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fans4wga · 9 months

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26 July update from WGA's Chris Keyser

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From the WGA: With SAG-AFTRA now on strike and new levels of solidarity across all Hollywood unions, we are witnessing the spectacular failure of the AMPTP’s negotiating strategy. In this video, WGA Negotiating Committee Co-Chair Chris Keyser lays out what this moment means and how we move forward. To learn more about the WGA strike, visit https://www.wgastrike.org.

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Fellow members of the WGA East and West. It's been a while since our last video and quite a bit has happened in the meantime. So on behalf of the negotiating committee and leadership, I wanted to give you an update on where we are and what the near future at least is likely to bring.

We've been walking side by side on picket lines in New York and Los Angeles for a little over 12 weeks now. Only now we're joined by thousands upon thousands of members of SAG-AFTRA who, like us, have finally had enough.

This is the endpoint and the fruit of the AMPTP’s game plan. For 11 weeks, they negotiated with everyone but us. They claimed it was just practicality, that they could only do one thing at a time, which is not normally a point of pride. But events have made clear what we knew from the start: that not only was it a strategy, it was their only strategy. Negotiate a deal with a single guild and impose that deal on every other guild and union in Hollywood, whether it addresses the needs of those unions or not, all with the implicit threat: if you want more, strike for it.

Wow. It’s their 2007-8 playbook applied to 2023 as if nothing has changed, as if the accumulation of economic insults and injuries inflicted on us over the past decade would be borne in perpetual silence, as if the giant of labor had not awakened. But it has. And you only need to look as far as the front gates of every studio in LA and New York to see the evidence.

Two unions on strike willing to exercise their power, despite the pain, to ensure their members get the contract they deserve. For us, that means addressing the relentless mistreatment of screenwriters, which has only been exacerbated by the move to streaming; the continued denial of full MBA protection to comedy variety and other appendix A writers when they work in streaming; and the self-destructive unsustainable dismantling of the process by which episodic television is made and episodic television writers are paid.

It means addressing the existential threat of AI and the insufficiency of streaming residual formulas, including the need for transparency and a success-based component. All of these will need to be addressed for there to be a deal because in this strike it is our power and not their pattern that matters, not their strategy. Their strategy has failed them. Now they're in the midst of a streaming war with each other, an admittedly difficult transition. And as they face the future, their interests and business models could not be more different from Disney to Sony to Netflix to Amazon.

We root for their success, all of them. They root for each other's failure. We are the creative ammunition through which they will succeed. They are each other's apex predators. And yet, in a singular shared dedication to denying labor, they have shackled themselves together in what increasingly seems like a mutual suicide pact, as the 2023-24 broadcast season and the 2024-25 movie schedule and its streaming shows disappear, melt away week by week.

So what does this mean? What does it mean going forward? How do you play chess against an opponent who insists on screaming checkmate at every move regardless of how the board looks and the game is going?

You stay firm, you stay resolved, because our cause is no less existential than when we started and our leverage is increasing every day. Alone we withheld our labor with the support of our union siblings and the Teamsters and IATSE and the Crafts, we were able to delay the vast majority of production. Now with SAG-AFTRA on strike, those few studio projects that remained have also shut down. And it's not just the obvious delays. If this strike drags on, it's the actors with conflicting obligations and the directors and the double-booked studio facilities and release date chaos that the companies must now also contend with. Some of their most valuable product could well be delayed for years.

Add to that, no promotion of movies or television shows and famous faces on the picket lines and social media speaking directly to their customers. For the tech companies and the mega corporations, that should be their nightmare scenario: WGA and SAG-AFTRA side by side. Our bargaining agenda may not be identical, but our cause is the same. Our army of labor, defending labor has increased 17-fold in the past two weeks alone.

Even so, even with all this wind at our backs this negotiation won't happen overnight. It's not because the negotiations themselves are so complex. Once the companies fully engage, it could go very quickly, but because their strategy of many decades has just fallen apart and they didn't see it coming, and it's going to take them a minute to regroup, 'cause the companies have things to work out internally, and saying no to labor in unison is a lot easier than saying yes. So either together or separately, as their divergent interests might suggest, they will come back to us, despite their understandable concern about how they've navigated this transition to streaming, which is on their heads and not ours; and their worries about costs and their worries about Wall Street; despite this being a season of doom and gloom, none of them are walking away from the riches of this business, and certainly not over the equitable minimum compensation to writers.

They didn't get the deal they wanted; that's fine, it happens all the time. They're not taking their ball and going home over it. And since we know they come from union families themselves, and since they've denied that “even-in-Hollywood-you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me” ugliness of threatening to starve us out and leave us homeless (which we assume they understand also means making our children homeless,) they will come back to us. Although I will say they took a long time to deny that statement, longer than I would have had it been ascribed to me.

But what does it matter? You can starve a labor force slowly or quickly. The effect is the same. It's not like day rates for comedy variety writers and endless free drafts for screenwriters in exchange for a single paid one in four-week mini-rooms isn't cruelty. It's just cruelty written in contract language instead of a press quote.

So what can we expect from the companies as all of this plays itself out? They will try to convince Wall Street that taking a strike, prolonging it unnecessarily, losing their content stream in the process—that all of that is just smart business and no reason for investor concern. We will be talking to Wall Street too, and reminding them that for all these companies, all of 'em including Netflix, the bill, the price for making nothing, will eventually come due. And Wall Street is listening already. Here's Michael Pachter, managing director of equity research at Wedbush on Yahoo Finance the other day: “I think the studios are completely wrong on this one. Content is their lifeblood. They're feeling really foolish about this."

Wall Street isn't the only one listening. We've been talking to union pension funds too about the risks the companies are taking. We talked to CalPERS, the largest public pension plan in the country, talked about the loss of programming and the cost to the industry, and we heard strong support from its board for our struggle and the promise that the companies will be hearing from them, from CalPERS, and demanding answers on behalf of its 2 million members.

To us, of course, they will continue to plead temporary poverty, but we know the drill. These companies support billions into the streaming wars and taken short-term losses these past three years, because they know that to the winner will go the spoils. We're patient, will they share that with us when the time comes? What are the chances?

Since 2017, the last time the studios negotiated with us outside of COVID, the big six companies alone have made $150 billion in profits off our work, while they slashed our pay and degraded our working conditions. Maybe if they had shared a tiny piece of that then, made $1 billion or so less, this year wouldn't seem so costly. As it is, there is no iron law that these companies are entitled to record profits every year, and it isn't some great travesty if their shareholders or their CEOs get a slightly smaller slice of the massive profits we helped create if some balance is restored.

Look, no one denies that corporations exist to make a profit and no one wants our employers to be profitable more than we do, but the singular pursuit of corporate profits to the exclusion of their social and human cost is a real problem in this country—it’s a real problem. A corporation's bottom line is not the same as the world’s, and there is nothing in our studio's bottom lines today that accounts for the quality of our lives or for our dignity, for the comfort of our retirement or the security of our families. Their numbers have no conscience, but the people who report them as victories ought to.

In their refusal to recognize that, these companies have also extracted an awful price, which is laid at their feet and for which they are responsible. Losses to the economies of New York and Los Angeles and everywhere that film and television are made, terrible losses that mount every day, thousands of people out of work; not just us, all the crews, the crafts, the janitors, the drivers, the businesses that thrive when Hollywood thrives, the restaurants, the stores—for what? For nothing. So they could avoid coming to the table to negotiate the deal they will one day give us. Measured today that is the painfully mixed legacy of our employers, weighed against every beautiful piece of work we have made with them.

And if history is a guide, they have only temporary stewardship over a kind of national trust, which is Hollywood. Our story, our sometimes conscience, our public conversation, our diversion of the worst and best of times, our greatest export, the repository of our imagination. They have some obligation to more than just their shareholders to behave accordingly.

Unfortunately, it seems big tech, mega corporations, and some of the people who run them, as the saying goes know the price of everything and the value of nothing. So they have built a business model that no longer works for human beings who cannot be paid minimum for 10 to 20 weeks a year and make a career out of that, be paid for one draft of a screenplay that demands a year of labor, be paid a few episodic fees for a show about which to take years to decide be paid a daily rate.

And now we have a first glimpse of what they offered our actor colleagues. We are not 170,000 Willy Lomans to be used and then discarded. We know what the companies believe they have the power to do. We know what they think machines can do and do without any of us. Oh yeah, we've seen the writing on the wall and it's plagiarized.

The thing is this: the difference between what you CAN do and what you SHOULD do is the greatest single difference in the world. Knowing that is the only real protection we have against a dystopian future. And if the companies sometimes forget that, writers will do it for them.

I can't know exactly how long it will take this revolutionary moment, and you've heard again and again what is happening today has not happened in 63 years, but I know that's not always how it feels, revolutionary and defining, even though we celebrate that on picket lines together, which is the right thing to do. That's not always how it feels when you go home at night. I know how tough this is: to strike, to hold the line. I know it gets tougher every day even with SAG-AFTRA marching beside us, how hard it is to face the uncertainty of when it will end, when we'll get back to work, how we'll pay the bills. I know it's hardest for those who've just gotten started, for those for whom the world opens doors more reluctantly, battled their whole life just to get here; but hard too for those struggling to maintain their long careers, who find work tougher and tougher to come by, or those with families with children or parents to take care of.

These companies understand the cruelty of what they're doing. It's their plan to starve us just a little, to exact as much pain as they can so that we wish more for the pain to end than for the better life we dreamed up. That we're more afraid of the uncertainty of the present than the certain devastation of the future. It's societally acceptable economic torture inflicted by management on labor every day, then blamed on labor for daring to fight back, for refusing to be complicit in its own mistreatment.

Here's how I know that's not going to work. Not with us, not with the writers, because we haven't come all this way, fought to have these careers in the first place, all the adversity, and marched together for all these months, only to let it slip away on our watch—because there is no point in rushing back to jobs that may not be there in a year or two anyway. Because the business, as the companies have twisted it, is now untenable, unsurvivable for so many of us, because even success is not enough to keep going, because this guild is younger than it's ever been and more diverse. And this young diverse membership knows from hard personal experience the system is broken and that it will not be fixed unless they fix it. And those of us who came before them will not let them down, because we and the writer's guild are the beneficiaries of all those who came before us who gave up everything for us.

Like the writers of 1960, the year I was born, who struck for 22 weeks and who gave away all the TV residuals for all the movies they had ever written so that we could have a health insurance and pension plan and residuals from that date forward. $15 billion flowed to writers and their benefit plans because of that sacrifice. Because writers are brave, because now it's our turn.

So what's our job? Even as we welcome SAG-AFTRA to our side, we are still responsible for our own deal, and so we must remain focused and diligent. We must continue to march, picket signs in hand. But we should also remember this and with pride, that before there was SAG-AFTRA, before even the Teamsters and IATSE and the laborers and the electrical workers and the musicians and the plasterers came to our side, there was the writers. Alone then, we looked at the blank page and began to imagine the future. With no net but each other we typed the words, what if?

And then we took a step into the darkness and found that it was light. And then we were joined by the crews and the drivers and the actors. The actors got a bit more fanfare when they showed up, but that's okay, we wrote the script. The WGA, still small, not alone anymore after all these decades. Hollywood labor has finally linked arms and found its voice, and that voice says enough. There is no road to longterm prosperity that burns a path through your own workforce. We are not your enemies. We are not merely a cost to be borne. We are your partners and your greatest asset. And we are, as you acknowledge yourselves, irreplaceable, but by accident or design and it doesn't really matter anymore, the business you are running no longer works for those who work for you.

What is the point in continuing to deny that? Why deny it when everyone else in the business to a person tells you it's true? Do you think it's a coincidence that two unions are on strike against you for the first time since Eisenhower was president? You can't exactly accuse us of being quick on the trigger. The effect has a cause, it has a cause. And there is no profit in insisting on the answers to the past for the questions of the future.

But if you want instead to invest in something that will reap you fortunes, I have a tip. And if you are visionaries, envision a solution, not a stalemate. Because this isn't a war we're in, it's a negotiation, it's just a negotiation. There is no face-saving here for either side, because there is no winner or loser. It's just a deal. And when you come to remember that again we will be here as we have been here all along.

And at this point with 170,000 writers and actors aligned against your intransigence, that is as generous as I can be, as close to an olive branch as I can offer. But if you insist instead on the same threatening rhetoric, on saying you would rather starve us than pay us, I would remind you of this: You are fighting for a dollar, we are fighting for survival. We are fighting for our home: writing is where we live, and we will defend that home with a bravery and stamina and ferocity that you will come to understand someday, which is why you cannot break us. You cannot outlast us, you cannot.

And not just because we have the will, because we have power. Nothing in this business happens until we start to write. And we will not start to write until we are paid.

Union now. Union forever.

#sag-aftra strike #sag strike #actors strike #union solidarity #i stand with the wga #wga strong #wga solidarity #fans4wga #Youtube #wga strike #writers strike

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thehillywoodshow · 1 year

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An Angel is in our midst. The Parody is, nearly, upon us... 👼🏻

Good Omens Parody descends May 10 on YouTube.com/Hillywood

#Good Omens #Good Omens Parody #The Hillywood Show #Aziraphale #Neil Gaiman #Terry Pratchett #Crowley

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urhoneycombwitch · 1 month

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foreword: typing this from my phone while blitzed sorry if this is messy. lol. based off of those Hoard pics of Joe Quinn. edible arms. u get it.

+18 mdni. husky!neighbor!Eddie x Reader

Cw: mutual masturbation, desc of Eddie’s larger weight (but purely in a fat-positive manner. big boys are hot period), soft!dom from both sides, R has breasts + a V and a lot of feminine nicknames are used.

Your surprise visit to Eddie’s apartment in the middle of the night has taken an awkward turn when, in the midst of your familiar barging in and subsequent ramble about the latest drama at your work, you realize Eddie is out of breath just from standing behind the counter.

“did I… interrupt something?” you ask, the beginning of a tease in your voice, squinting at the visible sheen on his skin (peeking out from a faded tee and sweatpants hung low on those plush hips. not that you were staring, per se...) “do you have a girl over?”

he rolls his eyes. “only girl over here is you, sweetheart.”

you lean into your forearms across the countertop, dropping to a joking, salacious whisper- “so you were jacking off, then?”

what you don’t expect is Eddie to scoff and blush, but that’s what he does: rosy pink tingeing his cheeks, eyes darting to the floor.

“oh my god.” you straighten, taking a step back, suddenly self-conscious. “you actually were? i- i was joking.”

Eddie shakes out of his embarrassment, trying to mollify you. “nah, don’t sweat it, angel. you couldn’t have known. maybe we just go our separate ways for tonight and-“

“I was gonna go home and do the same, actually,” you blurt out, feeling warm yourself.

that gets you his eyes, intense and suddenly focused on yours.

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.” you take a step closer, rounding to his side of the counter. “I could… do it here. if you wanted.”

“holy shit,” Eddie murmurs, as you press against his front, his big arms automatically encircling your shoulders. “really?”

“where do you want me?”

“uhhh…” Eddie stalls for a moment then recovers. “the bed. my bed is good. let’s go in there.”

he leads you down the hall to his room, a bit of laundry hanging here and there but otherwise clean and lit by cozy lamplight.

“smells like boy in here.” you sigh happily with a gentle bounce onto the bed. you scoot towards the wall to make room on the bed for two, but when you look over, Eddie’s dragging a chair across the carpet to face you and sits in it.

“the hell are you doing?” you’re about to protest at the level of intimacy that you feel has ramped up in his favor, but Eddie just shrugs a shoulder.

“think of it this way, princess: you’ll get to watch me, too.”

his words stop you from complaining further. Eddie throws an arm over his shoulder to pull his t-shirt off, his guitar pick nestled just above the ornate crow tattoo covering his chest. staggering his feet on the ground, his thighs widen to show off the steadily-growing bulge in his sweats.

he’s fucking gorgeous. thick arms, a dark trail of hair smattering across the pudge of his stomach and dipping into his waistband. your mouth waters as you lie back on the pillows, wiggling out of your jeans and underwear without taking your eyes off of him.

Eddie palms himself through his pants, rings glinting in the low light.

when you spread yourself for him, the wet click of your stickiness between your fingers makes him moan.

“fuck yeah, sweetheart. touch that pretty clit for me.”

you obey, dipping your fingers down into the well of your wetness before rubbing circles against your bundle of nerves, hips bucking into your own touch.

“you can- ah- touch yourself, too.” your voice is strained but Eddie must’ve heard you; he wastes no time in pulling his sweats down around his balls, revealing a sizeable cock that drips precum steadily over his fist as he begins to stroke himself.

“fuck, Eddie,” you gasp, fingers working faster over your throbbing clit, other hand pawing at your nipples hardened through layers of fabric. “how’m I ever gonna take that?”

“we’ll work you up to it.”

that shouldn’t make you clench the way it does. “jesus, Eddie.”

there’s a slick noise with each of his movements, harsh slap of skin as he fucks into his own fist. “stick some fingers inside you, doll. how many can you take?”

the fingers on your clit stay but you slide your other hand to your mouth, sucking on the middle three before following them down the slope of your body to slowly push them into your gushing hole.

Eddie swears, hips snapping forward. “fuck yeah. just like that… be a good girl for me, curl ‘em up and fuck yourself.”

“wish it was you.” you’re letting the sound of Eddie’s fist set your own rhythm, eyes starting to roll back, wave of pleasure mounting. “wish it was your cock filling me up instead of my fingers…”

“next time,” Eddie says- and it’s the way he says is, all breathless assurance, that sends the wave crashing into you.

“fu-uuck…” the crown of your head tips back into the pillows, cunt clenching around your fingers as you come. through your own haze of peaking, you hear Eddie’s praises in rocky timbre.

“that’s it, baby. let it out. oh, fuck yes, you’re so hot- fuck, you’re gonna make me come-“

you open your eyes just in time to watch his shoulders curl in, ropes of cum shooting out of the ruddy head of his cock, painted against his chest and stomach, into the hair that’s fallen over his shoulders.

Eddie collapses back into his chair with a low-toned sigh, slack-jawed until you giggle him into speech again. “christ. that was incredible. goddamn. you're officially invited to interrupt my jacking off sessions any time, from now until the end of time."

#eddie munson x reader #e.m. thots from lu #eddie munson smut #husky!neighbor!Eddie #Hoard #joseph quinn #+18 mdni

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starflirts · 4 months

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I'VE BEEN TRYING TO TELL YOU (HOW YOU'RE THE ONE THAT I TURN TO)

in which you and percy must navigate the intricacy of love and glory in the midst of terror percy jackson x ares! reader, wc: 1.8k, warning: violence, description of wounds/blood, note: thank you so much for requesting!!! and yes, i picked the quest members randomly SUE ME

Percy was busy this summer. On top of his daily activities at camp, the Oracle had bestowed on him a particularly tedious quest which he eagerly accepted, not one to miss out on adventure. But the last few days have been tough for everyone. The quest Percy and his friends had taken on proved to be way more demanding than expected and monsters seemed to constantly appear out of nowhere. Looking over his shoulder to ensure everyone was okay, he noticed you trailing behind Annabeth and Thalia, backpack slung over your shoulder. Even with tired eyes and a couple of cuts on your face, you were the prettiest being he’d ever seen.

“I think we can stop here for the night,” his voice cuts into the silence of the early evening. “we’re not far off our destination and if Thalia's mapping is correct we might be a few days early. That’s great news !”

The rest of the group nodded, each setting down their bags and stretching. “Thalia and I are gonna settle here, call us if you guys need anything.” Annabeth said, to which Percy acquiesced.

As soon as they moved off, Percy's gaze turned to you, sitting on a rock with your backpack on your knees, looking away.

“Hey angel,” he approached you, one hand brushing your arm before settling himself by your side. “How are you holding up ?”

Looking at him for a brief second, you shrugged, opting to play with your dagger, a gift from your father, the infamous god of war.

Taking your silence for an invitation to continue, Percy adds: “I can’t believe we made it this far so quickly you know ? Everything is going smoothly and if we get back to camp this early Chiron might see us fit for another outing !”

His words feel like pit scorpion stingers and you close your eyes, huffing through your nose. That's when he notices how taut your shoulders are. He frowns, attempting to meet your eyes. “Hey, what’s wrong ?” he tentatively rubs your back. “Do you need anything ? I might have a few snacks Grover packed before we left..”

The mention of your friend back at camp half-blood makes your stomach clench. You miss Grover, you miss camp. Hades, Mr D’s stupid shirts are even starting to grow on you. This quest seemed to go on forever and you wished Percy wouldn’t be so stubborn about it. Putting your stuff away you sigh, looking up towards the stars slowly coming out of hiding. “I don’t need anything Percy.” you answer dryly.

You can see him from the corner of your eye, looking at you skeptically. “Is this because we’re still on the road ? You know the worst is over, I think we’re in the clear about monsters and all… And then, if everything goes exactly as planned we’ll be back at camp in a couple of days.”

You press the heel of your hands against your eyes, as if his voice was enough to give you a headache. “I don’t care, Percy. I don’t wanna know about that stupid plan or those stupid monsters. The quest is the only thing that has been coming out of your mouth ever since Chiron told you to go talk to the Oracle. Even when we’re at camp you only seem to care about going away !” you finally snap, staring at him crossly.

Percy’s confused, you can see it in the way his brows furrow. “Listen, it’s- it’s important, okay ? These quests, these prophecies, they’re vital if you want to prove yourself, to grow stronger ! How do you think we’d be doing in the real world without this ?”

You sigh, toying with your bracelet, a gift your boyfriend had given you last summer. “That’s not what I meant Percy ! You’re just so… You give your all to all of this and I understand, I admire you for that ! But it sucks to see you risk everything so often, to see you come back all hurt and bruised.”

“Would you like it better if I stayed at camp and did nothing then ?” it’s his turn to get upset, arms crossed as he stares at you.

“No ! Of course not ! I just wished you knew how to take care of yourself and others at the same time ! You’re all up in your head sometimes, barely acknowledging me, or anyone else for that matter !” you let out an annoyed laugh.

“Oh so you’re mad because we can’t hang out like we used to ? Come on, you know how serious that is ! Of course I care about you but this is important too !”

You scoff, turning away from the boy. “Glory is important to you, I get it ! It’s what runs in your blood. But why can’t you see how it affects others, me ?”

Percy runs a hand in his hair, obviously distressed. He calls out your name, a hint of dejection in his voice. “I think the journey has taken a toll on you. We should talk about it, about us ! You don’t mean that.” he reaches out but you step away. “Yeah, right. Is there even an us right now ? Maybe I’m just a hindrance. You’d definitely do greater things without me pestering you” you breathe out, angrily wiping your eyes.

Your words slice his heart and you can see a twinge of sadness in his eyes. “Come on–”

He barely has time to finish this sentence when Annabeth yells from behind: “Watch out !” Briskly turning around, the boy is faced with two enormous hellhounds. Drawing out his beloved Riptide, Percy slashes the air, attempting to get the monsters to back off. When the two creatures jump forward instead, Percy’s mind goes blank. He can only think about everyone’s survival. In his line of vision, he can see Annabeth and Thalia actively defending themselves. But he can’t see nor hear you and that’s enough to make his heart beat ten times quicker. He can’t afford to diverge his attention right now but he knows you, he knows you can put up a fight. You’re not the pride of Ares’ cabin for nothing after all.

One down, Percy thinks as his sword pierces through the monster’s fur. Brushing off the dust sticking to his face with bloodied knuckles, he turns around in horror as he hears a bloodcurdling scream. Your scream. His feet drive him to you as fast as they can, only to find you wrestling with the remaining hellhound on the ground, its fangs sinking into your flesh.

Percy sees red. He lunges at the creature, weapon raised. Within a few minutes, what remains of the monster is the flickering black dust disappearing in the moonlight. Out of breath, Percy rushes to your side when he notices you’re not getting up.

“Hey hey ! It’s over, you’re- you're okay.” His hands on your shoulders, “C’mon, we gotta get you up.” He tries to get you in a seating position but the whimper you let out makes his heart clench. You grab his shoulder with a shaky hand, throat prickling as you attempt to tell him something.

“Hurts Percy…it hurts…” and that’s when he notices the gash on your lower stomach, shirt ripped to shreds and blood dripping down. A wave of nausea hits him but he holds on, applying pressure on your wound.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, we’re- we’re gonna get you back to camp, we’re gonna help you. Just… Just talk to me yn, don’t close your eyes.” Percy’s hands shake as he tries to keep you conscious while Thalia and Annabeth fumble around him with a makeshift stretcher.

Even now, Percy is still amazed at how fast they all ran back to camp, guilt plaguing his mind as Chiron and a couple of dryads took your inert body and carried you to the infirmary.

The next few days are awful. Percy’s at the edge of your bed night and day, feeding you nectar and ambrosia, dabbing the sweat off your forehead when you strike up a fever, helplessly watching a kid from the Apollo cabin change your bandages. When you finally come out, he’s sat at the edge of your bed, head in his hands.

The sun peaking out from the closed curtains is still too bright when you open your eyes. You frown, slowly raising your arm to cover them. The rustling of sheets has Percy whipping his head in your direction and even in your daze, you can see his shoulders sag with relief.

“Hey…” he says softly.

“Wha– what happened ?” you speak out, voice husky.

He’s sitting next to you within seconds, hand gently holding yours. You can see he’s trying really hard to find the right words, to tell you exactly how his nightmare played out. “We…We were on the way back to camp after our quest. We were all exhausted and- and we fought… I’m so sorry yn,” he pauses, voice shaky. “We didn’t have time to talk things through… Two hellhounds appeared out of nowhere and by the time I turned to look for you I– I saw you on the ground. You were fighting the monster but he got you really bad and when he was gone I wanted to see if you were okay and– and you weren’t.. There was so much blood and you were in so much pain and–”

You squeeze his hand twice, cutting him off. He looks at you and this time you can clearly see the tears forming at his lash line.

“It’s okay Percy,” you smile weakly, thumb drawing circles on his skin. “We made it, you made it.”

He shakes his head, closing his eyes for a few seconds. “No, no it’s not. I was terrified when we brought you here. I was mad at myself for fighting with you and I was so, so scared to lose you. I kept repeating our last interaction in my head and thinking that those words might’ve been our last made me realize how stupid I am for not noticing how I hurt you. You’re right. I get too much in my head. And… I can’t do anything when I’m not with you. I know this might sound silly but I need you with me all the time.”

You let out a small chuckle. “It’s fine Percy. I am partially to blame too y’know… I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I– I didn’t mean what I said. Of course there’s still an us. I guess I got too much in my head too.” you smile at him sheepishly. “And I hope you know I wouldn’t deal so nicely with any of this demigod bullshit if you weren’t by my side all the time.” you add with a mischievous smirk and Percy’s heart swells.

Resting his forehead against yours, his hands are on your face, thumbs stroking your cheekbones. “We’ll be alright angel. We’ll always be alright as long as we’re together.”

#percy jackson and the olympians x reader #percy jackson imagine #pjo imagine #pjo x reader #percy jackson fluff #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson angst #pjo fluff #pjo angst #percy jackson fic

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yourlocaljonghoe · 4 months

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Best Friend!Ateez and you sharing a bed - Scenario. || OT8.

Summary: Unexpectedly, you're forced to share a bed with your best friend. What will happen when you realize there's so much more than friendship between you?

Pairing: OT8!Ateez (individually) x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Suggestive (18+, mdni!!)

Wordcount: 7.1k

Warnings: Dirty thoughts, kissing, alcohol consumption, allusion to sex (yet nothing too explicitly), grinding against each other, mentions of erections and feeling horny

A/N: Hello, I'm back with my first ot8 post! This was requested by @foxinnie8, I really hope you like this <33 I struggled a lot finding a scenario for each of our boys, but it ultimately was a good challenge for me and I enjoyed writing it a lot! Big thank you to my little assistant and bestie @yunho-mp3 for helping me and constantly listening to my rambling, ily!! Please like, comment and reblog and if you want more scenarios go ahead and request! Divider credits to @firefly-graphics!

Taglist: @yunho-mp3, @kyukyustar, @hwapetals, @foxinnie8, @preciouswoozi

Park Seonghwa

With a scream caught in your throat and sweat on your brow,you bolted upright in the bed after another terrifying nightmare. As your heart raced and your breathing quickened, you tried to shake off the remnants of the haunting images that seemed to grip your mind. With trembling hands, you reached for the glass of water on the bedside table and took a long sip, willing yourself to calm down. The dim glow of the moonlight filtering through your curtains illuminated the familiar surroundings of your room, providing some small comfort in the midst of unease. Gradually, as the adrenaline began to dissipate and your body started to relax once more, you determinedly pushed away thoughts of those nightmares.

Hwa, your heart earned.

Let him sleep, your mind screamed instead.

“Fuck it”, you muttered. You needed your best friend, and you needed him now.

With a deep breath, you reluctantly swung your legs over the edge of the bed and padded quietly across the cool floorboards to the door. As you reached for the doorknob, your hand hesitated for a moment before you swallowed your pride and turned it slowly. Stepping into the dimly lit hallway, you made your way to your best friend's room, barely making a sound as you navigated through the darkness. When you reached his door, you paused for a moment, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly in an attempt to steady your nerves. Then, with a gentle knock on the door, you whispered his name, still somewhat unwilling to disturb his peaceful slumber but needing his reassuring presence more than anything else at that moment.

And there he laid, the most beautiful man you called your best friend, bare chest barely covered with a blanket, his soft body screaming both comfort and sexiness. As you stood there, unable to think clearly, completely entranced and suddenly very, very aware of how attractive Park Seonghwa really was - not that you didn't know, but goddamn - the man was pulled from his slumber, and he slowly opened his eyes, a mixture of confusion and concern appeared right on his handsome face. As he registered your presence and caught sight of your disheveled appearance, understanding dawned, and he immediately pushed aside the blanket to make room for you.

“Come here, angel”, he softly whispered, his smile reaching his tired eyes.

Your breath hitched in your throat, and all of a sudden, it was too much. Taking a step back, your back hit the door with a harsh thud, and Seonghwa looked more confused than ever.

“I-i can't. I'm sorry, I don't know why I came here, I-I should go-”

Seonghwa sat up quickly, his expression turning from confusion to concern. "No, wait," he insisted gently, reaching out a hand towards you. "You don't have to go. It's okay, I'm here for you." The sincerity in his voice made your heart ache.

How could you tell him that you weren't ashamed of sharing your emotions with him, but scared of what you wanted to do to him right now, while he stood before you, bare chest on full display, in a dark room, just the two of you alone…

Just minutes ago, you were shaken up by a terrible, frightening nightmare, and now, all you wanted was to get your brains blown out by your shy, pretty roommate.

“H-hwa”, you whispered, yet it sounded more like a desperate whimper, a plea for him to take care of you, to take your mind off those terrible scenes from your dream.

And he understood, his cheeks blushing, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he searched your eyes for any sort of doubt, but you knew he'd found none.

“Y/N, we should-”

“-talk, I know, Hwa. Let's talk tomorrow, please. I need you, and I need you now. T-tomorrow we can talk, sort it all out, but now I just… please take care of me, Seonghwa.”

Just seconds later, you laid on his bed, his figure hovering above you. Both of you were breathing heavily, nervous, yet ready for each other, as far as you could tell from his ominous erection pressing against you.

His fingers flirted with the hem of your sweater. “C-can I touch you?”

His voice was hoarse and nervous, and you felt the same way too, so you took his hand in yours, squeezing it reassuringly. You really, really wanted this.

“Yes, Hwa. Anywhere.”

He moved closer, licking the rim of your ear. “Anywhere? Really?"

“Really.”

Twisting your neck, you pulled his mouth to you for a brief, wet kiss, sucking his tongue until his vision turned white around the edges.

You let out a choked sound, and he paused. “Okay?”

“Yes.” Your hips tipped, pressing yourself tighter against his hand. “Please.”

He lifted his head for a moment, raising himself up on his arms enough to make eye contact, and you groaned at the sudden absence of that incredibly talented tongue.

“Everything okay?” His mouth was wet from your kiss, his pupils wide and dark. “If I do something you don’t like, just tell me. Or if you want me to stop-”

“Don't stop, Park Seonghwa”, you moaned, pulling him close to you again,”don't you dare stop tonight. Or ever again.”

Kim Hongjoong

“So… seems like we'll have to share a bed.”

“Well, looks like we don't have much of a choice, huh?” Hongjoong said with a friendly smile, trying to lighten the mood. “I promise I won't hog the blankets. We can just put some pillows between us, I guess. It's just for one night, it'll be fine.”

You tried to play it cool, tried to appear as calm as he was right now, but the idea of sharing a bed with your friend made your cheeks turn a little pink. "Yeah, no worries," you replied, hoping to sound casual. After all, you two were just friends, right?

If only your stupid heart knew that as well.

Today, the two of you went to an art exhibition in another city, a trip you've been excited for awhile now. Hongjoong loved art and fashion and asked you specifically to accompany him and you, of course, did happily without hesitation, deeply enjoying the beautiful art displayed there and his cute rambling about his favorite pieces. It was a delightful evening you two spent together, with lots of banter and laughter.

Well, and then the two of you forgot the time and ended up in the only motel that had a room available. So here you were now, both in your fancy clothes from the exhibition, contemplating the awkward situation of having to share a single bed. It's not exactly the most ideal circumstance, but whatever, you had to live with it now.

You both quickly set up a makeshift barrier with the pillows and after that, you quickly excused yourself to freshen up and headed to the bathroom. As you turned on the hot water and stepped into the shower, your heart raced uncontrollably. You desperately tried to focus on the warmth of the water and the smell of the shampoo the motel put there to use, anything to distract you from the fact that you were about to share a bed with Hongjoong.

Once you were done, you dried off and changed into your underwear, taking a few deep breaths to calm your racing heart. It's just for one night, you reminded yourself. Sighing, you gathered your courage and made your way back to the room, where the man of your literal dreams awaited you - half naked, just like you were now.

When you entered the room, you knew it was over for you.

There, right before your very own eyes sat the most gorgeous, attractive man you've ever seen, and the sight made you weak in your knees. His hair was a little disheveled, his muscles were beautifully defined and his face - god, these pretty features, those plump lips you've been dreaming about so often and those dark, brown eyes… that were now staring right back at you, catching you drooling over him; the man you called your best friend.

Shit.

As you sat down onto the bed, time seemed to slow down. Every detail of his appearance was etched into your mind as if to be remembered forever. The quickened pace of your heart was evident, and you fumbled for words. Your best friend's presence had transformed into something entirely new, awakening emotions you never knew existed. Caught in a moment of utter disbelief, you grappled with the realization that your feelings for him had veered far from mere friendship. You didn't know when and how, but it was an undeniable fact.

“Shit,” you whispered under your breath, grappling with the tumultuous thoughts racing through your mind.

“What's bothering you?”

Hongjoong's voice pulled you out of your thoughts, and you quickly shook your head, trying to act nonchalant. "Nothing, just tired," you mumbled, avoiding eye contact. It was now or never. You had to push these feelings aside and get through the night without revealing your turmoil. Yet, as you both lay down on the bed, the physical closeness of your bodies only intensified the emotional storm brewing inside of you. The sound of Hongjoong's breathing in the quiet room seemed deafeningly loud, echoing each heartbeat that betrayed the depth of your feelings for him. As much as you wanted sleep to overcome you, it stayed frustratingly out of reach - taunting you with dreams that could never be realized.

And then, Hongjoong shifted closer, so close in fact you could feel his warm breath on your neck and- oh…

Something hard was poking your ass.

You quickly put a hand over your mouth to suppress the moan that almost slipped out, but it was too late.

Hongjoong already knew the effect he had on you.

Slowly, his hands grabbed onto your hips, harshly squeezing the flesh he was finally able to touch, pushing his closed erection even more onto your barely clothed ass, and it made you almost lose your mind.

“J-joongie”, you whimpered, desperate for more, your legs rubbing against each other for some sweet release.

“When you wore that dress today”, your best friend started talking with that sweet, raspy voice of his, his lips biting and kissing your neck up and down, “I thought I was going crazy. Wanted to pull it off you the entire fucking day. And now you're laying here, half naked, fuck, it made me so hard just looking at you.”

His fingers wandered south, hovering over your clothed and wet pussy. You could feel his lips curl into a devilish smirk.

“I know you're wet too, baby. The way you looked at me earlier was all I needed to know, but I still wanna hear you say it, Y/N. Say you want this. Say you want me.”

“P-please, Joongie”, was all you could utter.

He only hummed, and then his fingers introduced you to places best friends should not explore together.

Jeong Yunho

“And remember kids: don't do the naughty here, the walls aren't exactly thin”, your mom teased, laughing as she saw your reddened cheeks and widened eyes. You've never felt more embarrassed and all you wanted at that moment was for the ground to open up and swallow you.

It was your family's yearly skiing trip, something you were not quite fond of - not because you didn't love your family, you did so very much, but because they wouldn't stop their relentless teasing, no matter what. And to be honest, you were sick and tired of it.

When will our Y/N finally get a boyfriend?

Over the years, you started to resent this question more and more. You knew they meant no harm, yet they also wouldn't respect your boundaries and you simply had enough.

So for this year you had a plan: bringing your best friend Jeong Yunho with you, but pretending he was your boyfriend.

At first, it seemed like a great idea. Now… you weren't so sure anymore.

Behind your embarrassed figure, Yunho only laughed as you closed the door and put your head against it, sighing, glad that inappropriate comments like this were finally over - for now, at least.

Yunho, sensing your discomfort, walked over and gave you a reassuring squeeze on your shoulder. “Hey, don't worry about it”, he said with a gentle smile. “We knew this might happen, right? Remember our plan?” You nodded, recalling the pact you both had made before embarking on this trip: to support each other through the teasing and to act as convincingly as possible in your fake relationship. Taking a deep breath, you tried to shake off the embarrassment and focus on enjoying the vacation with your family and Yunho by your side.

Tomorrow, you could deal with their comments again, as embarrassing as they were. What worried you now was how the hell you'd survive this night with your alleged boyfriend in a bed together.

“Let's go to bed now. After all, we gotta get up early tomorrow right, my girlfriend?”

For the first time that day, your cheeks did not redden out of embarrassment.

As you settled into bed after your nightly skincare routine, you couldn't help but feel the awkwardness in the air. Yunho, ever the gentleman, had given you plenty of space – even suggesting that he could sleep on the floor if it made you more comfortable. However, you insisted that it wasn't necessary, as the whole point of this charade was to make your family believe that you were in a relationship. The two of you lay there in silence for a while, finding solace in the darkness of the room. Eventually, soft laughter from Yunho broke the silence.

“What's so funny?”, you whispered, a pout forming on your face as you turned around, now face to face with your fake boyfriend.

“You just- you just look so stiff”, he chuckled quietly. “I won't bite Y/N. It's just me, remember?”

Yeah, that's the problem you big, idiotic, sweet, attractive man.

Gathering the courage, you slowly breathed in and out, finally relaxing and turned around to face Yunho, letting out a small laugh as well. “I know, I'm sorry. It's just... weird, you know?”

Yunho nodded in understanding, his eyes meeting yours with nothing but warmth and reassurance. As the silence stretched between you two, your heart raced slightly at this newfound closeness in the dimly lit room. So close that you could feel each other's breaths. Mustering up your courage once again, you let out a quiet question that had been lingering in your mind for a while now. “Hey Yunho, do you think our plan is working? Do they actually believe we're together?”

He thought for a moment before giving a small nod. “I think so, and if not, we'll put on a more convincing show tomorrow.” You smiled at his determination and felt your heart swell with gratitude for having such an amazing best friend by your side. Slowly but surely, the awkwardness dissipated as the two of you fell into a gentle conversation laced with laughter and comfort. You talked and talked, like best friends always do, and then after another round of laughter, you felt it for the first time.

The air around you had changed.

Yunho was close, you realized, too close for a man you only considered a friend. And you… didn't mind at all.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you noticed the way his eyes lingered on your lips before returning to meet your gaze. A sudden surge of emotions flooded through you, making it difficult to think straight or remember the original plan. As if reading your mind, Yunho hesitated for a moment before gently taking one of your hands into his, intertwining your fingers. His touch sent a shiver down to your spine, and the anticipation of what could happen next hung heavily in the air. It was then that you realized that maybe, just maybe, this fake relationship wasn't so fake for either of you anymore.

You couldn't deny the chemistry and sparks that seemed to grow with each passing day, and now as you laid there - breathless and close - it became evident that whatever was happening between the two of you was true and real. With a deep breath, Yunho broke the silence once more, murmuring softly, “Y/N… can we talk about this?”

It wasn't just a question; it was an invitation to confront what had been lurking beneath the surface all along - feelings both exciting and terrifying that threatened to topple the carefully built charade neither of you could maintain any longer. And as you swallowed hard, preparing yourself for what may lie ahead, you knew one thing for certain: things between you and Yunho would never be quite the same again.

And that's exactly what you wanted; you wanted Jeong Yunho, now.

“What would you do when I said that I really, really need you right now Yuyu?”, you whispered, your hands finding their way into his soft looks.

Yunho’s eyes widened, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, yet he found his composure rather quickly, a smirk now adorning his features.

“I'd say we'd have to be very, very quiet, baby girl.”

Kang Yeosang

There was a reason you've never gone camping before, and it was a very simple one: you were utterly scared, no, terrified of every sound coming from outside your tent.

You promised Yeosang to be a big girl and survive a night alone in order for him to be comfortable - he apparently wasn't a big fan of sharing tents with anyone, at least his friend Wooyoung said so - but now, after a few hours of laying wide awake and hyper aware of everything happening outside you were not so sure anymore. You were a scared cat, and you should've admitted that sooner.

As you laid there, trembling at every rustle of leaves and snap of twigs, you started questioning your decision to accompany Yeosang on this camping trip. You knew how important it was for him to explore nature together with you and his other friends, a group of young men you met for the first time today, and reconnect with the great outdoors; he constantly raved about the serenity and peacefulness that came with it. Desperate to impress him and strengthen your bond, you reluctantly agreed to face your fears head-on. Now, staring into the darkness that enveloped your cramped tent, you regretted not voicing your concerns earlier. As the night wore on, each eerie noise amplified your fear and apprehension.

Unable to bear the mounting solitude any longer, you took a deep breath and mustered the courage to unzip your tent. Peering outside cautiously in search of Yeosang's tent, you decided that maybe braving the night with someone wasn't such a bad idea after all.

With your heart pounding in your chest, you cautiously stepped out of your tent, the cold night air sending a shiver down your spine. The moonlight filtered through the dense tree canopy, casting eerie shadows on the forest floor. As you tiptoed across the campsite, clutching your flashlight for dear life, you strained your ears to listen for any sign that the others were awake. Approaching Yeosang's tent, you hesitated for a moment, your fear battling against your desire not to seem clingy or needy. Finally, unable to withstand the terror gnawing at you any longer, you quickly unzipped the tent and got inside.

“Yeosang?”, you whispered quietly into the darkness.

To your immense relief, Yeosang was still awake and immediately sensed your fear. He whispered back: “Hey, what's wrong?”

His voice was calm and comforting, making you feel somewhat protected.

“Okay so I am not the tough girl you think I am, I am absolutely terrified and I will die if I stay alone in my tent any longer so please let me stay with you I promise to be quiet and not pull your hair and-”

“Okay okay”, Yeosang softly laughed, his deep voice calming you down in an instant as he stopped your incoherent rambling. “Stay here. It's fine, I don't mind if it's you.”

I don't mind if it's you.

How dare he just casually drop that and expect you to be totally normal about it.

As you settled down next to him, your heart rate finally began to slow, and the earlier terror started to subside. The warmth of his presence and the sound of his gentle breathing lulled you into a sense of safety. You glanced over at his sleeping bag, noticing how he had arranged his things meticulously around him - a stark contrast to the chaotic mess you had left in your own tent.

Yeosang's steady presence beside you now seemed to make everything feel more manageable, and you couldn't help but feel a little grateful for those terrified moments that led you here.

“Besides”, he began, a somewhat teasing undertone laying in his voice, “what did you think I'm hitting the gym for? To protect you from those terrible monsters outside, of co- h-hey, what are you doing?”

“Well, I have to see for myself if you're really capable of protecting me”, you teased.

And goddamn, those muscles were no joke. As you squeezed his arms, Yeosang suddenly became very quiet and tense, but you were too busy comparing the size of his biceps to the size of your head - terrifying, if you may say so.

When did your best friend become so strong? When did his handsome, sweet self get such fucking muscles?

“Y/N.”

“Hm?”

“If you keep doing this, I won't be able to contain myself any longer.”

You froze, suddenly very aware of the intimate situation you had put yourselves in. Releasing his arm, you sheepishly glanced at Yeosang, who was looking at you with a mix of amusement and lust in his eyes. The air between you two had thickened, heavy with unspoken emotions and tension.

“W-what do you mean”, you asked, your cheeks a deep shade of red you were sure he could see even in this utter darkness.

Yeosang hesitated for a moment, his eyes never leaving yours. “Let's just say”, he began, his voice barely a whisper, “your touch has a powerful effect on me.”

Your heart raced as the truth of his words began to sink in. The feelings you had been trying to suppress for so long now suddenly seemed to be mirrored in his intense gaze. Swallowing hard, you decided to take a leap of faith and reached out for Yeosang's hand, intertwining your fingers with his and slowly leading them to where you needed him the most, a deep moan leaving your lips once his fingers found your most vulnerable spot.

“You have this effect on me too, Yeo.”

“I can tell”, he hummed, “and I'm about to intensify it so much more, pretty girl.”

Choi San

“Why the hell did I agree to this”, you grumbled, unable to even move an inch since Choi San was squeezing hugging the living shit out of you.

“You love me, that's why.”

You wanted to wipe that smirk off his face so bad, but he was right; you could never say no to him.

And so, since San impulsively stated he'd spend the night at yours today, you had no other choice but to also agree to a rather odd sleeping habit of his: the need to hug something or else he wouldn't fall asleep. Like a baby.

Of course this man forgot to actually bring something he could hug, so, he decided to use you. Simple - for him, because for you, it was a whole other story.

The two of you spent nights together often, it wasn't bothering you that he slept in one bed with you. What bothered you was how fucking close he was, how nice he smelled and how good he smelled.

You felt your face heat up as you tried to calm your racing heart. Just focus on something else, you told yourself, attempting to concentrate on the gentle sound of his breathing and the soft rhythm of his chest rising and falling when he finally fell asleep. But it was a futile effort, and you only found yourself becoming more aware of the physical closeness between the two of you. How can he sleep so soundly like this? you thought, frustrated by how easily San seemed to have drifted off into dreamland while you lay awake, trapped in a turmoil of emotions.

As the hours crawled by, fatigue finally started to win out against your embarrassment and discomfort. Your eyelids grew heavy, and eventually, you couldn't help but succumb to the pull of sleep even in San's tight embrace.

It was a dreamless sleep, and a short one as well, because just hours later, you were pulled out of it rather quickly. At first, you were too sleepy to understand what was happening, but after pulling yourself together and getting more and more aware of your near surroundings, it dawned on you.

Choi San was humping you in his sleep, all while letting out moans and whimpers that immediately awoke you within a mere second.

And as embarrassing as it was, it made you feel things you never felt before.

Panic and curiosity fought within you as you debated whether to wake him up or not. This was clearly a dream of his, and you couldn't just let it go on, especially considering the awkward position it put you in. But at the same time, you couldn't help but feel an unfamiliar warmth spreading through your body; a forbidden desire that you had kept hidden for so long was slowly awakening. With a nervous breath, you made your decision. Gently, but firmly, you shook San awake.

“S-san, you gotta wake up- oh”, an unexpected moan slipped out of you as you felt his hard erection pressing against your stomach, his whimpers becoming even louder and more desperate.

His eyes fluttered open, confusion dancing across his features as he tried to understand the situation. When realization finally dawned on him, San's face turned beet red with embarrassment. He quickly pulled away from you, stammering out an apology, his voice barely audible and shaky. “I-I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to... I don't know what came over me.” You could see the genuine remorse in his eyes, almost making you feel bad for waking him up.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. Your voice was gentle, yet firm as you responded: “It's okay, San. It was just a dream. But maybe... maybe we should try sleeping separately for the rest of the night?”

The concern in his eyes as he nodded in agreement made it clear that he didn't want anything like this to happen again. For whatever foolish reason, his quick agreement hurt. As you settled into your respective sides of the bed, the distance between you felt like both a relief and a loss. Now more awake than ever, you were left alone with your thoughts.

And then, you asked a question you maybe shouldn't have asked.

“What did you dream about?”

“W-what?”

“You heard me, Choi San”, you only responded calmly.

San's eyes widened, taken aback by the sudden question. He hesitated, glancing away nervously and fiddling with his hands before finally finding the courage to answer. “I... I dreamt about you”, he confessed, his voice low and hesitant. “That red dress you wore at my birthday party… you had it on while you-”

His gaze met yours for a brief moment before he quickly looked away again, unable to withstand the intensity of your stare, “while you straddled me and then- then you took my hand and let me touch you wherever I wanted and-”

You listened carefully, feeling your face grow warm as San recounted his dream in a hushed tone. The forbidden desire you had been trying to suppress flared up with each new detail he shared. There was no denying the fact that you weren't just merely curious about his dream; you were genuinely interested in it, and the thought of it ignited something within you. You swallowed hard, trying to decide what your next move should be. Your heart thudded loudly in your chest as you made a bold decision.

“I want you to show me exactly what I did in your dream, Sannie.”

“Yeah I know I'm gross- wait, what?!”

You giggled, slowly getting closer to his figure once again and put your hands on his strong, muscular chest.

“Right, my bad; will you please show me all the naughty things we did together in your fantasy, Sannie?”

And oh, he made sure he showed you every. single. dirty. detail.

Song Mingi

In the middle of a terrible snowstorm, you were laying in your bed wide awake while slowly but surely freezing to death - maybe you were a bit over dramatic, but it sure as hell felt like that. Because the electricity wasn't working, you had no other choice but to only warm yourself with as much clothing as one could wear and your soft blanket, and it still wasn't enough.

And yet you still didn't want to accept Mingi’s offer of sharing a bed just this once to stay warm together.

As the night wore on, the temperature in your room continued to decrease. You could see your breath in the air and started to worry about how long you could endure this frigid weather. The comforting thought of a warmer room, even if it meant temporarily swallowing your pride and accepting Mingi's offer, began to grow more and more appealing. After another hour of shivering under your ill-equipped blanket, you finally decided that enough was enough. You cautiously got out of your icy bed and made the trek down the hall to Mingi's room, hoping for a much-needed reprieve from the relentless cold. As you entered his surprisingly warm room, you silently acknowledged that this was indeed the better option for surviving the night.

You hated the heat, but for the first time you envied Mingi of his much warmer, comfortable room.

“Yo, are you awake?”, you whispered into the darkness, quietly closing the door behind you.

Mingi, who had been tossing and turning under his own blankets, startled at the sound of your voice but quickly realized it was you. “Yeah, I'm awake”, he replied, his voice barely audible above the howling wind outside. He sat up and shifted over in the bed, making room for you.

“C'mon”, he said, patting the empty spot next to him. Hesitantly, you made your way over and crawled under the warm covers, allowing yourself to finally relax as the heat from Mingi's body began to seep into your shivering limbs. You both lay there for a few moments in silence, simply enjoying the warmth and each other's company.

Until Mingi had to ruin this peaceful moment.

“I thought you were fine on your own, Miss stubborn?”

Despite your initial reaction to roll your eyes at his comment, you knew that Mingi had every right to tease you. After all, admitting defeat was never something that came easy to you. “Alright, alright”, you muttered, burying your face into the cozy pillow to hide your embarrassment. “I guess I should've just accepted your offer in the beginning.”

“I don't understand why you didn't just do it.”

At that, you grew quiet for a moment. Because there was a reason, but one you just couldn't admit; your attraction for your best friend.

As you laid there, contemplating whether or not to reveal your true feelings to Mingi, the room seemed to grow warmer with the intensity of your thoughts. You had been friends for years - could this single moment change everything between you? But, as your body grew comfortable within the warm embrace of the bed and Mingi's calming presence beside you, you couldn't help but feel a sense of reassurance wash over you.

Eventually, you mustered up the courage and whispered softly, “Mingi, there's something I have to tell you.”

He turned his head towards you, waiting for your confession. Your heart raced as you said, “The real reason I didn't want to share a bed was... because I've been developing feelings for you.” With bated breath, you waited for his response.

But as he didn't answer, you were immediately alarmed. Sitting up in a haze, you looked down at his tall figure beside you, only to discover your best friend being as red as a rife tomato.

“Y-you- I mean, you l-like-”, he began stuttering, his eyes wide open and filled with utter confusion.

Seeing him laying there, a shy, stuttering mess did something unexplainable to you; all of a sudden, you felt a rush of power and arousal rush through you.

All you wanted at that moment was to ruin him.

So, with an unexpected burst of confidence, you decided to take control of the situation. You began to straddle the still dumbfounded man, slowly letting your hands explore his upper torso, feeling him harden underneath you almost immediately.

“I can just show you, princess”, you said seductively, and Mingi, being the obedient good man he was, agreed in an instant.

That night, the cold could not bother you even a little again.

Jung Wooyoung

Your eyelids fluttered open, and the soft glow of the moon bathed your cozy apartment in a gentle wash of silver light. Suddenly feeling thirsty after a night of extensive partying, you navigated through the dimly lit living room, trying to be as quiet as possible. Then, your gaze landed on a very ridiculous sight that yet never failed to bring a smile to your face – your best friend and roommate, Jung Wooyoung, curled up in a ridiculous position on the sofa, a half-empty bottle of soju resting precariously on the coffee table.

What a liar he was, saying he'd clean up right after all the guests went home, yet here he was, snoring loudly while the living room was still a complete mess. You sighed.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” you said, nudging him gently with your foot. “Time to move to your own bed.”

He grumbled incoherently, one arm thrown over his face. “Noooo, 'm comfy right here.”

You rolled your eyes and made your way to the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of water and chugging it down immediately, the cold liquid making you feel better right away. You heard shuffling coming from the living room, indicating that Wooyoung was in fact moving to his room. After storing your used glass into the sink, you made your way back into your room, tired and ready for another round of sleep, only to find your best friend sprawled across your neatly made bed, snoring softly. “Wooyoung, come on,” you urged, trying to suppress a giggle. “You can't sleep here.”

He mumbled something about how your recently made sheets smelled better and buried his face in your pillows, looking blissfully content.

Sighing, you managed to pull off his shoes and jacket before sliding under the covers. As you settled into the warmth, his body shifted closer, pressing against yours in a way that sends tendrils of heat tingling through you.

“Hey,” he murmured, his breath warm against your neck.

Your heart stuttered as you turned to face him, the air tinged with electricity and something unspoken yet undeniably present.

‘Hey,” you whispered back, feeling the weight of his eyes on you, the tension crackling between you both. You gulped, trying hard to hold eye contact, but his intense gaze made it hard to not shy away. He did not seem drunk at all, but fully aware of his surroundings. Fully aware of you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, simply allowing the silence to settle as you studied each other's features, highlighted by the moon's ethereal glow. Wooyoung's eyes seemed to hold a question, something that remained unspoken but swirled in the air between you, leaving you feeling both exhilarated and vulnerable. Your breath hitched as he hesitantly reached a hand towards your face, gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. He smelled like wine, yet his eyes seemed clear, filled with both admiration and lust. His touch was soothing yet electric, awakening sensations you had never allowed yourself to explore before. As his face inched closer to yours, your lips nearly touching, you couldn't help but feel like this unspoken moment could change everything. And with a nervous exhale and an unexpected surge of courage, you closed the gap between you two, sealing a kiss that would mark the beginning of a new chapter in your friendship - the end of it, hopefully.

Your lips met in a slow exploration, allowing yourselves to savor every sensation and acknowledge the emotions swirling beneath the surface.

As you parted from that intense but tender embrace, you opened your eyes to find him still gazing at you with an expression of awe and wonder; it mirrored your own unspoken thoughts. It was at that moment that the two of you quietly acknowledged what had been hidden for so long - that there was indeed something more profound growing between you in this cozy apartment bathed in moonlight.

“You will remember this tomorrow, r-right?”, you stuttered.

His lips met your neck, officially marking you as his, and a whimper left you right there. You couldn't see it, but you knew he had this signature grin of his on those dangerous, kiss-worthy lips.

“Of course. I will take what's mine as soon as you open your eyes tomorrow. Probably won't even be able to wait until you're fully awake.”

Dear Lord, you could not wait what that man would do to you as soon as he was finally sober.

Choi Jongho

“N’ then he actually cheated on her, can you believe that Jongho?!”, you slurred, all while barely being able to walk as your best friend opened the door to your apartment.

Today, you went out with Jongho and the other boys, eventually drinking a few shots too much as you all caught up with one another.

Jongho couldn't help but chuckle at your drunken antics, shaking his head in disbelief as he held onto your arm to steady you. “Alright, alright, let's get you to bed before you spill any more gossip”, he said in a teasing tone.

As you made your way down the hallway towards your room, you continued to ramble which left Jongho completely unfazed though; the poor man was trying his hardest to get you to bed safely, but in your state you didn't realize that, so after him only humming occasionally and otherwise ignoring you, you grew frustrated with him and tried to free yourself.

In an effort to regain control over your own balance, you stubbornly swatted at Jongho's arm, accidentally tripping yourself in the process. The sudden movement took him by surprise, but his reflexes kicked in and he managed to catch you just in time, preventing a collision with the floor. “Whoa there!” he exclaimed, securing his grip around your waist to keep you upright. “Let's take it easy.”

Realizing the gravity of your near-fall, your frustration gave way to embarrassment. You mumbled an apology, trying your best to stand straight on your wobbly legs. Jongho merely sighed and offered you a reassuring smile, tightening his hold as he continued guiding you toward your bedroom. As much as it annoyed you when he didn't engage with your tipsy musings, you couldn't help but be grateful for his unwavering support - even in the most inebriated of moments.

“I'm glad my best friend is sooooo strong, otherwise I might have kissed the floor right there”, you giggled, patting his strong, muscular arms.

“Oh wow”, you muttered, in awe as you squeezed his arms more and more, feeling underneath you just how strong your best friend really was.

Of course you knew that. While his personality may be teddy bear like, Jongho was notorious for being able to break apples with his bare hands, but knowing about his strength and now directly feeling it were two completely different things.

And in your very drunken state, his strength made you unbelievably horny.

Jongho, seemingly unaware of the effect his strength was having on you, just chuckled at your reaction and shook his head. “Honestly, you get more ridiculous with each drink”, he playfully teased.

As you both finally reached your bedroom, he assisted you in sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Maybe next time we should stick to non-alcoholic drinks”, he suggested jokingly, though there was a hint of sincerity in his voice. Carefully, he helped you remove your shoes and made sure you were comfortably tucked beneath the blanket. Before leaving the room, he handed you a glass of water and gently reminded you to drink it to help with a potential hangover in the morning. His nurturing nature left a warmth in your chest that made your heart swell with gratitude while also fueling your attraction.

Many thought Jongho was a particularly cold person, but when with the right people, he was nothing but funny and caring, just like right now - while all you wanted was for him to use his strength, doing whatever he wanted to you.

“Hey, you still with me Y/N?”

“Fuck me, Jongho”, you blurted out.

Jongho's eyes widened in surprise at your sudden, bold request. For a moment, he hesitated, uncertain whether to be alarmed or amused by the effect of alcohol on you. Then, he let out a soft laugh and shook his head, clearly understanding that you were not in the right state of mind for such things. “Alright, Y/N, I think it's time for you to sleep this off”, he advised gently, his voice carrying a hint of embarrassment and concern.

“No, you don't understand! I'm not joking! I've been wanting you for so, so long. Everyday I'm reminded of how sexy, strong, cute, funny and nice my best friend is, and when that woman flirted grinded onto you at the club today all I could think about was me doing this to you, and then you'd grab me and kiss me and touch me and-”

“Fucking hell”, Jongho muttered, his eyes dark and filled with lust as he looked down at you.

Taking his jacket and shoes off and slipping underneath the sheets beside you, Jongho looked not once broke eye contact, staring at you until you were squealing in frustration.

“If you'll be a good girl and go to bed I'll let you do whatever you want to me tomorrow, hm? What do you think, baby?”

Never in your life have you agreed to something this fast.

568 notes · View notes

konigbabe · 8 months

Text

steal the thunder - I -

Pairing: Hajime Kashimo x fem!sorcerer!reader Word count: 5.8k Tags/warnings: no y/n; unhinged reader; manga spoilers (Culling Games + Perfect Preparation arcs); fight description; canon-typical violence; there will be eventual smut in the later parts fyi Summary: There's murder in the air – with the Culling Games underway, a simple task of finding an angel turns to a fight for life when you meet a certain, static and 400 years old sorcerer with cyan hair and wicked intentions.

Artwork by poro (poro06625649) on Twittter [source]; divider by @skylightlantern [source] For a better understanding of the reader's CE and CT, visit this Tumblr post.

masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

There's murder in the air – an unsettling undertone that pollutes the atmosphere. Gentle breeze carrying the metallic fragrance of blood within its currents.

The dockside keeps quiet. Sky clear, devoid of seagull calls. Walking by colossal steel shipping containers, stacked high, the scent persists. Clings to the air like a persistent specter. Each step accompanied by the gentle lap of waves against the pilings, their rhythmic cadence a stark contrast to the horrors you've seen.A soothing lullaby in the midst of chaos.

The maze-like layout of the quayside comes to an end when your muscles strain, lifting off the ground and landing atop the steel structure.

A giant panda comes into view. Its relaxed posture, perched on hindlimbs, contrasts with its impassive countenance as it gazes your way.

"Panda," you address what some might believe to be an actual animal; innocent, cute and completely harmless. Except for this Cursed Corpse – your subordinate – is none of those things.

He fixes you with your very name; a disturbing familiarity in his eyes, then the words escape his lips.

"The smell of blood's so thick," he voices as you draw near, words cutting through the tension. "There must be about three people dismembered here–"

You hold up two fingers, the other hand nestled in your pocket.

"Two actually," you intervene, voice a measured interruption, "walked past a man with a hole the size of a soccer ball in his chest."

The memory resurfaces – the sight of the man, head drooping, neck bent at an unnatural angle. Eerie web-like burns sprawled across his bare flesh. The smell of singed skin and ozone hangs in the air, a pungent reminder. Yet, it's not just that which jolts your senses. It's the residual static of someone's cursed energy, an unsettling presence that lingers.

"But that's not what troubles me," continuing, you stand next to Panda, arms now crossed as both of you watch the lifeless skies, "something bad's here. I tried following the remnants of the cursed energy of the perpetrator but it was very faint."

"Could be an expert who can turn their cursed energy on and off at will…" Panda thinks out loud.

You let the idea sit for a second. Could it be the case? Could someone in this colony be capable of doing it? Known, registered sorcerers are absent here. The majority are newly awakened, scarcely equipped to comprehend a sophisticated notion like this. And why would they feel the need to hide their cursed energy?

No.

Dismissing your doubts, you shake your head and stride toward the edge of the shipping container.

"Don't think so. Nevertheless, we're here to find that angel girl and negotiate with her." Stepping onto the container's edge, unfazed by the high drop; balancing skillfully, you extend one leg over the edge, about to step into empty space. In a seamless motion, you touch down on the solid concrete ground below.

Panda follows suit, rolling off the shipping container with agility, landing right beside you. Then he stands, an odd combination of human-like stance and panda appearance, more akin to a person in a panda costume than an actual animal.

"Our safest bet is to leave the docks. Fast. Just play pretend, avoid any unnecessary conflicts and make it out of this colony in one piec–"

The sentence's left hanging as a sudden shift in the atmosphere catches your attention. Panda falls on all fours, frozen still.

"Ah," a deeper, resonant voice rumbles from your right, the words echoing as the familiar sensation washes over you. A sudden buzz inside your mind, an abrupt surge of awareness regarding another sorcerer's presence. Heart mirroring the rapid flutter of a startled bird's wings.

Their cursed energy, concealed and latent, manages to evoke an almost primal response within you. A sense of fight or flight.

You pivot to face the uninvited presence before you.

A cascade of hair, vivid as a robin's egg and kissed by the hues of a clear summer sky, is gathered into twin buns atop his head while tendrils of untamed locks dance freely in the breeze, resembling a stormy sea. Longer bangs frame the contours of his face, softening his visage.

He stops when his eyes – the same uncanny shade as his hair – bore into yours. Carrying what you'd guess is a Nyoi staff slung over his shoulder, he stands at a slight angle. Excludes casual confidence, a sense of poised readiness.

"Another one," he breaks the silence. You stand your ground in response to his observation.

"Not interested in a fight," you remark, hands risen in a defensive gesture. Yet you don't dare take your eyes off the sorcerer. Ready and composed.

Panda, ostensibly cautious, inches closer to you, fur bristling in sync with his unease towards the newcomer's presence. The air tightens, charged with the unspoken potential for violence.

"Kogane," he calls out to the shikigami, summoning it like a wisp from the aether; the small creature materializes, its hue the shade of a serene lake, light and amicable as it floats near his head, "is the panda a player too?"

The shikigami screeches its answer, its words setting everything in motion.

"Indeed!! A player! Yep!!"

"That's a function," your pondering voice meets a forced silence. The state of perturbed ambiance vanishing as your thoughts are cut off.

A flesh of white. Empty space occupies the spot where the sorcerer was standing less than a second ago.

You sense his presence before your eyes even settle on his countenance; his eyes, framed with short zig-zag lines reminiscent of lightning bolts underneath them, a furious cauldron of murderous excitement as they lock onto yours. They widen with a manic intensity. An undertone of madness lurking deep within their depths.

A predator's gaze fixated on its prey.

In a heart-stopping moment, time stands still. The world around you fades into a blur as a primal instinct takes over. Your body reacts; a precision born of pure reflex – muscles coiled like springs, you counter his attack with a swift and calculated movement.

His volatile energy crackles in the air. Your hands snap up. Fingers attempting to curl around his bandaged forearm. Channeling your cursed energy to your clavicles, the place where his palm lays flat against you –

But your reactions prove inadequate. You're too slow. A shocking speed and heavy push; a surge of force is sent through your body, catching you off-guard. The ground beneath you becomes a temporary adversary. Your balance disrupted as you're sent flying backward.

Back colliding with the hard, metal steel of a shipping container – you watch in horror as the sorcerer mercilessly attacks Panda. Using his staff as a weapon. With unnatural speed and agility, Panda struggles against him; his valiant resistance a testament to his determination, his form a blur of motion as he evades the sorcerer's attacks and manages a few good blows of his own.

Your body feels light. A tingling sensation surging through your veins. Electric current's rushing beneath your skin, setting your pulse racing and your focus to a razor's edge. The metallic taste of blood floods your mouth. Mingles with the adrenaline in your body. Every nerve firing in response to the raw energy pulsing through your body.

It hits you then–

"Heh, electricity," you mumble, the word slipping from your lips as you raise your palms, clenching your fists. Feeling the tingling in the tips of your fingers. The slight buzzing in your ears.

–his cursed energy has a special trait. One certainly hard to defend against.

Barely seconds have passed since your body was forced to rest against the ground. It still feels too long with Panda barely matching the man's speed and force.

Gritting your teeth, the urgency of the situation anchors you, overriding any pain or disorientation as you fight to regain your footing. A sense of pride fills you when you watch Panda use his technique, striking the sorcerer with enough force that'll easily knock him out cold. One of Panda's winning moves.

Except it doesn't.

"Nice one," the man's voice rings out. A taut smirk playing at the corner of his lips. Your teeth clench, disbelief intertwining with unease as you watch. With a predominated precision, the sorcerer maneuvers his staff, entwining it with Panda's arm in a smooth motion that catches you off guard.

Exerting a forceful pull, he forces a grimace from Panda. Right arm caught in the vice-like grip, a sickening crack underscores the moment. Followed by the nauseating sensation of Panda's arm being torn from his body. Violently. And mercilessly.

Panda stumbles. Pain and agony escaping in a cry. The sorcerer doesn't waste a second. Hurls the arm back at Panda, using the momentum to charge forward. Palm aiming flat against his chest, he sends Panda flying backward – the same way he did to you. Causing your junior to experience a similar sensation to yours.

The cyan-haired man straightens, seemingly relaxing, already content with winning the fight.

"But I'm not impressed," he taunts, words an ominous echo of the violence just unleashed, "It's too ordinary."

Feeling the concrete beneath your feet, you take deliberate steps forward. With an inkling of Panda's potential strategy, you expel the pooled blood from your mouth, spitting it onto the ground.

"...Sukuna, you know where he is?" The man's words flow, attention diverted, ignorant of your presence.

A fortunate circumstance.

"No clue," Panda responds. His reply burdened with weariness and defeat; yet his gaze remained fixed on you, a silent exchange of understanding passing between you as you position yourself, tension radiating from his weary form.

The sorcerer scoffs; a contemptuous tilt of his head, a gesture laden with superiority. "Sounds like you know something, then," he snarls, his grip on the staff constricting as his fist clenches, "Spit it out. I'll be merciful."

With the sorcerer's back turned you raise your arm. Your gaze remains fixed upon the convergence point of the two delicate lines, their path crossing at the very heart of the expanse that's the upper part of his broad back.

"I won't be," you declare; voice carrying a firm tone. A deft flick of your wrist – the current of cursed energy takes the desired shape before it's hurled toward your target. Slashing the air in front of you, aimed right at him.

His gaze veers to the side. And in a fraction of a heartbeat, he moves; executing a skillful sidestep. Body positioned to face you from the side, both hands now gripping his staff, aiming it at you; a glint of fervor ignites his eyes as they widen, locked onto the shipping container stationed behind Panda. The unforgiving force of your attack rends the shipping container apart, leaving two gaping slashes that could bisect a man.

You don't give him time to react properly.

The moment blood begins to stain his white robe crimson red from the nick on his shoulder, you lunge forward. Like a bull being waved a red flag. Feet imbued with your cursed energy, reinforced to ensure protection.

As you close the distance at a breakneck pace, you sense the distinct composition of his cursed energy. With your fingers curled around the staff, your eyes meet his, a faint grin playing at the corners of your mouth as you tug on his weapon with your full body weight. Lifting your legs off the ground, you use the staff as a fulcrum. His body feels resilient, akin to forged steel, against the soles of your shoes.

With the potency of your cursed technique coursing through your strike, the man is propelled backward, his body hurtling through the air. The Nyoi staff clings to the concrete. Left untouched upon the impact.

Flying through a shipping container, he quickly finds his footing. Stance shifting in response to your aerial maneuver. Legs splayed to establish a firm foundation, you focus your intent on targeting his jaw. Fists charged with cursed energy, you hit once; knowing how troublesome the push-and-pull effect of your technique feels once your flesh makes contact–

"Not bad," he manages to spit out, the corner of his lip stained red. A smile tugs at the corner of his lip as you sprint toward him.

The surroundings blur into a muddled backdrop, irrelevant in your unwavering concentration. The sorcerer becomes the sole axis, a focal point in a world that seems to slow to a crawl, even though only a fraction of a second has passed.

The tip of your foot touches his; a mere whisper of contact between two opposing forces.

"Not bad at all."

–he counterattacks. Hand darts forward. Grabs your wrist. With an economy of motion, he employs your own momentum against you. His grip becomes a pivot, briefly throwing you off-balance, diverting your forward surge into an unexpected spiral.

Fluidity. That's how you'd characterize his movements. A seamless transition from being a passive target to an active agent.

His chest brushes against your back as his right hand remains locked around your right wrist. Single-handedly swinging your body like a marionette, you exploit the vulnerability of your position. Using his grip as leverage to move backward, simultaneously grabbing hold of his bandaged left forearm and pulling. Crashing your body into his, redirecting the movement into a collision.

With a potent surge of intention, you force the prepared rejection and attraction effect within your clenched fist, propelling it like a bolt toward the rear of your skull. Teeth gritted, you throw your head back.

Crack.

He stifles a groan, a step taken back but footing resolute. A red trail paints his nose as you swivel to confront him. Pausing briefly to charge your energy again, you grant him a moment to speak. His expression freezes as he locks eyes with you

"You," he speaks up, his voice textured with the tang of iron as his tongue grazes his lips, "Have we met before?"

With your hand still tingling, the ripples of sensation spread up your arm, an electric current tracing a pattern beneath your skin. Your head sways subtly, dispelling the notion of a previous encounter. "Unlikely. You'd be history."

A chuckle dances from his lips, a response to your retort. "What's your name then?"

You share it deliberately, each syllable a measured beat in your dance around one another. He nods, his head tilting with self-assured grace. It's then that he takes his stance – feet planted firmly, palms outstretched, a grin playing on his lips.

"The name's Hajime Kashimo."

The words hang, a telltale echo–

Hajime Kashimo.

–recognition snaps into place when you repeat his name in your mind.

The Hajime Kashimo, the sorcerer whose score reaches a hundred points; a mark that sets him apart from any other Culling game player (except for the intricate Hiromi Higuruma). Hakari's elusive target.

And here, right before you, stands the man himself.

"Hey," you call out, a new determination blossoming, your stance embracing the challenge; retreat is no longer a consideration, "if I beat you, can I get your points?"

The corners of Kashimo's lips twitch, smile fading like a wisp of smoke carried away by the wind. Expression blank, with only his brows furrowed as he responds, "Sure, but you tell me everything y'know about Sukuna," his voice lowered to a dangerous undertone, a velvet threat veiled in words, "that is–if you're still alive."

He charges then. Doesn't spare a single consideration. The air crackles with tension as his presence engulfs you. His hands make contact – not with fists or strikes – but with the calculated pressure of his open palms. You feel the weight of his touch on your skin. Pressure on your left, then on your right ribcage.

"Don't disappoint me now," breath tickles your ear, voice a tantalizing, dangerous melody. His fingers anchor firmly onto your right shoulder, an assertive grip that both commands and unsettles, while his other hand exerts a calculated force on your left shoulder guard, propelling you into a spin.

Your training surges forth, a symphony of muscle memory and instinct harmonizing within you. With the resilience born of countless battles, you swiftly adapt your stance, shifting your weight to face him.

An annoyed huff leaves your now-bruised lips. You channel your own cursed energy, a torrent of power surging through your veins.

Detain an attack when it comes,–

Knees bending, body swaying to evade the incoming fist; your left hand grips his left wrist, fingers tightening with determination, followed by your right driving into its intended mark.

–and send it away when it retreats.

Your palm meets the solid plane of his chest with a resonant thud; pushes and then pulls him back to you before sending him away again; successfully pushing back against Kashimo's pressure. It's a momentary reprieve. One that sends the sorcerer tumbling back, makes him roll on the ground, lending on one knee.

"Here I thought we were just getting started," you quip with a hint of playfulness amidst the dance of combat. Moving swiftly towards the target. As Kashimo's force ebbs, you seize the opportunity, your muscles coiling like springs.

"You're getting me–" he barely makes it back to his feet before you're at him again. With enough cursed energy imbued into your foot, utilizing the momentum of your motion, leg rising up in a calculated kick – only for Kashimo to shift; a fraction of movement that proves decisive. His arm weaves beneath the arc of your thigh, a sinuous and serpentine maneuver that seeks to entwine and subdue. As his grasp tightens, his fingers snake around your throat, lifting you from the ground, suspending you momentarily.

"–quite excited," he concludes, his voice tinged with an eerie excitement.

Once the hand is freed from contact,–

A heartbeat's pause feels like an eternity. With your legs rendered weightless and no stable ground beneath you. Despite the vulnerable position, your mind remains steadfast, honing in on Kashimo's Achilles heel. His hands are preoccupied, his grasp unwavering but his neck and face exposed.

–carry out a strike with it.

Seizing the opportunity, you make the most of the opening. Your palms press against the sharp contours of his cheeks, each hand finding its place on one side of his face. In one swift and deliberate motion, you channel the wellspring of cursed energy that resides within you into your technique. The currents of your energy converge between your palms, weaving a tapestry of arcane force that manifests as a palpable vacuum, centered precisely where his head rests.

It's an intentional manipulation. One – if done right, that is – could even lead to a cataclysmic implosion. A violent severing of life from the body. But you don't want to kill him; not yet at least. You need the points. And so, you temper your approach, exerting only the necessary amount of energy to induce a sensation of compression.

As the feeling envelops him, Kashimo's expression shifts, a flicker of realization that dances within his eyes. He instinctively withdraws. Bandaged forearms push at your body, sending you hurtling backward; a testament to his strength and strategic finesse.

"You cheeky little thing," a bead of blood traces a path from the corner of his eye. At the same time, another droplet emerges from his nose.

This time it's him who doesn't let you regain enough control as he charges at you. His approach swift and unrelenting. The tables are constantly turning – now being his time to dictate the tempo.

Another dance of offense and defense plays out as the two of you clash once again. Each move a deliberate response to the other's actions.

Chase the movement of the opponent–

As the flurry of his strikes slices through the air, you find yourself navigating the ebb and flow with a synchronicity that borders on the sublime. With a hawk-like focus, you track the trajectory of his hand, your senses attuned to his every motion.

While his hits continue to swing through both empty space and meeting your body, a fleeting opportunity presents itself. With the precision of a seasoned sorcerer, you follow the path of his hand with your own, fingers closing around his forearm as it narrowly misses your cheekbone, the other digging into the open slash wound on his shoulder.

–to continue the attack.

It earns you a hiss. A "Tsk," coming from his damaged lips.

One fluid motion; one that belies your strength. You capitalize on the momentum of his own swing, utilizing your grip to exert control. Your foot surges forward with unbridled force, the sole of your shoe connecting with the vulnerable juncture of his knee.

Kashimo's reflexes kick in as he instinctively leaps back the moment your foot makes contact with his leg. His visage bears the marks of battle, a canvas adorned with streaks of red, the vestiges of blood from the prior exchange. A mirror to his appearance, your own face likely reflects a similar narrative. Marked by the intensity of the confrontation. By his pure, physical prowess. One that, even if you use all your cursed energy, you're certain you couldn't match.

The shadows of weariness begin to cast their subtle touch on you. A weight that tempers your movements and shadows the clarity of your thoughts. Each calculated step, each strategic strike, seems to bear an additional burden now.

Still, resolute, your unwavering determination fixated on Kashimo, persevering in the face of creeping exhaustion.

Then you take off.

With a surge of action, you propel yourself into motion. Pivoting on your heel, you sprint toward the towering container crane a mere few meters behind. Kashimo's quick thinking registers in the corner of your vision—a flash of white on your right, drawing nearer.

"Running so soon?"

His taunting words reach you.

"Just limbering up," you reply. Muscles tensing, you feel his energy almost brushing against your own. So, with a leap, you vault into the air. Fingers curling around your ankle.

Time seems to slow as Kashimo's grip tightens around your ankle, his fingers like a vice attempting to anchor you to the ground. The world spins around you, the crane's towering structure becoming a blur as your body is abruptly yanked back, denied the freedom of flight.

Instinct kicks in, your mind racing to find a solution. With a swift twist of your body, you channel the energy within, your cursed power surging to your fingertips. A burst of force courses through your arm, the concentrated energy propelling your free leg forward in a powerful kick. Your heel connects with Kashimo's face, the impact forcing his grip to release.

In the split second of regained freedom, your body soars toward the container crane.

Muscles strained, you manage to grab hold of a protruding metal edge, fingers gripping with an iron determination. The harsh clang of metal meeting metal reverberates through the air as your body comes to a halt, swinging slightly from the momentum before you propel yourself higher onto the structure.

A smirk tugs at the corners of your lips. The distance between you and Kashimo now a tangible reminder of your evasion. His frustrated gaze meets yours, the tension between you electric and palpable.

"Nice try," you retort, voice laced with a mixture of weariness and defiance. There's an undeniable satisfaction in defying his grasp, in proving your prowess even amid exhaustion. Without wasting a moment longer, you hoist yourself up more, using the crane's structure to propel your body upward. Your form melds with the steel as you ascend, a maneuver to gain the vantage point.

Gotta limit his movement to the minimum.

Kashimo's expression shifts, a glint of admiration piercing through his irritation. "Impressive," he concedes, the words carrying an unexpected note of respect, "but you can't run from me."

He follows your lead. The two of you ascending the crane in a synchronized rhythm

"I told you, Kashimo–," you declare, your voice echoing between the steel beams as you reach the crane's zenith, standing face to face on the narrowest edge.

Now standing face to face on the crane's uppermost beam, the narrow back reach providing only small support. Your breath heaves, each inhalation a reminder of the intense exertion. Across from you, Kashimo's gaze remains fixed upon you, his expression deceptively relaxed.

"–that I'm only stretching."

His eyes, however, tell a different story – a depth of focus that cuts through your form. Anchoring onto you with an unwavering intensity.

A mournful melody weaves through the metal lattice, the wind's haunting whistle creating an eerie harmony with the tension in the air. The gusts playfully tousle both your hair in the process. You steady yourself into a stance, your body a testament to both resilience and purpose.

"Plus I want those points," you remark, a hint of determination coloring your words.

It's then that you charge — cursed energy flowing through your body like currents of compressed emptiness. A void. Unyielding. Relentless. And pneumatic.

With a flick of your wrist, you send it slicing through the air. A blade of nothing. A thin line etches across his chest, traversing from ribcage to his already wounded shoulder — a mark of your earlier endeavor. Nowhere to dodge now that he's standing between two metal beams.

Or so you thought.

Kashimo charges. The white of his robe tainted with scarlet. The cut isn't deep.

He must've reinforced his cursed energy.

"Tsk," you utter. A flicker of irritation crosses your features. Agitated. With waning stamina, the dwindling reservoir of cursed energy depleted by your previous usage; this could've been your last-ditch effort.

The final move.

And it failed.

It makes him smile. A sinister twist of lips that morphs into a grin. Moving fast, his expression resembles one of a predator closing in on its prey. The ruby stain on his robe seems to accentuate his aura of danger, a stark contrast to the pristine white it once was.

As your body contorts and arches backward, you skillfully evade the incoming fist aimed at your face. Your unwavering gaze remains locked onto his intense stare. With your palm pressed flat against the ground of the crane, you swiftly raise your leg, delivering a targeted strike to the meat of his thigh.

But before your maneuver can fully unfold, his hand seizes your ankle, pulling you towards him and locking your leg in place as he maneuvers over your body. Kashimo's grin widens, a predatory glint in his eyes that triggers a ripple of unease down your spine.

As his fist whizzes past your face, you seize the opportune moment to mount a counterattack. His fingers, still harshly locked around your right ankle, you push and pull against his grasp. Leg successfully moving to close over his thigh, the other hooking around his hip.

Legs now firmly encircling his waist, you use every ounce of your strength to push. Destabilize the sorcerer. Break his foundation. Disrupt his equilibrium.

The outcome? Both of you soaring through the air and down the crane. Kashimo's form aligns perfectly with the approaching solidity of the dockside concrete.

A rapid free fall, gravity's pull unrelenting.

If you're not getting the points, he's not getting his answers either.

His eyes momentarily flit to the ground below. Unspoken recognition of the shared peril that binds you both. The realization dawns in his eyes, widening them momentarily, before his gaze settles onto your face once more – unimpressed. Jaded.

"Oops," you jest under your breath, fingers finding purchase on the fabric of his torn clothes. An unhinged smile on your lips, eyebrows lifting in a mix of audacity and exhilaration. The wind sweeps through, rustling your hair with a cool caress that contrasts starkly with the warm stickiness of blood on your skin.

"It's accumulated enough."

That's the only forewarning you get. In an instant, the atmosphere shifts; an electrifying tension that dances along your skin. You sense the already familiar tingling as the static charges from the man beneath you. Kashimo's cursed energy now gaining intensity.

His open hand thrusts towards your face, a surge of energy gathering at his fingertips. Only to get countered by your own palm. Flat against each other. Forcing a focal point of energy converges and resistance to form. As the push effect comes into play just in time with waves of electricity.

The crackling intensity escalates, its tendrils reaching out with an insatiable hunger. Only to be pushed back by your own manipulation acting as a steadfast wall. It's a symphony of sensations — the tingling of your skin, the hum of power in the air, the gradual crescendo of pressure between your palms. The vortex throbs and pulses, a living embodiment of the forces you both wield.

The thing is – The conductivity of the vacuum…depending on how you look at it, it behaves in two different ways:

Firstly, when you examine the motion of charged particles with a constant velocity within a vacuum, you encounter an interesting phenomenon. Unlike in other mediums, there is no opposing force acting against these particles. Consequently, maintaining a steady current across any surface within a vacuum demands no additional effort.

However, a contrasting phenomenon manifests when we consider the existence of free charges within conductors. When an electric field, denoted as E, is imposed upon a conductor, it triggers a flow of electric current. This internal charge movement gives rise to a current density described by the equation: J = σE, where σ symbolizes the conductivity of the material. Notably, within a vacuum, σ assumes a value of 0; hence, electric fields lack the capacity to spontaneously induce current flow.

In this context, the vacuum departs from the role of a conductor. Even materials known as insulators, which typically restrict the flow of current, possess conductivity values that are low but not completely absent.

As a result, the resistance exhibited by a vacuum effectively amounts to infinity—particularly when you define resistance through the lens of how charge carriers in a substance respond. Viewed from this perspective, you could liken the vacuum to an insulator, given the absence of charge carriers that are essential for the propagation of electric current.

So in the end, your innate ability functions like an antistatic force.

It should be enough to counter his attack. Neutralizing his endeavor and ricocheting it back to him. Only if his other hand, clenched into a fist, suddenly hasn't entered your line of sight, aiming for your jaw.

The controlled push-only effect falters. Then crumbles. The void's pull reclaims all that Kashimo had imparted, drawing it back with an insatiable greed.

"Damn you." It now comes down to the last aspect of your technique.

Implosion.

The energies within your vacuum field converge, collapsing inwards with a blinding intensity. A jarring impact against the back of your head – or it might be the ending of your fall. Everything's just confusing. Everything blurs into a disorienting haze of continuous events.

The unforgiving touch of concrete grates against your scraped back. Each breath, now shallow and ragged, causes pain.

Above, the sky stretches wide and boundless. Until the sight is blocked by a mop of cerulean blue hair. Two buns somehow still in place. Same-colored eyes staring at your form. Arms folded and a countenance marred by bloodstains and scrapes. Each leg positioned on either side of your hips before one presses against the flat of your clavicles.

"You're quite durable," Kashimo retorts, pushing his weight down on you, "that should've killed you right there."

"Heh," you manage a wry chuckle, your voice strained but defiant, "guess I'm full of surprises."

He raises an eyebrow, a flicker of almost-amusement dancing in his eyes. The world around you seems to blur at the edges, the strain of the plummet combined with the failed attempt of your innate technique taking a heavy toll on your senses.

"It's been a while since I've encountered someone who can keep me on my toes this long. Now tell me," your name rolls off his tongue in a taunting lilt, "where's Sukuna?"

The distant sounds of the dockside begin to fade, replaced by an eerie emptiness. Despite your unwavering determination, a tide of dizziness threatens to engulf you, and you struggle to maintain your focus on Kashimo's face.

"On vaca–"

The weight on your chest vanishes abruptly. Kashimo's foot makes fleeting contact with your cheek before returning to its original place.

"Don't play with me. Spit it out."

"Oi," a voice calls to your right. A voice you know; Hakari's, "It's not very chivalrous to strike a lady like that."

From here, everything dissolves into darkness.

The world sways, a disorienting dance of shadows and sensations. Light pressure settles on your stomach with sounds echoing faintly in the distance. A gentle, steady rhythm envelops you as if you're being cradled in a cocoon of safety. Your limbs feel weightless, as though the ground beneath you has transformed into a soft cloud that carries your burdens away.

Your mind struggles to tether itself to the present, grappling with the fragments of consciousness that slip through your grasp. Colors blur, merging into a hazy kaleidoscope of fleeting images. The arms that encircle you exude warmth thought. One that lulls you back to sleep.

Yet you manage to summon the strength to part your heavy eyelids. Through the haze, you see a blur of black and white on top of you. Head resting upon something firm and solid – a breastplate, you realize. The rhythmic cadence that envelops you is accompanied by the subtle rise and fall of breath, a heartbeat that resonates beneath your cheek.

"Panda," you murmur, voice a tentative whisper as you attempt to comprehend whether or not you're dreaming, considering the creature on you is now a size of an actual teddy bear.

The toy-sized Panda remains seated on you but looks your way, emitting a surprised yelp at the sound of your voice, before swiftly turning his gaze forward again, "Hakari, she's awake!"

Your vision – still blurred – manages to trace a figure walking at the edge of your peripheral sight – left arm missing, shirt gone (he's shirtless, you discern), and crowned with purple hair. Hakari. But if Hakari's walking in front of you. Then…

Lifting your eyes, you suddenly lock onto a fleeting sight of vibrant cyan hair. The once-pristine white attire now soaked and marred with splotches of vivid red, creating an unsettling contrast. Your heart skips a beat as the realization dawns upon you.

It's Kashimo who bears the weight of your limp form.

"She's gonna pass out soon again," his voice carries vibrations that travel from his chest to your cheek with his gaze fixed upon you.

And he's right as your body, weary and battered, succumbs once more to the embrace of slumber.

#moni writes #hajime kashimo #hajime kashimo x reader #kashimo x reader #hajime x reader #jujutsu kaisen #hajime kashimo x y/n #hajime x y/n #kashimo x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk imagines #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic

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nina-ya · 6 months

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Patching up Sanjis Wounds

Zoro Law Sanji Shanks Ace Luffy Sabo Doflamingo Pairing: Sanji x Reader CW: Blood mentions, light wound descriptions, Sanji being a little flirty shit as usual. WC: 756

The chances that the love cook would take a huge hit for you and leave you to be the one to patch him up are high, and unfortunately this exact scenario just unfolded. Sanji is currently sprawled out in front of you after taking a major hit for you, bleeding from every place imaginable. The bleeding from his nose is most likely from the fact that you’re currently compressing some of the cuts on his chest so they can clot and those lovesick eyes he is directing towards you is practically confirming your suspicions. “Why did you do that?! Do you know how reckless that was?!” You practically yell at him as you scramble to help him. “I always help a lady in need, especially you~” he slurs out. You can’t tell if he’s love drunk or has lost too much blood based on the way he’s speaking. You roll your eyes at his response and start unbuttoning his shirt to take a better look at his wounds. He seems to light up at your touch. “Mademoiselle, I didn’t think this would be how our first time would go. I imagined preparing a lovely dinner fir-“ You groan loudly. “Sanji! With all due respect, this is not what you think it is. Get your mind out of the gutter and tell me where it hurts.”

He pouts when you shoot his advances down. “It hurts right here,” he says, guiding your your hand over his heart. Before you scold him again for his flirtation at this inappropriate time, you see the deep red that has enveloped his chest and you gasp softly. Sanji's injury is much worse than you initially thought, and the sight of the deep red seeping from his chest was enough to fill you with concern. You hold back your frustration and focus on the task at hand. "Sanji, where else does it hurt?" He winces and lets out a heavy sigh, his usual confident demeanor momentarily fading as he admits, "Everywhere, honestly." You fight back the pang of frustration and set your focus on treating him. "Alright, let's get you patched up. But seriously, Sanji, no more of your romantic fantasies right now. We need to stop this bleeding." As you work to remove his blood-soaked shirt, Sanji can't help but show his appreciation, although his pain is clear. "You have the gentle touch of an angel, ma belle." You can't help but let out a half-laugh, half-sigh. "Sanji, I'm trying to save your life here, not audition for a romance play." He manages a weak smile amidst his discomfort. "Sorry, it's just hard not to admire your beauty, even in the midst of all this." You smile slightly and focus on cleaning his wounds, and begin to wrap up some of the deeper gashes. Sanji winces and grits his teeth, but he doesn't complain about the pain. He seems to understand the gravity of the situation, and it has sobered him up, for the most part. “You know this was stupid, right?” You mutter softly, your voice filled with care. “Nothing is stupid when it comes to you.” he retorts. You let out a sigh. “Sanji, this was very stupid. If you had gotten more hurt than this, if you had… if you had died, I…” you trail off, suddenly becoming emotional. Your lip quivers as you try to focus on holding back tears so you can help him. Sanji sees your distress and lightly grabs your hand. “I will not die, not any time soon at least. I need to at least get a kiss from you before I can say I have lived a satisfied life.” You sniffle, your emotions still raw, but you manage a small laugh in response. “Yeah, well, I don't think ill be satisfied with just a kiss.” Sanjis' blue eyes sparkle with longing and a grin spreads across his face. “Oh? Do tell what it is you had in mind.” He says cheekily. Your laughter fills the air and affection floods your voice. “Hey, lets get you to Chopper first, okay?” You say, finalizing the wrapping of the wounds. “But for now, I will leave you with this.” Leaning in, you press a kiss to his lips. Its a tender and affectionate kiss, conveying all the emotions you had been suppressing: relief, gratitude, and an undeniable connection between you two. Sanjis' Lips were warm and warm and welcoming, and for that moment, you can forget about the chaos of the world around you two.

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece fluff #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #sanji x reader

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holybibly · 5 days

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This is a little preview of my new series and yes, bunnies, this is a whole series from me. I hope everyone is ready for an erotic dystopia?

Decadent dystopian erotica with majestic dragons - second teaser for today

Glass House Ateez x reader

Everything changed in an instant.

The king was dead, and thousands of dragons took to the burning skies. The old world was over, and a 'new age' was in the making—an age of gods and monsters.

A thousand years ago, the fires of revolution blazed across the face of the world. Dragons—the creatures of ancient legends and children's fairy tales—reduced the once prosperous world to ashes in a matter of minutes. Rivers of black blood coursed through the veins of the streets, flooding the cities and lands in their wake. The sky was a blaze of purple flames and electric shocks. The church was reduced to rubble, and the royal family was executed in a public display. In the eyes of the dead, the unspoken horror in front of these majestic creatures remained forever, and in the sparks of the flames, they shimmered like precious sea stones.

There was a bitter smell of burning flesh and ash in the air. It was the smell of dreams on fire—the smell of a future in decay.

It was the beginning of the end of ancient life. The beginning of a new world. The Age of Immortality has begun.

All the legends turned out to be true; dragons did exist. They had always lived close to us, lurking in the velvety darkness of the night, waiting for the hour. Waiting for the hour to come when the power would be in their hands. Dangerous, unbridled, wild creatures of magic and the elements, predators at the top of the food chain. They had come into the world to rule, not to obey, and now, at long last, their time had come.

The world was at anarchy. Dragons were killing, raping, and enslaving races and lands as if it were an amusing child's game. They drank blood as black as the night from golden bowls, and they ate our succulent flesh as our bones cracked under the pressure of their razor-sharp teeth. They would hold orgies in the midst of the torn corpses and revel in their omnipotence. Those were the days of darkness. A time of terror, when the very word danger was a synonym for life itself. And so it went for several years, until the ultimate power fell into the clutches of the deadly Children of the Night, the oldest of all dragons.

The majestic Hala.

Eternal as the moon itself and deadly as the uncharted depths of the ocean, they inspired burning terror in all who encountered them. To their people, they were nothing more than a myth, a legend written on fragments of tablets. Forefathers, ancestors—they had hundreds of names, but each one inspired more fear than the last. They were predators among predators, bristling with animal dominance and primal, unbridled sexuality. They exuded power and sinfulness. They were the ones who defined the rules and set the boundaries of what was permissible.

With the arrival of Hala, a new phase in the history of the world began.

Humanity was enslaved, and dragons became the dominant species. As the years went by, the human population began to decline rapidly, with fewer and fewer humans, until "our" species reached the status of gatherers. Angelicus Nova, or Angel Stars, was what we came to be called. Human existence took on a strange religious orientation; we were worshipped, idolized, and adored, but despite all this, humans remained nothing more than a rare exchangeable currency, nothing more than an expensive trinket that was prestigious to own and could be broken with a flick of the wrist.

The human being also became one of the ways in which money flowed endlessly. These institutions were known as "glass houses." Gateway to heaven. They would be the equivalent of strip clubs or luxury escort houses if you and I were in the old world. The rules were the same: "Look, but don't touch." Girls and boys were expensive pieces of family jewelry that rested under the glass of fancy display cases. Our masters showed us off to the greedy eyes of the world with all the pride and ostentation that dragons have.

In spite of their possessive, animalistic nature, dragons were nothing more than swaggering bastards with inflated egos and delusions of grandeur.

Humans could be anything as long as dragons owned us—a muse, an innamorata, a nymph, an angel, a siren, or even a goddess—but like everything else in the universe, we came at a price.

The 'glass houses' were only in operation at night. During the day, all the 'jewels' rested and tidied up after tiring hours of contemplation of the world through the bluish glass of the display window. Nice, obliging workers in starched white collars were busy with the cleaning, scrubbing the baroque decorations of the vetrines with great care from a mixture of sperm, drool, and other secretions. You looked at it with an almost reverent awe, finding it disgusting to the point of bordering on the pornographically beautiful.

You could see it as real art—crude and original, but art nonetheless. There was something particularly mesmerizing about it, almost hypnotic, about the way the thick, pearly sperm dripped slowly from the golden flowers.

Of all the glass houses that ever existed, "Eros" was the most beautiful. It was the jewel in the crown of the New Empire, and you were its goddess. There were rumors that the Hala themselves were customers of 'Eros'. But rumors were only rumors. If they were ever to visit your 'home', you would know about it, for they would be where all men ended up—at your feet.

You were content with the life that you were living. There was no tragedy and no misery, no abusive family or abusive peers, no bullying and harassment at school—no, you had it all great. You were born here at Eros—the growth and blossoming of a beautiful flower. Your whole life has been within the confines of glass rooms and silk sheets, but unlike your dreamy friends, you weren't in need of rescue.

Your name is Aphrodite. Born in the radiance of the Creator. A goddess among goddesses, carved out of marble and mother of pearl. Your hair falls to the ground in waterfalls of pearls and silk. Your eyes are the eerie silvery moonlight in half-darkness, the deadly attraction of jewels in velvet lashes. Your lips are the succulent, juicy, forbidden fruit that every man would like to taste. The pain of your kiss is going to be the last pleasure of life.

You are not a delicate, pure lily; you are not a passionate, fiery rose; you are a narcissus reveling in the crystal of mountain waters. You love yourself to pain, to death, to despair, and in all the New Empire, there was none more beautiful than you.

Original sin. The primordial beauty. You are desire in all it manifests and begins to manifest.

The naked goddess, clad in snow-white fur like armor, is the goddess of love and ecstasy.

You've never been conceptualized; you've always been enigmatic.

You have been the object of worship. Your beauty has been sung in songs, and your love has been professed in a thousand languages. "Eros" was the site of visits from the mightiest and most powerful dragons of the New Empire. They all crawled at your feet, stroking their thick, greased with their cum cocks, greedily as they burned your skin with their golden gaze. They licked the deceptively thin glass of your display case with their long, sometimes split tongues, leaving muddy streaks on the perfect surface of the glass. The mighty and great dragons, unaccustomed to humiliation and submission, urinated like bitches in heat at the mere sight of your bare shoulders and long neck covered with diamond serpents, their eyes shining like stars in the twilight of your silken chambers. They would drip their sperm onto the icy marble floor until it collected in small, glistening puddles, and then they would lick it up as if it were the sweetest nectar in the world. Ambrosia in the truest sense.

Behind the glass walls of Eros, they were dominators, predators, and the rulers of this world through fear and pain, but here in this garden of Eros, they were nothing more than whores—shameless and needy. Slaves to your beauty, desperate to please you.

Their moans are always a delight to you. The moaning of your name.

The scenarios have been repeated to the point of being painful. Sugar-sweet subs with outstretched tongues and pretty, tear-stained faces. Dominant alphas with sweat-glistening skin and eyes rolling with pleasure.

Dragons fucked other dragons; orgies and bacchanals were staged; they were subjugated and subdued. They growled, moaned, squealed, and purred; some were fucked like a port slut, and some were licked for hours until they passed out from hyperstimulation. Some masturbated in front of your window, enjoying the fact that you were there to watch them, and there were others who would spend their heat and ruts in front of your window.

The list could go on and on: bondage, darkphilia, breeding, voyeurism, humiliation, objectification, and breathing games.

You were saturated with this game.

There were so many ways in which you could spend your evenings in the company of others. It was all designed to excite you, to make you beg, and to make you plead. Each of your visitors secretly hoped that one day you would strip off your luxurious furs and assume the position that was right for them—submissive, naked, and ready to accept whatever it was they were giving you.

It was an act of power; it was a position of strength, but here you were the strength. You were power.

No one would ever have the temerity to lay a hand on you. Goddesses are always untouchable.

You entertained yourselves by teasing them, mocking them, and fanning their flames of desire and passion. Dragons are creatures that are very dependent on their emotions and their desires; they feed on their power and their magic, but when they do not get what they want, it burns them from the inside; it breaks and crumbles them, like a cookie that has been bitten.

It was delicious, but you were full. Thank you, next.

You never denied that you were a sadist; you had a taste for pain; maybe it was a kind of revenge for the destruction of your family; maybe not. They came to you for that feeling; the dragons wanted to be punished and tamed, and the feeling of pain made them cum harder. As they say, Orgasm is a little death.

You could play this game for hours on end, letting the fur expose your boobs and pressing it against the cold glass as you went. It was magnificent—tall and plump, as if it had been milked with milk—with pink nipples the color of magnolia blossoms. There was something animalistically seductive about it—an appeal to their natural reproductive instincts—that evil thought of possible pregnancy. Their whimpering made you laugh, and the sounds they made were so sweet—desperate pleas and long, long moans.

"Let me taste you; I want it so much. I was a good boy, such a good boy."

There were other days when you would let your hands run over the bare skin of your thighs, leaving long red streaks that stood in erotic contrast to the silk of your pale skin. You smeared the clear, shimmering liquid of your juices along the line of your neck, in that most exciting place for dragons, where their teeth locked in a mating mark, as if branding their mate in the most perverse of affiliations.

"Tell me I belong to you; please say it. I'll do anything you don't want. Own me, use me; I want to be your toy.".

Sometimes other girls would be brought into your shop window to put on an erotic show. Exquisite nymphs and rosy-cheeked Lolitas would explore your tender skin with their soft, wet tongues, leaving traces of hungry kisses, until at last their lips would close on the most intimate spot between your thighs.

On days like this, the whole of 'Eros' would shake with furious, jealous growls and thunderclaps. Dragons were terrible possessive, and even though the "scene" itself would excite the hell out of them, the jealousy would burn through their veins from the inside out, like a deadly poison.

"You belong to me, and only to me. You are mine, mine and mine alone. I will tear this girl apart, and we will fuck in her blood until there are no more conscious thoughts left in your pretty little head, until you remember nothing but my name.".

But no matter what their words were to you, you didn't have a care in the world. Nobody would dare touch the goddess, and if they tried, they would not only lose their hands but also get killed.

That was the law of the New Empire—all the people who were left were protected and sheltered in an incredible way. There were very few of you, and if there had been any harm to even one of you, it would have been a real tragedy. Only once has there been a breach of that law, and the consequences have been terrible. No one wants a repeat.

In any case, your life in the Garden of Eros was a pleasure. Maybe it was some kind of perverse way of looking at the world and love, but you didn't have any desire to change anything; everything was great.

Have you ever wondered if there might be another version of you out there? Perhaps, somewhere in a parallel universe, humans would still exist as the dominant species, their countries and cities would be prosperous, and you would be living a different life—a normal one. There, in that other universe, that other Aphrodite—no, not Aphrodite—you would have an ordinary name, not a divine one, something cute, something sweet, and always with a hint of shyness. It is probably there that you would have experienced your first love, that you would dream of a prince who would take you off into the sunset, and that "and they lived happily ever after." You would have been embarrassed to talk about sex, and you would have blushed horribly if his fingers had been in your knickers. But you weren't her. And she wasn't you. You don't want to be saved from sinning; you want to become one of them. You want to experience forbidden pleasures. You want to subjugate and dominate.

You're not in need of a prince; you've already had a king, or rather, eight kings. The day will come when everything you have ever dreamed of will come true, even if you haven't met any of the Hala yet.

You want power; you want to sit on a golden throne in a castle high up in the sky, and so it shall be. They say that love is a great strength, but they fail to mention that it is also the greatest weakness. And you, like no one else, know how to use it to your advantage.

This is not a pink fairy tale. There are no rainbow ponies pooping rainbows and eating fairy dust. No, this is a rotten world. It is full of debauchery, violence, and sex. You could say, "Come and rescue me. I'm waiting for you," but no, you have to rephrase it as "I'm waiting for you to crawl on your knees and lick my heels, and from that moment on, I will own you.".

Yes, that sounds much better.

It's already eight o'clock; time to get ready; you're leaving soon.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the most famous glass house in the New Empire. Tonight we have wet aesthetic cunnilingus as our main course, and for dessert, a mind-blowing orgasm. You have a choice of starters. Drinks are on the house. We accept cash and checks. If you wish, you can leave a tip for one of our "jewels.".

Our hope is that your time at Eros will be an unforgettable experience.

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