her benefit. Obi is in pain, in agony, and here he sits on his knees, pretending that all is well, that he can keep her safe, while all the while the guilt must be gnawing at him, anxiety building as he wonders when the next Master will attack, what death he will have to defy with such a painful handicap.

He twists, turning to face her, and his t-shirt gapes, letting her see that ragged scar across his chest, the wound that set him in the record. The one where he was left bleeding and alone in a forest while he died. No one helped him then, and now --

Now that decides her.

Her bag hits the floor with a thunk, books spilling out from the top, scattering across the tatami, but she doesn’t care, doesn’t even think of it. She just takes a step forward, up into the dojo, and then another, and then another, until it’s just rhythm, until it’s just the pounding of her heart.

“Ojou-san?” His amber eyes watch her warily, concern and confusion mingling as his hands lifting to catch her hips, to stop her, but she drops to her knees before he can. His hands settle on her shoulders instead, loose and unsure, as if he hasn’t touched her before, as if he hasn’t just lifted her straight off the ground and leapt across the city with her in his arms.

Or maybe it’s because he hasn’t touched her like this, without danger and necessity dodging their steps. He hasn’t touched her because he wants to. But he does, he does, she can see it right in his eyes, in the way his hands hover as if she’s too precious to touch.

That won’t do at all.

“Ojou-san?” he tries again, a nervous quiver lifting his pitch. “What’s h--haah.”

His breath puffs into her mouth as she closes the distance between them, as she threads her hand behind his neck and drags him down. His dry lips meet hers, and there’s -- there’s something, a spark, and she leans in to chase it --

He jerks back, like he’s been shocked, hands leaping from her to clench on his lap. His bones shine stark white against the bronze of his skin, turned silver in the moonlight. She’s always been fascinated with the human body, with the composition of the skeleton and the way muscles and tendons cling to bone, but this is the first time she’s ever thought it was beautiful.

“Ojou-san!” His chest heaves, knocking against the arm that still holds him. Her thumb brushes over the arch of his cheekbone, and she can feel the heat against her skin, even if the light won’t let her see it. “What -- what are you--?”

Her fingers hook into the thick bristle of his hair, shivering as it tickles her palms, and she draws him down again.

He groans against her mouth, a pained, broken thing. Heat spikes unbearably in her, spearing the place between her legs, and her hand clenches with a whimper. If it pains him, he doesn’t let it slow him; instead he just cants his head, swallowing the sound down, tongue flicking through the space it’s left, licking teasingly against her teeth and she -- she wriggles, the dull ache of her sex too insistent to ignore.

It’s -- it’s a lot. More than she’s used to, with her experience limited to prime time TV and daydream.

Shirayuki sits back on her heels slowly, their lips parting with a gentle pop that makes her want to lean back in, that makes her want to try Obi’s trick with his tongue against his own lips --

But she doesn’t. She sits, she waits. Finally, he opens his eyes with a rasping breath, his gaze clouded with confusion.

And desire, she realizes with a hitch of her own breath. His eyes are on her lips, and she knows he’s thinking the same as her, that there’s both too little and too much space between them.

She reaches out, drawing his hand into her own, and taps his wrist. It’s the only thing that gets him to look away, that makes him focus where she needs him to -- though maybe not where she wants him --

“Oh,” he breathes, and this time, it’s easy to see the pink sitting high along his cheekbones, what with the way his circuit in glowing. “Oh.”

She looks down, watching it pulse faintly, like a heartbeat. The same one she can feel fluttering beneath her fingertips, as wild as her own. Ah, he may only be a hero’s spirit, but right here, right now, he’s human enough.

“Kiki told me there was another way to heal you.” Her thumb rubs gently over the skin of his wrist, wondering at how it is as thin and delicate as any other person’s. It’s so easy to forget that despite his power, despite his past, in this form he’s just like any other man.

“Haah.” He’s tense under her, as if he wants to pull away, but he doesn’t, just lets her pet at his pulse, motionless. “Kiki-jou, huh? That’s...unexpected.”

“I can’t do the ritual.” The shame burns at her even now. “I’m not enough of a mage --”

“Ojou-san!” Obi frowns, shaking his head. “You are as much of a mage as any--”

“Obi,” she says quietly, gently, and he calms. “It’s all right.”

“I know. I just...” His hand twists in hers, until their palms touch, until he can wrap his fingers around hers and squeeze. “You are enough, ojou-san. You have always been enough.”

Her chest is too tight, too small to contain both her breath and her heart together, and so it bursts out of her in a graceless pant.

“I can’t do the ritual,” she tries again, the words little more than a whisper. “But I can do something else. Something less complex.”

“Well,” he wheedles, “I wouldn’t say less complex --”

Kiki had said that it was a waste of a seal, that a true Master compelled obedience through the contract, through their power, but Shirayuki had none of that when Obi arrived, cocky and insubordinate. She knows now that such a vague command should have never worked, should have been useless with her inexperience --

But it hooked into Obi strongly that night, remained strong in him even now. She’s always been so careful since, using will you instead of do this, wording simple requests in a way that allows him the chance to say no.

But she doesn’t now.

“Tell me the truth.”

The command thrums through him, thrums through the both of them, but it’s different than before. It was not a whip crack but a whisper, not grasping hands but a come-hither look that leaves pleasure fizzling under her skin.

One look at Obi tells her that her own reaction is just backlash, just a ghost of what he feels; his head is thrown back, eyelashes fluttering at half-mast, breath laboring out of him in ragged pants.

“Yes,” he gasps. “Yes, it will heal me.”

“Good.”

It’s her that tugs on his hand, that draws him back to her, but it’s him that groans against her mouth, hands clutching at the back her head as if he’s adrift, as if he’s drowning, and only her kisses are keeping him afloat. Funny, since it’s her that is lost, her that is clutching to his jeans, to his shirt, trying to hold herself to the earth as his lips move against hers, as his tongue once more slides into her, licking at her teeth, coaxing her own to move against his.

Her neck aches as she tries to chase his kisses, tries to extended that delicious frisson of their lips meeting and parting. He shifts to get closer, knee brushing hers, and it occurs to her all at once that this is too far, that this polite distance between their bodies is not only unnecessary, but unwanted.

Her hands reach out blindly, feeling along the floor until she brushes his thighs, feels the worn denim underneath her palms. He gasps against her lips at the touch, and she puts her hands flush against him, kneading the muscles beneath with enough strength to make him moan, to make him pull away with a laugh.

“What do you think you’re doing, ojou-san?” he murmurs, kissing at the corner of her mouth. “Causing trouble?”

Her eyes narrow at that, at the way he laughs as if the thought of her trying to -- to incite something is ridiculous, and she crawls forward, laying one knee on either side of his lap.

“If I am?” she asks, staring down at him, relishing the way his mouth has slacked and his pupils have gone wide.

“Please,” he breathes, pulling her down to him, bringing her flush against his lap. “Don’t stop.”

His thighs feel like steel under her, and she cannot help but think about how close she is to him, how so few layers keep her from what Kiki had described in detail, and --

And she wants it. That.

Obi’s hands smooth up the backs of her legs, slender fingers dragging against her stockings. His smile curls against her lips as she whimpers into his mouth, until --

Until he hits the end of them, just higher than mid-thigh, and lets out a noise more fit for a wounded animal than a man. He grips her thighs hard, bruising, as if he’s trying to control himself, to keep from taking her right there.

Now it is her turn to smile, to gently pry each finger on one of his hands off her thigh and glide it up, past where here stockings end, and hook one tip under the elastic of her panties.

“Ojou-san?” he murmurs, confused, hopeful. In the darkness, his eyes still shine amber.

“Take them off.”

“Are--?”

“Take them off.”

The rip is deafening in the dojo.

“Did you--?” She gapes, looking at the ragged remains of her kitten panties in his hand, at the mischievous smile on his face. “Did you tear them?”

“You told me to take them off, ojou-san,” he says far too innocent, tossing the offending fabric far into the dojo, out of sight.

“Those cost 2000 yen,” she protests breathlessly, distracted by the drag of his fingers up her thighs, to the throbbing heat between them. He cups her ass in both of his hands and squeezes. “Obi!”

“You should have been more specific, ojou-san.” His thumbs tease her, right where her thighs meets her body, so close to where she wants them, but not there. “Your wish, after all, is my command.”

“I’m pretty sure my command is your command,” she tells him, grabbing at his hand. She drags it over the front of her thigh, placing his fingertips right over her slit. “Touch me, Obi.”

His jaw drops, breath rushing out of him all at once, and for a moment, he sits there, frozen. She presses her hand against his, dropping an encouraging kiss against his lips and finally, finally, he moves.

A finger parts her folds, and this -- this all seemed like a good idea just a moment ago, when the heat from just his kisses had left her throbbing and tight, but now two of his fingers trace her slit, teasing the tight bud of her clit, and --

And it’s so much worse; his touch leaves her gasping against his shoulder, pulling at the fabric of his shirt, trying anything to get him closer, faster. He hums, too pleased with himself, and when she lifts her head to -- to tell him something, if only he’ll stop teasing -- he slips a single finger in.

“Aah!” She yanks at his shirt, pulling up at its hem until he’s half tangled in it, collar over his head, sleeves stuck at the elbows.

“Ojou-san,” he laughs, dragging that finger her out of her so slow, making sure she feels every second of it. “So impatient.”

Her face is already flushed, but it burns now as she watches his stomach flex, as she sees the white cotton fall away to find the glow beneath it is blinding. The moment her shirt leaves his hands, sailing on the same trajectory as her destroyed panties, she grabs him, urging his fingers inside as she bears down, tongue licking into his slack mouth.

She can hardly think with him touching her like this; with one finger it had been a tease, but two makes her think of the thing pressing hard against her thigh, straining against the denim of his jeans, and she wants it, wants him in her so badly it’s a palpable need.

Her fingers trace down his chest, hesitating at the scar bisecting his chest. It’s an ugly thing, flesh knotted and poorly healed. The cut that killed him.

Shirayuki brushes it idly, her need cooling as she considers it, and the pulse of his fingers slow so that he can watch her.

“I wish,” she says, so soft, “that you hadn’t been alone.”

She bends down and presses her lips to it, gentle.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, and it’s all the warning she has before he grabs her, dragging her mouth to his, and devours.

The way he moves in her leaves her gasping, panting, mindless, her own hands desperately sliding down smooth skin and raised scars and burning circuits to the dark trail of hair on his belly. She hooks one finger around the waistband of his jeans, thumb rubbing thoughtfully at the button and --

And Obi jerks away from her, leaving her empty, hot.

“We don’t need to do more than this,” he tells her, panting beneath her hands. His own hover awkwardly at her sides, as if he’s afraid to touch her, as if he’s afraid he won’t be able to stop, if he does. “This is -- this will be enough.”

“Do you not want to?” She’s not sure how she’s still talking, with so little air in her lungs.

Obi lets out a weak laugh, gaze fixed to where her shirt gapes open and the soft cups of her bra are bared. Ah, so his other hand has been busy too. “Oh, ojou-san, doesn’t every man want to --?”

“Obi.” Her hand presses down against the bulge, watching as his eyes rolls back, his jaw going slack. “Tell me the truth.”

That frisson goes through them again, and he twitches hard against her thigh. “Yes. I want to.” His hands grip at her waist, kneading. “I want you.”

His admission bares him to her more than nakedness, and she -- she could not be more ready for him, wet slicking her thighs, her fingers fumbling at the button of his jeans. She’s not strong, not like Obi, but Shirayuki nearly puts a rent next to his zipper trying to work him free. He’s laughing into her mouth, hands busy with her own blouse, confounding matters when he drags it down her shoulder, tangling in her elbows, and she --

She doesn’t have time for this. Shirayuki lets go one him with a growl, shucking her shirt to the floor, but she’s back on him the moment she’s free of it, one hand flicking open the button, the other working the zipper.

He gasps, breath catching in his throat as she wraps her hand around his cock; she pumps him once and his hips nearly clear the floor.

Ah, he may act smug, but Shirayuki doubts there’s much of this happening in the heroic record. It’s nothing to sit over him, to guide him right to where she needs him and --

Oh! The pinch is sharp, though not unpleasant, but it does give her pause, makes her wonder if this is a -- a larger undertaking than she’s prepared for.

“Ah, ojou-san.” Just the tip of him is in her, but Obi is panting against her chest, kissing every inch of skin he can reach, moaning as if he could come from just this. “Ojou-san, don’t -- don’t --”

She widens the set of her knees, dropping down another inch, and his hands fly to her thighs, digging in with a grip hard enough to bruise. A wounded sound tears from his chest with each uncomfortable inch she takes, and she -- she should mind this strange sensation, this stretching, but instead those noises go straight to her head, straight to where her heat clenches around him, and --

And then stops. Her legs can’t part any more, not while she still expects them to hold her, but she’s not -- not full. She gives a tentative, shallow thrust, trying to see if she can work herself any further down and -- haah, that...that could feel good, if there was only more of it, if only she could take him further in.

Obi’s hands ease on her thighs, gently stroking her with each of her experimental thrusts. He buries his head in the cook of her neck, panting harshly against her collar. Still, she can feel it in him, that want to grab her, to take her --

This isn’t enough, she knows. He would never say so, but her hand is still clasped around the rest of him, and she -- she wants that, wants all of him, wants to know what noises she could wring from him if she did.

Her palm presses to his chest, and his head jerks up, eyes clouded with confusion and desire, but -- but he falls back at her gentle urging, down and down until his shoulders are on the floor and she could sink down on him until--

Ohh, yes, that -- that was better. The stretch is still uncomfortable, but also -- decadent, a pleasure that makes heat rush to her sex, that starts her on a slow, steady rhythm.

A laugh rumbles from Obi’s chest, a pleasant vibration beneath her hands, and then his own are on her, gripping her hips, guiding her into one that’s faster, that makes her drag along him rather than bounce and --

Ah-haah, that is -- is good. Pleasure sparks along her skin, building, building, until it all at once becomes enough, becomes too much --

And through the blinding force of her release, she can feel it, feel the way her energy runs into him, the way it’s filling him --

And the way he fills her in turn, leaving her gasping against his chest, cheek pressed to dewy skin. It takes her a minute to come back to herself, to feel the pressure at her scalp, her back. To realize that he is stroking her as he softens inside her, whispering things that are less words and more sounds, like the way a man might calm an animal, a child.

She might be offended, if she didn’t look, didn’t meet his eyes as see him look at her as if she is not only his master, but -- but his world. “Ojou-san?”

“I think,” she says, words feeling strange and tingly on her tongue. “you should really call me Shirayuki now.”

Obi returned to the baseball field with a spring in his step, waving to his opponent as he saunters across the diamond. “Mitsuhide-danna!”

“Obi.” The Saber nods, gaze sweeping over him. “That arm is moving much better today.”

“What can I say?” Obi shrugs, a grin so salacious pulling at his lips that Shirayuki is sure everyone can tell what they’ve done. “I let ojou-san take good care of me.”

Kiki lets a smirk curl her lips, giving Shirayuki an all-too knowing look. “I just bet you did.”

#obiyukibingo2019 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #LEMON #fate/stay night AU #my fic #ans #listen if i was gonna write a fate AU #you better believe i was going to take it back to its h-game roots #although it took like 5K to get to the actual sex because I HAVE NO SELF CONTROL #also clearly i have thought about this whole AU far too much #but basically Shirayuki uses her first command seal the same way rin does #although her summoning happens more like Shirou's #but since mukaze's family were mages she actually has some gift for magic #though she's never been trained

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justadram · 6 years

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Fic: dark!Jon, pt 4

Parts One, Two, Three

Written for @subjunctivemood. Thank you for your contribution to fight Nazis!

Having carefully left her correspondence where Jon would happen upon it, Sansa is counting on his anger; that she hears it in his footsteps makes her heart beat an echoing response. A thundering step heralds his approach, in the place of his normal, deliberate prowl. What he will do with all that simmering fury still hangs in the balance.

Pointing over Rickon’s shoulder to the chicken scratches that are his writing lessons, she delays her reception of Jon so as to gather the threads of her composure. A brief moment is all she needs. With a gentle arch of her brows, mirrored tilt of her lips, and a careless wave to the bench upon which their sister sprawls, she betrays nothing of the pounding of her pulse or the uncertainty she feels at bringing them to this crisis.

“Sit with us, Jon.”

Normally he would accede. He would force Arya’s boots from the bench and join her there. That is the sort of domesticity to which Sansa has become accustomed. Her letters to the South have forever shattered that reality.

She taps Rickon’s lesson once more with her carefully rounded fingernail, but her brother’s attention is fixed upon Jon’s inescapable presence.

With good reason, for he is an imposing figure with feet planted shoulder’s length apart and her missive with its broken black seal held aloft in a tight fist.

“I would speak with Sansa alone.”

Rickon moves to comply, scraping his chair over the woven rush floor. Arya, however, is not so easily commanded.

“I’m perfectly comfortable where I am.”

Jon’s eyes have not left Sansa since entering the room, and now, as she inhales slowly through a clenched jaw, those brumal grey eyes narrow and his nostrils thin with the tightening of her gown over her breast. She feels it, the strange hot sensation that makes the wool of her gown itch and her cheeks flush. It’s this feeling that makes her think if he truly peeled her clothes from her layer by layer the way his eyes promise, she would welcome it.

She’s tolerated such things before; pretended at desiring it. This time might be a different thing altogether.

“Please,” Sansa says, raising her voice to compete with Arya’s tuneless, grating hum. Smoothing hands that tremble over the swell of her hips and clasping them before herself, she nods at her sister. “There are matters I promised Jon we’d discuss.”

Ever since he led armies against cold gods and white shadows, Jon’s orders rarely have brooked opposition. But Arya, whose bloody scratches have only just healed on his brow, dangles her right foot off her bent knee and props her head upon hands folded behind her, unmoved.

Though they have an audience, Jon bends to his task. Without looking down, he works to spread Sansa’s letter out flat with tension roped hands against the table between them. The parchment softly crunches with each determined stroke of his calloused fingers.

Sansa might have raised her voice in hopes of being heeded, but he doesn’t need volume to impress his second order--“out”--with menace.

“There’s nothing you could say to our sister that we can’t hear,” Arya says, her foot bouncing.

Sansa’s options are not what they were a fortnight ago. Thanks to her sister’s threats sealed with violence in the training yard, the deliberate game is no longer open to her. That is why she drafted letters to the South, one of which Jon spreads before her. It will tear soon if he doesn’t cease his obsessive attentions.

“Rickon is the lord of Winterfell,” her sister says with a smirk, a reminder that draws a surprised, “yes,” from their little brother, who seems only now to have remembered he holds sway here and needn’t watch without comment as the adults argue.

Jon squares his shoulders, as he flattens the parchment under the splay of his hand. “Does it meet with your approval, Lord Stark, that your sister is entertaining proposals of marriage from Southron lords?”

Rickon's face contorts into that angry scowl that was permanently affixed to his face, when first they were reunited. “No, you can’t.”

“A Southroner?” Arya demands, coming to her feet, as her words overlap Rickon’s petulant stomp.

“Why would you go? I do all my lessons and listen to everything you say.”

“Are you completely mad?” her sister asks, speaking over Rickon’s protest.

“Yes, there are many considerations to discuss.” Sansa speaks lightly, as if she and Jon only need to go over some minor detail of household management—stores of oil or tallow—and gestures towards the door. “Privately. And in the meantime, you might train Rickon until supper.”

Her sister hesitates for a moment, her gaze heavy with understanding.

It is no small thing Sansa has done. The consequences threaten to overwhelm them all.

Whatever warnings Arya had for Sansa in regard to Jon, her sister grabs Rickon by the collar and drags him from the room, leaving them to their fate. A Southron prospect must override other concerns closer to home.

Sansa’s web of manipulation threatens to entangle her in a match far from that home. The strange, unnatural pull between her and Jon is--or should be--alarming, but after all she has been through, the threat of leaving Winterfell and pledging herself to another man is what truly terrifies.

Only another offer of marriage might save her now. One that trumps the ones she has staged. One the Queen will approve.

Ignoring the slow, steady thump of Jon’s fist against his thigh, she turns her well-worn oblivious smile on him. “You wish to weigh in on my marriage prospects?”

“The Bastard of Godsgrace?”

She shrugs one shoulder. “So he’s a bastard. Why should that bother me?”

His smile is flat. “It would have once.”

“No longer.”

“And Perros Blackmont?”

“Does his youth offend?”

They are upstarts, young men who have prospered under Queen Daenerys’ reign. The kind of men who would be honored to wed Ned Stark’s eldest daughter, sister to the Prince.

She holds out her hand, wordlessly requesting her letter back. He must have read the other to know of both pending offers. The second was locked in her correspondence box, not so easily discovered.

He thrusts it at her, pressing it into her palm, enclosing both the ink smeared parchment and her hand in his grip. The heat from his hand is as searing as his hooded glare. How would it feel, skimming night-cooled flesh spread atop bed furs?

Tipping her head down, she breathes sharply through her nose, lashes fluttering. “What Northern lord would suit you?”

A twist of his wrist and he rocks her on her toes with a tug that forces her head to loll back. Eyes locked upon her so near that they’re foreign in their size, he speaks with eerie calm. “None of them.”

His breath puffs against her exposed collarbone, his mouth so close he could kiss her throat. She’s surrounded by the scent of his soap, the herbal, earthy scent he scrubs with that she’s smelled before on his linens, when she helped hang them in the yard. Her bones are watery with some anticipated pleasure, as her free hand flutters to his side to steady herself.

He huffs at her fumbling touch. Control between them shifts. It makes her bold. Settling back on her heels, her fingers trace the thick side seam of his doublet, questing higher like creeping vines, until his grip on her other hand grows painfully tight.

His breathy name catches in the back of her throat and he releases her with a shuddering breath. The letter that brought them to this point glances off her dark blue wool skirts, falling to the floor.

Free from his grasp, she could regain some distance, but that is not her game. More, closer, closure is what she seeks. To that end, she seeks to touch him again, testing his limits.

She draws her thumb over the plane of his breast. Underneath this boiled leather is a swelling chest marked by scars. They stabbed him. Men taught to call each other brother stabbed him and almost robbed her family of him.

Losing him after everything is unthinkable.

“No Northern lord then,” she says on a thick swallow. “How wise. For, how long would my lord husband tolerate it, you seated across the Great Hall from us, always staring? That sort of thing has been known to provoke wars.”

He crooks his finger in the delicate notch of her neck. With a feathery touch that raises the hairs at the nape of her neck, he follows the arch upwards until her chin lifts to meet his stony-eyed appraisal.

Her involuntary urge to lean in, to reach for him is halted by his teasing whisper. “You can’t fix what’s wrong with me.”

Something sharp like humiliation or fury slices through her. She purses her lips against it. She hates failure--in herself more than anyone else.

But he’s wrong. He must be.

There’s a war within him meant to be hidden by his taunt. Signs of it show in the downward tug at his lips and the furrow of his brow. She can work her way into those cracks in his armor, force them apart, and fill them with a honeyed draught of promises.

“What would you become with an unfamiliar household cowering at your every dark mood? Your family doesn’t fear you.” They already provide the dam, holding back his darker impulses. Sansa might be more if given the chance. “You must marry and so must I. Would it not be…” She swirls her fingertips over his chest. “A great comfort to have a babe in the house? Or the sound of young voices?” Her fingers still. “The warmth of a woman?”

His answer is the continued slide of his finger, along her jawline, behind her ear, into her hair. He pulls it asunder from its lose braid with the path he makes towards the base of her skull, where his hand finds a home. The lightness of his touch has turned to a taut, barely concealed strength, as he cradles her there, head held cocked at an angle perfect for plundering.

“I’ve guessed at what you want.” She wets her lips, an action his eyes track. “Do you feel pleasure at all, Jon?”

“You mean to test me?” he asks, canting his head to brush the shell of her ear with his mouth. Her heart skips hard against her ribs. “I’ve already established the answer to that.”

“Not with me.”

Part Five

#jon x sansa #dark!jon #game of thrones #jonsa #gotfic #fanfic #fighting nazis with fic

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fantasticworldoffanfics · 6 years

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PETER/STILES

——— (part 4) ——–

Fandom: TeenWolf

Even a longer list of fanfics :)….

top favourites, more top favourites, part 1, part 2, part 3

Bittersweet Creek

Author: Guede

Summary: When Stiles finally steps off the westward trail to California, he’s the last of his pack. He starts building a den, but then he finds a dying man next to a burnt-down house and it turns out he’s not really much of a settler, after all.

The Glade

Author: makingitwork

Summary: We do what they want and what we want they make us want.

Hollow Moon

Author: Bootsrcool

Summary: What if Stiles got bit instead of Scott?But wait! Is that Peter? The man he gives flowers to in the hospital cause he never sees anyone give the comatose man flowers? Peter? Your awake?!Its a fix-it, cause I cant resist!

The Shepherd Boy and the Wolves

Author: Guede

Summary: After Derek’s nearly seduced by a hunter into betraying his family, his mother thinks it’s a good idea to send him out into the world and learn how not to fall for traps like that. Peter comes along, because Peter likes exploring, and that’s why they decide to explore a haunted mountain.Stiles lives on that mountain. With his sheep. They’re very tasty-looking, and well, Derek and Peter are werewolves.Hah.

Temporary Claim

Author: run_for_me

Summary: Some, of course, are off limits. Queen Talia and her husband have their special favorites who join their marriage bed from time to time. Laura has several young strapping men that are hers and hers alone. Even Derek has a few favorites—the quiet ones, the sweet ones.Peter? The Duke only has one.

Hooked

Author: Udunie

Summary: The car stopped right by him, so he pushed himself away from the wall, walking up to it, licking his lips as he saw the window being lowered.“Hey there,” he said. The first contact always felt awkward, no matter how many times he did it. But at least he knew that he would be A-okay once he was on his knees, sucking the guy like there was no tomorrow.He was a bit taken aback when he saw the driver, because… well, the man was hot as burning. Older, around forty, with a goatee and eyes so blue they sent a shiver down his spine.Stiles had the instinctive urge to back away. It didn’t add up. The guy oozed confidence, had money and was handsome. Absolutely no reason to hire a hooker, when anyone would have wept in joy to get on his dick.“How much for a night?” he asked, giving Stiles a long, calculating look.He should have just sent him away, he knew it. But the deadline on the rent was scratching at the back of his mind, not letting him think clearly. Stiles bit his lip. Fuck it.

The Pack Comes First

Author: RebaK1tten

Summary: The Hale Pack and the McCall Pack have bordering territories and both can benefit from being affiliated with each other. And the surest way to do that is for a mating between a member of each pack.

Soul Hates

Author: TriscuitsandSoup

Summary: Stiles always knew that Peter Hale was his soulmate, he just didn't expect that Peter's was somebody else.“I found the documents, Peter,” Stiles said, his teeth grinding together in a hiss. “I found them. My name was never on your arm. You. Lied.”

Wrong But You’re SO Much Fun

Author: sneksonaplane

Summary: The first night Stiles added Ian on snapchat, they sexted for half the night and he came three times. And now Stiles was...here. He’d been talking to the older man for three weeks now and was officially hooked. It wasn’t like they had anything official going, there certainly weren’t feelings involved, they were just friends who sexted a lot. And talked every night, usually until Stiles passed out from exhaustion. And he called Ian Daddy sometimes when they messaged each other. No big deal.

the one where Stiles runs a porn blog and has a major daddy kink, and he starts anonymously sexting with Peter without either of them realizing it. Both of them use nicknames to avoid giving out their real names on the internet, and Peter's fake name/nickname that he uses when he first starts talking to Stiles is "Ian" because I'm garbage. Expect errors and poor formatting because I'm betaless.

Worn Out Shoes

Author: moonstalker24

Summary: When the dead rise, and the world comes to an end, the McCall Pack must learn to live in this new world, or die in the attempt. This is the story of the end, and of the year that follows.

Taste, Touch Fuck

Author: about_two_cats

Summary: Peter comes home to the smell of Omega filling up the apartment. He knows it can come from only one source, the adorable little omega he’s with, Stiles. He follows his nose and finds Stiles ready for a good fucking.

Not Meek, Not Biddable, Too Unconventional So Very Stiles

Author: ladyoneill

Summary: In a world where Betas have become the norm, but Alphas are still the leaders, the wealthy, the powerful, Omegas are very rare and the only ones who can birth or sire Alphas with other Alphas. Born to two Betas, raised as a Beta, of course Stiles presents as an Omega on his sixteenth birthday because his life sucks that way. One month later is his ceremony where technically he chooses an Alpha as his mate for the rest of their lives, and Stiles is given three options. One isn't ever going to happen, a second doesn't really want him, so he chooses the third--a man twice his age, scarred and just out of a six year coma. Scared, because he has very few rights and this stranger can do anything to him, control any aspect of his life, and Stiles isn't a stereotypical submissive Omega happy to be home ironing shirts and suckling babies, he's surprised to find that Peter isn't a stereotype either (for one, he's a damn good cook). Is it possible that his life won't suck that much after all?

Whose Woods These Are

Author: moonstalker24

Summary: Stiles chooses the house simply because it’s far enough out in the wilderness to be away. His… reticence for human contact on any given day coincides entirely with how much pain he’s in when he wakes up the morning. His patience is limited, and he has more bad days than good… So Stiles moves into an old house out in the woods like a creepy serial killer. Reminds himself that other people suck on a regular basis and just sort of gets on with it… It isn’t until after several sightings that Stiles realizes that the wolf is following him. If the wolf decides it wants to eat him, Stiles would be a pretty easy meal….

A Little Too Ironic

Author: RebaK1tten

Summary: Stiles is an omega who needs to find a trusted alpha, purely for legal reasons. Peter Hale is probably not his first choice.

Love What is Behind You

Author: KouriArashi

Summary: Basically what it says on the label. Hunger Games type fusion. Stiles doing way better than anyone anticipates. Peter finds him intriguing. Ruthless, devious assholes working together to ruin bad guys, as the Steter ship is meant to be.

Misconception

Author: TriscuitsandSoup

Summary: After weeks of trying Stiles is still unable to get pregnant. He struggles with depression and anxiety, and worries his alphas might choose to leave him for another omega.“Oh god,” he breathed, fumbling out another test from the box. He almost dropped it twice. Twenty minutes later he had another result, just as conclusive as the first. Not pregnant. Not pregnant. Not pregnant.

I Don’t Like You, But I Love You

Author: sweetbutterbliss

Summary: He smells him before he sees him, the scent competing over the sticky smell of stale beer and sweat. It smells like burnt sugar, a little bitter mixed in with the sweetness. He leaves the paperwork on the desk and steps out of his office, passing the bathrooms that he can tell Erica still hasn't cleaned.A lithe, what Peter could only describe as a boy is standing in the middle of the empty bar, one hand gripping the dolly's handle full of boxes of Hair of the Dog; one of the few werewolf beers that doesn't taste of ass. (And Peter would know.) His mouth is slightly parted as he surveys the bar and Peter suppressed thoughts of what he could put in that mouth.

Stiles the Strange Pet

Author: TriscuitsandSoup

Summary: Peter welcomes a strange new house guest.

All Hale

Author: dornfelder

Summary: Stiles wakes from the absence of warmth at his back and the sound of a toilet flushing. He moves his tongue from where it’s stuck to his palate and filling his mouth with the taste of stale death. Blinking gritty, itching eyes open, he finds the world too bright, too real to deal with just yet. He snuggles up closer to Derek, burrowing into his bulk. Derek’s reaction is a content rumble. He pulls Stiles closer. Beard stubble grazes his neck as Derek opens one sleepy eye.Wait – wait. What. The fuck?Stiles sits up. Derek’s arm falls from his waist and he watches Derek’s eyes grow wide with dawning horror that mirrors his own.“Good morning, my lovelies,” Peter’s cheerful voice announces from the doorstep. “Rise and shine. Early wolf catches the deer.”

Starverse

Author: Green

Part 1: All My Stars Aligned

Summary: Stiles needs to find an alpha ASAP. Actually, the doctors say he really needs two. Damn biology.Chris and Peter are two alphas in hopeless, doomed love with each other.

Part 2: Starcrossed

Summary: That was where it started, when their eyes met, and Chris smiled. Peter melted and fell in love in an instant, and kept falling in love every single time he dared to look again.

^sidenote: nearly made it to my TOP FAVS list

The Sphinx of Beacon Hills

Author: Guede

Summary: Stiles is a sphinx, and he’s winging his way to visit his buddy Scott when a storm drops him in Beacon Hills, the craziest, crankiest, coldest place ever. And somehow, he ends up with a bunch of werewolves.

Talia’s Master Plan For Love

Author: Irukashi_Narukib

Summary: Basically Peter wants nothing to do with this but can't avoid it. Same with Stiles but shit happens anyway. HAHA fuck them both.

Born Of Shadows

Author: xxxillusionxxx

Summary: Something is strange about Stiles and Peter is the only one who seems to notice.

Wake Me Up

Author: ToAStranger

Summary: Stiles has been in a coma for six years. Now he's awake.

The High is Worth the Pain

Author: thegirlwhoknits

Summary: Stiles is an emissary-in-training whose teacher has sent him to Peter for his first-level initiation tattoo. The only problem is, Stiles has a kind of embarrassing reaction to pain...

Suppressants are Dumb Anyway Series

Author: vaudevillian_villainess

Part 1: Good Little Omega

Summary: Stiles is such a good little omega for his Alpha.Series

Part 2: The Price of Love

Summary: Peter and Stiles have to tell everyone about their mating...fun times!

A Welcome Arrow

Author: 1001cranes

Summary: The wedding is small and grim, because Stiles is being carted off to parts unknown, married to a thirty-something year old dude who wants to marry a seventeen year old dude - totally not creepy at all. Regency AU.

Name

Author: Corpium

Summary: When Stiles goes back in time to save Paige and stop Gerard, he doesn't expect Peter Hale.

Pigments and Pentacles Series

Author: SushiOwl

Part 1: Magic Needle

Summary: “One--” He stabbed the needle right through skin and cartilage, pulling a loud squawk out of Stiles.Stiles sucked in a few quick breaths then started to laugh. “You son of a bitch,” he snorted. “You said on three.”“I lied,” Peter replied, smiling down at him.Series

Part 2: You Give Me An Oral Fixation

Summary: "So, I want more piercings.""Oh? And where would these piercings be?""Guess."

Part 3: Time To Improvise

Summary: "Want to hear something weird?""From you, I've come to expect it.""Well, this time it's about your penis.""Do tell."

Part 4: Pillow Talk

Summary: “You’re going to have to move if you want to fuck me, y’know,” he murmured in Peter’s ear.Peter smiled. “I don’t plan on moving,” he told him. “I’m so comfortable.”“Then how are…?” Stiles asked, sounding adorably confused. Peter gave him a moment, and he let out a soft ooh. Peter looked at him over his shoulder and saw him lick his lips. “You serious about this?”“I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise,” Peter told him, before he snuggled back into the pillow. “Think you can handle doing all the work?”

Part 5: Back In Black (Fur)

Summary: “What are you doing?” Stiles asked as the backs of his legs hit the bed and he flopped down on his back. “You’re not seriously going to molest me in my father’s house, are you?”“The concept absolutely tickles me,” Peter admitted, climbing over Stiles and bracketing him with his arms and legs. “I want to make you scream in your old room and know that I’m the first.”Stiles snorted. “Narcissist.”“Most definitely,” Peter agreed, leaning in to kiss him.

Part 6: Mark My Skin

Summary: There's a new wolf at the shop.Series

Part 7: Moon High

Summary: “You did that purposely, didn’t you?”“Of course I did,” Stiles said, putting his arm around Peter’s shoulder. “I know about that possessive streak of yours, and I like to see it come out.” He started to pull Peter back towards the bar.“Do you now? Do you want me to stake a claim? I could jerk off on your face right here, but we’ll probably get arrested.”Series

Part 8: And Then There Were Three

Summary: "You okay, Carina?" Stiles asked, sitting down in his chair.Carina chewed at her bottom lip a second. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just wanted to ask you guys something," she said, straightening up. "Formally."

Part 9: You Two Are Dorks (But So Am I)

Summary: "I need an apprentice," he said as he lined up his ink cups. He wanted someone to make everything ready for him so he could focus on just the tattoos."You should make Stiles do it," Carina said, not lifting her eyes from the Plants vs Zombies design she was working on. "Since he doesn't contribute.""Hey," Stiles said, turning away from his studying to look at her. "I'm doing very important work here. So nyeh." He stuck out his tongue.Series

Part 10: Alliances

Summary: “Aw, Peter made a friend,” Stiles cooed.

Part 11: For You, For Me, For All Of Us

Summary: A few days later, the doorbell jingled, and a familiar scent hit Peter’s nose. He turned, already smiling, and there was Vince at the door, grinning ear to ear.

Part 12: Red Splash

Summary: "Can we keep him?"

Part 13: Wild Run

Summary: “I can’t just get naked in front of you guys like that, jeez,” he said, turning and heading for the trees. “I need some privacy!”“Performance issues?” Carina called after him.“It happens to everyone!” Reggie added, before he and Carina started to giggle.

Part 14: Hold Me Down

Summary: Some birthday cake and a birthday dance.

Ecosystem Engineering and the Werewolf

Author: Guede

Summary: Stiles and his dad work for the U.S. Forest Service, which sends them to Beacon Hills. It’d be nice if Stiles could stop running into the Hales. He’s got bodies to get rid of.

more fics: part 5

#teenwolf #fanfiction #fanfics #fanfic #fanfic rec #steter #peter hale #stiles stilinski

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shay-iamiam · 6 years

Text

Get away

Based off this prompt #47 “You’re cute when your mad”

Thank you for the request nonnie hope you like it! I had so much fun writing it!

WC: 1,749 ( I went there)

Parings: Steve x Plus size reader

Warnings:Fluff with a little amount of smut (you have to squint)

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Driving along a open country road. There was nothing but a beautiful golden sky in front of you, and all your troubles behind you.

It was a rare for Steve to have actual “time off”. No surprise missions, no random press conferences. For once he would be one hundred percent yours. Knowing that he needed this break more than he would like to admit, you took it upon yourself to make sure his schedule was truly cleared.

You called and spoke with the team, everyone knew not to call if it wasn’t a true life or death situation. You think you actually scared them a little bit, after your speech everyone just nodded their heads and quickly exited the room.

Planning for this trip was the easiest thing. Steve’s life was hard and overbearing. You knew getting out of the city for a while would do him so good.

You planned a cross country trip riding threw back roads for the majority of it. Your destination was Gatlinburg, Tennessee. You all would be staying at the cutest cabin with a lake near by for a week then continue on to Georgia.

You had a whole agenda planned. You all would have a campfire going one night, go fishing the next day, and snuggle up by the fire on your last day. You wanted him to be as relaxed as possible. You both put your phones in your suitcases and promised not to touch them for the next week, going old school you used a actually map ( SO 90’S right) .

You all were cruising thru West Virginia. The sky was absolutely breathtaking, it seemed like it went o and on with no end. Gazing out the window forgetting your problems was the best feeling in the world.

“You alright Y/N ?” Steve grabbed your hand and squeezed it lightly. “You’ve been quiet for a while.”

The way the sun glowed against your skin ,he thought in that moment he had never seen anything more beautiful than the way you looked now, in that moment.

Being in a relationship with Steve was not easy at first, you were not consider the everyday beauty in society eyes. With a shapely figure and more weight in promante areas, you found it hard at first to be with him. You never acted like that before in past relationships you were always proud of the person you were.

But being with Steve was a different ball game. He was constantly in the public eye, you didn’t know if he wanted to be with someone like you. You knew from first hand experience how judgmental others could be. You didn’t want to ruin his imagine or life because he choose to date you.

After you confined in Steve you had both decided that it didn’t matter what society deemed “Beautiful” ( you all basically said “fuck society’s beauty standards). He knew who he wanted to be with, he didn’t care that you were more curvier and fuller than most girls.

He didn’t care that your clothes where in double digits. Your relationship had grew stronger from that moment.

Know you found yourself turning to meet his gaze. Steve was one of the best things that happen to you. He was kind and understanding never overbearing always giving you room to be yourself. No past relationship had been like that for you.

You scooted closer to his side, carding your fingers through his hair gazing up at his light blue eyes. “I’m good baby.” pecking him on his cheek.

“I was just thinking about some things.” you gazed out the window once more you couldn’t wait to get to Gatlinburg.

“Okay baby just checking on you.” He reached his hand around your thick thigh giving it a light squeeze.

He was always touching you in some way. If he wasn’t snuggled up against you he was either holding your hand or had his arm slung around you. He would never admit it out loud but he couldn’t get enough of you.

“I don’t want you falling asleep baby, whos going to stay up and talk to me and read the map if you doze off.” cutting the radio on letting the music play behind you, you all counted down the country road.

You all arrived in Gatlinburg and checked into the cabin, night had fell so you all unloaded the car and headed to sleep for the night having a full day in front of you tomorrow.

The next day was filled with outdoors activities you all went down to the lake and swam than ate lunch at a family owned restaurant in town. By the time you made it back to the cabin you were ready for a nap but Steve insisted that you all should get back in the water.

“Come on Y/N let’s go for one more dip.” he spooned you as you laid on the bed trying to take a nap.

“Just think about how cool the water is come on darlin I know you want to.” he wouldn’t stop bugging you.

You thought spending two hours at the lake earlier was enough but apparently not.

“Steve i’m tired why can’t we just snuggle up for a afternoon nap baby.” you faced had changed to a full on pout.

You knew he couldn’t resist it. He often said your face was his kryptonite never being able to say no to you.

“Alright Y/N will nap for a bit but dont think were not heading back to the lake later.” he kissed your lips softly and basically smothered you in his chest with his embrace. He was so touchy feely but you didn’t mind.

“Steve..Steve “ your voice was muffled in his chest. “Let me go I cant breath.” he realessed you with a sigh.

‘Sorry baby.” he let you go but no to far slinging his arm around you and squeezing awful close to your butt.

“Steve what are you doing.” you began to laugh, he could literally couldn’t keep his hands off you.

“Steve what’s gotten into you.” you tried to give him a series look but you couldn’t not with the way he was smirking at you.

“Northing Y/N.. nothing at all baby.” you didn’t believe him, knowing that he wasn’t telling you something you pressed on for answer. Leaning up you peppered kisses along his jaw knowing that was his weakness.

“Tell me baby or ill stop.” you started to slow down the kisses when he sighed.

“Okay. okay baby i’ll tell you just don’t stop.” he loved when you went to town on his neck, he could get off just from a simple touch from you.

“I wanted to see you in your bathing suit again.. And possibly go skinny dipping.” his faced flushed crimson red. He was clearly embarrassed at his honest confession, but he didn’t want the kisses to stop.

Your eyes could have popped out your head at his confession but you didn’t want to embarrass him. Steve was very old fashioned, he would never say anything like that back in his day.

He was open to trying new things in bed, he was slowly coming out of is shell. Pepering more kisses to his jaw and neck you looked him in the eyes.

“All you had to do was ask baby if you wanted me naked.” he grinded at your response. He didn’t expect your reply to be like that, he was glad he could confess whatever he was thinking to you.

Knowing you would always except him no matter what made his heart beat faster.

“Well I didn’t know all I had to do was ask.” he flipped himself on top of you , you let out a surprise yelp as he attacked your face with kisses.

You all headed to the lake later that evening and skinny dipping was done. (You all did that)

decided ing to take a detour and hike back to the cabin. The day had gone perfect. No interruptions, no pending world problems just you and Steve in perfect bliss.

You packed a cute sleeper, steve loved your body so you packed it hoping to surprise him with something. You changed when you got back. Doing your hair and put your cute sleeper on. You walked out into the kitchen Steve was making tea, he had his back turned to you. It was the perfect setup.

“Steve” your voice had goten low and sultry. You tried to be as sexy as possible. He turned around and his eyes winded. There you were in a short sleeper giving him bedroom eyes. You sashayed over to him.

“Why don’t you let the tea cool and join me in the bedroom.” you grabbed his hand and led him to the room. He was tackled you on the bed and you were wrapped in a heated kiss. Everything was going well you were more than ready when your legs started itching.

“Steve hold on I’m so itchy.”he rose off of you and looked down a your legs. You had all types of red bumps along your legs you couldn’t stop scratching.

“Y/N, baby I think you have poison ivy.” you cried out. You must have gotten it after you left the lake and took a detour back to the cabin..

This definitely put a damper on your evening plans.

Steve ran into to town and got you cream for your itch and oatmeal so you could soak in the tub. He called for you to come in the bathroom. You stood in the doorway and continued to scratch your legs. He were now grumpy and mad. A promanited frown on your face.

“Come on baby the tub is ready.” Steve pulled you in the bathroom. He helped you into the tub and watched you soak for a while. He had a smirk on his face.

“Your cute when your mad.” you couldn’t help but give him a small smile and kiss him.

“Move your legs i’m getting in with you.” he stared to remove his clothes. And grab more towles.

“Wait baby won’t you get it to?” he got in behind you and started to rub your shoulders.

“I’m good baby as long as i’m where you are, i’m good.” you all sat in tub for a while into the water ran cold.

Snuggling and falling into a blissful sleep. You know this was love.

#steve x plus size reader #steve x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x reader #plus size reader #steve fluff #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers fluff #chris evans #steve x y/n #marvel fanfic #marvel oneshot #chris evans x reader #curvy reader

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lustbile-archive · 4 years

Text

[3:32pm]

smut

"Jaehyun... I think I'm going to melt."

You felt his body shake against your side with his soft laughter, "you're not going to melt."

"You don't know that," you lift your head, to the best of your abilities from where you lie on your back, to glare at your boyfriend as he plays on his phone, "I'm going to melt into a little puddle, and when I do, you will be the one mopping me up. That will be your punishment for being mean to me." You add to your dramatics by throwing your head back to continue to glare at the ceiling, only to hear the boy at your side scoff.

"Me telling you that you're not going to melt isn't me being mean to you," you don’t need to look at him to know he was rolling his eyes as he softly bumped you with his hip.

You decide the best response to him not entertaining your childishness is to ignore his statement. So you sit brooding in your silence, giving him what you would consider a great cold shoulder, when your boredom begins to itch at you again. You let out a small whine when you can’t help but complain again.

"This mattress is not comfy," you pout, emphasizing your discomfort by squirming around and "accidently" digging your knee into his ribcage.

His eyes never leave his phone when he answers your whining, "it's not comfy because both you and the mattress are nakey," he reaches down to pinch the soft, ticklish skin at the bend of your knee.

You kick your leg out straight to shake off his hand, “I'm not nakey," your grumble, "and for the love of god don't say nakey weirdo."

You mirror his eye roll when he mumbles out a quiet 'whatever,' never bothering to look away from his phone.

You knew you were being childish and bratty, but you couldn't help it. Everything you said was true. You were uncomfortable and sweaty, but worst of all, you were bored, and when you got bored you could usually entertain yourself by pushing your boyfriend's buttons. Unfortunately, the heat that ran through the room had made Jaehyun lethargic, and he wasn't entertaining your antics in the way you would have hoped. Your only option at this point, was to keep trying.

"It's so hot in here." you whine mashing your face into his hip, your hand reaching up to squeeze his upper thigh.

"I turned the fan on and opened the windows baby, that's the best I can do. The guy won't be here to fix the AC until tomorrow."

Again, Jaehyun was annoyingly right. As happy as you were to have been able to get a small and cozy house with your boyfriend, it might not have been in your best interest to move in in the middle of the summer. The little home was old, and the challenges it came with only attracted your need to build a home with the boy you loved. You could have gone without the broken AC though.

The lack of a good source of air meant that you and Jaehyun had stopped unpacking halfway through. Instead of decorating your shared bedroom like you promised, you two simply chucked your mattress in the middle of the floor without even thinking to dress it with its new sheet set. And after Jaehyun turned on the room fan to its highest setting, you two stripped to your underwear and star-fished your bodies on top. This was now you ended up in your current position. Your face pressed into the side of his hip, your leg bent and propped up across his chest, and his hand wrapped around your thigh whenever you stopped whining about being too gross and sweaty for physical touch.

"Jae, I'm bored," you're not whining anymore when you speak, you’ve even exhausted yourself with your brattiness. Now it simply felt like the heat had caught up with your brain and it was actually melting.

"Play on your phone or something," the robotic tone showing that his brain was working on auto-pilot at this point, knowing too well how you got with your boredom.

"It's dead and I'm too tired to go get my charger," your pathetic pleas and the way you had begun to pick at the elastic of his briefs finally getting his attention.

Jaehyun drops his phone on the hardwood next to the mattress, turning his attention to your pouting face, "my baby is bored?" There was no teasing look on his face when you made eye contact, his cheek squished against your leg, "do you want me to play with you?"

You can't help the soft snort that leaves you at his words

"Play with me?"

"Yeah play," he shrugs, his fingers beginning to slowly run up your thigh as he presses his mouth tightly against your warm skin.

"I'm not a puppy Jae," his soft and ticklish touch makes you start to squirm, your movement making his warm mouth move and leave your skin even damper.

He latches his teeth into your skin, bruising you, before running the flat of his tongue over the sensitive spot, "you whine like one."

Your protest is cut off when he starts gently running his knuckles against the crotch of your panties, the feeling of his mouth on you distracted you from noticing that his hand had traveled up. The small amount of stimulation only helps to prove his point when you quietly whimper.

"There you go," he applies more pressure, making your hips gently thrust into his touch and your thighs softly clamp around his arm, "let me play with you puppy."

"Ew. Don't call me puppy,” you don't sound as threatening as you would have hoped as your breath comes out in an airy giggle.

"Shut up," he laughs with you, pushing your underwear to the side, "you've been annoying me all day, I can call you whatever I want."

He runs his fingers against you, humming when he feels the effect he had on you in such a short amount of time, his mouth going back to licking at your skin while his unoccupied hand squeezes at your thigh. He slowly presses his middle and ring fingers into you when he hears you start to grumble and whine in response.

"What are you going to do about it you little brat?" he stopped paying you mind, too busy brushing his thumb over your clit and kneading your skin, his eyes locked on to where you sucked his long fingers in.

Even with your thoughts clouded you've never been one to back down from a challenge, especially when it came to the boy next to you, "fine, if you want me to do something," you mumble under your breath.

You grab at the elastic strap of his briefs you had been playing with, quickly pulling down, releasing him from where he was straining against the tight fabric. He hisses when the soft air from the fan hits the dampened head, his fingers picking up their pace.

"If you want me to be a brat, I can be a brat," even with the slightly awkward angle, you still manage to wrap your hand tightly around him, running your hand up and down a few times before pressing the flat of your thumb into where he was spilling arousal.

"You're not going to win this game sweetheart," he presses his fingers deep, curling and uncurling the digits to rub against the sensitive spot inside you, his thumb rubbing tight circles around your clit, his blunt nails digging into your skin, when he all but growls.

"I'm not trying to win anything, I'm trying to make you come," you twist your torso to take him into your mouth. The tight grip he has on your thigh with his other hand stops you from going as far as you want, so you settle for running your tongue over the tip and letting your drool fall down to help where your hand massages what you can't reach. In an attempt to add to his puppy comment, you look up at his twisted expression with the sweetest look you could muster with your drool running down your chin. He lets out a grunt when you lock eyes.

"Fuck," he sucks air through his teeth, his fingers picking up speed, your hips rolling into his hand in response, "your going to come before me."

You only prove him right when your orgasm starts running over you, your eyes still locked onto his as you whine around him. He pulls his thumb away and digs the heel of his hand into you instead, the roll of your hips prolonging the feeling. Your eyes roll back as you clench around him, and your fingers tighten around him.

When your orgasm starts to calm, Jaehyun pulls his fingers from you, only to join his index and pinky and start to quickly rub you back and forth.

He continues to swear when you softly squeal around him. His hips canting up as he comes into your mouth. He groans, tilting his head back and the speed of his fingers and the sounds he makes cause a second orgasm to run through you. Your thighs squeeze around his wrist and tears start rolling down your face from the overwhelming feeling.

Jaehyun gently massages you as you come down before slowly pulling his hand away and wiping it against the mattress as you swallow. He grins lovingly at you when you bury your face into the soft part of his stomach panting.

"You still bored?" he teases after you two catch your breath, his blunt nails scratching at your scalp, his other hand grabbing yours. He tangles your fingers together and brings it to his chest, you can feel his quickened heartbeat thump against your hands.

Your quiet hum in place of a real response makes him laugh, and the shake of his stomach makes your head bounce against his skin.

"And guess what," he pulls his hand from your hair to swat at your upper thigh, as he moves to grab his phone again, making you pout at the sting and the loss of attention. He presses his lips to your knuckles when he teasingly grins at you, "you can get your phone charger when you get up to pee."

#jaehyun #nct #nct 127 #nct smut #jaehyun smut #nct timestamps #nct drabbles #nct imagines #nct writings #jaehyun timestamps #jaehyun drabbles #jaehyun imagines #nct jaehyun #nct u #nct 127 smut

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thetakenpokemon · 6 years

Text

@theorangelopunny

“And there we have it folks! Hus.La, the young prodigy has just mercilessly bodied FlawlessLegend in that FT100 set of DragonSphere FighterZ!” The commentator exclaimed as the crowed roared and cheered for the Video Game Extraordinaire known as Hus.La who has once again taken the stage in a dominating fashion. “The fact that she didn’t lose a single match while playing this man says so much about her endurance and her mentality. I had no idea Gochu would be so damn good as her Anchor but along side Gochu Black and Cybor 31 on Point, she set-up the perfect shell that covered all the stops!” The analyst explained while maintaining all the hype from a perfect 100-0 set. “All this tech found no doubt after labbing like the monster she is for a solid week straight. I cant wait to see her in later tournaments! With that being said, This is PTY Hypez, Signing out!” he said with clear excitement in his voice as he took his headset off and flew away. Who knew they made headsets that small for Ribombees? “Wassup guys, Trish HatTricks here waiting for ‘Monarch of Brawlers’ to start and joining me will be Purrrrrrshia–” she started and soon started to fade away as Hus.La got off of the stage and went outside the vicinity to get some fresh air. She was extremely happy and proud of her perfect win streak but she needed to move around a little. Getting up on the stage and actually playing takes a lot more than just skimming at home. So she went to go explore the town of Pearldom! seeing all the local shops they had and aiming for a restaurant to get some food in her belly. Our of the corner of her eye, she saw someone strange yet awesome. A Pokemon that looked like the mythical creature known as a Naga! This particular ‘mon was part Seviper and part Nidoking it seem– Wait a second. Those clothes… Oooooh we’re gonna have fun with this one! Hus.La quickly abandoned her train of thought for food and dashed up to the naga-esque 'mon with stars and her eyes and a wide smile on her face. “You…look wickedly cool!” she exclaimed. “Everything about you just screams master-class Ninja!” she continued then pulled back to do her famous flourish with a winking pose. “I’m Hus.La! Video Game Extraordinaire! It would be my honor if you would considering being the rogue in my LARP'ing group! It’d be so much fun once I find two more members! We would be able to live out our own adventure!” she explained still extremely excited at the possible addition to her LARP'ing party. But there’s just oooooone last thing she has to ask. “Oh! Do you also mind if we take a selfie? I love being able to take pictures with all the awesome new people I meet when I travel!”

[PoV: Minato]

While the other members split away to cool off, I stayed put with Snakewulf. I actually decided conversr with him, since this is the first time I’ve actually met him face to face.

Out of all the members, the Night Watchers are the ones who spend the least time at the GoT HQ. Their job requires them to be constantly moving from one place to the next, keeping tabs on things and looking out for any abnormal activity or threats. But they do have their times when they’re at the GoT HQ, so that they can rest and relax during their break periods.

But out of all the Night Watchers, Snakewulf has never been on break. He’s always out in the field, moving from one place to the next as ordered. This however is of his own request, since he supposedly enjoys the outdoors and the changes of scenery. And because of this I’ve never actually met him, which is why I’ve taken the opportunity to converse with him.

Despite his unusual appearance, he’s actually…a very nice individual. Very kind and inquisitive as well as very casual, even quite humorous with the occasional quip and joke. We were mostly just talking about what we’ve been up to as well as interests, which was more than fine by me.

The conversation is interrupted however, due to a loud exclamation from an interestingly dressed Lopunny. We both look over at her, mine with confusion and Snakewulf’s with amusement.

Master…class…ninja?

Snakewulf ends up laughing. “She has a point you know.” He tells me, glancing over with a twinkle in his orange reptilian eyes. “You do rather fit the bill with the ‘master-class ninja’, from what I’ve read in several books.”

O…kay…

Her question however ended up catching me off guard even more, since…well…no one has ever asked me to join a ‘LARP’ group before.

I smile uncertainly at the Lopunny. “It is…nice to meet you, Hus.La.” I say with a small bow, still unsure of the whole encounter. “I am Silence, and this is-”

“Snakewulf.” He interrupts me, sitting down and letting his hand-like tail flick from left to right. “While not a ‘master-class ninja’, I’d like to think that I’m around that sort of level~” He stops for a moment and tilts his head. “However I’ve never heard of ‘LARPing’ before, mind if you could fill me in?”

I turn to Snakewulf, deciding to answer for the Lopunny. “LARP is an acronym for ‘Live Action Roleplaying’. It’s usually acting out fictional settings with groups of people, for the enjoyment of pretending to be in various scenarios.”

At this the unique hybrid’s eyes widen with realization. “Ahh, so it’s essentially like what I’ve seen younglings do.” He starts laughing again. “I’ve never thought adults would still be into it, since I assumed that it was something that you would ‘grow out’ of.”

Well…it’s not quite like that, since it tends to have rules as well from what I remember Delilah explaining to me. However I decide against further explaining to Snakewulf, since he had the concept. “That’s…correct.” I eventually say before looking back at Hus.La, since I need to respond to her question. “I am honored that you would approach me just to offer a spot in this ‘LARP’ group, however…” My nervous smile is replaced with an apologetic look. “I’m afraid that I have to decline. Although I am always up to experience new things, but due to my job with my guild taking a lot of my time…I won’t be able participate.” Well, that’s not the exact reason since I often have plenty of free time between assignments. But I didn’t want to straight up tell her that I didn’t want to...since that might hurt her feelings.

I bow my head again. “Watashi wa hontōni zan'nendesu, Hus.La. I thank you again for your offer, I appreciate it immensely even though I can’t accept it.”

“And yet you didn’t offer me a spot.” Snakewulf comments dryly, however his face possesses an amused smile without a trace of offense. “Not that I would be able to take you up on it, since I’m also a very busy doggy. Gotta sniff out bad guys twenty four seven, after all~.” His tail stops its flicking and starts scratching the top of his head, probably to take care of an itch. “Still, very cool to hear that adults don’t drop that childish part of them. Keep at it, I say! Everyone needs to indulge into their inner pup once a while.” He stops, his eyes flicking to one of the roads before looking back at me. “Looks like the other members are coming back Silence, they’re probably ready to get started I’m assuming.”

I look over to where he looked, and in the distance on the road I see some figures approaching us. I had to squint my eyes in order to make out Asmund, which shows how keen Snakewulf’s eyesight is.

I look down another road and I notice several forms of Midnight Storm, meaning that they’re all coming back. With this knowledge in hand I turn back to Hus.La, putting on a kind smile. I was about to tell her that I was sorry to end this conversation now, but I had to pause and realize that she asked me something else.

She wanted to take a…selfie?

“What…is a selfie?” I ask her.

At this point Snakewulf starts laughing. “Alright, so you know what ‘LARPing’ is but not a selfie?” The hybrid starts shaking his head. “It’s taking a photo of yourself, Silence. It tends to involve a smart phone pointed at yourself, and it can also include various others with you. It’s all the rage at the moment, I know since I’ve been studying modern culture.” The draconic wolf sits up and strides over to Hus.La. “Now you didn’t ask me this, but I’m joining in. You’d better say yes, since otherwise I’m gonna photobomb it and make it better by having my face completely taking up the photo~”

I look back at the approaching figures of the GoT before turning to Snakewulf and Hus.La, my face uncertain again. “I…don’t see a reason on why I would decline, however I must ask for it to be brief since we’re needed.”

“Yeah yeah, but it WON’T be brief unless you get your snake butt over here.” Snakewulf laughs, gesturing for me to come over with his tail. “C’mon! Time’s a-wasting, I want to make sure my good side is taken!”

Wasting no time I quickly slither over to them. I notice Snakewulf sitting down and raising his tail, the claws doing its best impression of a ‘peace symbol’ even though it only has three claws.

Seeing that I’m rather big compared to the smaller Pokemon, I take advantage of my serpentine body and lower myself more to their level. Unsure on what exactly I have to do, I decide to smile and mimic what Snakewulf is doing with his tail.

“And remember! Say cheese!” Snakewulf adds through his wide smile.

Well…okay. “Cheese?”

#silencenidoviper #snakewulf #guardiansoftwilight #theorangelopunny #ask #submission

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