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#I just want to get better out of spite at this point. my brain is so fucking stupid sometimes. I need to prove it wrong
yanderenightmare · 8 months
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can you expand on your idea of bully ! Tsukishima from haikyuu??? please, it sounded delicious uwu
Haikyuu!! IMAGINE
Tsukishima Kei x darling
TW: NSFW, dubcon, exhibitionism, "fingering in public"
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DINKERBELL
“Tch- look at you sitting here like a bookworm~” 
His words snuck up on you from behind, making you suck in a gasp where you sat, concentrating in the quiet library with a pen in your notes and your nose in a textbook – shrinking in your seat under the mean glare of the librarian who told you to hush.
“Who’re you tryna fool, huh?” Tsukishima crudely continued in spite of it, gripping the back of your chair while leaning over – his lips brushing the shell of your ear while he whispered. “Everyone knows you’re just a pretty pair of tits on legs- tch, no one expects there to be any actual brains in here.”
You pursed your lips with furrowed brows and rose from your chair, casting a sour look up at him through the slim glasses he looked down at you through – his face soft but with a sly smirk curling his lips.
You didn’t have time to humor him, you thought while gathering your books into your bag – this assignment wouldn’t figure itself out, no matter how hard you wished it would.
“Aw, come on~ you know I'm just joking~” He stopped you – snatching the textbook out from your flimsy grip and lifting it higher than you could reach.
“It's not very funny, Kei.” You sulked. Halfheartedly grabbing after your book, knowing you wouldn’t reach it either way.
“It’s funny to me.” He replied with a cock of his chin. “Besides, it’s not really my fault you make yourself such an easy target.” Smirk spreading while he glibbed, lazily lowering the book again with eyes giving you a patronizing leer. “You need my help, right?”
You bit your lip, shifting between looking up into his knowing eyes and the heavy calculus book weighed in his palm – then the assignment on the desk. Thinking about how long you’d sat there, pulling on your hair and chewing your pen, stuck on the same equation. 
You gave a defeated huff, sitting back down in surrender – and he offered a soft chuckle, pulling up a chair right beside you, opening the book to the right chapter. 
Your pout never dropped as he started tutoring – staring at the formulas he pointed to with worried eyes, twiddling your pen unsurely with a growing storm of hopeless confusion festering in your head.
You felt close to crying when his arm went from resting on the back of your chair to slipping between you, hand brushing your thigh – traveling beneath your skirt slowly, soon with fingers stroking the warm fabric of your panties.
“Kei…” You whined lowly. “Not here…” Begging with bashful eyes fluttering shyly around the library, terrified that anyone would see.
“You seem distracted… Maybe you want me to tutor you in something else, hm?” He ignored you, keeping his hand tucked between your thighs even as you tried closing them – running his long fingers up and down, teasing your slit through the thin cotton, smiling once feeling you get damp. Despite acting all cute and demure, you’re always so easy.
“We’re in the library, Kei...” You protested, keeping your voice hushed – cheeks heating as your breath flared, trying to keep your hips still.
“Yeah? What better place for you to learn something new?” He said playfully, not bothering with lowering his voice like you as his finger hooked around the trail of your panty and pulled it to the side. “You just need to stay quiet. Shouldn't be hard for someone who never has anything worthwhile to say anyway.”
“Tsukki-” You nagged with an insisting whine, rubbing your knees together to keep him away. Embarrassed and nervous and now hot and bothered – you choked on your heart, praying no one else in the quiet library had taken notice of the two of you.
“Spread wider.” He ordered, unbothered by your concerns – making you yelp with a strict pinch to the inside of your thigh when you didn’t obey. He clicked his tongue. “I told you to keep quiet- I'm not going to detention all because your dumb mouth couldn’t figure out how to shut up.”
You only whimpered with another breath, giving in to his wishes – sinking your teeth into your lip while opening your legs with a quickening heartbeat.
“There you go- good dummy~” He praised, now with a finger diving through your wet slit, up between your swelling pussylips to rub against your perky clitty. 
You moaned under your breath, feeling lightheaded and fuzzy and warm. Withholding further sighs and lusty sounds by biting into your lip, making them come out as petty whimpers instead. Thighs quaking where you fought to keep them open despite the burn in your loins telling you to clamp them shut tight to ride the pleasure that soon washed through you.
“You know… it's okay to be stupid as long as you’re useful in other ways.” He teased – his eyes set on your expression, watching it curl in bliss as you soaked his fingers with slick. Offering a curt chuckle. “And I can think of plenty ways I want to use you.”
He wiped his fingers on your panties and pulled them back in place, patting your cunt in kudos before getting up. 
You were left softly blinking, catching your damp breaths while slowly coming to – enough to see him packing up.
“What are you doing?” You asked in a rush. The half-finished assignment spread on the desk sobering you up – enough to make you pull your thighs back together and send the worry back into your hopeless eyes.
“I gotta spell everything out for you, don’t I?” He sighed, acting exasperated before a grin crept up his face like before. 
He bent down until his face was but a hairs length from yours, one big hand laid flat on the textbook on the desk, balancing him as he curled a finger under your chin. 
“You and I take this assignment back to my place- I finish it for you, and then…” He paused, drumming his fingers on the pages while giving his teeth a quick lick. “I finish you right after.”
You bit your lip in turn, watching him pull his bag up on his shoulder while lifting the book for you to take.
“Sound good?” He asked then, waiting for you with a raised brow.
Smiling once you took the book in both hands with a cute nod to your head. 
“Then hurry it up, Dinkerbell.”
tip-jar: Kofi
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drchucktingle · 1 month
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Mr Chuck, wizard of gay romance, I consult ye. Without knowing a damn thing about the plot of the book I'm writing other than it is gay and has themes of hunger, consumption, joy in spite of suffering, and the fleeting nature of life, how should my story end?
well to create we need to consume, this is how we produce energy and multiply and build. since beginning of time from frothing volcanos to tiny microbes CREATION and CONSUMPTION are linked. in addition an act of creation is an act of love, it is filling the empty void with SOMETHING and that is as powerful and important as it gets
i think what confuses MANY buckaroos is they get caught up by the consumption part. they see this equation i have laid out and say 'well if consuming leads to creation and creation is to point then we must consume everything as a moral imperative.' i mean HECK that is capitalism in a dang nutshell right there. if you trot this path it says the bigger fish should eat the little one, and that war and power are sort of innate. you see a lot of goofball conservative philosophers with melted brains stop here and set up shop to peddle their sad wares
THE PROBLEM IS consuming everything that you can DOES NOT ACTUALLY LEAD TO MORE CREATION IN PRACTICE. maybe sometimes in the very short term, but at the end of the dang trot it leads to destruction on a massive scale. if the biggest fish eats ALL the little fish then it is not just the little fish who dies it is BOTH of them. if you seek power through TAKING AND CONSUMING all that you can you will do more harm than good. you may puff up your chest for a little while but eventually you will go beyond your means and crumble.
consuming yields the best results when you do it in sustainable way, when you share with your neighbor, when you build a community. this is because LOVE is the best fuel and love thrives when buds work together to create a greater whole than themselves. even if you use example of TAKING through violence, ten little cave buckaroos as a team will always take down one big cave buckaroo. COMMUNITY PROVES LOVE. TEAMWORK PROVES LOVE. CONNECTION PROVES LOVE.
fortunately, as much as scoundrels want to convince us that fighting and violence and TAKING is the best way to grow as a dang species, it is not. humans thrived not because of some primal hierarchy (as goofball conservatives say) but because we started villages and societies and systems of working together. the buds who put their chips behind the BIGGEST FISH are only seeing one part of the picture. YES sometimes in the animal kingdom the biggest beast will win the fight, but that is why THEY ARE BEASTS AND WE ARE PEOPLE. we evolved to greater heights as we grew bigger brains for sharing and empathy and love and complexity. WE STARTED COMMUNITIES, BECAUSE WITHIN COMMUNITY CREATION AND LOVE THRIVE. THE 'REAL' BIGGEST FISH IS KINDNESS.
so hunger and consuming are ACTUALLY an important part of creation. they are part of bringing joy to this timeline, so long as you are not endlessly hungry even after you are full, and so long as you are not consuming what could be better shared with a bud.
hope that helps with your story buckaroo
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asliceofzosan · 5 months
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in which Sanji is in Shells Town when Zoro eats the rice ball off the floor
It isn't often that Zeff's plans to get rid of him involve actually making Sanji leave the Baratie on a supply run (mostly because they never work. Sanji always comes back with more produce than the budget allows for which pisses the old geezer even more). But today, he was persistent that he go all the way to Shells Town. Fucking Shells Town. It isn't exactly the first place Sanji would think of when wanting quality ingredients.
However, if there's anything Sanji is, it's that he's stubborn. He'll comb through every market stall if he has to. He's coming back to the Baratie with three kilos of overpriced bluefin tuna if only to raise Zeff's blood sugar out of spite. Zeff raised a brat. So he's going to act like one.
Disembarking off of his boat, he makes a beeline first for a reputable restaurant in town. Cooks know what cooks want. He'd rather shave off time by asking a fellow chef where are the best places to get supplies. A few lovely ladies point him in the direction of a well-loved little restaurant at the edge of town and he each gives them a kiss on the back of their hand as a thank you.
"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintances, my angels." He says with a wink. Both girls only give him blank stares and walk away from him. He still sighs dreamily as they soon fade from view. It's a lot better than getting hit in the head.
He walks ahead to the restaurant, finding it a little crowded with a couple marines. No matter. Sanji isn't exactly known by face around the East Blue. He begrudgingly understands now why Zeff doesn't want to go here and instead forced Sanji onto his sailboat by himself.
With an irritated flick of his hair, he strides into the restaurant, sitting at a table near the window so he could light a quick cigarette before asking for the chef.
"We already have our order—"
"No. More food is better! Gotta feed the brain!"
Sanji's ears pick up the conversation in the table next to him as naturally as he does breathing. With the amount of times Zeff makes him wait tables instead of actually cooking in the kitchen, he's become skilled in the art of being a gossip. Tie him up in the middle of a marine base for admitting that, he doesn't care. There's only so much one can do to keep themselves entertained.
"We have to figure out a way to get inside the base."
"Luffy, I don't think that's a good idea–"
"It's not a good idea because I don't have a plan yet!"
"Well, what's your plan?"
"..."
"Luffy..."
"I'm getting there!"
Sanji chuckles. Whoever this Luffy kid is, he sure sounds interesting.
But before he could get another slice of their conversation, a commotion at the bar piques his interest even more. He uncrosses his legs, sitting up a little straighter, and watches as a blond man in a suit scolds a girl for running into him, calling her stupid and mocking her.
Sanji quirks an eyebrow at him. No matter what, no man should speak to a little girl that way.
"You dropped my food."
This time, a man with green hair catches his attention and with a quick glance, Sanji sees that there is smushed up rice balls on the floor by the blond's feet. Sanji sees red immediately. He's just about to go over there and give the guy a piece of his mind when the green haired man kneels down, grabs a glob of dirty riceball, and puts it into his mouth.
Sanji tunnel visions on the way his lips move, slowly chewing, savoring the otherwise spoiled riceball in his mouth like it's the most delectable piece of food he's ever eaten. The whole restaurant watches with bated breath, but none held tightly in his chest as much as Sanji's is. The man scrapes every grain of rice off of the floor, licking the remaining traces off his fingers.
He doesn't know it yet, but Sanji's heart has spilled out of his chest, and is now in the hands of a dirty green haired swordsman. With each bite he takes of the sullied riceball, the more Sanji's soul is sucked out of his body and placed into a state of near heavenly revelation.
Then the swordsman picks up the plate and offers the other riceball to the irritated blond man across from him.
"Now you eat one and apologize to the girl."
Sanji doesn't know what happens to his heart because the aching in his chest feels like he's out of breath. Maybe he's dying. It feels a lot like it because suddenly Sanji genuinely has forgotten how to breathe in this moment.
It gets even worse when the fight breaks out. The man barely even breaks a sweat. In any other circumstance where there is a fight, Sanji would go right in and make sure none of the dishes fall to the floor. But it seems that even then, Sanji's interference isn't needed.
Because the man's hits are calculated, careful despite the rough and tumble of the fight. He barely even gets his swords out. And he, Sanji notices with a bright smile, makes sure none of the tables get hit. He contains it all in the small space in front of the bar.
The final nail in the coffin is when he takes a giant swig out of his mug, shakes it a bit to see if there's any more drink inside, and casually chucks it at an oncoming marine and knocks him out cold.
Now Sanji is used to falling in love easily with beautiful women. All they have to do is smile at him and he'll be on his knees for them. He has experience in that department.
But what is Sanji supposed to do when a brutish man with a kind heart glances at him briefly before taking the other riceball in his hand and shoving it in his mouth?
Sanji thinks that this is how he falls in love with a man.
His plate is wiped clean before he hands it back to the little girl, who looks up at the man with stars in her eyes.
Sanji figures that maybe the way he's staring at the man isn't too far off from how she's looking at him.
Sanji comes back to the Baratie with no supplies and an earful from Zeff that doesn't register in his brain.
His mind instead is filled with just the memory of the green haired man, his lips pursing ever so slightly around the riceball in his mouth, and the smallest smile he gives the little girl as he thanks her for the food.
Sanji wonders if he'll ever see him again.
He learns how to make different kinds of rice balls in the meantime.
---
A/N: did somebody say sanji would fall in love with zoro if he saw him eat food off the floor? say no more !!
EDIT: part two, debt and doing dishes is up!
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mintmatcha · 5 months
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cw: a weird vent piece lol, suicide mention, no quirks au, mentally ill reader
You always fuck with your shirt on. You'd wear more, if you could, but you haven't figured out how to do it with your pants on yet.
You pull the sheets over your sweat chilled legs and hope he didn't notice the spots you missed shaving. If he did, Natsuo doesn't seem to mind. His arm is tucked under your head, muscle fibers occasionally twitching underneath you and turning the soft mass dense.
Sometimes, Natsuo keeps his shirt on too. Neither of you have ever asked the other about it; there's a mutual understanding when a hand is stopped.
"Do you work tonight?" he asks.
You shake your head as his body relaxes deeper into the mattress.
"I'm gonna do laundry if you want to throw your stuff in," he mumbles, "I'll get you junk to sleep in."
The medical textbooks he was studying are still on the floor, flipped to random pages of different cycles and tissues, abandoned in exchange for you. If Natsuo fails his midterms, it'll be your fault. If he passes, he'll be leaving the city next semester for his hospital rotations.
Part of you wants him to fail. It's that dirty, evil part that no one else seems to have, the part you try to starve, but it keeps growing anyway. It nips at you whenever the room gets too quiet.
It's teeth are extra sharp today.
"You're so sweet." You speak into his skin, "I don't know how you're still single."
A sharp inhale is sucked through his teeth, cutting through his smile. Natsuo takes in all of your features and you know he's wondering why you're saying these things-- why you're purposefully bringing this up.
"Well, sweetie-" His tone is light, like he's avoiding stepping on glass, stepping on glass. With every word, he walks his fingers on your arm, spanning from elbow to shoulder, "I'm only single because you keep turning me down."
The overhead fan whizzes. The part you try to starve sinks its teeth into your chest.
"Natsuo, we've talked about this," you say, "I don't date."
You sit up and swing a leg over him, straddling his hips. A trail of white hair runs down his stomach and down under the sheets, disappearing where the two of you meet. He holds you by the hem of your tee, just tight enough to hold you in place.
"Would it be so bad?" he whispers.
"Here's what would happen, alright?" You brush your fingers through his sweat touched hair and it bounces right back into place the second you pull away. It makes you giggle a bit and he mirrors you, an unsure, foolish optimism in his eyes, "Let's just say I met this wonderful, beautiful boy and tricked-"
"Tricked?" he scoffs.
"Tricked him into loving me." You want to kiss him, but it feels cruel for both of you. Instead, you just cup his jaw in your hands and cradle him, letting the weight of him slump into your palms, "He'd treat me right and bring me home to meet his parents, 'cause he was raised right and, even though he's really smart, he'd think he's in love."
Fingers squeeze at your hips.
"But the second I left, his parents would tell him that he deserves someone prettier and smarter and, and, and better," you say, "And they'd be right."
“My mom’s nice," He drops your pretense with a whisper, ruining your not so careful charade. “She wouldn’t say that.”
He doesn’t mention his dad. There’s a silent sentence there. One that says, “But he might.” It’s hard to keep your brain from sticking to that point, from sticking your thumb into this metaphorical soft spot.
“I mean, she wouldn’t say it out loud, but she’d think it," you say, “She’d sit there and think ‘that girl's not good enough for my son' and she'd be right."
He scoff he lets out is uneasy, almost a songed laugh, more pained than annoyed. "My mom is nice."
This conversation is hurting him, but you can't stop yourself.
"And they'd tell you to break up with me, but you wouldn't listen to them, 'cause you're head strong like that. You'd probably date me in spite of them for while," you ramble, "But then you'd go away and you'd meet some pretty, normal girl and you'd realize they were right. They were always right. I was right."
The overhead fan whizzes.
"So, it's better if I just don't date at all,"
Natsuo's grip dissolves and you think you see it then - the moment whatever is between you dies. A hollowness passes over his features, empty eyes and sucked cheeks, as he ducks his head down to rest his face against your chest. Chin against the soft of your tits, he seems farther away than ever.
You could gloat. You could cry. You're a self-fulfilling prophecy once again.
Natsuo sighs and his words slip so easily from him that you almost don't process what he's saying. "You're so sad. I wish you'd get help."
That catches you off guard. The control over this conversation is ripped away, your curtain drops, and you suddenly feel very, horribly seen.
"What?" You try to laugh it off, leaning back to escape the way he watches you.
"Sometimes I wake up and you're not here," he says, "And I worry that's the last time I'll ever see you."
You understand the implication.
"I'm not gonna kill myself." It might be the truth, you think.
"Yeah," His arms wrap around your waist again, snaking the air from your lungs, "Touya promised me that too."
Touya is only ever mentioned over too many beers and tears you're not allowed to remember the next morning. He was only 16, only a couple years older than Natsuo, but the ghosts still linger to this day, always tucked into the back of the room, stalking, haunting.
Natsuo comes from money and fame. His apartment is paid for by his father. He's never had to work to afford food. At first, you resented him for that; you wanted that ease and safety his family afforded him.
But everything comes at a cost. Every unhappy family is unhappy in there own ways.
"I'm sorry that you keep loving things that break." That is the truth. You're just the end of a line of his mistakes, starting all the way at mom and dad and trailing through every girlfriend ever since.
"I do love you. And it's not despite the fact you're 'broken'," Natsuo takes your hand with a resounding firmness. It reminds you of that thing they say about golden retrievers; the smart ones can hold an egg in their jaws without shattering the shell. Natsuo holds you like he understands you in some deep, intrinsic way, "Or because of it or whatever."
He doesn't look away, those bright, wide eyes bluer than ever.
"I just like all your little pieces." He kisses your knuckles one by one, trailing from thumb to pinkie to thumb again.
The room is silent. The bad part of you is no longer begging to eat. Maybe it's full for now, but you know it's just out of focus, stalking in the dark, biding its time.
"You should study." You slip from him and reclaim your own space in the bed. After a long, simple pause, Natsuo gets up himself, collecting his boxers from the floor.
"Yeah," he says, "You're right."
The hurt you've caused is no longer comfortable to live in. Your mouth is dry, thirsty for a change you're not sure how to make. Recovery feels like a big leap-- loving and being loved feels every farther away.
All you can do is shuffle your feet against the sheets and take the tiniest step towards normalcy.
"Do you want to get brunch tomorrow before your classes?" you offer your olive branch, your silent promise, "I'll pay."
He weighs this, measuring it for sincerity, then smiles just wide enough your get a glimpse of teeth.
"Let me get you something to sleep in."
For now, it's enough.
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allthekingssmut · 9 months
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She's Rough And Coarse And Gets Everywhere
Jeon Heejin - Male Reader Word Count - 7.5k (2.2K) Tags: Rough Sex, Coarse Language and only trace amounts of sand... hopefully.
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A/N: Welcome to Sandstorm 2: Electric Boogaloo, aka the reboot but not really since the original didn't happen. Which unfortunately means you're stuck with me. All joke's aside, this started as a anniversary present for Flint, which looking at the date... is pretty fucking late lol. Anyway, super big thanks to @nsfwflint for helping my rookie ass out and just being a cool dude all-round.
God, it is hot, a thought you trace as you find yourself nestled in the dark, dingy corner of Chalmun's Cantina. Even over the roar of crashing glasses and seedy elements, it always feels like your home away from home.
It helps that the music is decent.
Still, you can pick out a familiar guttural bark through the swells of liquor and hazy smoke.
"Shouldn't you be at work, kid?"
Chalmun.
His fingers flex and tug at his grey handlebar mustache... Can Wookiees even have mustaches? A lie pulls at the edge of your lips, tempting as it might be, but you know better.
"I-Uh, yeah," your teeth chew at the inside of your cheek. "Yeah, I should be."
"Do I need to remind you of the deal?"
You roll your eyes, something you hope he doesn't quite see or understand. "I get to freeload as much as I want as long as I help out Heejin."
"Which you are..."
"Not doing," a resigned sigh whispers past your lips. "I get it, I get it, it's just really hot in the garage."
Not a complete lie.
There's a flicker of an annoyed snarl that plays across his features, a hint of worry lingers in your gut. A deep inhale sets him at ease, a smile tickles across his lips.
"One would think you're not used to the twin suns of Tatooine," you feel his firm grip against your shoulder, raw and brutishly animalistic. "Odd, considering you've lived here your whole life."
A thumb bounces against his lip almost playfully in thought.
"Or perhaps something else is making it hard to focus and unbearably hot?"
He is right, there is no point doing it. Fight as you must, your brain lingers where it shouldn't. Her taut, sweat-soaked abs, the swell of her hips barely hidden by her jumpsuit.
You feel the greeting of cold glass against your skin, a bottle of liquor offered to your hand.
"Maybe this will help with the heat."
-
Despite your claims, the garage provides a welcome respite from familiar heats. The squelch of sand gives way to rigid metal.
"Is that you, Gogglehead?" Her voice echoes from deeper within, no doubt immersed in your work.
Pop the bottle, take a swig, cool off.
Focus up if you can.
The liquor saunters through every nerve, syrupy and sweet.
Kowakian rum. 
Maybe it will help, if only to make you regret your existence tomorrow.
"Yeah, stopped off at Chalmun's for a drink," your feet dot around a corner, seeking her familiar tortuous figure. "Do you want some?"
You catch the faintest outline of her voice, her feet dangling out of the chassis, a tangled mess of wires and cords, the wiggle of her ass taunts you with an enticing sway.
Her back arches back with the swivel of her gaze. A furrowed crease lingers on her brow.
"I can't seem to get the pod to start."
You press two firm fingers into your temple, as it seems you now have two reasons to drink today.
Your tongue tastes the edge of your teeth with a stinging annoyance. "That's because I removed the thrust coil."
There's a flare of annoyance dotting each step towards you, the dance of a scoff against her lips. "I thought I told you the thrust coil was fine."
Her pointed finger prods at your chest, still, it's hard to ignore the slight hint of cleavage in her tube top.
Wait, were those your goggles?
The briefest touch sparks in your brain with a subtle intoxication, a want for more.
Her voice lingers in the air, the low huskiness is captivating even in spite of her irritated parlance.
A slow release of air is all you can manage.
Focus.
"Yeah, technically. Except it wasn't fitted properly for the cooling pump."
All this talk of thrusts and pumps isn't helping.
"Which, as you know, would make the engine blow."
A stressed huff is all that escapes her lips, fingers dancing across her temples as her eyes crawl shut.
There's a slightly forced smile that splinters across her lips, "What were you asking about again?"
Her lips soften as her eyes adjust over you, reinforced with a proper smile.
The glass bottle almost seems foreign and forgotten at that moment, "Uh, Kowakian Rum."
Her nostrils flare ever so slightly, her lips roil and dance with the idea before an exasperated sigh joins the fray with knotted eyebrows like tangled cablework.
"I'd love some, but I can't."
Huh?
"Excuse me, what?" The words sound more surprised and scornful than you anticipated, dancing in the simmering heat. You offer an arched eyebrow as a consolation. "Could you repeat that?"
Her lips flatten, curving into the tiniest frown.
"I said I'd love to, but I can't."
She stresses the word once again, you catch the flash of an almost cringe-induced grimace.
There's an almost troubled weight to her brow. A far cry from the Heejin you knew with a liquor tab nine pages deep.
You take another swig, almost habitual as the bottle rests in your hand.
"Do I even want to know?"
There's the lingering whispers of embarrassment that echo through her body onto her features, a dejected huff.
"Well, the Boonta Eve Classic is soon."
Your eyebrows knit together in a handshake of confusion.
"Yeah, next week. What's that got to do with today?"
There's the briefest flicker of her tongue against her lips before her teeth bite taut.
Her fingers pinch at the bridge of her nose as she paces.
"It's dumb, but my old coach would make us cut out all our vices before a race."
You offer her an understanding nod before taking another swig.
More for you.
Sweet rum trickles through your lips as a question cradles at the edge of your brow, before placing the bottle against the ground.
"So, like boxers before a fight?"
It would explain why you've been able to find moments away from her at the cantina.
"Yeah, exactly the same."
It's habitual the way your hands work and coast through wires and machinery, a habit you picked up from your father.
"Is that why you've been a bit…" Your hands struggle through the mess wrought by Heejin's handiwork, locked seals and knotted wires.
"Of a bitch?" She scoffs, a scowl burns across her face.
"Not the words I would've used," your eyes dance across the sandy brown ceiling. "Passionate, maybe?"
You catch the edge of a laugh, hidden by the roll of her eyes. Her laughter ripples with a melodic spring that dances and bounces against the tension that once hung thick in the air.
Still, there's something else that crinkles against your skin, a scintillating static that teases thoughts best left unsaid.
They're unprofessional, to say the least.
Yet, your eyes linger against Heejin, leaving the task at hand forgotten and abandoned. You swear she feels it too, if only for a second.
"Passionate, huh?" There's a flash of amusement that twinkles in her eyes. It twists slowly under your gaze before her eyes narrow, her voice drops lower with its husky richness, almost tauntingly. "Chalmun said you had a mouth on you."
There's something about the way that word rolls off her tongue, the coy dance as she moves closer.
Yet, she says nothing of it, of the deeper insinuation that lingers against your brain. Instead, her hands move with practiced precision, deftly manipulating wires and connectors, untangling the mess she'd left you with.
It's a practice you're used to with other clients. Why should you undo their missteps? Yet, there's a sensual grace to her movements, a fluidity that reminds you that she isn't a slouch in the mechanic department.
Yet, your brain lingers on the other applications such grace could be used for.
She pauses, taken by a sudden thought. There's the flicker of a smirk as she turns to you. "Being a little rough, or even bold, is more my style."
You lean against the nearby workbench, watching her continue to work in silence for a moment. You quickly find the rum in your hand once again, the cool liquid soothes your parched throat, but it does nothing for the simmering heat that lingers in your mind.
Your eyes never leave her taunting sweat-soaked figure, the lingering taste of rum on your tongue only intensifies your imagination and longing.
The question bites at your lips before you can even stop it.
"So, cutting out vices, huh?" You finally respond, your voice rich and huskier than you intended, betraying the thoughts that lingered. "Does that mean no late-night  indulgences of any kind?"
Heejin looks up at you, her gaze meeting yours, a flicker of intrigue glimmering in her eyes. She pauses for a brief moment, as if weighing her response, her lips curving into a knowing smile.
"Well, let's just say that focus and discipline are essential before a race," she says, her voice lower, carrying a sensual edge that carves a shiver down your spine. "But let's just say all this talk of pumps and thrust isn't helping me with my frustrations."
The innuendo in her words hangs heavy in the air, weaving a web of temptation that becomes harder to resist. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, the air between you charged with an undeniable chemistry.
Your gaze lingers on her as she continues working, her body moving with a seductive grace that seems to draw you in closer. The image of her sweat-soaked jumpsuit clings to her curves, amplifying the allure she exudes. The desire to reach out and touch her becomes almost overwhelming, but you fight to maintain composure.
As you approach her, your voice is laced with a mixture of desire and restraint. "Tell you what, when we win, I'll buy you as many drinks as you want."
Heejin's eyes darken slightly, her fingers pausing momentarily in their task. A smile plays at the edge of her lips, tossing and turning. She leans closer to you, her breath caressing your ear as she whispers, "Don't let your mouth write checks you can't cash, Gogglehead."
Her fingers play at your collar, a twinkling mischievous glint in her eye.
The suggestive implication hangs in the air, leaving your senses reeling. It takes all your self-control to keep your composure as the sexual tension between you and Heejin becomes nearly palpable.
With a knowing smile, you take a step back, forcing yourself to break away from the electrifying energy that crackles between you. "Let's focus up. We can't win if the pod isn't working in the first place."
Heejin's eyes follow your movement, a mix of longing and frustration flickering in her gaze. She bites her lip, as it falters, pushed back by the need for victory or perhaps something else?
A twitch of a smile lingers.
-
Tension hangs sticky and thick like the sweat that clings desperately to your overalls, there’s an anxious pace to your movements. Each wire, each connector, and every intricate detail weigh heavily on your mind and body, with ache and strain.
One small misstep spells defeat... or perhaps even worse.
As soon as the pod leaves the garage, it’s out of your hand. Heejin is no slouch, unless something catastrophically wrong happens... She can handle it. 
Something you need to remind yourself of.
Yet, even as the days quickly blur together, there is a... weird nonchalance to her. That isn't the right word.
Calm and collected. 
Unnerving. 
At least compared to the itchy stressed friction you have grown accustomed to, though perhaps it is just her storied experience kicking in. 
Even if she has been out of the saddle for a bit. 
Still, it does nothing to settle your own worries.
“You know someone would think you’re the one racing Gogglehead,” her voice dances with a teasing playfulness. Even as you scan over the engine for the umpteenth time, you can practically see the smirk that plays on her soft lips—
Focus up.
“I-” How do you say you worry? That maybe it’s not so bad working with someone who isn’t useless an- “I just don’t want you blaming me if you lose.”
It's cocky the way her teeth flare, as her eyes look you up and down. A scoff echoes from her lips, the thought simply unimaginable. "And here I was thinking you were worrying about me."
Her fingers play at the collar of your jumpsuit, and it's hard to ignore the heat that builds  with her touch. The way electricity hums under your skin as she steps closer, pushing into your space with an ease she only knows.
"Plus..." she whispers, and you feel each syllable brush against your skin, it’s light yet tempting all the same, pushing you with coaxing waves towards the edge.
The worry is almost an afterthought as her hand crests your hip. Her voice dips to a sultry, soft, husky whisper. "I have something of a good luck charm with me."
It creeps in your chest, the sparks that dance with her touch. You know better, as her lips peak with a smile, taunting and teasing. Still, it's hard to ignore the magic hidden in a magician devious yet charismatic trickery.
You hate the part of your brain that accepts she might be referring to you. Her taunts and jabs, a way to ease the tension that builds under her skin without indulgence.
It stings, as you bite your tongue, fighting the pull she has. You roll your eyes, step back, hand grasping a cloth to wipe away sweat and grease that mar your skin.
It's easier to breathe without her held in your gaze, your mind clears against her temptation. Still, you can't help but feel the heat that lingers thick in the air with her mere presence.
"Yeah, and what's this good luck charm?" you bite the bait, it's unwitting and against your character as your eyes stray back towards her plunging back into the thick heat.
Her lips brighten with that beautiful smile that pulls you deep and tugs at your core. 
You almost miss when she is insufferable in a different way.
Still, there's a weird softness that flickers briefly on her lips, burning into her eyes for haunting microseconds. Your brain begs to understand what it means, if there is more under the surface. 
But it quickly fades, a nameless speck of sand lost in an ocean.
She pulls out a familiar object, your eyebrows knit together—when did she?
"Really? My goggles?"
Your keepsake, your namesake, has been an afterthought against the heated hours in the garage. Too focused on the pod as a way to ignore the temptations that linger on the horizon.
She cocks her head to the side, the flare of her teeth with a scrunch of her nose tells you everything. Your reaction is priceless to her. To be fair, you completely forget about them in the ebb and flow of your conversation last week.
Still, there's a flit of actual happiness that plays on her lips, curving into a brief yet genuine smile.
You remember the hazy conversations from weeks long past, held in the drunken allure of the Cantina. A confession of vulnerability on your part, held together with liquor and a rare interest in you.
Your father's goggles.
Your good luck charm.
Yet, it means nothing to her, should mean nothing to her. The contradictions to your thoughts and assumptions linger on the sparks that twinkle in her eyes.
Her words are fuel to the fire.
"Of course~" her voice saunters with a teasing edge., flickering against the embers of something more. "A reminder of all the free drinks you'll owe me."
Her words poke and prod, flecked with a flirtatious taunt. Yet there's something that hums deep at the base of her voice, it twists with words unspoken. 
Perhaps you're putting too much value on yourself in her eyes? 
Yet it bounces and lodges in your brain, her own hushed worry.
The idea that you'd be with her, at least in spirit or a reminder of who to win for.
You catch the hitch of a smirk that scatters across her lips, the wind-up for another remark or jab.
"Plus, I can't wait to see all your winnings disappear on my tab."
A groan leaves your lips before you can stave it off, perhaps you are just her mechanic. A damn good one, mind you. Hell, you'd dare to say one of the best.
At least on Tatooine.
"Yeah, yeah." Your hands are already smoothing out the last details with the Pod, closing hatches and double-checking connectors. Your hands stray and drift, placing your goggles on her head. "Just make sure to bring those back, okay?"
Again, there's that flare of softness that beckons at the edge of her eyes as she looks up at you.
A weird tenderness clings in the air, it's vapid and calming. An entirely different beast to the charged and heated air you often share.
"I'd hate to come up with a different nickname for you after all."
-
The aftermath is a storm of its own kind, a mess of sweltering heat in Mos Espa's Grand Arena, charged with tense excitement.
It's violent and sudden, like a crash of thunder to the chest. Your human eyes aren't able to keep up with the sudden burst of sand that trails through the arena.
The roar of the crowd, akin to a gunshot breaking through the air, is the only evidence the race is over.
There's a hum of worry that lingers in your lungs, shoulders tense with an anxious weight. Your hand grips at Chalmun's shoulder, his fur jitters underneath your touch.
A roar tears through the air, a simple guttural howl, animalistic and excited.
Heejin would've probably asked you what he said.
A cheer of excitement, elation... but also smugness? You watch as his eyes dart towards the Hutt Clan's private box, the lavish adornments are lost on you as you catch a pained, scorned look echo across the Hutt's face.
You don't need to know Huttese to know someone is going to get fired.
Chalmun's energy is infectious as he grips your shoulders, lost in the throes of victory he shakes you violently.
Pain twitches through you as the world becomes a blur, yet even with the pain, your brain is focused only on her, the small speck in the distance putting on a show.
Flared waves of sand make it all the harder to pick her out through her victory laps.
Still, you can imagine her smile all the same.
-
It's unnerving, the chill bustle of the night air that saunters through Mos Eisley. Even through the thick haze of laughter, celebrations, and intoxication.
Chalmun's is your home away from home, normally you'd be in the thick of merriment, a sly attempt at free drinks. But something is missing... and you're hesitant to acknowledge it.
Have you been so caught up in the insinuation, the allure of her words that you've actually fallen for them?
...No, you're just tired.
Probably.
Still, you owe yourself a drink at the very least, a chance to join the revelry. After all, it is a rare thing for the Cantina to be filled with fewer of the more rambunctious and unsavory types you've known all your life.
You wave at Ackmena, two fingers a signal for your usual. She smiles, moving with a comforting warmth. If only she could work day shifts instead of Wuher.
Your drink slides over, punctuated with a wink.
"Thank-" the drink is gone in a flash, snapped up in a blur and returned with a slam.
Empty.
Some of the more usual behavior you're used to. A scowl licks at your teeth, your fist clenches tensed with an eagerness to make amends.
"You mind telling me why?" You ask, twisting around prepared to deck the dumbas-
Heejin or at the very least a beautiful woman in her shape and mannerism. The flare of teeth that takes pleasure in your reaction gives it away.
But fuck is she breath-taking, you mean no slight towards her usual appearance. If anything, there is a unique allure to the messy sweat-soaked and grease-smattered appearance that you've grown used to.
Replaced, draped in a luxurious fur coat that almost mocks Chalmun's usual patrons if it didn't enhance her already enrapturing allure. Her black crop top taunts you with the flare of her abs and soft curves aided by her black shorts and leather boots.
Her skin is no longer a teasing insinuation in your unfocused moments, rather a full-fledged suggestion for desire to latch on to, tooth and claw.
A girl out on the prowl through Coruscant's tempestuous nightlife, if you didn't know any better.
Her grin creases into a smirk, because oh god, you're staring and she knows.
It's hard not to, even with the flare of obnoxious confidence that glitters in her eyes.
Any words you have die in your throat, assailed by her charm.
Her tongue flits across her lips with a seductive grace, how would it feel against you in every sense of the word?
"If I'm not mistaken, someone promised me drinks." It's tantalizing the way she pulls herself close to you, lips hovering against your ear. "I intend to get my fill."
It's paradoxical the way you feel underdressed and yet overdressed for your desires. Heat prickles at the nape of your neck, your body's insinuation for how much you stick out, your jumpsuit mere rags in her company.
You knew you didn't, hoped you didn't. Yet it's hard to focus on logic when she lingers so close to you, her short hair tickling your skin.
Her proximity teeters on the edge of electric and intoxicating.
You're thankful your mind lingers on a memory, brief and fluttering, a passing conversation to ease the heat that settles in your core.
"Why the short hair?" An attempt at idle chit-chat before liquor loosened you up to conversation.
"My coach suggested it, said it'd get in the way." An oddly straightforward answer for the racer, you didn't know better back then.
You still remember the touch of her fingers as she leant closer, eyes focused, her voice dropping low to that tauntingly low husky whisper. "When fighting, racing, or fucking."
The grip of her hand pulls you back, calloused yet soft. You can feel the whisper of a smile, her breath tickling your cheek.
"Show me how you do it," her voice saunters like honey dripping with seductive sweetness, you cling to her words against the overwhelming bustle of a busy cantina. "Teach me."
It's hard to ignore the heat that builds, you know she's talking about slipping an order to Ackmena. But you can't help stiffen under the insinuation that haunts and tempts you.
You can practically see the pleasure that would quiver across her lips, tempting her to aid you.
A dry swallow is all you can manage to fight off the thought, a temporary fix.
She follows your guiding touch, moving with an almost uncharacteristic soft tentativeness. "Just like that?"
You swear you catch her breath hitch when your hand clasps against hers, pushing her fingers into place with unintended roughness.
A rare moment of catching her flat-footed, yet the moment drifts away like sand between your fingers before you can pounce.
A firm hand binds your wrists together.
Tork, Chalmun's bouncer.
"Boss needs the both of you in his office, pronto," his voice booms, despite his overwhelming stature and size, a small dumb animalistic fleck of your brain is tempted with the idea of a brawl.
Thankfully, Heejin moves first, slipping her hand out of his grip with spry ease. "We'll be there right away."
She smiles, the soft disarming smile you almost don't see anymore. Earning her a soft nod from the pale blue bouncer.
She shuffles slightly, straightening out her clothes.
"Wouldn't want to ruin a perfectly good day for him."
Tork only grunts in response before guiding you both through labyrinthine sandstone backrooms, the rooms twist and turn with each step before you find yourself in front of familiar doors.
Familiar is a generous term, only having seen them once when you were a kid. Your heart prickles with anxiety at the thought.
You're surprised when the door opens softly, his familiar brown fur gesturing for you to come inside.
You inch forward, your blood thrumming in your veins. You take in the dimly lit office, a timeless recreation from your youth. Your gaze falls upon the wall of blasters and you can feel their powerful presence.
You can still practically taste the freshly heated air, cooked with blaster fire. A fragment that haunts you from years long since past.
Still you push through, nudging Heejin away from the small inviting coffee table opposite his desk, the plush decorative rug stained with years old coffee hints at its sinister nature.
You didn’t want to see another victim, let alone Heejin of all people.
She falls in line with your touch, trusting your guidance. As Chalmun moves with a frenetic pace, a giddiness that keeps him moving.
Though you doubt Heejin could see the nuances when it comes to the Wookie.
"I wish I'd been alerted to your presence sooner," he smiles through his guttural barks. "My friends should only drink the finest liquor."
He rummages through cabinets and containers with a rough ferocity.
You roll your eyes, a smile twists across your lips. "Here I was thinking it was something bad. You can't get Tork to tell us you want to reward us?"
You catch a sigh of relief from Heejin at your words.
"Please, boy, where is the fun in that?" He beams a well-placed smile as he produces two familiar bottles. "I deserve some fun despite your efforts."
"I doubt you brought us here just for two bottles of Kowakian rum... even for a little bit of fun on your end."
"Of course not, make yourself at home, away from the riff-raff and her adoring fans." Mischief dances in his eyes as he steps closer, twisting the flare of a smirk against his lips. "I have a Sabacc game to get to, an attempt by the slugs to regain their honor."
"Alright, boss." Your eyebrows twitch, unsure of what he's playing at or for. He moves with confidence, shuffling past you towards the door.
There's a moment of hesitance as he turns back to you for the briefest second. "Just don't make too much of a mess."
"What was that about?" She asks, head tilting to the side with less than subtle curiosity. The Wookie becomes nothing but an afterthought, a fading ember in your isolated presence with Heejin.
"Oh," you turn to her, biting your lip. "He just wanted us to make ourselves comfortable and enjoy his private stock."
Even in the dim light born from the single illumination panel behind the desk, you can pick out the way her eyes narrow. Her lips purse, teasing on the edge of a question. "What about that last thing? It seemed pointed at you."
Her voice hums with something foreign, at least to your interactions.
Worry?... No, that doesn't seem right. Her nature, her confidence forbids the very idea. No, it's something else that dances tauntingly at the tip of your tongue.
"Relax, it was nothing, Heej," the nickname rolls off your tongue before you can even stop it, you watch as it lingers in the air, moving with a sauntering slowness. Your brain jostles with awkward apologies that die in your thoughts before finally it lands.
Square in her chest, judging from the swell of her smile.
"You don't have to call me that, you know?" there's a warmth that's strange on her lips, a flicker of softness as her eyes linger on you. "It's nice, though."
Her feet shuffle, shifting under the weight of vulnerability. She develops a sudden interest in everything, except for you. Unable to build up the courage to look you in the eye.
To speak plainly too, apparently. A rare silence fills the void in conversation.
A smile bubbles to your lips, you should cut her some slack, offer her a life ring. "We were gonna drink, weren't we?"
Your words cobble together the version of Heejin you're used to, fluttering eyelashes and teasing smirks.
She preens under your gaze with a sultry swipe of her tongue across her lips. Each movement is enticing, weighed heavy with calculated seduction.
The sway of her ass buzzes with a tantalizing edge, pushing into your space with a graceful twirl. "Yes, we were."
Your baser instincts beg for permission, to indulge her in her attempts. To feel your hands carve into her taut, firm ass as you take her. 
It's hard to ignore the stiffening desire that stirs in your loins, her hand traces your chest pushing you back into the hardwood desk.
A smirk blooms across her lips, dancing with the often-times obnoxious confidence you'd grown to love to hate. It's hard to resist the tug, the control she has over you. 
The only defense, the only respite you can manage is found in a bottle of Kowakian rum. 
Syrupy sweet indulgence.
Her hand brushes over your bottle-held grasp, coaxing it out of your grasp into the embrace of her lips. She's less than subtle, as the liquor spills from her lips, trickling in enticing rivulets down her chin.
A knowing wink, pulls you deeper as she continues to imbibe; desperate to get her fill. Awe and admiration bubbles underneath your skin as she throws back the bottle and all of its contents.
The bottle slams against the desk, a devilish grin burns across her lips. She looks up at you, cheeks flushed with liquor that lingers on her every breath.
Her tongue plays against her lips, her eyes sparkle with a flash of insight, a realization.
Her teeth tense against her bottom lip, as the air cackles with tension, heavy and sweltering.
A flash of resignation, as words leave her lips.
"So," her voice drips with a hungry, ravenous need that you didn't need to hear, you could already feel it. The soft ministration of her hand against your clothed cock. "Are we gonna fuck or what?"
Gone is the pretense, replaced with a desperate gnawing need for her fill. It's intoxicating the way her lips quiver and crack against raw primal hunger.
Your hands crest her hair, soft and delicate as a wry smirk bounces across her lips. Her eyes settle on yours, beaming with anticipation and an unmistakable craving that eagerly awaits your command.
Her head tilts back, her silky locks spilling around her face in waves of delight.
A gasp shatters with a moan as your calloused hand tugs her hair, pulling her closer into your embrace. Her breath hitches and floats on the edge of another moan as you press against her contours.
You take your time savoring each sensation, the heat searing through the air as though it were tangible. Your mouth burns against her neck, leaving bruises that smolder in your wake. Each cinder pushes a smile against her, each ember pulls a purr into her throat.
Your cock is an afterthought against the hazy pleasure that twists and churns in the back of your skull. It aches and yearns, an animalistic need to consume her in your roaring flames, reduce her to an ash that knows only your name.
It's instinctual, the way your hands wander and rove over her body, teasing and taunting in equal measure as you whisper sweet nothings in her ear.
"You weren't kidding," a smirk hangs on your lips between flame-licked bruises. You lock your fingers through her hair, hungrily drawing her tight, clawing a soft whimper from her throat. Your hand trickles down her back with playful fingertips, haunting the edge of her hip before finally carving into her ass with a voracious slap. "Rough is definitely your style."
A flash of shock sparks against her features, eyes wide and mouth jar before it shifts into a hungry, carnal smile as her eyes latch tight to yours. She had no escape, but you doubt she'd want to.
You catch the turn of gears, a witty comeback in the making. Yet, you're too focused on the way her supple, taut ass feels against your hand. Your fingers teeter on the edges of her hips, creeping along the divot of her abs, plucking at the button of her short with a teasing flare.
Her words are shaky, barely discernible against the soft moans that escape her lips, blooming into a whiney drawn out fuck, as your fingers snake through her shorts and past her underwear.
Holy fuck is she wet.
A desperate quiver ripples across her lips strengthened with each passionate caress, her throat hums begging for more as your fingers slide into her slick heat, a flooded river of anticipation.
Your mouth clashes with hers, hot and frenzied as the air sizzles with passion. Her tongue crashes against yours, a carnal dance that leaves you gasping for more.
A tug of her hair earns a breathy honeyed moan as a smile twists across her lips, cocky and headstrong. Slowly it fades shifting with the guidance of your pleasure soaked fingers bucking against her sweet spot.
Any thoughts, any words jumble and die in her throat, replaced with a whispered please. Ecstasy ignites like a wildfire across her face tightening into a low whine as you hold her just shy of the precipice.
Her hips buck with a desperate plea, begging for release in the hazy mist of pleasure.
Yet, something fights within her at the edge of her lips, a small defiant fragmented shard.
Her hand caresses your cock, no longer a forgotten afterthought in your pursuit. She purrs as she strokes at your clothed length.
"I think someone deserves some attention," her voice dripping with seduction, a husky warmth. A veiled attempt to regain some semblance of control. "Let's see if it was worth all the anticipation~"
Her movements are smooth and focused, still you notice the weak wobble of her knees as she peels away your jumpsuit by the zip. Her fingers dance with an electric spark-filled tension slowly creeping to your boxers.
It's intoxicating the way her tongue flits across her lips as she drops to her knees. Raw hunger bounces across her lips, quivering in anticipation.
Her hands tremble and shake, a small crack in her veneer of confidence.
Her eyes linger and smolder burning with an intensity that threatens to swallow you whole. Her lips part with the slightest breath, her teeth clench tight against her bottom lip, her gaze unflinching as she slowly and deliberately peels away your boxers.
It's delicious and succulent, the surprise that echoes across her features, punctuated with a gasp as your cock smacks against her soft, dewy lips like a thunderclap of passion. The shock sends ripples all the way across her face as it curves around the bridge of her nose and plunges off the edge of her forehead.
A warm hum blooms in her throat, cresting into a pleasure drunk giggle as she nuzzles against your shaft.
"Oh fuck," she whispers her eyes dance along your shaft, the glint of held back fantasies glimmer in her eyes. Her hand pumps and twists across your length, extraditing a moan from your lips with her eagerness. Her breath hitches with a hungry excitement, tickling your shaft in between lovingly pressed kisses. "You should've told me, you had such a... fat cock."
She continues, lost in her ministrations, slowly and tantalizingly drawing out your pleasure as you groan against her soft touch. Yet, you can pluck out the fine line edge she balances on, the sound of slick wetness indulged as she pants heavily slapping her face with your cock. "You could've had me anyway you wanted you know?"
It's a feverish, lavish dance of her tongue around your cock, strung together with a primal and wild urgency, as if she would die if she didn't taste you against her tongue. Her lathered spit slowly christens every inch of your shaft, marking it as her territory.
Her gaze is a siren’s call, inviting you to dive into her depths. Her lips akin to silk as they tease the head of your cock
Her hands guide your own cresting through her hair, a silent encouragement to ravage her without restraint.
The sensation is inescapable, as your throbbing cock slipping past her dewy soft lips, plunging into her depths. You can feel the hum of a depraved smile as she gags and chokes against the sheer length of your cock, unable to fully take you.
It's a sputtering cough that echoes from her lips, hazed with watery eyes as she clutches for air.
"Come on, I can take it," there's a flare of a scowl against her teeth. "Don't be a bitch."
She asked for it.
Your hands tighten in her hair as she sucks and pulls in surprise, sending waves of pleasure shooting to your core. She looks up at you through heavy lidded eyes, smoldering with desire. Her fingers grip tightly around your shaft as her muscles contract around you - a gentle reminder that she will never let you go.
You push further into her until you bottom out, her nose pressed to your navel.
You're fully engulfed in heat and wetness as she begins to moan around you - softly at first, but quickly growing louder with each stroke that bulges at her throat.
Her eyes water, brim and swell against the ravaging pressure. She hums, smiles under your assault as the cascade begins, her own twisted badge of pride.
The sensation is overwhelming; a perfect balance of tightness and wetness as she sucks and gags around you.
The echoing sound of ministrations against her own slick heated desire becomes your guiding rhythm, the tempo only increasing with each gag and choke.
Her knees quiver and tremble as you ravage her throat without restraint, a mere tool in the pursuit of your own pleasure.
It only takes one final thrust, deep and hard to send her careening over the edge into a carnal pleasure-filled abyss. She screams into your lap, her body twitching in clear pleasure as wave after wave of her orgasmic bliss crashes against your shaft.
It's a desperate fight to stay afloat, to ignore the call to unload deep within her throat against the crashing waves of her orgasm, but you're after a sweeter prize.
"Holy fuck," she gasps, a hazy smile etched into her lips, she swipes at the stray messy strands of spit. "That was hot as fuck."
You found it hard to disagree, "You're..."
"Kind of a slut?" she adds, a dulcet whisper against your ear. It's hard to ignore the brimming smile.
"I was gonna say intense."
It's a soft genuine chuckle that saunters through the air. "Thanks, I'll take it."
Her eyes drift over you, her warm gaze a caress. She licks her lips and smirks as she looks at your cock. "A shame you didn't cum, the thought of you plastering my face or swallowing all your cum was so fucking hot."
Her delicate fingers entwined around your cock, massaging it with a gentle rhythm as your heart pounded in anticipation. Her eyes roamed yours before she spoke, her voice husky and full of desire. "I can't wait to feel this inside me."
All it takes is one swift move, as you grip her waist pulling her so intoxicatingly close to you, pressing her hips against the edge of the desk. A surprised giggle bounces from her lips as you pull her shorts and panties down her legs. The air crackles with electricity, you catch her rugged eagerness, as her clothes flutter and splay around Chalmun's office.
She's barely able to pull herself up the edge of the Chalmun's desk as your thick cock brushes against her drenched folds. You can see the sparks of pleasure as her eyes flutter shut, arms snaking around you, pulling you closer into her electric gravity.
Her legs shudder and quake as you push deep into her, her breath frozen in her throat as you push harder and harder, deeper and deeper into her.
The desk creaks-you swear it splinters-as you feel her cunt finally take the full might of your cock. It's in her wordless, breathless moments as her eyes roll back with 
half-lidded desire, that you actually feel it, even through the torrential storm that is her she's-
"-So fucking tight."
Her fingers dig into your shoulders as her nails scrape against your skin, any words she has die, caught in clutched needy gasps. But you can see it in the flickering fire in her eyes, the twist of her devilish smile.
Make a mess, break the desk.
It's a feverish dance, the slow build to a crescendo that threatens to drown you in pure bliss. Each stroke punctuated with a resounding slap, a jiggle of her chest pushing against you as she moans in a guttural tone.
"Fuck me, fuck me," she chants softly, her eyes glued to your cock, a needy slut to your pleasure. Your hand grips tight against her locks pulling her into a messy torrid kiss.
She nuzzles into you, her lips are sloppy against yours as you plunge further and further. Her muscles clench tight against you, a fire burning with each pull, each thrust and soft moan. Her nails bite into your shoulders, drawing blood as she pants heavily against your lips.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she chants against your lips. 
A strangled moan escapes her throat, the intensity of your thrusts increasing as the pressure builds within you, threatening to burst forth. She cries out with each thrust, the sound of your cock diving into her depths, a melody to her ears.
Her lips part with the slightest of breaths, her tongue darts across her bottom lip, a silent invitation to dive deeper. The feeling is visceral as she clenches every inch of her muscles tight against you, a searing rapture that threatens to swallow you whole.
The feeling is overwhelming; a soft and wet embrace as you plunge deep into her. The tightness of her walls around you, as they pulse and constrict around you.
She's barely holding onto her consciousness, her eyes glued to the way her breasts shake and jiggle as you fuck her senseless.
You find it hard to resist the incessant call to cum, burning with an intensity that threatens to swallow your mind whole. Her moans fall into a steady rhythm as you plunge into her harder and harder.
"Cum," her voice a husky whisper, yet tinged with something more, a tempered unexpected softness. It's real and vibrant even in the haze of pleasure. "I want to feel you."
It's needy and desperate.
The feeling is inescapable, the sensation of her tight and wet around you. She screams in pleasure, a shrill moan that pierces the air around her.
The desperation in her eyes and on her lips as you're pressed together was unmistakable; a clash of teeth and tongue full of longing. You feel the urgent desire that emanates from her, radiating into your lungs with each clawed breath.
It was more than just sex at that moment, as her lips nip at yours and her legs clutch and locked around your waist. You can feel the raw emotion radiating off of her, a feral passion that throbs through your veins.
You can feel every part of her body tremble with pleasure as each kiss deepens further.
Your hands caress her neck, exploring every inch of her skin as she shudders beneath you. You feel like you're losing control, giving into the sensations coursing through both your bodies.
The sounds of pleasure that escape her lips become heavy and desperate as the sensation builds inside of you both, an explosion of heat that threatens to consume you.
She claws at your back, gasping for air between breaths as each thrust sends jolts of pleasure through both your bodies.
Her hips grind against yours, pushing herself further and further towards the brink of insanity. Her voice catches in her throat as she cries out for more, begging for release from the overwhelming sensation within.
"Cum for me," she whispers into your ear, her voice dripping with lust, tarnished by desperate and undeniable need.
It's all you need.
A crash of pleasure rocks your core, electric shocks race up and down your spine as you finish inside of her, launching rope after feverish rope into her depths. A moan catches in her throat, hitching with each decadent spurt as she truly gets her fill. 
"Wow," she opens her misty eyes, her lips curled into a hazy smile. "That was... intense."
The warm air around you is a heavy blanket that settles around you both, a contented and satiated silence that settles against her skin.
"Hey," she nudges you, languid in the afterglow. Still, you catch embers of a teasing smile. "I have a question."
"Yeah?"
"Is this our first date?"
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sanemisstalker · 7 months
Note
Homie I don't know if you've considered writing a part 2 for the incel Gyutaro modern! Au scenario cause it legit rewired something in my brain ajskaj 🤒💕- he's like a weird bug that's fun to poke and watch em S Q U I R M ah, I love it.
Like I can see later on y/n has an indirect impact on him even though it's a casual thing- like, telling him his cum taste bitter af and it convinces him to eat better if it means he'll keep getting head (toss in more regular showers in there now that I think about it) . Would also wonder how his sis would react to them hanging out-? 🤔
If it's not in your plans that's alright- either way, it gave me the strength to write for him and I am thankful for the food 🛐
Guess what this post is!!!! I was saving this ask so I could post part 2 with it or whateverrrr. I'm so giggle that so many people are interacting with that post, I didn't expect it to get such good reception!!
Also also, I do plan to write about how this Gyutaro definitely still raised his sister and is a bang up brother in spite of these mentalities he has! I have another ask that wants me to elaborate, and I'm planning on just making a big headcanon thing for him!!
PART ONE <-
CW// FEM READER// AFAB// BREASTED / Dub-con/Non-con (Gyutaro does something sexual under the guise he'll get laid, undiscussed BDSM dynamic)/ Panic Attack/ Vomit (not in a sex way) / Piss (kinda in a sex way)/ Sexism/ Incel mentalities/ Toxic Masculinity / Forced Bisexuality / BDSM dynamics / I say 'skullfuck' at one point / Gyutaro is reffered to as a toilet.
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-Incel!Gyutaro's eyes had never even grazed a real dance floor, but there he was, at the big name club you'd dropped the location of 30 minutes ago. He'd hopped on his bike and sped there in what could only be called desperation.
-There wasn't a wait like in the movies. Not a big long line, and they let him in in his baggy jeans and stupid fucking Nietzsche shirt. He hadn't even realized he'd brought his bike helmet in until he was tossing it between his shaking, filthy hands.
-There were so many people. All of them taking their sweet time to gawk at his height and face. This was why he didn't leave the dorm. That and the abhorrent, terminally 2011 music.
-The photo had pissed him off. Bad. He'd come with the intention of a rematch (in your honor or whatever, he's not cringe enough to say that, though) and he planned to leave with you clinging to him like you were supposed to be.
-and obviously you were because there you were, hanging off Tengen Uzui's naturally bulging muscles with those 3 other mindless sluts. Not giving a fuck in the world about him or that skanky photo you sent.
-You were hard to spot in your slut disguise.
-You looked like every other girl there, and that pissed him off even worse, in a way. He had deluded himself into thinking you were good. Into thinking you were different from other females because you knew the bands and the movies, and you agreed when he implied that genetically you were just dumber-
-'Gyutaro!' You'd screech out as you locked eyes with the man. In the dark of the club, with the neon purple strobing over him, he looked almost daunting. With his helmet on one hip, and phone dangling from his other hand, Gyutaro had something similar to a western charm.
-You'd pop off of Tengen, who would only lift his head up to register the man, and then turn back to his girlfriends.
-The whole reason for their fight had been rather trivial, Gyutaro assumed, but, despite his lax appearance, Tengen did everything in his power not to smash the man's own helmet back over his head.
-He feared, along with Makio, Suma, and Hinatsuru, for your safety as you barreled into the man.
-You'd run into them with a new found confidence that night. After leaving Gyutaro in his sorry state, bounding up to the three women was far less intimidating. Almost like you shared a comraderie with them-
-and you had! The three were incredibly nice and immediately ushered you to Tengen where you all began to get a long in a picturesque fashion.
-You looked good. Hanging onto his arm with the other women felt good- You just had to take a photo.
-Gyutaro was going to panic. Tengen Uzui didn't scare him anymore, but that immediate jump from Tengen's arms to his, he didn't know how to satisfy that expectation.
-Of course he was better than Tengen- but on a "purely physical" level, he knew he would never have the stamina or prowess to conquer the bodies of three women at once.
-Especially not when he couldn't even fathom conquering you.
-'Ah, is this who you were talking about?' Tengen asked. You laughed in response, nodding with verve. Your body was beginning to shift against him- fuck-
-'Mhm, Gyutaro's my best friend.' You slurred, and it occurred to Gyutaro then, that you might be slighty inebriated. God, Tengen had an awful effect on you.
-His heart thudded at the words 'best friend' Despite your light and teasing cadence, were you friendzoning him? Would you just fuck any friend you had? Not that you fucked him- but you totally fucked him-
-'Oh?' Tengen sang in that stupid fucking tone that made Gyutaro want to rip off that girly fucking headband he wore. 'Have you slept with him?'
-Makio slapped Tengen's shoulder.
-'No, no- Not yet.' Gyutaro was panicking, now. Yet? Yet? You were planning to fuck hi-
-'Be careful.' Tengen sang. And that should've been the end of his thought, but maybe the drink he had was doing more than he expected, because Tengen couldn't fight the grin nor the words that spilled from his mouth after-
-'Tell him to try and last longer this time.'
-Gyutaro saw red, and blue, and maybe it was because of the weed air or the sex musk permeating past the bar- Maybe it was the anger he had at you for sharing such a thing about him- maybe it was because He'd been holding his breathe and plotting Tengen's downfall, and now he was-
-Who was he kidding, Gyutaro was going to fucking barf. The stress was too much, and his stomach rolled in response. He'd never been exposed to such an environment, or such an embarassment, and all he knew to do was turn away and try to keep it down until he got to the bathroom.
-'That was so mean!' Suma cried out as Gyutaro trudged away, attempt at disguising his mood futile. 'You made him cry!'
-'He literally called you a slut to your face at the start of the semester. What the fuck do you mean, mean?' Makio barked.
-You were in one of the gross stalls, pulling his scraggly black hair away from the rancid bowl. You weren't sure how he ate so much and still stayed so twig thin. He'd been puking for at least ten minutes.
-'I didn't expect you to come here.' You lied, having very much intended for that outcome. 'You think Tengen Uzui remembers every drunken, horny story he gets from a woman?'
-He was mortified. The idea that Tengen specifically knew something so intimate about him made him hear colors. Red colors. He was hearing the club lighting and seething at the red blur of the motion sensor on the toilet-
-The tile felt like splinters.
-'W-Why did you tell him that?' Gyutaro gasped out between spills. The question lacked his usual grit. It sounded genuine and hurt.
-He nodded lamely and went to drop his face onto the porcelain, but your hand swooped down.
-Your palm against his marred face was soothing. Lifting his head up from the toilet bowl, you wiped his mouth off with toilet paper.
-His heart fluttered. What a girlish emotion he was feeling.
-'I'm sorry.' You whispered and only semi meant it. Some of the things he said about women in the past months could've definitely validated such treatment. Some of the comments were bordering on illegal, others on beyond morally questionable.
-'It's okay.' He slurred, moving away from your hand to try and stop that flutter. You were quick to find his scar again, and, with hesitance losing to need, he rubbed against your palm.
-Cat. The word shot through your head and then retreated. No, no. A mangy cat. A cat with mange. Rabies, maybe even.
-'I wasn't crying or any-' as he began to speak, you pulled a small bottle of mouth wash out from your bag.
-'Tip your head back.' Gyutaro cut off his sentence and did as you said. The burn of the wash was painful. As he went to spit it out, you pressed a finger to his lips.
-'You get a gift if you can keep it in for the full minute.'
-It hurt. Gyutaro can't remember the last time he brushed his teeth, but the burn in his gums said he should do it more. He managed, though, and you followed through by pulling a tooth brush from your bag.
-Gyutaro had seen this plot before, in a hentai, probably, but he'd always imagined himself probing some innocent sweet trad girl's mouth with a tooth brush. Not being probed.
-You scrubbed plague off his teeth with precise intensity. His gums bled, and he whined. His jaw would occasionally stutter, and he'd bite down with enough force that you feared for your toothbrush.
-Another pass at the mouth wash and Gyutaro stared up at you, puffy lipped and teary eyed. You hadn't necessarily been gentle, nor had you avoided his gag reflex, but you leaned down to Gyutaro.
-His natural huffiness now had a pleasant bubblegum scent.
-When you pulled the vibrator from your pussy, Gyutaro nearly puked again. He hadn't noticed it in your sneaky photo, so seeing you hike your leg up on the toilet seat and pluck it from your insides made him see stars.
-Had you had that in the entire time? Had you told the other girls? Had you told Tengen?
-You dropped the vibrator into his lap. Not in his pants, not intentionally near his dick- on his lap. Gyutaro had taken on an all too natural kneeling position, and you dropped the vibe between the small gap of his thighs.
-Dull buzzing bounced up his thighs, vibratons too far to feel- And then you were pressing your cunt against his face, and he was taking in the scent of your pubes-
-He had been told that eating a woman out was a sign of submission. Got told it'd be gross, and to only do it when the situation was dire. And a situation with a female should never become dire- Having someone's genitals forced in his face like this-
-Gyutaro loved the smell of your pussy. The taste. His hands took to your thighs immediately, one slipping back to find the meat of your ass and bury his fingers in it.
-It would surprise you, how right he looked snug between your thighs. How his eyes fluttered back when he forgot he wasn't really supposed to be into this kind of thing.
-You could remember all of the things he said about vaginas. It often left you contemplating whether or not he found women attractive to begin with, but with his tongue rolling so naturally against your clit, you couldn't question it.
-He was made for this, both of you figured. Your warmth against his palate was ball tightening. He immediately took to it. You'd never seen such enthusiasm and love shown to your cunt.
-'Fuckkkkkk-' He'd moan, but with his tongue flat against you it came out in drool. His spit spilled onto his jean clad thighs, uncaring about anything other than eating you out.
-With his back against the toilet, and your hands gripping his hair, if you saw it from the back, it'd look like you were skullfucking the man. The thought made Gyutaro's already raging hard on twitch-
-And that's exactly how Tengen saw it when he opened the stall.
-'Oh?' He said, and you felt Gyutaro's grip tighten around your thighs. Today was just humiliation after humiliation, wasn't it? He knew by the stupid sing-song tone of the voice exactly who'd invaded his time with you.
-Black pulsed the corners of his vision.
-'Ah, Tengen-' You tried to keep your voice steady- not willing to let yourself be intimidated by a man his size in such a situation. Not infront of Gyutaro. He didn't need real life experience to back up forum rumors.
-'Can I use this toilet?' He nodded down to Gyutaro, and you looked down to the man between your thighs, a bit shocked by the ask.
- Gyutaro would pull off your cunt fast, wide eyed and all teeth.
-'What the fuck did you just s-' You lodged your fingers down his throat, Gyutaro gagging hurtfully against them. His eyes rolled back. He didn't know why having his mouth fucked with felt so good. It'd never felt this good when he was alone-
-'When I cum, yeah.' And Gyutaro was back on your pussy, a sudden fear lighting his movements. You wouldn't really let Tengen do that to him, right?
-Why was he depending on you, a woman, to prevent that? He should just get up and kick his ass- Tengen would have an advan...advantage.... an-
-Fuck your pussy was mind numbing. Fuck whatever Tengen wanted to do to him. He needed that juice.
-Gyutaro chased your orgasm. You were only slightly dissapointed he didn't cum with you- didn't show Tengen how good he could be. A part of you wanted to impress Tengen- to show off a little bit. Show what you tamed. Even if that taming was still very early in the works-
-When you came, Gyutaro smiled wide against your pussy. You pulled back with shaking legs and his head in your hands and he looked at you like Tengen wasn't pulling his cock from his boxers just centimeters away.
-'Just want your pussy, I need your pussy-' He slurred while you starred down at him.
-'If you drink it, I'll let you fuck me-' His ears would begin ringing. Shocked by his own actions, Gyutaro found his jaw unhinged, taking Tengen's flaccid cock down his throat.
-Maybe it was easier for him to accept because Gyutaro never dealt with penis envy. The two men were surprisingly matched. How unfortunate. You really wanted to see how Gyutaro would react to a cock that much bigger-
-Tengen took advantage of the willing hole, rocking his hips a bit much to Gyutaro's anger.
-'If you bite me, I'll drown you. Don't want to die with your head in a toilet, eh, Shabana?' Tengen taunted, sensing the upset from his thighs.
-You watched as Gyutaro's adam apple surged, and Tengen's head dropped back in relief. It was more than Gyutaro could take, obviously, because it began spilling from the corners of his mouth and onto his Neitzsche shirt.
-Gyutaro's face burnt red, and he reeked like piss. Tengen gave the other man's face a light, almost appreciative slap.
-As Tengen pulled out, a rush of piss came spilling onto the floor. He wasn't done though, a guiding hand locking around Gyutaro's jaw to tip his head up. The trickle was backed by the music blurring outside.
-His flow came to a stop, and he carefully shut Gyutaro's mouth. Gyutaro looked over at you with tired eyes.
-You nodded, and he swallowed.
-'Atta boy.'
-With Tengen's exit, you looked down at Gyutaro, dripping and still woefully hard. You pulled his messy hair back into a ponytail once more.
-'oh honey... when did I say you'd be fucking me tonight?'
-'Do I- Do I get to fuck you now?' He'd croak, trying to ignore the completely beer ridden piss on his lips. You looked at him so pathetically. It made his cock ache even worse than it already did.
-He could tell he wasn't going to get what he wanted before you even opened your mouth.
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tree1138 · 7 months
Text
Astarion Contradictions and Breakups
Major spoilers for Astarion’s personal quest, The Dark Urge questline, and game endings. 
When I was trying out different paths for how Astarion reacts to the Dark Urge questline something that stood out to me was the wide difference in responses Astarion has, as well as the way he contradicts himself. This essay started as a way of trying to explain “why does Ascendant Astarion tell you to take over the world when he immediately becomes a thrall” from a Watsonian (in-universe explanation) vs a Doylist (out-of-universe explanation) and wound up being a focused on; why does Ascendant!Astarion react so differently to when you break up? 
There are 4 opportunities to break up with Ascendant!Astarion; 1) refuse to become his thrall immediately after the ritual you breakup and have a follow up conversation the next morning, 2) become his thrall and break up with him whenever before killing the Eldar brain, 3) break up with him on the dockside convo at the beginning of the ending, 4) in the last scene with him say you want to break up at which point he doesn’t let you: “You're mine remember? The tadpole is gone, which means your future is mine to decide. How lucky you are that I chose you as my consort. Chose you to help me take Baldur’s gate, then sit by my side as I rule it. There’s no backing out now - we’ll be together forever. I can promise you that…”.  
Comparing breakup conversations with Spawn!Astarion after killing Cazador, Ascendant!Astarion responds with so much more spitefulness and defensive anger across the board, even at Spawn!Astarions most angry (breaking up with him in the literal last conversation) it doesn't match the anger and cruelty in senario 1. To me it reads as him wanting to make the player character just as hurt and upset as he is after a very emotional day and the lines get really nasty:
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He then won’t say anything but “why the hells are you bothering me now” until you do 3 long rests which stands out considering if you break up in any other non ending scenario he’ll talk to you pleasantly afterwards. 
That conversation days afterwards is really interesting where his “goal” is to get you to agree to be partners in crime together, and in doing so is the most honest he gets about how a romantic relationship would have been unhealthy:
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In regards to love It's really interesting what Astarion will say about love during the conversation where he asks you to become his spawn:
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If the pc expresses insecurity about being a spawn he’ll reassure them and say he loves them, in a way that deliberately parallels his Act 1 seduction conversation down to the way that he starts with a degrading pet-name “what can I do for my dearest pet” vs “here’s my little treat with their cheeks all flushed”.
Just like the seduction scene he wants the pc on his side and attached to him, but if you push back on him during this conversation its clear he no longer believes in love just power exchanges:
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If the player stays together with Ascendant!Astarion a dialogue option is that he’s seem distant since the ritual, and he’ll imply it's due to his new powers but he does that looking to the up and right that others have mentioned he does when he lies. What makes more sense and is better character writings is the Watsonian answer of: killing all your siblings and 7,000 others (including people Astarion regretted victimizing and then had to look in the eye and condemn to death) will fuck a person up. He knows his hands are bloody so he has to believe he got everything he wanted, and he did really want this because if you leave it up to him he will chose to do the ritual vs just killing Cazador.  
I think Astarion has to believe he is better (which in his view means more powerful) than his past self as part of believing the sacrifice was worth it. In scenario 2 he’ll say this if you bring up his past self:
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What’s a lot more interesting is if you bring up his past self in the morning after conversation of scenario 1 he’s genuinely shocked and caught off guard:
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What I found interesting was Astarion talks in the same way about how the ritual was worth it and the cool new powers he’ll totally get as he does advocating for endings that are bad for him. If you become the Absolute leader Astarion becomes a thrall just like all the other companions whether you do it on your own or in Bhaal’s name. For all his talk about Bhaal’s army being “an unsurpassable dowry” and how he’ll command it, he can’t do jack shit if the player defies Bhaal and then either kills themselves or becomes fully possessed by Bhaal.The Doylist answer is Larian games just have a very limited amount of endings and the characters are forever stuck at lvl 12 , the more interesting Watsonian answer is Astarian is lying/exaggerating out of ignorance or because he really doesn’t have a clue of what to do next and is trying to cover for that.
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The whole ritual plotline is very obviously Astarion continuing the cycle of abuse vs helping others, the abuse Cazador inflicted was akin to the abuse he suffered from Vellioth, down to Astarion commenting that Cazador’s rules came from Vellioth. It's also clear that Ascendant!Astarion has processed none of his trauma re: Cazador, after the ritual he says “I will not think about him. I don’t want to even say his name” and he shouts at you to be silent if you mention Cazador when you break up in scenario 2. I personally think Astarion sees you staying with him as a spawn degrading because he was degraded and abused when he was a spawn based on a line he has if the pc is cursed to go mad with The Dark Urge, where he relates too much to the character.
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I think the DnD rules of absolute morality that vampires are extremely evil is a boring answer to why Ascendant!Astarion becomes possessive and controlling, especially since Larian has pushed against that theme throughout the game. Yes Astarion has an Act 1 line about how vampires don't turn spawn into full vampires because they don't share power, in my opinion that line falls flat when considering will have kind and supportive dialogue to the player in a number of other Act 3 quests. Whether the its the Watsonian answer that Larian wasn’t going to rewrite large chunks of dialogue when there are Act 3 quests with no companion reactions or the Doylist answer that he is just extremely possessive and has attachment issues about the threat of you leaving him is an interesting dilemma.
In regards to scenario 4 it's a fucking huge contrast to Astarion's whole character arc about learning to trust and being around someone who respects his boundaries and consent, where here doesn't respect the player's boundaries or consent. It's such a contrast to scenario 3 that happens right before it where Astarion says "We have served our respective purposes, we're free to go wherever we wish" and doesn't mind you breaking up with him as if your relationship was a strategic alliance. It's also the clearest contrast from his pre-ritual dialogue of "we're a team. If I become all powerful, then we become all powerful" because he's taken away all power from the player. The Ascendant romance is not subtle with most of the romance specific dialogue being themed around an extremely toxic D/s relationship where the Narrator explicitly says he’ll see you as degrading himself by being with him as a spawn which feels like it was added to remove any ambiguity about what Astarion feels.  From the way he says “on your knees” before he turns the player character, the way he calls you “bad boy/girl” if you fail the check to see his thoughts, and that infamous line about sitting naked on his lap.
Between the heavy message of power corrupts and how the rest of his ending dialogue is about how his evil future plans will be so fun, it's a clear callback to an act 1 conversation:
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tldr: I don't think that corruption is as fun or as freeing as you thought Astarion, but he doesn't have to confront that fact if you're "lovers forever, until the world falls down"
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littledollll · 5 months
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Lucifer Morningstar
Lucifer Morningstar x reader
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A/n: oof, that title and paring is great, I know. i know that it’s not really possible for this to be biblically accurate and I wasn’t necessarily trying, since the focus is Lucifer’s character, but I racked my brain trying to figure out how to make a hell that was populated before Lucifer even fell. So it might not make a lot of sense, but I hope you enjoy it regardless. In my mind, reader is the only being in hell at that time.
Thanks to @lord6-6fandom and @v3nusxsky who read and reviewed this a bit for me!
warnings: biblical stuff (not really), religious trauma!, slight gore, mentions of a lot of blood, wounds and just general injuries and the care of them, playful banter.
_______________________________
Burning.
Red encapsulated their body, a feeling of fire within and outside of the body. The body, what a fragile thing. How easily hurt, how terribly painful. They wished they didn’t have one. They wished to have freedom, from pain, from all seeing eyes, from all judging minds and all cutting tongues.
Was it truly so horrible? The simple action of questioning their father? Was it deserving of such a punishment?
They wish they could say it was all a blur. A blur would be better. No knowledge, no memory would surely feel a little less painful. But God wasn’t so forgiving, God wasn’t so merciful.
Wings that were once representing grace turned to fire and then char. Leathery, bloody, dark. It was all the opposite of what they used to be… Samael mourned more for their wings than for themselves. They were a great pride. They were perfect, more so than any other angels.
Favorite
What a meaningless word.
Would God not be forgiving to his favorite angel? Though Samael did not want God's forgiveness, they would be bitter over not being given it.
Oh his greatest creation. The most beautiful and wisest of all angels. They didn’t feel all that wise. They didn’t feel all that beautiful.
They felt numb. Not physically, oh how they wished it so, but the pain they were bearing was unexplainable. It was all surrounding. Have they been falling for an eternity? It certainly feels like such.
By the time they hit the depths of hell all feeling was gone. A limp body hitting the freezing floor with a loud, yet hollow sound.
God did not offer them the mercy of losing consciousness either. Of course not.
If they looked anything like they felt, surely they were a moving corpse. Yet they tried. Perhaps it was spite that kept them moving, and somehow (barely) strong. Bloody nails digging into the rough dirt, hitting and scratching against rocks just trying to get somewhere, even if that somewhere wasn’t familiar. Samael was far too prideful to just lay on their back and sink into the ground, although they desperately wanted to.
A pair of black boots entered their view, inches away from their face as whoever it was stepped in front of them. Intentionally this close, they noted.
“You’re new.” Their ears had a constant ring in the background, yet they somehow heard you clearly. “And very hurt...”
Clearly. They thought, but didn’t speak. A feeling told them if they even attempted, it wouldn’t work out either. They recognized the slightest tinge of concern in your tone, which was oddly comforting to hear.
Silence, for only a few moments. They had yet to see your face or really anything other than just your boots. Samael could feel your eyes upon them, studying, observing.
An unfamiliar feeling grew within them. Other than to God himself, Samael had never felt so inferior. They felt incredibly weak, and they could only imagine how it looked from your point of view. Had they become a being to pity now? Some sort of weak, hurt animal in need of pampering?
How the mighty have fallen.
“You are not dead, I know that. So how did you get there?” Again, that concern arised, making them irritated to no end. They were aware your tone should be the least of their worries as fog covers their view, a sick feeling running through their whole body and making their head spin, and their consciousness escaped.
——
They looked grand. To you, anyways. Whoever this was, they looked like a being of grace. Awfully pretty even with torn, bloody and burnt skin. There was a certain glow about them, even in this state. “Pretty as the morning star..”
They had majestic wings that were burned down to the bone and you were reluctant to touch them at all in fear they could stab through you without effort. But you did anyway.
You spoke to them, as if they could hear you. But it helped to ease your mind as you made an effort to clean and bandage them up.
You told them your name, your life story. Anything you could speak of to hopefully offer some sort of comfort, and calm your stress. Talking was nice. You never got to do that. To yourself, yes. But you never had someone to listen, or even look at as you spoke. So even if they weren't truly conscious, it somehow made you feel better.
Bloodied water trickled down your arm as you used a cloth to carefully clean every inch you could. You avoided their wings. They looked more painful than everything else, and you’d much rather help what you can while they remain unconscious than have an awkward stare down.
“I’ve been alone for only God knows how many years... would it be selfish of me to say, I’m glad to see somebody else here?” Calming blue eyes snapped open with a look you could only describe as pure rage. Wrath burned within them all the way down to their soul, you felt it. You also felt familiarity, along with a deep rooted sadness you never wanted to recognize or feel again.
They were unmoving, and those stunning eyes looked right past you, before darting towards your own. “I’m just trying to help. I will give you space if you’d like me to.” Somehow you managed to keep your voice stable, and calm.
The being looked at you, tilting their head as they too studied you, much like you did them a few moments prior. “My name is-“
“I know who you are.” They cut you off. Leaving you to sit there and battle with your own thoughts as they said nothing else, but stared at you. Exactly what you wanted to avoid.
Their voice sounded rough, but you could tell it wasn’t by nature. Probably a result of whatever torture they suffered before landing in hell. After a moment, they spoke again. “…my wings.”
“I was worried about waking you as I cleaned them.. so I was planning on leaving them for last.” A nod.
Was that it? Just nod and go back to silence and staring? You refused. “Now that you’re awake, I can handle that part, so try to sit up.” They looked at you curiously, but followed your demand wordlessly. It was a bit of a struggle, and hugely embarrassing, but they managed.
“I’m going to start now… try not to move.” Your words went clearly ignored because the second your hand graced their right wing it flickered and spread completely, making you jump back. You would’ve excused the flicker as a flinch, honest mistake. But they were obviously doing this intentionally.
“Hey-!” A deep, shaky sigh left the being before you. Disguising what you supposed was a pained groan, and they rested forward against the couch you had brought them to. “I’m pretty sure those things can kill me. Please, try not to do it again without warning.”
You weren’t entirely sure they cared, but it was worth saying.
You tried again, slowly, gently. Bringing the damp cloth to their leathery wings and trying so carefully to clean off any blood, or what seemed like ash from them. Another flicker, but nothing followed. They were incredibly still, you almost believed they had lost consciousness again if not for the sharp breathing they tried to disguise.
Why did it feel like you were grating their skin? Every soft pass of the gentle cloth felt like knives running down their wings. The feeling ran all through their body, but they wouldn’t let it show.
It was an agonizing process, that was probably only twenty minutes long but felt like a thousand hours. The moment it ended they slumped forward weakly, not really in a relaxed manner, but happy to have a break.
You allowed them a moment to just breathe as you went on, getting rid of the bloody water and discarding the cloth you had used.
“…who are you? I’ve been assuming you’re an angel this whole time, by nothing but context clues I suppose, but you don’t seem-“
“Samael, you know me as.” Samael… yes, that was familiar. An angel, God’s favorite at that. But what were they doing in the ruins of hell, looking like that of all things?
“But I am no longer using that name. It is dead to me, as God is.” And you’re guessing that as much of an answer you’re getting if you ever asked, so you didn’t. You had your own qualms about the God you were sworn to worship. After all, he was the reason for your isolation, he was why you lived alone in this barren land. The land of the dammed.
“What name are you using?” “Lucifer.” They had plenty of time to think about it. It just felt right. They were no longer God's angel, barely even an angel any longer. They needed a new name.. a new beginning, a new goal.
“Alright then, Lucifer. You can turn forward..” and they did. Which was surprising now that you knew who they were.
Once again a curious look crossed their face as they analyzed you. Why weren’t you asking? Why didn’t you care? What was so damn important about cleaning them that you had no regard for the story? Not like they would share it, no. Not now, not until they become something more than some sort of hurt animal.
You sat in front of them once again, with a new, much cleaner, bucket of water and cloth.
“I’m very capable of cleaning myself.” It was tiring, and humiliating, feeling so dependent. Lucifer was sure that if they even attempted their whole body would be taken over by pain once again. Moving didn’t seem like the best option at the moment, yet their pride wouldn’t allow this any longer.
“Yes, I’m sure you are. But if you’d let me, just this once..” you were sure they couldn’t. And perhaps making less demands and more requests would go better with the prideful angel, from now on.
“Allow me to do it selfishly then, it’s awful lonely down here and now you’ve joined me. Call it a welcome.” That certainly made it sound better.. they reluctantly nodded.
“Hell is unfinished. So why are you here?” They asked as they stared down at you like a hawk. Watching your every move, observing where your hands went with every touch. “Unfinished doesn’t mean inaccessible. I’m a gatekeeper.” That made them even more curious. “You’re not an angel.” “I'm not. I'm just a gatekeeper.”
Silence followed after that. Lucifer wasn’t quite sure what to make of you. You seemed kind, caring, and horribly lonely. You also seemed to enjoy ‘taking care’ of them. And you didn’t ask. They liked that a lot. “I suppose you’re okay.”
You hummed and looked up at them. “What does that mean?” “You’re okay company. I’m left to rot here, so I might as well take into account that you’re tolerable to be around.”
“Thank you?” “You’re welcome.” What an odd being. Their pride followed them all the way down here, you’ve noticed.
Soft hands, a warm cloth trailed up their shoulders, not scrubbing as much as just wiping, almost like a smooth caress with the intent of cleaning. They enjoyed that feeling. They’d never say it aloud.
You were concentrating on them, so silence repeated once again. But there were no awkward or harsh stares, nor tension. It was comfortable, it felt safe.
Lucifer looked beautiful like this. Their skin clean of all blood and ash, the gashes and cuts already well on their way to healing perfectly.
A knowing look crossed the angel's face as they looked down at you, once again getting rid of the water and cloth now that you were done.
“I can feel your smugness from here.” “I can hear your thoughts. That gives me the right to be smug.” You looked back at them, a smirk had grown on their lips.
“Look at you already messing up my peace..” you muttered. “I think you like me.” You do. You certainly do. Lucifer is quite charming, and very beautiful, how could you not?
“Well, Lucifer. I might tolerate you too, a little.” That made them genuinely smile, and God was it a stunning sight. A bright smile. Stunning like the morning star. They somehow kept reminding you of just that. It’s been years since you’ve seen it.. Eons probably, you’ve lost track. But you’re certain they look just like it.
“That’s Lucifer Morningstar, to you.”
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𝙴𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚆𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚞𝚝 - a Han Jisung short au!fanfic
PART 2
💫PART 3💫
Minho rolls his eyes and scoots closer to him, "clearly I overestimated just how far you're willing to go for her. And how much you want to fix your sorry heart. No, I did not enjoy it in that sense. She's pretty and she's nice to kiss but I didn't do that to spite you, I did that so Yongbokie wouldn't. The bottle was pointing at him, it was clear as day. I tried to signal that to you back then, I was trying to help".
Han sighs and aknowledges his friend with a little nod, "thank you? I guess?", he replies half heartedly, which only irks Minho, "Hannie you really don't understand do you?", "were you expecting me to giggle and kick my feet in excitement over it? Like yeah, my best friend made out with the girl I'm fucking in love with so my other best friend wouldn't! Yay so fucking awesome, I'm ecstatic", he spits out in a mocking tone, trying to keep his voice as low and quiet as possible despite the annoyance lacing his words.
His older friend grunts and pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing out frustratedly, "would you have rather witnessed them kissing and her possibly realizing that her long time closest friend is actually the one she needed all along? It's a tale as old as time, if you don't act upon it, she's going to move on, she might already have. She's pretty, she's kind, she's smart. She got plenty of options".
Han shifts uncomfortably and inhales deeply, his head pounding, his heart aching, he knows his friend is trying to help but the harsh reality of his words still stings. "I don't think Felix is ever going to confess, he confronted me about it when me and her kissed and he was crying, not even over the fact itself but because he felt hopeless, he knows she sees him as a friend, I highly doubt he'd rather lose her completely instead of keeping her around, even if it's not romantically", he tries to reason. More as a way to reassure himself, though.
Deep down he knows things might have changed ever since that day and that you and his friend could have gotten closer with the way he had inadvertently pushed you right into his arms by pretending to not have meant it when he made his move on you.
Minho snickers softly and turns on his back, his eyes flittering shut, his body going progressively lax, "who says I'm talking about her necessarily moving on with HIM?". His sentence trails off in the air and for a second Han believes he fell asleep.
Everybody around them had gone completely quiet, not even the flashing colorful lights on Felix's phone were on anymore. "Hyung?", Han tries to get his friend's attention once, and when he gets no response he props himself up on his elbow and taps Minho on his shoulder, "hyung? Who are you talking about? Is it you? Are you actually into her?".
Minho snorts and gently pushes him off, "you pabo, no. I already told you so, not my type. But I saw her cozying up to Hyunjin earlier. Like I said, plenty of options. Even if it's not one of us, she's going to find someone else, eventually. That's why you should act now, if you're really after her".
The younger chestnut brunette ponders for a second, a million different scenarios already unravelling in his brain. He bites the inside of his cheek and sighs, "I really like her, hyung. I wish I could get her back, if she would take me, of course. But I can't do that to Felix, I almost ruined my friendship with him once".
Minho hums and takes a deep breath,feeling oh so sleepy but still willing to be there for his friend, "I get it. He has a very tender heart and gets hurt easily, you care about him, we all do. But do you actually think this is better for him in the long run? The both of you painfully pining over the same person but not doing anything until it might be too late,him not even being aware of your feelings for her …".
Han turns on his side, his back facing Minho, he looks over at you, blissfully asleep in a tangle with Felix, he remains silent, listening to the sound of his heart breaking. "At the end of the day nobody's winning, Hannie. You're lovesick, he's lovesick, she's oblivious. He might never act upon it and never move on. Is that what you want to do for the rest of your life as well? Admire her from a distance? Nobody deserves her more than the other, it's up to her. But you're both unknowingly hurting each other. It's just a matter of who's going to stop this vicious cycle first".
When Han doesn't reply for a few seconds, Minho rolls on his side a slings an arm over him, pulling him closer to his chest, "get some rest, don't think too much about it now. Whatever it is in your head, sleep it over", he murmurs softly, his whispery voice just barely audible.
"Hyung…do you think it's fair of me to try and pursue her despite knowing how Felix feels?". Han speaks after a while, his eyes running up and down your spine as he watches you cling to his blue haired friend.
His hyung sighs deeply, fighting off the last bit of strength left in his body and his mind, his eyes already shut, ready to sleep: "I don't know what's fair, Hannie. All I know is that neither of you are doing enough to be with her…though looking at her now … That might be wrong…", he trails off, Morpheus pulling him deeper and deeper into his slumber. "Why would that be wrong?", "cause you're here, sleeping with me. And look who is she cuddling with".
Felix is lovely to snuggle up to, really. But the man is also a human furnace. You squeeze your eyelids together and press the back of your hands onto your warm cheeks. You are too warm. You find them a little damp, a thin layer of perspiration beading your forehead too, your whole lower body all warm and fuzzy and numb from the position you fell asleep in.
You don't even remember falling asleep in the first place, you were just watching silly videos on Felix's phone and at one point your eyelids felt too droopy to keep your eyes open and you must have succumbed without even realizing it.
Slowly, carefully, you peel yourself off of the sleeping figure of your best friend, the look on his face so angelic and serene, pouty lips and slightly scrunched up nose sinking into the side of the pillow underneath him. Your hands tap around the surface beneath you until you find a comfortable,cooler spot to roll over to. You refuse to open your eyes fully, not wanting to loose that hazy, sweet state that's between sleepiness and wakefulness, and you unawarely bump into something hard, the impact startling you awake.
Mmh..?", Han rolls on his back and then on his side, partially invading your new found space,bleary eyed as he searches for the reason his already troubled sleep got interrupted, he comes face to face with you: "hey ... Y-you okay?", he mumbles softly, his voice so low and gentle you can barely hear him, "yeah-yeah sorry. Didn't see you there", you aplogize quickly, your body recoiling in itself as if you just got burned.
"Lixy's too warm isn't he", Han blinks a few times, heavy eyelids threatening to remain shut with every flutter of his long straight eyelashes. You're not sure why he's even trying to conversate right now, but you're a little too tired and too drowsy to mind it that much, you nod and stretch tour lips into a small smile, "you're cold though, usually", he continues, his voice raspy and low, just above a whisper.
Something about it makes your lower abdomen sizzle. Also something about the straightforwardness he speaks in makes you think he might not be referring only to your over all body temperature. "I could say the same to you", you whisper back, a slight bite in your tone.
Han smirks, his eyes looking a little more open and awake now, "that's true". He pauses. Brown orbs searching your tired face, it makes you feel exposed. Even though you're fully clothed in one of your old jumpers and pijama shorts, you feel as if he's looking through you. It also makes you suddenly realize just how close you're laying together, how he could take one too many breathes and be just a few inches away from your face.
"Do two cold people make a warm one?", he breathes, "I'm not sure, they'd probably disintegrate first. Or melt. Into each other". You have no idea what you're saying. The lack of sleep is talking for you, the intense gaze in his eyes playing tricks on your not fully awake brain. "I think they'd melt too". Han looks down at your lips briefly, the flick so quick you might have missed it if you blinked at the wrong time.
The slight thump in your chest though, that you couldn't have missed even if you tried to. Your eyes are trained to his, and for the first time in years you feel as if time between you never passed. As if that quickening in your heart was always there, like it never slowed down, numbed itself out so you would stop longing for him. A flicker, a tiny thing kindling against your ribcage. Click.
It happens in slow motion at first,as if you're watching a black and white film roll out before you eyes. And you're the protagonist but you're also looking at it from the audience. Him scooting closer, your breath stopping short in your mouth before you can exhale.
And then it kinda feels like a car crash.
🥀PART 4
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juyeonszn · 5 months
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I WANNA SHOW YOU OFF
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PAIRING ju haknyeon x f!reader
WORD COUNT 1.65k
GENRES smut
WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, idol!juhak and non-idol!reader, stupid man not getting the hint, jealous juhak 🤭, DOM JUHAK !!!! this deserves its own warning phew, marking, no foreplay bc we ball like steph curry, little bit of exhibitionism but also not really, unprotected sex, sex against a wall?? standing upright?? what is that position called, creampie lol
SUMMARY you hated when men flirted with you, but god if it didn’t result in such a thrilling experience.
MORE im actually yelling like no way i’ve done 9 of these…. each time a fawntober fic goes up i rattle my brain around in my head to make sure it’s not empty 😭 ANYWAYS!!! if u enjoyed, please reblog <3
PERM TAGLIST @winterchimez @maessseongs @itsbeeble @zzoguri
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You couldn’t wait to get out of here.
Your feet were starting to ache from the uncomfortable heels you were wearing. Your faux smile could only handle staying on your face for so long. Your head was throbbing from all of the superficial conversations. You were just about ready to crash.
That was the thing about being the girlfriend of a successful idol, you had to accompany him to these company parties despite everyone being so fake. The only genuine people were the idols themselves. All of the higher ups and staff members were just too vain and shallow minded, you could hardly talk to them without feeling like you’d lost multiple brain cells.
To be fair, you weren’t required to attend these. Haknyeon technically wasn’t even supposed to have a girlfriend, for the sake of maintaining his image for the fans. But everyone at his company knew of your existence and he liked having the excuse to parade you around like a little trophy.
His group members often teased him for being the first to get into a relationship. The two of you had been friends way before he even began idol training and preparing to debut. During that time, you’d lost touch, thanks to his rigorous training process and dedication to his craft. But a couple years into the limelight and you found your way back to each other. Fate was a funny concept.
You were currently standing at a high-top table, mindlessly chatting with some guy from the PR department. Haknyeon had disappeared to grab you some drinks to kill time before you could finally leave. Sunwoo stayed back to keep you occupied while he was gone, but at some point, you heard Eric calling for him and he, too, had wandered off. You kind of wished you went with him, now stuck with this random man you didn’t know.
“You’re really pretty, Y/N,” the guy says, smiling at you. “Haknyeon is very lucky.”
You laugh awkwardly, thanking him for the compliment. He kept inching closer to you, making it palpable that he was flirting in spite of his awareness towards your relationship. The dude clearly couldn’t take a hint, oblivious to your uncomfortability. You didn’t want to be rude, though. These were the people who worked with your boyfriend on a near daily basis.
Where the hell was Haknyeon?
“Does he treat you well?” He asks, clearly steering the conversation in a specific direction. You know what he’s aiming at, but you pretend to be ignorant to his attempts.
“He’s an exceptional boyfriend, actually. He treats me like a princess.” You state, eyes darting around the large event hall in search of said boyfriend. If he didn’t come to your rescue soon, you feared you’d say something worthy of putting his career on the line.
“If that’s truly the case, why is he nowhere to be found? How could such a good partner leave his girlfriend all alone like this?” The gaslighting is hilarious. The fact that this guy genuinely felt he was so much better than Haknyeon, that he was much more attractive, was laughable. He sincerely thought he was powerful enough to come between your secure, loving relationship.
“Here you go, baby,” a drink is placed in front of you, a kiss left on your temple. “What are you and Seojun talking about?”
Haknyeon’s arm wraps snugly around your waist. To anyone else, he’d look normal. He was remaining neutral, lips pulled into a thin line but curved at the ends so it appeared that he was being nice. But you knew otherwise. You knew this calm was just a facade to hide how pissed off he really was. His jealousy wasn’t because he didn’t trust you. His jealousy was because he didn’t trust others.
Namely Jung Seojun, the PR department’s resident fuckboy.
You glance up at your boyfriend, surprised there wasn’t any drool rolling down your chin. You couldn’t help but be drawn into the darkness of his eyes and his clenched jaw. The best part of this was what lies ahead of you once you get home. Maybe this night wasn’t a total bust.
“Oh. Um. Just, you know, the usual pleasantries…” This dude was a shitty liar. He was fortunate that he hadn’t actually made a move on you, lest he wanted to keep his job. Ju Haknyeon didn’t play around when it came to you, the love of his life.
Thankfully, you don’t stay at the party much longer. He tried to keep his cool until it was deemed acceptable to make his exit, but at a certain point, he just couldn’t anymore. The drive home wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was a thick tension filling the atmosphere. If it weren’t for the driver in the same car, you’re sure his hands would’ve been all over you.
So, the moment you step through the threshold of the dorms, door barely locked, Haknyeon’s pinning you to the surface. His lips are searing on your own, rough but soft all at once. His fingers don’t know where they want to rest, first tangled in your hair and then digging into your hips only a second later. Your head is dizzy, spinning around a mantra of his name and nothing else.
He bunches up the fabric of your dress, pulling back slightly to catch his breath. “Who the hell did he think he was? Talking to my pretty girl like he was deserving of her presence?”
“Hak…” You sigh, his mouth trailing down the side of your neck. He nips and sucks at the base, and then again where it meets your jaw. You hated when men flirted with you, but God if it didn’t result in such a thrilling experience. Your regularly sweet, gentle boyfriend becoming someone nearly unrecognizable drove you crazy.
“Hmm?” His hands hook under your thighs, picking you up so you can wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. You can feel him this way, already so hard and ready for you. You don’t think you can handle waiting for all the foreplay, your entire body tingling with want and desire.
“Need you to fuck me,” you whine, head lolling to the side when he sucks at that particularly sensitive area on your throat. “Want you so bad…”
“Yeah, princess? Gonna fuck you so good that you’ll be ruined for anyone else. No one can give it to you like I do.” He chuckles into your skin, pushing your dress up further and kissing your shoulders after the straps have slid off. Ju Haknyeon might actually be the death of you.
That was your favorite thing about sex with him. He was so uncharacteristically cocky, so uncharacteristically aggressive in the way he manhandled you. You moan when he shoves aside your underwear, undoing his slacks enough to slip his cock free. He presses into you slowly, forehead falling to your shoulder with a groan.
One of his hands comes up to fist at your hair, yanking back so he can bite at your jugular and exposed chest some more. He thrusts up into your cunt with what feels like ease in spite of your walls squeezing him. His hips snap up and meet your ass with every kiss of his cock to that spongy spot deep inside of your pussy. Everything is moving too fast, but not fast enough at the same time.
“W-What if someone comes home?” You gasp, fingers getting lost in the hair at the nape of his neck. As much as you were enjoying this, you don’t know what you’d do if one of his members walked in on you. For sure, you’d be mortified, unable to show your face around the dorm ever again.
“Who cares? Let them see how well you’re taking it,” he mutters, sucking in your supple skin and ensuring bruises are left in his wake. “I should let everyone witness how good I fuck you, right baby? Marking you all up so the world knows your mine.”
A loud moan rips from your vocal cords, his cock so deep inside of you that you’re starting to see stars. Haknyeon grins against your sternum knowing that you’re enjoying this as much as he is. You wanted him to stake his claim on your body, wanted anyone who could see to know that you were his. Even the way he fucked into you had that same purpose, like his dick was meant to be there. It was almost as if your cunt was acclimating to the shape of it.
“Fuck, feels so so good, Hak…” You whine, lower half squirming when that knot in your stomach is about to unravel. Your toes curl and your back arches off of the door, legs spreading wider in an attempt to suck him in further. “I’m gonna— oh god— I’m—”
You don’t even finish your sentence, your orgasm washing over you without a moment’s notice. The feeling of your cunt fluttering around his cock has Haknyeon groaning, twitching and spilling into you seconds later. He fucks his own release back inside of you, teeth sinking into your collarbone to steel himself.
The two of you stay like that for a minute, catching your breaths in spite of his cum beginning to leak out of you. He kisses the crown of your sweaty forehead. “You did so well, princess.”
Just like earlier, you’re interrupted before you can reply, the sound of keys jingling on the other side of the door. You share a look of terror, scrambling to his room so you don’t get caught. You both flop onto his bed in a fit of giggles, recalling how he’d said he didn’t care who saw you in such a compromising state.
“You’re all talk, aren’t you?” You tease.
“Oh, just you wait, baby,” he shakes his head, moving to hover over you. “I’ll make you regret that you said that.”
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© juyeonszn. do not steal, claim, or repost.
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ohwolfling · 3 months
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Mulling Gale over in my brain and the inherent tragedy of his orb ending, it hit me today that part of the tragedy might come from knowing not everyone will make it out alive from their abuse, not everyone can be saved. He probably WOULD just kill himself if he goes through his full Byronic arc, its culmination landing in pure self-destruction because of how he sees himself. He dooms himself in his own narrative by being most likely to kill himself more than anything else, and a way to make that noble could turn into such a natural consequence of that. He doesn't even question Mystra asking him to kill himself, he just decides he'll do it. Like you said, the biggest echoing thread comes from those Byronic tendencies. It gives the cruelty of Mystra even sharper teeth knowing that his orb ending is so inherently tied to his use as a plot device to end the Netherbrain that's just always available to the Player even if their Tav is romancing him. Tragic with a capital T!
I think you've hit the nail on the head on the aspect of Baldur's Gate that has the most potential heartbreak - the work you have to do to LEAVE an abuser, to be FREE of them, and to RECOVER from them is so much more work than they had to do to hurt you. And you have to do all of that before you can even start thinking about being a person.
I'm going to talk a bit more about abuse, suicidality, my own experiences, and the NARRATIVE weight of Gale's ending. I'm putting it below a cut because I know that's a sensitive topic for folks! But please know I'll be discussing it with respect, personal experience, a trauma informed lens, and as someone who believes that built in narrative is good and tragedy is allowed to be tragic but DOES NOT think an ending where every party member is on step Become A person is bad or lesser because they're alive.
I personally will always do my best to keep Gale alive and to keep Gale mortal. For me, the choices will always err on the side of Gale the man. Not because I think it's wholly invalid to want to explore magic or godhood with Gale, but my own experience as a survivor of child abuse and DV really informs those choices.
I have had the privilege of being someone that other people go to when they're starting that process of leaving their abuser, going no contact, trying to become a person. I did not have people in my life who were that for me. It has been really rewarding to have a game FULL of narrative choices that can reflect both of those experiences.
Especially with the parallels of Gale and Astarion and then the parallels with Lae'zel and Shadowheart, this game EXCELS at showing the reality of the cycle of abuse. But it never EVER asks you to judge them for it. It never says, "Oh, they're evil and irredeemable now." It hurts because the game responsibly and thoroughly makes it hurt. I appreciate that so much.
Gale is not a bookworm who is relaxed and chill and just going through a break up. Everything about Gale- everything Gale tells you about himself- is a red flag. Gale is incredibly prone to risky behavior, he is self flagellating to the point of assuming you will be done with him after the truth of the orb, his first instincts leaving the path of "at least I get to die for something" is "the gods can't do this to us, let me be one of them" and that's from a place of anger and spite and CONTINUED self loathing. Becoming a god is another way for Gale to kill himself. When you romance him, if you let him read the book of Karsus, if you tell him you love him without being a god, he says, ok well then love the best version of me - meaning a god. Gale thinks Gale should die. And it's because he has been taught that he is disposable, that he is not a man, he is a vessel of the Weave, a toy for Mystra, and that any corruption or perceived cowardice around the Weave makes him nothing. Gale does not believe in his own inherent humanity.
I owe a big Byronic breakdown for Gale- and I will get to it as a separate post- but again I have to tell people to get into A Tale of Two Cities. Get into Sydney Carton, babes. Carton says this as he walks to his execution, in the context of A Tale of Two Cities it is a personal resolution AND a parallel for the history and future of France, but I think on its basest, most emotional level it is reflectively of the headspace Gale immediately pivots to:
“I see a beautiful city and a brilliant people rising from this abyss. I see the lives for which I lay down my life, peaceful, useful, prosperous and happy. I see that I hold a sanctuary in their hearts, and in the hearts of their descendants, generations hence. It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.”
The idea of REST being part of it... that's so Gale to me. A thing I think many people gloss over to woob Gale or because they're projecting onto Gale is that Gale really does NOT have quality of life. He has a tower. He has nice things. deep down, he is a homebody, and he likes being home. He is loved by his mother and Tara. But he is EXHAUSTED. He has been in Mystra's hands since he was a child, she still fucking chides him and tells him to be patient and he's a mortal man roughly 40, who has only ever loved/worshipped her and the Weave, and she lets this happen to him and makes it worse because he is desperate to be her equal. He is desperate to make a home with her and to be loved by her. Gale knows somewhere that the way she "chooses" or "loves" him is not what he needs or deserves. It manifests as this.
Gale is so, so tired. Exhaustion not just physical, but emotional, likely a shattered nervous system, and then everything the Orb does to him physically and mentally.
It is a good story, if Gale dies for us. It is a good story, if Gale falls into the trap of thinking you can "win" abuse or be a good cop or get enough power to punish or stop your abusers.
It is a good story if he lives, too. And it's an important one. So little media is FOR the traumatized and FOR survivors. I feel so much for BG3 because it offers us multiple pathways for every single person and none of them discard their trauma. Whatever happens, they are shaped by it, and they don't force you to lose them or switch the story to call them bad and wrong or ever infantilize them because of it.
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4suitedplayingcard · 8 days
Text
Various Punch Out Headcanons I have that I felt the need to share or else my brain would explode :p
All of the boxers (who didn't originally live in New York) pretty much just live in hell NY now cuz of their boxing career. They do visit their families during vacation and all that, but for the most part, they just stay in New York.
Piston Hondo finds it hard to make friends with people who are around the same age as him and younger because he finds them harder to understand/relate to (and also a bit more judgemental), so he mostly hangs out w/ people who are much older than him, with the only exception being Great Tiger.
King Hippo thinks that most beds are uncomfortable and will sleep pretty much anywhere except on a bed. On the floor, the couch, a pile of leaves, a comically small pillow, etc etc.
Aran Ryan has a bad habit of eating non edible objects out of intrusive thinking (and also spite sometimes), he's eaten things ranging from twigs to hand sanitizer to cigarette butts and has been sent to the hospital a couple of times because of it.
Don Flamenco is obsessed with skincare, mostly due to the fact that he looks like a middle aged man with his toupee off. The second he gets his paycheck, he immediately spends most of it on various scrubs and lotions. He even almost went bankrupt on numerous occasions because of it
Bear Hugger had been friends with Ms. Bear even since he was 12 years old. He found her all alone in the forest on a snowy day when she was a baby and his parents agreed to keep her until they find her a new home (which obviously didn't work out)
Super Macho Man is a nepo baby. His mother was a movie actor while his father was also a heavyweight boxer, which caused him to get a lot of attention from not only his peers at school, but also media outlets too.
Glass Joe has terrible eyesight and mostly uses contact lenses wherever he goes, though he does occasionally wear glasses sometimes (mostly at home or whenever he's run out of contacts).
Bald Bull is VERY reluctant to touch, even the slightest little bump in can cause him to flip out. He only makes this exception to people who are super close to him, but even then, he doesn't want any physical contact for too long or he’ll start to lose it.
Even though Von Kaiser wasn't actually apart of a war, he was enrolled in a boot camp for a few years of his life. It was hell and he still has nightmares about it to this day…
No matter how much sleep he gets, Great Tiger usually ends up sleepy at some point during the day. He's tried every to get him to sleep better, drinking warm milk, staying away from electronics an hour before bed, taking melatonin, but he still ends up tired in the middle of the day sometimes and it drives him mad.
Y'know those scientist that you see in Soda Popinski’s title defense slideshow? Well those are kind of his dads. He was left on the doorsteps of a lab when he was a baby, and all of the people in the facility have been taking care of him ever since.
Disco Kid has a brother a few months younger than him who used to be the boxer known as Kid Quick. They both started Boxing at around 18, but Kid Quick ended up quitting early in his career to focus on something more mundane. (Yea ik I made a lil shitpost drawing a few weeks ago about Kid Quick being pre-transition Disco Kid but shhhh-)
Mr. Sandman is the only boxer in the entire organization that's not only married, but also has a kid. He has a wife named Alena and a daughter named Chelsea, they all live with Sandman in NYC. :)
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tulipsforvin · 5 months
Note
typing this makes me feel so filthy good but also hell everything, let's all be filthy. your louis smut was 💯💯 i want to eat it like it's my last meal on earth...so i came here to request for an albert one 👀
HAGWJ20$)_+) i always see smuts of him being on top and while i agree i also see him as a bratty sub ⁉️ he just got a lot of something to say im sorry for babbling id end up with 2k words as to how i think he'd look perfect tied up in bed....(if you do gn reader then please ,, if not then a male reader it is. story writing format since the way you write albert tickles my brain)
A/N: BACK!! Sorta'? Anyway,thank you for the request, anon! Hope you have a wonderful day, night ahead of you!
Format: Story Writing
Tags: Implied Multiple Rounds, Orgasm Denial, Edging, Begging, Degradation, Praising (sorta), Use of Vibrators, Use of Restraints Such As Neck Collar And Handcuffs, Choking, Slight Dacryphilia, Established Relationship, Jealousy
Bratty Albert J. Moriarty x Male!Reader
NSFW AHEAD
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Albert's wrists throbbed with pain as he pulled at the cuffs, his struggles futile against the unyielding grip of the cold metal.
Arms behind his back with the cuffs connected to each other and feet tied to each leg of the chair — the view was nothing short of beautiful as his chest heaved.
He looks up at (Name) in defiance, raising an eyebrow; unimpressed. “Is this all you're capable of, my love? All bark and no bite?” He chuckles dryly. “Really, I'm beginning to think that I've overestimated you far too much.”
(Name) scoffs, glaring down at Albert with controlled indignation. “Ironic you say that, dear, since you're doing the exact same thing. Look at you, tied up and writhing around.”
He tips Albert's chin upwards to face him better. “Do you get off this? Think you have some sort of control over this situation? I thought you were capable of assessing your surroundings better, Lieutenant Colonel.”
Albert huffs in amusement, averting eye contact with him as he leans back in his chair.
“Look at me.” (Name) commands, tugging him forward by the leash. He relents, huffing.
Albert's breath gets stuck in his throat, feeling his air way constrict with every tug.
“I think our roles are unfairly switched here.” Albert shrugs, tilting his head. “Don't you think I should be the one administrating punishment on you - considering how touchy you were getting with that disturbingly corrupt noble at the Noahtic?”
“For the record,” (Name) leans forward, placing his knee over Albert's erection — the outlines of it drastically clear through Albert's pants with how hard he is. “I did what I did for the job I was assigned. You, on the other hand, did what you did out of spite.”
He stiffens in place, feeling his lover languidly rub over his hardened cock with his knee.
In a party hosted by one of his noble acquaintances only hours ago, (Name) had been asked to seduce a corrupt noble for William's schemes. This made Albert, out of pure pettiness, choose to flirt with another person other than (Name).
(Name) hums, fingertips trailing to the zipper of Albert's pant. Albert's breath hitches before (Name) frees his partner's cock. It stands out - taut and erect against his abdomen, precum already leaking over the tip.
“And here I thought how wonderfully well you were doing - all composed and collected. It was all but a facade, after all, hm?” (Name) runs a lazy finger over the tip, smiling smugly at the sight. “Must say, I'm disappointed.”
Albert shivers, hips instinctively bucking into his lover's touch for more. A quiet, barely audible.
“Damn it, (Name).” escapes his mouth.
“Ah-ah.” (Name) moves his point finger into a 'no' motion. “You sit there, take it & be a good boy if you want more. Am I understood?”
Albert hisses, glaring up at (Name) from his his eyelashes but in the end; acquiesces.
This earns a hum of satisfaction from (Name). He opens up a bottle of lube and lets it lather over Albert's almost swollen cock. Albert shivers, feeling the cold lube drench around the entirety of his length.
(Name) gives Albert's cock a few pumps, delighting in the way it throbs in his palm.
“Hngh.” Albert grunts, breathing becoming heavy. Beads of sweat drip down his forehead.
(Name) laughs at the effect he has on Albert.
“How adorable you are, helpless and writhing like some maggot.” He chuckles quietly.
A vibrator is pressed against the swollen, almost dark red or purple tip of his cock and strokes his fist up and down the remaining length of Albert's shaft in a hard, fast pace.
“F-fuck!” Albert's voice is breathy and hoarse, eyelids have shut tight - the vibration against the tip of his length and the occasional pumps from (Name)'s hand bringing him closer and closer to his orgasm.
Albert shudders and shivers, feeling his breath grow ragged and irregular as he lets out all kinds of muffled moans and grunts.
“I-I'm going to—”
Albert's breath grows shallow, his legs begin to tremble. He's almost, almost there when (Name) pulls his hand and the vibrator away.
He lets out a frustrated groan at his climax being ripped away from him when it was right there. He bites down on his lower lip, exhaling and inhaling sharply repeatedly.
“Why?” He croaks out, looking up at (Name). “I was so close- was so s' close.” He whimpers.
“Did you think we were done, dear?” (Name) laughs almost cruelly, leaning in and nibbling on his earlobe. “Consider this payback.”
“Dirty, filthy manwhore.” (Name) whispers into Albert's ear, making his breath hitch.
It had almost been two hours now. (Name) continued to deny Albert of his orgasms, violently edging him over and over again.
(Name) runs a thumb over Albert's cheekbone, watching his tears stream down his cheeks and his moans and grunts turn into whimpers, squeals and sobs for release.
“Please, please, p'ease,” He cries, eyes glassy with shedding tears. “Let me cum, please.”
A huff of amusement escapes (Name)'s lips and he leans in to kiss his tears away.
“Look so pretty.” (Name) smirks, placing his forehead against Albert's. Their cheeks touch and (Name) can feel how damp Albert's cheeks are, wet with the continuos flow of tears. “So vulnerable for me. So endearing.”
“Sorry, I'm sorry..” Albert hics, eyelids closed and eyelashes wet with tears. “Won't flirt with anybody ever again.. please, please. Won't be petty, I swear.”
“Hmm.” (Name) presses a kiss against Albert's cheek, feeling his heart begin to melt ever so slightly. “Really? Do you promise?”
“Really. I promise, (Name).” He blabbers weakly. “I promise, so please make me cum.”
(Name) smiles, eyes scanning Albert's flushed and damp facial features & expression.
“Mm. Alright.” He murmurs, letting his hand trail back to Albert's twitching, swollen cock.
“But..” (Name)'s hand wraps around Albert's shaft as he whispers sweetly. “Two more.”
“T-two more?” Albert asks, head whirring.
“Let me bring you to the edge two more times and if you're still good by the end of it, I'll let you cum, okay?”
Albert, too needy and too exhausted - yet still in desperate need to climax nods his head.
“...'kay.” He blabbers, head falling to (Name)'s shoulder weakly.
“Good boy.”
(Name) chuckles, satisfied with the outcome.
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zlebooks · 1 year
Text
08 — insufferable pda
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the bell rings, signaling that your class has just ended.
normally you would have been over the moon at the news that you may now go home, but with a certain ginger looming over your head, you begin to shudder.
picking up your things to put them away in your bag, you take your time, waiting for the rest of your classmates to leave the room already. doing so would lessen the chances of majority of the school population seeing you with an insufferable human being.
you were grateful in so many ways for childe, but having to walk all the way home with him? you don’t think you have enough patience to do that. his personality is way different than yours; he likes to make his presence known, while you prefer to keep to yourself. he’s the life of the party while you’re more of a homebody. childe is loud and extremely outspoken, way different than zhongli. because while your fake boyfriend spouts nonsense with every chance he gets, the one you actually wanted to be your boyfriend speaks nothing but knowledge.
you definitely won’t fall in love with childe, you were sure of it.
on the topic of zhongli, you start to accept that you were probably now doomed with attempting to further your romantic relations with him. publicizing your relationship with his best friend was bound to get to his ears, automatically making you off limits. you win some you lose some.
“babe! what’s taking you so long?” a voice shouts from the outside of the classroom, making everyone’s heads turn to the source. orange hair enters your peripheral vision and suddenly, all eyes were on you while the floor is filled by dropped jaws.
you were already dreading what’s to come.
childe, seeing you fake struggle with putting your things away, helps from you doubt that is from the goodness of his heart. he smiles devilishly; to anyone, it might have looked that he was genuinely happy to help, but to you, a devious smirk is displayed across his place.
“look at my prettiest girl, needing help. was chemistry class too much for your pretty brain?” he asks you the moment he finishes putting your books inside your bag.
it’s ridiculous how the topic of chemistry is present in one way or another whenever childe is around— this must be the hell designed for you.
in retaliation, you gently snatch your bag away from him but to no avail, his grip remains the victor. you grit your teeth, attempting to snatch it again from him with much harsher force but childe’s hold remains persistent.
“now now, let me carry your bag for you.” he gives you a toothy grin and you wish that you had pliers to pull every single one of them out. not so toothy anymore, huh?
you may be a complete dum dum in chemistry, but you knew better than to cause a scene in front of everyone. so, as much as you’d love to go against childe’s wishes out of spite, you surrender your school bag to him.
the male beams at you before reaching his hand out for you as he smiles. you stare at it weirdly, as if he’s carrying his head in it.
he motions his head towards his hand and like cogs clicking in your head, you realize he’s waiting for you to take it.
“is this really necessary?” you ask in a hushed voice, finally taking his hand into yours. you hold it like how you would in a handshake and childe snorts at this,
“we have to make this believable remember? i have reason why i agreed to this.” he says and you feel his hand adjusting to yours so he can intertwine your fingers instead. “is this the first time you held someone’s hands romantically too? you hold like a grandma crossing a street.”
at this you scoff, “i’m sorry if i don’t want to fully commit to your sweaty palms,” you raise both of your hands to make a point, “and for the record, you were the one who brought up the agreement first.”
“fair enough,” he fake chuckles so to anyone, it would have looked like you cracked a funny joke when in reality, childe is at his limits already.
without warning, he begins to walk— literally stringing you along with him. you secretly pinch his side, to which he winces in response. childe grits his teeth at you, without ever losing his award winning smile.
“now, was that really necessary?”
you shrug.
the moment you step outside the class, you hear your classmates talk in hushed voices. if they meant for you to hear them, then they succeeded.
“why do they care so much?”
childe smirks with playfulness, “because apparently you’re dating me? i’m a big deal around here y’know.”
you can’t help but roll your eyes at the comment, scoffing with how high he thinks of himself. someone should be humbled down, obviously.
the rest of your walk with childe remained peaceful (to your happiness) except for some gawks you received from other people. and as you approach closer to the school gates, you began to feel elated as freedom is just within your reach. but before you could even make your escape, childe only tightens his grip on your hand, smiling eerily down at you as if he knew what you were planning all along.
“you’re not thinking of actually walking me home right?” you rhetorically ask, but instead of hearing the answer you want to hear, you were met with no response at all.
childe, like the best thing he does, smiles mischievously.
“no.” you try to reason out, “no one will follow us to check if we’re actually dating!”
“oh hush now, we need to be as believing as possible. the person i’m trying to keep off my back is just around.”
you were immediate to glance around your surroundings, hoping to be able to take a good look at the present people’s faces. before you could even do a fast scan, childe tugs your hand he’s holding once again, warning you to stop being obvious.
with a sigh, you finally accept your defeat.
“so, how was your day?”
you snort at the sudden question. you never expected to be taken aback by some trivial question and yet, here you were.
“really? i thought that given how big your mouth is, you’d be great at starting conversations.”
“i’m trying here!” he looks so offended, as if you just insulted his entire bloodline. “what? you’d prefer pickup lines that i picked up from google?”
this urges you to raise an eyebrow, awaiting for the said pickup line, “are you made of uranium and iodine?”
you don’t resist the impulse to groan. “god, why is it when i’m always with you there’s a trace of chemistry everywhere?”
“maybe it’s because we actually do have chemistry together?”
“you got that from google?”
“nope,” childe says, popping the p, “i made that up on the spot.” he grins as if anything that he did within the 20 minutes you spent together with him was to be proud of.
“yeah, go stick to google.”
“has anyone told you that you’re hotter than sulfuric acid and sugar and you smell twice as sweet?”
“do you have any other pickup lines that aren’t chemistry related?”
“why do you hate chemistry so much?!” your ‘boyfriend’ blurts out loud, to which you reply as equally loud, “what’s not to hate about it?!”
“and besides, balancing chemical equations have been kicking my butt in class these days.” you add.
childe hums, seeming as if he understands your dilemma, “i can help you, i aced it when i was in your year.”
“you would?”
“yeah, just stop drinking diet coke,” he nonchalantly says as you raise an eyebrow from the absurdity, “because you’ve got ASSpertame.”
and he winks. childe fucking winks.
you can’t help but to grumble, not finding in yourself to complain because after all, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d help you out. so, instead of chiding him like you normally would, you let out a grumbled ‘okay’.
as the both of you walked closer to your home, you find yourself enjoying childe’s company— not in that way. he’s tolerable for most part, and some of his jokes are actually funny. banter with him was endlessly entertaining; maybe you’d manage to get out of this fake relationship alive after all.
a two story house enters your line of sight and the creamed white color of the walls tells you that you are now closer to home. you nudge childe who was deep in his thoughts, and this alerts him.
“text me when you get home, yeah?”
“please, you literally walked me to my doorstep. what bad thing can happen to me?”
“once i turn around you might get tackled to the ground and get kidnapped?”
you laugh at the ridiculousness of the man standing in front of you. “fine. i’ll text you as soon as i enter the house.”
“mhm, good.”
“now leave.”
“ow, you won’t introduce me to my parents in law?”
“shut up.”
childe chuckles at the bluntness of your replies, “i will, only if i see you enter your house.”
surprisingly, you obey for what seems the third time today. you unlock the doors with your copy of keys, bidding goodbye to your now boyfriend. and as soon as you shut the door, you feel your pocket vibrate.
childe [17:05]: did you arrive home safely?
y/n [17:05]: yes i did. now you go home safely
childe [17:05]: aw ☹️ i’d think you like me
childe: [17:06]: oh, also give me your social media accs too… it’d be weird if we didn’t follow each other
y/n [17:05]: ah right, hold on for a min.
y/n [17:06]: @yourusername for both ig and twt
childe [17:07]: great!
@childeereest tagged you in a post!
you open the notification and all you could think of is how sly he is.
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love equation [ prev / masterlist / next ]
embarrassed by your five year (and counting) long crush on zhongli, you suddenly claim you have a boyfriend. there enters childe, your crush's best friend and the one who'll either save your ass or report you to the police for harassment. or in which caught up in a lie, you had no choice but to kiss the closest person next to you.
FEATURING: childe x she/her!reader, a little bit of zhongli x reader, other genshin impact characters! (they are too many to list)
TAGLIST: send an ask to be added! @r0ttenhearts @afoxesgreed @kairxse @cameshitpost @xingqiusliegee @kalncallily @aiikalvr @rrasado @belovedxiao @kunisbeloved @raideneiari @multifandoms27-blog @xxyuixe @rifran @ode-to-spring @arraxthatsonjah @thedeadbitchwalking @miitchiji @kaoyamamegami @shrslair @ajaxstar @duckyyyx @kunikuzushicandegrademefr @dee-zbignuts @sashiette @goodthingimsam @bah1e @happycheesecakedelusion @diyonicus @blov3d @kavehmylove @jan-penakulu @tsunotaro-san @carmoronic
no fun facts for this update! ★
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omegalomania · 1 year
Text
the thing that truly Truly unhinges me about infinity on high is that it is not simply an album about the horrible stomach-wrenching rollercoaster of fame and it is not solely an album about wrestling with your demons but it is a marriage of those two it is very much about fighting the worst parts of yourself in the most public avenues available. it's an album that all but rattles with the amount of references there are to medication. every seeming bout of narcissism is undercut with a sardonic twist and the snap of subtle self-loathing brimming beneath.
and the worst part of it is how that isn't even the worst part of it. the worst part of it for me is the fear. the fear of becoming something other than what you are. the fear of getting better. because this is how the world likes you - broken and stripped down to your ugly parts and embittered and exposed. this is how the world wants you, consumes you, because it's in your brokenness that they pick out such pretty patterns like finding rainbows in shards of glass. it's your wrecked-up brain with all its sporadic misfirings that draws everyone to you like moths to a faulty porchlight. i only keep myself this sick in the head 'cause i know how the words get you off. infinity on high. van gogh, the poster child for the ethos of creating something even at your lowest points. the poster child for the speculative, horrifying ethos of how your flaws and faults and fuck-ups are the only things worth keeping. how often have we seen that rhetoric. if van gogh wasn't depressed, we wouldn't have gotten starry night.
on september 15th 2006 at 9:08pm est pete wentz answered a fan question about what accomplishment of his he is proudest of.
I don’t really think about success or accomplishments too often. I guess just being around. Letting myself move past who I used to be- because that person was continually unhappy. Or at least trying to get to that point and not feel like im “changing for the worse” just because im letting myself feel ok. 10 years ago I didn’t listen to anything anyone said ever for the most part.
on september 18th 2006 at 2:36am est pete wentz wrote on one of his blogs how infinity on high was beginning to feel like a "nocturnal record" as it began to take shape.
somehow the things we say mean more in corners of dancefloors and we focus on love below the waist and outside of the head. "dont you want to get better"- i just dont want you to worry. "dont you want to get better" - tonight i do. the way they say "youre committing slow suicide" when someone lights up or cuts loose. but arent we all. everything we do just shortens our life, every breath is one less. but its what makes everything so treasured. in my head. it aint a funeral babe, i just want the headline to die. recovery is the new drug.
it hurts sometimes thinking about who he was in that moment. someone so fucking scared of getting better and desperate to get better, committing every flaw and insecurity he had to paper and trying to make art out of how desperately he fucking hated himself. as if his pain was the only compelling thing about him.
that's what kills me about this record. truly. it's not just about the perils and pitfalls of fame and renown. it's about how it feels, really feels, to think that your fame is reliant on you fucking hating yourself and how that is killing you.
and yet. infinity on high. a title taken from words written in 1888, from van gogh to his brother, as he talks about how his improving health has had a positive effect on his art.
Be clearly aware of the stars and infinity on high. Then life seems almost enchanted after all.
van gogh did not give us starry night because he was depressed and suicidal and falling apart. van gogh did not make incredible works of art because of how much he was suffering. van gogh created in spite of that, because he had a brother who loved him and reasons to keep going.
pete wentz did not write some of his best lyrics on infinity on high because he was depressed and suicidal and falling apart. he wrote them in spite of that, because he had people in his life who loved him and over 15 years later he is still alive, he has 3 kids, he has his band who have been together for over 20 years and still love making music together, and at least externally, he no longer feels the need to self-immolate so the onlookers can make pretty patterns from the ashes left over.
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loosesodamarble · 3 months
Note
Hi soda. I have a Nacht request. Can you write Nacht x tsundere reader head cannons or a story anything is okay.
I can certainly try for you, Anon, as well as all other Nacht fans out there~! I find it a little funny since Nacht himself could be considered some flavor of tsundere (given his interactions with Yami).
..........
Nacht Faust x Tsundere!Reader
First off, neither of you asked the other out. The Black Bulls had pulled an elaborate scheme to set you up on a date.
It was a weird evening with Nacht remarking about how many romantic scenarios you'd conveniently stumbled across (like a fountain light show or couples getting discounts on ice cream) and you snidely remarking that he didn't have to be so suspicious of everything.
By the end of it, Nacht apologized for "dragging down the mood" but you shut him up with a kiss and admitted that his jaded view on romance was kinda funny. At least for the night.
"Don't be so cynical if we end up becoming a couple, okay Nacht?"
"Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?"
"Wha-?! What part made you think that?!"
From there, you and Nacht had a somewhat unconventional relationship.
You will constantly have to drag Nacht places. Either out of bed because he's a night owl and wants to sleep in but you won't have it. Or you have to force him out of the BB base because his weekly critiques of his squadmates is dragging out too long.
Your shows of affection are very strong. Literally in some cases. You've given him pats on the back that make him say "ow." And when you tell him goodbye it tends to come out as "don't forget you have a loving partner to come home to or I'm going to kick your ass!"
You are Nacht's cheerleader, if an aggressive one. If he starts to criticize himself or get gloomy, you grab him by the collar, give him a good shake, and say "Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend, huh? The man I love isn't as pathetic as this."
And in return (in a way?), Nacht is your biggest critic. Mostly because he knows how amazing you are when you apply yourself wholeheartedly. So he'll push your buttons and annoy you into showing effort.
If you ever want to cuddle with Nacht, you don't ask. You just grab him from wherever he is and take him to a couch or to bed.
Nacht points out that he'd always agree if you simply asked but you insist that the way you do it is already working so there's no need to change.
If anyone, the Black Bulls or otherwise, inquire about your relationship with Nacht, you glare at them. "It's none of your business! It's nosy and creepy to be asking about other people's relationships, you know!"
You're just embarrassed to talk about dating him.
You've lost count of the times you've smacked Nacht's hand away from touching you when you're not in the mood for physical affection. You could move away or tell Nacht not to touch you but your brain is wired towards a "fight" reaction.
You're annoyed with yourself over it. But Nacht assures you that you don't slap that hard.
"Are you saying that I'm weak?"
"Oh no, you're plenty strong. Your slapping technique just isn't good. Which is fortunate for me."
"I'll get better at slapping just to spite you."
"... Please don't."
Your relationship with Nacht isn't saccharine sweet whatsoever. You've got a sharp personality and Nacht is a jaded man. But you two appreciate that you don't have to be soft with each other to show affection.
Truly, Nacht wouldn't mind if you were more tsuntsun in public if it meant that the deredere side of you was something exclusive to him (and your friends, he supposes with a twinge of jealousy).
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