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lucidmagic · 2 years

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Modern AU BusinessWoman!Alcina x PersonalAssistant!Reader (part 1?)

Not me getting another AU idea while I need to finish Phyto's Guide and wanting to expand on my Werewolf/Assistant!Reader story for Alcina 😭😭😭

(Please, don’t steal any of this.)

But anyway. . . here's Modern!AU BusinessWoman!Alcina x PersonalAssistant!Reader that I need to get out of my head and share:

Alcina Dimitrescu is the CEO/president/top dog of some sort of business (wine? real estate? record label? IDK I don't do business people), and has been so for the past decade or so.

She's a mixture of Miranda Presley (The Devil Wears Prada) and Cat Grant (Supergirl)-- some would say an absolute demon, others would say a big ole bitch, but there's no doubt she gets her job done and done right the first time. Very high standards, very efficient.

She's also 6'5"-- 6'9" in heels, which intimidates the fuck out of her insecure male coworkers all the time.

She also goes through assistants like bubblegum, not in the sexual sense, but in the incredibly demanding and near-impossible boss way. The longest someone has lasted with Alcina was five months. The shortest = 1 1/2 months. Her standards are that high. (As you can see I drew a lot from Cat Grant because I was in the Supergirl fandom for a while don't shame me)

She is also an incredibly devoted mother to her 3 daughters, aged 12 to 16 (ages pending) and she somehow balances work-life very well. And those who can look Alcina in the eye can tell her family means the world to her and it's likely the only time she genuinely smiles and laughs when her daughters are in the office or she tells a story about them.

Not that those in the office would know-- they don't meet her gaze lest they chance being turned to stone.

(There are also rumors she's related to Countess Elizabeth Báthory or even Vlad the Impaler himself, what with her Romanian ancestry)

Anyways, she has the world in her palms, uber-rich, super fucking hot, and could get anyone and anything with a flick of her wrist. Top of the line style. Heels and eyes that could slice. And yet, in desperate need of a competent assistant that'll last more than 3 months.

On the other hand, you are quite the opposite of Miss Alcina Dimitrescu: practicality over panache for fashion, rather wear pants and loafers than skirts and heels (more for efficiency and comfort than anything else), not really into flaunting what you got. You come from a simple background, never really had money, just enough that it kept food on the table-- especially when you had a falling out with your parents.

You’re frugal as well. Your clothes are at least two years old, you dare not to shop too much for yourself, as you’ve been insecure with money before because of your parent’s kicking you out. Your phone is too many years out of date. A small one bedroom apartment. You prefer glasses over contacts because contacts are too expensive and its cheaper to just wear glasses everyday.

And yet, you’re whip smart. Efficient, stubborn, and determined to boot if you have the resources. You managed to make your way through college despite your parents not helping and you managed to land a good jig as the assistant to Nepotism Junior, one where you can afford a good, single, albeit small apartment, and you have at least a comma to your name when it comes to savings.

But it’s hard-- especially when you’ve been doing Nepotism Junior’s job for over a year during the year and half stint at the company. Long arduous hours where you are not only doing your job but also his while he does god knows what. It keeps you busy yes, but it also keeps his grubby hands and prepubescent one-liners away from you. So you can’t complain that it is all that bad.

(There is other things that may bring Alcina and the Reader first together, but I don’t want to divulge it here) It comes to a head one day when some misadventures and drunkenness leaves Nepotism Junior down for the count for an important meeting with some head honchos at the company. So you stand before them, giving them a presentation on the work he’s (read: you’ve) been doing for the past month. And frankly, it is some of your best work.

There are little hiccups, mostly just reanswering questions that some old geezers missed the first time. And Alcina has been quiet, for the most part as well, only sounding when she wants you to clarify somethings in “Nepotism Junior’s” presentation.

Somehow you don’t turn to stone when you meet her gaze at the head of table. Somehow your voice doesn’t waver like it would normally do. You know what you’re talking about.

“Give Nepotism Junior our congratulations for his work and presentation. We have a feeling we’ll be moving forward with his proposal.” She says, eyes on you the whole time. You can’t help how your mouth twitches at it.

And they leave. You go back to your desk and continue with your work, while Junior sleeps off his hangover. And that’s that.

Until it isn’t.

Because next week, you’re suddenly transferred to the Alcina Dimitrescu’s floor and you’re now her assistant. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

To say you hit the ground running would be an understatement. It’s more like dropped in the middle of the ocean and expected to get to land miles way by a deadline, no boat or raft in sight.

The first week is hell. Week two and three is practically purgatory. And week four is back down to hell (you swear Miss Dimitrescu was testing you that week and expecting you to break under the strain, however, you’re fucking stubborn like a bull and won’t be pushed around by this entitled, snobbish, egotistical--)

The money is far better than before (like nearly double) and you actually do things in your job description (and then some). And you don’t have to deal with Nepotism Junior’s remarks and alcohol breath at 10am. So frankly, it’s a pretty damn good upgrade.

Week 5 is marginally better, things start to settle. Week 6 is when you begin to get Miss Dimitrescu’s temperament and routine predicted and you start to notice things you didn’t before.

She likes her coffee with two creams and one sugar one lighter days. One cream and no sugar on harder days. On Wednesdays she’s noticeably happier and more relaxed as you’ve learned that it’s her and her girls game night. Her brow creases in a particular way when she’s reading business jargon. It furrows in a different way when she has to read horrible drivel. She likes talking to herself through problems. She likes that you know what she’s talking about and sometimes bounces ideas off of you. When she likes your ideas she hums and follows up with it. If she doesn’t she sends you on a fetch quest.

Alcina Dimitrescu also has a horrible sweet tooth, especially when she’s stressed, and there’s a secret cabinet, you learned, where she keeps her stash. You walked in on her stuffing her face with chocolate one time and was nearly impaled with a fountain pen. (You make sure to keep it well stocked after that)

She’s a stern, but predictable woman. With moods you’re slowly starting to foresee even before 9:30am, before she’s half-way through her morning latte.

By week 8, you got the hang of it and honestly, it wasn’t that bad. All you had to be was adaptable and resourceful. She can still be snippy, even unfathomably demanding, and yet you’ve also learned she tends to appreciate when you snap back (albeit in a more light hearted manner).

The first time it was a mistake, you happened to be drifting away with your thoughts about the day’s schedule and Alcina made a comment on something she received the other night. You replied with a bit of snark and the silence that followed nearly had you retch in fear. Her brow quirked. Her lips twinged. And her breath catch in her chest. She dismissed you soon after that.

(Holy shit, you nearly made the Alcina Dimitrescu laugh.... holy fucking shit.)

And to be honest, some of the verbal take downs she does to some of the other board members and peers is worthy of being quoted. You manage to stop yourself from giggling at the meetings, but you are near certain when you do Alcina Dimitrescu almost looks proud of herself. Like she did that just to see the mirth in your eyes.

The turning point of your relationship was about 2 and a half months into the new stint as her assistant. And it involved her three daughters. You’ve seen them before, in the large picture frame on Alcina’s desk and when you walk her down to her driver and hear the squeals of “Mother!” from the back of the car. But you’ve never properly met them.

There was an emergency with the board and the girls had a half-day for school so they’ll be at the building by noon. Alcina knew the meeting would be far longer than it should be, and the look (desperation? fear?) on her face told you all you needed to know. You placed a hand on her forearm, a sure, confident touch. “I’ll stay with them. You deal with this. They’ll be with me until you get done.”

Perhaps it was your tone or her lack of options, but she agreed.

Hours later, she found you and the girls in an unused conference room, where you set up a makeshift movie theater, projector showing a recently released movie, vending machines thoroughly raided, and girls sated, happy, and alive. Bela was napping on your thigh with your cardigan over her frame, Cassandra leaned against your shoulder and munched on left over snacks, while Daniela was between your legs and relaxing against your front. Cuddle bugs, you mentally called them.

(Alcina heart thawed just a bit when she snuck up on you four, too engrossed in the movie to notice her presence. The girls looked . . . happy and content, despite the situation at hand. Other assistants would have secluded them in a room and just ignored them in favor of work. But you? You didn’t make them feel like an afterthought. For that, Alcina had a profound respect for you in that regard. Plus, it’s not every day the girls are so . . . calm.)

(I’m a firm believer that a sure way to Alcina’s heart is by her daughters. Do good by her girls, you get along with them and foster a good, strong relationship . . . that’s a sure fire way to get Alcina to develop feelings for someone. Her girls come first. If a potential lover gave them the effort they deserve, well . . . Alcina would definitely take notice of them. Sue me for the softness, okay?)

Something shifted into place after that day. You two were a fairly well honed machine for the most part. Sure there were hiccups, typical of the workload, but nothing the two of you couldn’t handle. You wouldn’t say you two were peers or partners by any means, yet Alcina included you a bit more into the business side of things at times-- a second, competent opinion she would call it. Nothing game changing or revolutionary, just asking for your thoughts and perspective on some avenues.

The girls also came by the office slightly more after the impromptu movie day. Mostly to say hi and keep you up to date with school drama when their mother was wrapping up for the day. They also confided in you to some degree on some things they didn’t know how their mother would react to. Some anxieties and second thoughts typical of growing teenage girls. You, of course, keep their secrets, but informed Alcina that one of them may need some one-on-one time in the future. The single mother appreciated it.

She, dare you say, trusted you, to some extent. And for some reason that accomplishment meant a lot.

Next thing you know, it’s been nearly eight months and you’ve blown passed the last record for the longest assistant retention of Alcina Dimitrescu. The office floor has since shifted the when-you-will-be-fired pot to when-you-will-quit-or-be-promoted pot. To say they were surprised you lasted as long would be an understatement.

There are now sly smiles and inside jokes you and Alcina had. You two had a language that only you two could interpret. She would catch your eye across the ball room, where you stood off to the side to let her mingle and make more connections, and would give you a secretive, carmine smile-- a real smile, not those necessary, polite ones for business meetings. Real ones, that crinkled her eyes and deepened her laugh lines and made her gaze soft and bright all the same.

She told stories of her childhood and barely there parents and cute stories about her girls and their misadventures. You gave up some of your own, when the office was quiet and the dusk turned to night on a particularly long day.

Nine months. There’s a mishap in the dressing room and your boss needs help with one of her gowns she is trying on. You enter the space and nearly pass out with the full display of Alcina Dimitrescu’s back. She explains that the she can’t quite reach the back zipper and it takes all your might and will power not let your hands and fingers tremble. It takes a few tries, everything suddenly becoming Alcina and only Alcina, but you managed to zip her up. You still think about that dark look she gave you when you left the dressing room.

Ten months. Alcina adores the opera. She made sure that when business needed to take place in Italy, she invited you over the the centuries old opera house for your first ever live performance. You were mesmerized and were slack jawed the entire time. Alcina teased you that you looked like a goldfish throughout the night. It wasn’t until you’re in the hotel that you question why was she watching your stupid face instead of the opera.

Eleven months. She has tried to quit smoking multiple times. So far she has cut down to two a day and she’s real ecstatic about it because her daughters are. You’re happy for her and it takes you a few weeks to get used to the lack of smoke smell around her. You hate to admit this, especially with such an accomplishment, but you kinda missed it.

Twelve months. Cassandra is in the hospital, a sickness that needed such a drastic medical intervention. You taxi Alcina, Bela, and Daniella back and forth from their house to the hospital whenever they want. It breaks your heart each time to see how frail Cassandra has gotten in the near two weeks she’s been admitted. Alcina looks so tired. Exhausted. There’s a stoop to her shoulders not there months ago. She breaks down one night in your car. It’s the first time you’ve seen her cry and it shatters your heart and you desperately want to make it stop. She’s crying and apologizing, and crying and apologizing for her mask falling. You take her into your arms and hold her tight until the sobs stop raking her body. She clutches you like a lifeline. You two don’t speak about it the next day when you visit Cassandra again.

Thirteen months. She’s chatting with a beautiful woman, who is clearly flirting with your boss. She comes from a good family and is successful with several tens of millions under her belt. She’s a philanthropist and started multiple charities to help people. She’s kind and charming and down to earth. You hate her. And you hate Alcina more for not going back to her room with that woman. It’s stupid. This whole situation is stupid. Alcina can tell something is off with you but you feign exhaustion and retire to your hotel room. She makes sure to walk you to your door. You hate yourself more for letting you feelings go this far.

Fourteen months. An asshole accuses you and Alcina of sleeping together in the most sexist and homophobic way possible. You go off on him and he looks absolutely terrified of the look in your eye. By the time Alcina comes into the room to see what the ruckus is about he looks to her like she’ll save him from you. “Go on,” You say, voice dripping with venom. “Repeat what you said.” He nearly pisses himself doing so. Surprisingly, Alcina is calm. The asshole’s desk is empty by the end of the day and everyone in the office is giving you a wide berth. For the rest of the day, Alcina is looking at you with this strange glint of being surprised, proud, and . . . turned on? No, no that’s not right. Can’t be. She probably thinks you’ve lost your mind. That’s it.

Fifteen months. Alcina tries to kiss you. But she’s fucking drunk. And you’re certain she’s just vulnerable, you’re her only option, and the alcohol is making her do it. (It has to be) You push her away before anything really happens. She pouts in that adorable way unbecoming of a woman of her station. She’s confused as to why you don’t want her like she wants you. You couldn’t help but let out a laugh crossed with a sob. “If you even wanted me for half as long as I wanted you, you would’ve have tried to kiss me sober.” It’s cruel to say, dismissive. And it shows in her glossy eyes. You sigh and lead her to her room, it’s the very least you can do. An aspirin and some water is beside her when she wakes. But not you.

Sixteen months. Things are wrong. So very wrong. Alcina is cold and so are you. Keeping things professional, you think, like it always should have been. It was a mistake to let things progress the way they did. There’s a reason why these types of relationships don’t last, you think. And it fucking hurts. Each time you enter the office and let the unsaid words hang in the air. Sometimes you find yourself glancing after her, like a lovesick puppy and you hate yourself more for it.

Sixteen months and ten days. You hand in your two weeks notice.

Let me know what you think! I had to write this out because it was killing me! Hope you enjoyed!

PART 2

PART 3

#part 2?#could leave it there but idk what you guys think?#considering it was 6am before I went to bed when writing this it’s pretty good #my fic #fic ideas #fanfic ideas #alcina dimitriscu x reader #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #my fic ideas #re8 #re8 alcina dimitrescu #re8 lady dimitrescu #lucidmagic #lucidmagic fics #lady alcina dimitrescu #re8 alcina #alcina x female reader

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coochiequeens · 2 years

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Only an AGP would think miniskirts are part of a camping outfit.

17 May 2022

An Autogynephile in the Wild

"You are trapped in the wilderness with a man who won’t stop talking about his penis. This is not good. This is not normal."

Susi Quinn

“Atthe big spa in town, you have to shower naked,” says our guide, Helga, with some relish. “The tourists don’t like this, especially the American women, and sometimes they try to shower with their swimsuits on. Now, I’m a big lady, and I put on my deepest voice, and I bellowed at them to take their clothes off. You should have seen them scurry away!”

Helga and Jackie burst into raucous laughter. There are some polite chuckles from the men in the group. I say nothing and look away.

Helga is not a big lady. Helga is a tall, rugged man who has had his eyebrows plucked and his penis cut off. I don’t need to speculate about this with terfy prurience, or perform the fabled genital inspections, as he has told us all about his operation a great many times already. It’s day two of a wilderness expedition in Scandinavia, and we’re reliant for our safety on a man who will not shut up about the contents of his pants. I grit my teeth and give thanks once again that the group is small enough that we don’t have to share tents.

There are five of us on the trip—two youngish men so far removed from gender discourse that they don’t even recognize the trans flag; Jackie, an older lady full of Not Like The Other Girls energy; and Claire, a fellow fortysomething who hadn’t followed gender issues closely, but whose discomfort with the situation almost matched my own. All we were missing was a beardy bloke to tell us ladies what to think about the issue, and it would have been an almost perfect reflection of society in microcosm.

Iwasn’t quite sure what to make of Helga at first glance. He picked us up from the bus station wearing tight capris, a tight shirt, and a ponytail under a baseball cap, and I didn’t catch his name; was this some unfamiliar men’s Euro-fashion or was he trying to dress “as a woman?” Were those eyebrows just a bit too neat and unnatural? Is he wearing foundation or just sunblock? Regular moobs or the estrogen variety? Is he making that weird pouty face on purpose? I didn’t have to ponder for long; within about ten minutes, he had declared his identity as “a transgender woman” and started telling us about a local documentary that had been made about his bravery and unconventional life.

Quite likely he’d misinterpreted our scrutiny as a form of “Is that a man or a woman?”, that proverbial bad-faith question asked by homophobic grandparents in the 70s and 80s during Top of the Pops. His sex, though, was never in question; even Jackie, who tried her hardest to “validate” him at every turn, first greeted his appearance with “Oh, I was expecting a woman!”.

I made some quick calculations about the male/female numbers in the group, and set to worrying about what the sleeping arrangements might be, and whether I’d need to make a fuss. The travel company had promised we’d be sharing rooms on a “same-gender” basis—did they mean same-sex? I hadn’t even thought to check.

In the back of the minibus, the group made introductory small talk. Is this your first time in the country? Have you been on this type of adventure before? The two men were quiet and conventional; Claire was friendly and asked more questions than she answered; Jackie was talkative but mostly about herself. More than the rest of us, she looked the part of a rugged adventurer, and I was hoping she’d make a fun travel companion, but there was an edge to her conversation that gave me pause. As if her identity depended on being The Most Rugged Lady Adventurer In The Village, she always had to top our tales with a boast of her own. Only mine and Claire’s, of course. She deplored the existence of “women’s” outerwear, and was proud that she bought hers from the men’s section. She mocked Claire for needing to check in with her teenage son on the phone. Had Jackie been forty years younger, you can bet there would have been pronouns.

“Back at the camp, Helga has changed back into his miniskirt, which he wears around the campfire while cooking.”

She wasn’t the only one to keep talking about herself. During the long drive to our destination, Helga spent less time telling us about the sights and scenery than about himself, his life and his achievements. Not his genitals, not yet—those conversations would wait until we were a genuinely captive audience. For the moment, there were enough nuggets dropped for me to piece together a picture of almost textbook autogynephilia—there was an ex-wife somewhere, and a child or two that he’d ditched to follow his fetish; an ultra-macho hobby and an obsession with how he was perceived. A litany of dull, dull boasts, me me me me me. I looked at the blonde ponytail coming out the back of his baseball cap. Dollars to donuts there was a bald patch under there. He never took the cap off.

Helga’s adventure-guide credentials clearly hadn’t prepared him for some of the less rugged aspects of guiding, such as knowing the itinerary, communicating unexpected changes, or remembering that we needed to eat. Instead of the central hotel and restaurant meal we’d expected for our first night, we were eventually dropped off late at a remote self-catering lodge, petrol-station hotdogs in hand, to ponder the events of the day. The five guests gathered in the corridor to chat before we turned in; all of us had been on small-group trips before, and this one was unusually amateurish. And Helga himself? Awkward silences, awkward platitudes. We’d all been on enough small-group trips to know that it was a bad idea to alienate your companions by spouting political opinions; we were diplomatic and guarded. This was no time for terfing. Tiptoeing around the trans question, we gave him much more leeway for his failures than we otherwise would have; there was an eggshell brittleness to the topic, and nobody wanted to put a foot wrong.

The organisational failures continued well into the next day, but it was with great relief that we were eventually issued with a tent each, and there was no question of anyone being asked to share. As we packed up the last of our equipment, Helga reappeared, brandishing a small plastic bottle with a large hole cut into the side. This, he explained, was his homemade she-wee. If you make one yourself, remember to sand down the edges, or you might get a nasty cut in an unfortunate place, haha! We nodded politely, really not wanting the mental images. Why was he telling us this?

To reinforce how convenient this device was, he wandered a few yards away, turned his back, and made use of it. We hadn’t even left the depot yet; there was a real toilet just indoors, and there he was, pissing out in the open, with a flimsy excuse that stretched “plausible deniability” to its breaking point.

“Was he taking advantage of our isolation and dependency and general British politeness to override our obvious discomfort with the subject?”

Several strenuous hours later, we’d reached our campsite—beautiful, wild, bleak, and utterly, utterly remote. In other words, we were now a captive audience. Helga ramped up the trans talk almost immediately, dropping in references to his castration wherever he could manage it. Often this took the form of jolly anecdotes that we were clearly expected to laugh along with.

“Some old men were complaining about how women make all the drama, but I told them that all the drama in me was taken away with my balls!”

“The first time I wore a drysuit after the operation, I forgot I no longer had a penis, and when I unzipped my fly to pee and went to grab it, there was nothing to grab!”

“After my operation, the doctor told me that in some cultures, trans people were considered to be almost gods!”

He approached Claire, walking alone on the beach, and told her how, as a teen, he’d hated his penis so much he almost cut it off with a knife. Uh, good for you, I guess? How do you even respond to something like that? Why should anyone have to?

Early in the Trump administration, commentators had exhorted us to keep hold of our expectations of “normal,” so we would see how far from normal things had become. This trip had started strange and become stranger; I had to dredge out my memories of other tour leaders to realize how abnormal this behavior was.

No other tour guide I could think of would have so much as mentioned their genitalia, not even once. They wouldn’t have told us all about any other medical treatment in such detail. They wouldn’t have pissed in front of the group. Nothing about this was normal. And yet nobody was saying anything. I wasn’t saying anything. Did Helga move in circles, online or off, where this topic was so normalized as to have become regular small talk? Or was he taking advantage of our isolation and dependency and general British politeness to override our obvious discomfort with the subject? To override it and even enjoy causing it? I felt grubby, all the time.

Look at what’s in front of you, don’t be distracted by the glitter. You are trapped in the wilderness with a man who won’t stop talking about his penis. This is not good. This is not normal.

Day 3. Jackie has now become openly hostile towards Claire, with mean-girl behavior quite incongruous from a woman in her 60s. We find jellyfish washed up on the beach, which Claire deems rather upsetting and disgusting; Jackie picks one up and throws it at her, she and Helga squealing with laughter. And there it is again—dominance and power plays, using our discomfort to jostle for status and reinforce their own perceived superiority. Towards Helga, Jackie now affects a chummy gal-pal sycophancy, which Helga quite laps up. Except on the very frequent occasions when Jackie slips and calls him “he,” far more often than anyone else does, a hilarious Freudian slip which serves to illustrate which dynamic is really in play here.

Back at the camp, Helga has changed back into his miniskirt, which he wears around the campfire while cooking. The rest of us are still wearing the grubby hiking trousers and multiple woollen layers that we’ve been sleeping in for two nights. I can’t tell if he’s touched up his makeup again, but his performance of femininity still includes that peculiar expression that I noticed on the first day—a sort of wide-eyed, open-mouthed pout that is familiar from the many selfies and avatars I’ve seen in the trans regions of Twitter and Reddit. Is this what they think women look like? Do they think we also laugh alone at salad? He obviously missed the memo about how women don’t typically blow snot out of their noses into the bushes, or how we generally go behind a rock to piss. Even the men in the group go behind a rock to piss. Helga still just takes his she-wee a few yards away and turns his back.

In the evening, he gets us to watch the documentary he’d mentioned on the journey up. It’s on a small laptop screen, subtitled in English; we strain to read the captions. The adventurous scenery sections are thrilling and beautiful. The interspersed discussion of his life and his transition are not. In equal measure tawdry and uncomfortable, a string of family and friends pop up in well-worn talking-heads format to offer support, astonishment, bewilderment, praise, to a stirring stock-music soundtrack. It’s all very Lifestyle Channel.

“Do they think we also laugh alone at salad?”

I tick off my day-one assumptions as they are confirmed, one by one. Yep, there’s the bald patch. There’s the poor ex-wife, love-bombed into a quick marriage and then gaslit as he resumed his teenage obsessive crossdressing habit. The secret meetings with other crossdressing men. The eventual divorce, leaving her to raise their child—seems that his fantasies of womanhood didn’t include the boring babysitting parts. He was quite handsome as a man. No weird pout in those older shots. Onscreen, he complains bitterly about an extremely mild “misgendering” incident, and swears he will leave the country.

He wasn’t harassed in the incident, he wasn’t discriminated against, he wasn’t obstructed. He was merely observed to be male, and that was enough to provoke a tearful meltdown. As if we weren’t already walking on eggshells enough, monitoring our own language to avoid naming the obvious fact that we could all see! The sight of this burly man having an onscreen tantrum at his inability to control others’ perceptions… it was a reason to tread even more carefully.

Claire and I go to gather firewood; away from the group and out of earshot, she makes tentative reference to how strange this all is. I sense a proto-terf, let rip a full stream of gender-critical invective, and the relief is glorious. It’s like a touchstone for reality. She’s already been having her doubts about the ideology, and can recognize odd compulsive behavior from having a diagnosed OCD family member; we compare notes on the weirdness of the trip, and reassure each other that we are not imagining it, that our discomfort is merited, that this is really not normal. It was the trans widow in the documentary that really did it for her; we both feel for that poor woman.

Having a woman ally makes it so much more bearable, but also throws a harsh light on how we’re being used to validate the fetish of this penis-obsessed man. We vow to ditch the rest of the group as soon as we’re able and try to salvage some joy from this bizarre situation we’re currently trapped in.

“We’re being used to validate the fetish of this penis-obsessed man.”

On the final day, Claire and I manage to wangle a shortcut, and beat the group back to town by a few hours. In clean clothes at last, we find a restaurant, fill our faces with pizza and wine, and laugh, and laugh, and laugh. We spot Helga through the window, driving the minibus to a fast food place over the road, and we hide behind the curtains, peering at him through a gap, hoping he won’t spot us. Is he just getting hotdogs for the rest of the group again? No, he’s getting a kebab for himself, because he just seems to subsist on junk food and energy drinks. Where are the others? We don’t care. More wine please!

We befriend the waiter and a German documentary maker at the next table, and regale them with tales of how utterly strange our last few days have been. There are no taxis to take us back to the lodge, so the waiter flags down some boy-racer mates of his in a passing car, who give us a lift. They have a tampon dangling from the rear-view mirror. We stumble back to our rooms, still laughing.

The journey back to the capital is uneventful. Helga greets an old acquaintance at a gas station, and makes a point of telling us how they had previously met—apparently he had told her that he used to be a man (apropos of nothing?), and she had been ever so surprised, much to his delight. Cool story, bro. Just a couple more hours and we never have to hear about your penis ever again. At least this is one holiday where going home is less of a wrench than a relief.

Back home, I’m still walking on those eggshells. My friends hear a heavily redacted version of the tale, where Helga is merely a creepy bloke and an incompetent tour guide. The power of pronouns becomes very apparent—consider the vastly different threat perceptions between “she kept talking about her genitals” and “he kept talking about his.” My friends are in the “be kind” camp, and would have attempted the mental gymnastics to frame this as a strange but harmless woman.

“But what did he say about his penis, exactly?”

“Oh, you know, just finding excuses to mention it all the time…”

I think about how we feminists are popularly assumed to hate trans people, to treat them far worse than we would “cis” men. And yet here I am, playing down my deeply uncomfortable experience, hiding Helga’s trans status in my anecdotes, and watching an entire tour group allow him to get away with dangerously unprofessional behavior on that basis. Even when I wrote a complaint to the company, the penis-talk was only a footnote beside his other incompetencies, rather than the front-and-centre issue it would have been from a regular man.

I think about Grace Lavery, about Owen Hurcum—these men who spend a vastly disproportionate time talking about their parts. I think about the power dynamic, of how Helga used us as a captive audience to talk about and demonstrate his castration fetish, ostentatiously brandishing that she-wee. I think about Jackie, cosying up to the man with the power and pretending to validate his delusions to gain a share of that status for herself. I think about the pall this cast on my first holiday since a year and a half of lockdowns. But mostly I think about how Claire and I escaped, our drunken pizza escapades, and the joy of making a female-only space to laugh about the whole ridiculous business.

4W provides paid writing work for over 50 women in countries spanning the globe. This work is made possible thanks to your support on Patreon.

I think I would rather live through an episode of “These Woods are Haunted” than this. Cheap shots aside how many articles like this have to be written before gender cult allies accept that people don’t hit peak trans because J K Rowling said sex is real. We hit peak trans because we see this behavior in trans people in person and the community doesn’t want to acknowledge that they have a problem from within.

#scandinavia #there are man like monsters in the woods #Peak trans

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l1tw1ck · 10 months

Note

THE TONY ANON MADE ME FEEL THINGS ABOUT THAT ASSHOLE. so now i will write some stuff more in depth about having sex with him. imagine youre some rich ceo of a company that provides stark with what he needs for his big ol projects,, n stuff, and because hes been making so many stupid investments (girls that cheat him out of his money and booze) he doesnt have enough to pay for the expensive items anymore. but you dont mind! you could very easily give him a discount, after all, youre so close, right? tonys glad that he gets this special discount, but when he asks you what it might be, he goes pale. you wanna ruin him- just for a night, maybe a bit into the morning if he feels like earning a few bucks. hes desperate, and clearly too hungover to think, and agrees. as creepy and strange as he finds you- he really, really wants that equipment, and he may as well have a good time getting it, right? wrong. hed stretched himself for the day of the "payment," quite adequately so. just in case you werent all smiles and big cash. and you certainly werent. when you take off your clothes, and show off what god has bestowed on you, he turns as white as a sheet, but soon afterwards his cheeks start to flush... why does he find this so hot? hes fucking some rich guy for equipment, just the idea gets him all hot and bothered.. normally he imagines himself in the place of the rich ceo, but being the recipient of his torture might be something interesting to delve into. but he doesnt have time to think- you pounce on him, tearing off his clothes and shoving his face into your cushy bed with his ass pointed up towards your already aching length. hes surprised, but not reluctant, adjusting his position to be more comfortable while you shove a finger inside of him. "well prepared," you comment, and fiddle with his little dicklet. hes rich, why wouldnt he have the money to take hormones? youre happy that he has, because stroking it is almost hypnotizing, the squeaks and shaking whimpers coming out of his limp body enough to make you leak. and so, once youve had enough of your teasing, you dump what must be a quarter of a bottle of lube onto his hole, and position yourself at his entrance. he expects you to tantalizingly slide inside of him, which is the cause of his surprised yelp when you almost immediately start plowing him into the mattress, grasping his hips with a bruising, vice grip to keep him from sliding into a flat position. he can hardly keep himself from cumming right then and there, screaming into the linen of your bedsheets to keep his moans from echoing throughout your entire penthouse. tony can hardly think, but he realizes that hes going to have to endure your pace throughout the entire night, and whines pitifully when his first orgasm approaches at a disturbingly fast speed, his gut coiling into a tight knot thats almost painful. its when you latch onto his neck with a hard bite for more leverage that he squirts all over your bed, staining it with his sloppy juices. and that pisses you off only slightly- youre too focused on making this the most memorable "experience" hes ever had. your balls start clenching sooner than you want them to, and you groan into the skin of his nape when you empty yourself in his awaiting, squeezing walls, painting his insides white with your cum. you pant atop him for a short while, but what disturbs tony the most is how quickly your cock hardens once more, releasing a whiny moan muffled in toyour soiled bedsheets. (hope you enjoyed this, bc i sure did enjoy writing it (i like to horny rant about men, it is very relaxing))

-💢

im being blessed today😭💕💕

#wick🕯speaks

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theharrowing · 2 years

Text

Dollhouse 💛 14: A tangle of bodies

Hoseok’s job is simple: He enters the host’s body, he confiscates or terminates the target, and he gets back into his own body by dinnertime, easy peasy. Until a client comes along who becomes as obsessed with his life as he becomes with theirs, and the lines between their realities begin to blur.

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

💛 Hoseok x Namjoon, Jungkook x Yoongi, Hoseok x Yoongi, Namjoon x Jungkook, Hoseok x Yoongi x Jungkook

💛 word count: 7.9k

💛 hired assassin au, sci-fi, body swapping, graphic violence, infidelity, body dysphoria, lgbtq, smut, fluff, angst, poly, nsfw, smut, 21+

💛 chapter warnings: infidelity, ass eating, angst, oral, vaginal & anal sex, threesome, recreational drug use (ecstasy), selfcest?

💛 beta read by @neoneunnajimin

💛 posted may, 2022 | read on ao3

Jeongguk: Old men are heading home tomorrow, on schedule with us. We'll have to whack them on home soil.

Hoseok: I need you to stop sending me texts containing orders to whack people. We're not part of a mafia.

Jeongguk: Who are you afraid of seeing your messages? You're literally a government official.

Hoseok: We'll talk about this later.

Jeongguk: Are you sure? I plan to have my hands and mouth pretty full later. And I don't think you'll be in any shape to argue, big boy.

Hoseok sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He misses the façade- Jeongguk, who was too shy to look him in the eye, much less call him "big boy." This Jeongguk—bossy, sexually deviant Jeongguk—is a fucking troublemaker. Hoseok wonders if Namjoon still wants to go through with their drunk plan or if he'll realize it's all been a mistake now that he's had time to think it over. He should probably find a way to ask him.

Namjoon: Ran into Jeongguk at the gym. He's asking about brunch. Yes or no?

Hoseok: Sure. Do you want to come back and shower, or should I head down soon?

Hoseok gets off the bed and makes his way to his closet, deciding that now is as good a time as any to put on some actual clothes since he just went to sleep in briefs last night. He chooses a black tee and slacks, telling himself they should be good enough for today, forgoing his standard button-up—something he's been doing too often lately. Namjoon will probably want to dress more casually, anyway, so he tells himself that it's probably fine.

As Hoseok changes into new briefs and pulls his t-shirt over his head, there's a knock at the door. He pauses, arm hanging halfway through its hole, unsure if he really heard a knock when there's another.

"Hoseokah?" Yoongi calls from the other side.

Hoseok sighs and, forgetting he's not wearing pants, pads his way over to the door, straightening out his shirt. When Hoseok opens the door, Yoongi's eyes fall to Hoseok's bare legs, then move back up, and he pushes his way into the room with a smirk.

"Hey, baby," Yoongi says, taking Hoseok by the wrist and pulling their bodies together against the closing door. Yoongi wraps his arms around Hoseok's waist, and Hoseok stumbles forward, allowing Yoongi to overwhelm him.

"Our boys are in the gym and are probably gonna hit the shower for a bit, so I figured I would come keep you company while we wait."

Hoseok's phone is on the bed, so he hasn't had a chance to see if Namjoon has responded, and he's not sure if Yoongi's just trying to get in a quick fuck. But he also doesn't care. Yoongi's freshly showered with slightly damp hair and dewy skin, and he smells like a field of lavender and newly chopped trees. And, wearing just a black t-shirt and black sweats, Hoseok can make out every delicate curve of bone and muscle on Yoongi's torso.

"Yoongi," Hoseok mutters, "I—"

Hoseok's head spins, heart pounds, and Yoongi's fingers, which have inched up Hoseok's shirt and hold his waist, are searing hot. Yoongi cocks his head and hums, encouraging Hoseok to go on.

"What happens if all of this works out?"

Yoongi squints, attempting to read Hoseok, and holy shit, Hoseok feels incredibly anxious. He takes a step back, guiding Yoongi toward the bed, and Yoongi follows, holding eye contact, waiting for Hoseok to elaborate. The walk across the suite feels like forever, but Hoseok's thoughts are so scattered, he welcomes the time to attempt to think. When his calf finally hits the mattress, he flinches, then sighs.

"If Namjoon likes it, and if everything is good, and it works out, what—" Hoseok leans against the edge of the bed and allows Yoongi to spread his legs with a thigh, grazing Hoseok's cock and balls through his thin briefs.

"What are you afraid of?" Yoongi asks, leaning in just enough to graze his lips over Hoseok's as he speaks.

"You," Hoseok admits, almost whispers. "Me. Everything. I won't want to stop. And Jeongguk...I want you to fuck me in his body again. I want to feel what it's like to be him again."

Yoongi licks over Hoseok's lips, and Hoseok whines, melting into the kiss. Yoongi's thigh gently rubs Hoseok, and Hoseok can't help but whimper and rut against the friction. He wants Yoongi to touch him so badly. To fuck him, to taste him, to do anything he wants.

"Wait," Hoseok mutters. His brain is foggy, and his body is electric with arousal, but he knows he should check his phone. "I should see if Joonie responded."

"I told you, Jeongguk has him."

"He's not going to just let Jeongguk touch him, though," Hoseok mutters, stretching his arm out to reach his phone, which sits just out of reach. Yoongi loosens his grip, and Hoseok manages to touch a finger to the device, then shimmy it over with his fingertips. When he grabs his phone, he notices messages from both Namjoon and Jeongguk.

Namjoon: Jeongguk wants to work out a little longer. He says he sent Yoongi to keep you company. I hope you don't mind?

Hoseok: Not at all. Take your time.

Hoseok checks the time stamp. It was only four minutes ago.

Jeongguk: Sent you a gift. Feel free to unwrap him. I want to make Joonie a sweaty mess and then clean him off.

Hoseok: Joon is the one who wanted all 4 of us to be together the most, but good luck. You have my blessing. Let me know when you're heading back.

"Everything okay?" Yoongi asks, tightening his grip on Hoseok's waist.

Hoseok tosses his phone to the bed and wraps his arms around Yoongi's shoulders, pulling him closely while he pouts. "No, daddy."

"Awe," Yoongi mock-pouts, "what's the matter, baby?"

Hoseok grinds his ass down on Yoongi's thigh and whines when the tiniest amount of friction passes his hole. He hasn't felt this needy for someone in so long, and although he still feels sore from taking Namjoon's cock the night before, he knows Yoongi's mouth will feel like heaven on the sensitive flesh.

"I miss your tongue, daddy," Hoseok whines, resting his forehead against Yoongi's. "I want you to eat me out."

"Hands down at your sides, baby," Yoongi mutters, and Hoseok nods his head, then drops his arms from Yoongi's shoulders, brushing his fingertips down Yoongi's chest and breathing in his smell.

Yoongi grips onto Hoseok's waist and spins him, shoving him into the mattress, and Hoseok gasps, feeling a jolt of excitement start from his tummy and shoot through him. The old familiar vines snake tightly around Hoseok's ribs, blooming with bright flowers as Yoongi yanks Hoseok's briefs down and spreads him with his big, firm hands.

Hoseok bends into the mattress and grips onto the comforter, and as soon as he feels Yoongi's tongue lap slowly over his hole, Hoseok moans, melting further forward. Yoongi's tongue is wet and warm, and it sends a wave of arousal crashing through Hoseok, already causing his legs to tremble.

"Did Joonie fuck your tight hole, baby?" Yoongi groans then licks again.

"Y-yes, daddy."

"It's so puffy, baby; so pretty. Is it sensitive?”

"Yes, daddy."

The trouble with fucking around with Yoongi is that Yoongi clouds Hoseok's senses so completely that all the world falls away. This includes thoughts of his husband. Hoseok knows in his heart that letting Yoongi have so much power over him may ultimately be his downfall—could very well claim everything Hoseok holds dear, ripped straight from his grasp—and he does nothing to stop himself around Yoongi. Hoseok is powerless.

Yoongi eats Hoseok's ass. His expert tongue traces him in circles, flicks, laps, and penetrates, and Hoseok whines and sobs as the pleasure overwhelms him. Hoseok's cock presses into the mattress, and every tremble in his thighs and jolt in his hips give a painful rush of pleasure. Yoongi licks him in a rhythm that has Hoseok's desperate, leaking cock throbbing quickly.

"Please," Hoseok whines, holding himself on weak, shaky legs.

Yoongi moves his mouth away, and Hoseok's hips jerk back. "Please what, baby?"

"Please, I want to come. Please, daddy. You feel so good."

Yoongi tugs Hoseok away from the bed, then twists him again, and Hoseok nearly topples over, grabbing Yoongi's head for stability. The sight of Yoongi down on his knees with his lips pink and chin slick from eating his ass makes Hoseok's heart pound hard. Yoongi angles himself up, holding Hoseok firmly against the mattress with his hands pressing into Hoseok's hips, and mutters, "Then come for me, baby boy," before taking Hoseok's cock into his mouth, sucking down into his throat.

Hoseok leans back against the bed, hands propping himself up, and loses himself in pleasure as Yoongi sucks his cock down and swirls his tongue as he comes up. Yoongi's deep, raspy voice moans, sending vibrations through Hoseok, and Hoseok whimpers and tries not to cry out too loudly as his hips shake and his arousal builds.

It's a tidal wave crashing hard against the shore, and Hoseok can't even form words before he's about to come, just mutters a weak, "Da-ha-aah—" before his hips jerk, and he fills Yoongi's mouth. Yoongi groans as if Hoseok's orgasm brings him pleasure and sucks until Hoseok begs him to stop and then sucks a little more. Hoseok jolts forward and gently grabs Yoongi's head, then his legs give out, and he tumbles, assisted by Yoongi as Hoseok straddles his thighs.

"Fuck," Hoseok whimpers, burying his face in Yoongi's neck.

"You taste so good, baby."

"Fuck, we weren't supposed to—how do I keep letting you—"

Yoongi scoffs and kisses Hoseok's neck. His voice is deep and raspier than usual when he mutters, "Letting me, what? You begged me, Seokah."

"Letting you intoxicate me. Letting you cloud my thoughts. How do I keep letting you do this to me?" Hoseok sighs. He's so incredibly fucked.

"It's okay, baby. Jeongguk and Joonie are probably fucking in the shower right now. I bet Namjoon couldn't wait to taste pussy again."

Hoseok sits back, and his head hits the side of the mattress. It's a dull thud, and he squeezes his eyes shut. "No," he mutters. "He wouldn't do that. He's probably gently turning Jeongguk down. He wouldn't just do it without us discussing it."

Yoongi hums and holds onto Hoseok's hips, keeping Hoseok from sliding off his angled legs, and Hoseok opens his eyes and stares at a spot on Yoongi's shirt rather than look him in the eye. This thing that they're doing—this thing that Hoseok seems addicted to—it's getting the best of him. Try as he might, Hoseok can't figure out why he can never seem to get enough of Yoongi.

"I should get dressed," Hoseok finally says, forcing his thoughts to stop swimming. He pushes back, out of Yoongi's grasp, and haphazardly stands up.

"Alright," Yoongi says. "I'll go change and brush my teeth. Call me if you need anything."

There's something so casual in how Yoongi invites Hoseok to call if he needs anything; Hoseok can't imagine what he could possibly need from him. As Hoseok walks to his closet and picks up the slacks he intended to put on earlier, he can't help but wonder if Namjoon would do something with Jeongguk down in the showers. After what just transpired, he hopes that Namjoon would.

"Alright, well, thanks for uh—" Yoongi stops and clears his throat, and Hoseok turns to watch Yoongi shrug, "uh, coming down my throat."

Hoseok scoffs and looks at the floor. "Thanks for letting me. It felt amazing."

Yoongi hums, and then he's gone, and Hoseok can't help but feel suffocated by his anxiety. He walks to the bed and checks his phone, and when he finds no new notifications, he sighs in relief. Maybe Jeongguk was convincing enough, and Namjoon went along with it. Maybe. Hopefully.

Hoseok walks into the bathroom to brush his teeth, wash his face and neck, and put enough product in his hair to comb it out of his eyes. He returns to the main room and sits on the ugly fucking white couch that he might miss a little once they leave this place, and he inhales deeply, holds it, and exhales. His phone dings.

Jeongguk: Coming back. Is Yoongi with you?

Hoseok: No.

Jeongguk: Okay.

The moment Hoseok sets his phone down, his mind is in overdrive once more. Jeongguk didn't brag—why didn't Jeongguk brag? Jeongguk would brag, right? So, why. He wants to ask, but he's not sure whether he should because what if Jeongguk was joking before, just riling Hoseok up, and Hoseok did something with Yoongi that he should not have done. Not that Jeongguk would mind, but...Namjoon. Namjoon, Namjoon, Namjoon.

Hoseok squeezes his eyes shut, and when he opens them, his vision is clouded with white spots, and the door to his suite opens. Namjoon enters alone. His hair is wet, indicating a shower. Good, that's good. But his cheeks are flushed, and he's looking at the floor. That's concerning. Hoseok gives Namjoon a moment before greeting him, then smiles widely when Namjoon finally makes eye contact.

"Hey, baby!" Hoseok says, sitting forward and giving Namjoon his full attention.

Namjoon approaches, opens his mouth to speak, and then crumbles. He falls to the floor in the middle of the room, knees bent in with his hands on the carpet, and he heaves desperately as if suddenly the air is too thin. Hoseok gets off the couch, half-standing, half-crouching as he walks over, then kneels next to Namjoon.

"Joonie, what's wr—"

Namjoon curls in on himself and cries. Big, heavy, shoulder-shaking sobs that echo through the room, and this is not what Hoseok imagined would happen, though he isn't fully surprised. And he already knows. Hoseok already knows what happened before Namjoon even has to say anything. And the vines squeeze and squeeze.

"Baby, talk to me," Hoseok coos, reaching to rub circles on Namjoon's back, and Namjoon flinches away and throws himself further onto the floor.

"I don't deserve—I don't—don't touch me," Namjoon stammers through sobs and sniffles loudly.

"Of course you deserve me, baby; just tell me what's wrong."

"J—Jeon— Jeongguk, he—'' Namjoon shakes his head. "No, it's my fault. I can't blame him, I wanted it."

Hoseok swallows a lump in his throat and fights the urge to cry for his husband. He wants to tell Namjoon that it's okay, that he's not upset, but he doesn't want it to seem like he knows. So he says nothing, and he waits. Namjoon gasps for air and cries for a while longer. And then, when he's laid on the carpet in the fetal position, he clears his throat and tries again.

"I'll understand if you leave me," Namjoon says, voice raw and deep.

Hoseok lays on his side on the floor facing Namjoon and slowly reaches out to test a caress. Namjoon doesn't flinch when Hoseok's hand gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze, and Hoseok gives Namjoon a soft smile.

"I would never leave you, baby. Just tell me what's got you so upset and we'll handle it."

Namjoon closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. " Jeongguk came to the gym, and he was very touchy and flirty, which I expected. And I was good at laughing off and allowing it because it was...nice. It was nice. I didn't think you'd mind."

Hoseok shakes his head with a smile. "Of course not, Joonie."

"But then we went into the showers, and he—he followed me into my stall, and I was shocked and told him that he shouldn't be there, but he begged me for a kiss. I barely h—" Namjoon chokes on a sob and begins to cry more, though not as hard as before.

"I barely hesitated. Hoseok, I hardly thought twice. I just thought about last night and how good it felt, and I pushed him against the stall door and kissed him until he was moaning and begging me to let him suck my cock. And he got naked, and, fuck, he was so, so pretty."

Hoseok takes a deep breath quietly, not letting it sound exasperated because he does not want to make Namjoon even more upset or make Namjoon think he is upset. Then he squeezes Namjoon's shoulder tighter.

"Joonie, look, I know we agreed to wait until we were all four together, but I promise you, whatever happened with Jeongguk in the shower is not enough for me to leave you."

"Seok, I'm so—"

"I mean it. Whether you kissed, or Jeongguk sucked you off, or you fucked...whatever happened, I'm not mad at you, and it would never change how I feel about you. We already blurred the lines with them last night, and I don't feel hurt or upset."

Namjoon curls further into himself and cries harder. "I don't deserve you. I don't deserve you, Hoseok. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

Hoseok gets up, crawls to Namjoon, and drapes himself over his body. "You deserve the world, baby. You deserve me, and Jeongguk, and Yoongi, and you deserve pleasure. I promise you."

Namjoon shakes his head and continues to sob, and Hoseok repositions himself to spoon Namjoon, holding him through his tears. Hoseok tells himself that he should have expected this, but he hoped that, with what happened last night, Namjoon would be far less devastated.

Enough time passes that Hoseok begins to feel drowsy, and he wonders if Namjoon is asleep when Namjoon finally sniffles and begins to sit up.

"I need to shower again," he says weakly.

Hoseok sits up on the floor. He pulls his knees to his chest and hugs them tight, watching Namjoon get onto his feet and shuffle into the bathroom. For the most part, Hoseok feels numb. He wants to console Namjoon, but he's not sure there's much more than he can say, and he doesn't want to upset him further or overwhelm him.

Once Hoseok hears the shower start, he gets off the floor and walks back to the sofa, where his phone was left. Hoseok's stomach grumbles as he curls onto the monstrosity and checks his phone.

Jeongguk: I can't tell if Namjoon is okay with what happened. If not, I'm sorry.

This begs questions, although Hoseok can't say he's too shocked if Namjoon held in most of his feelings until he got back to his room. Whatever may have happened, Hoseok can't imagine Namjoon fully blames Jeongguk; otherwise, he wouldn't be so upset.

Hoseok: What exactly did happen?

Jeongguk: He didn't tell you?

Hoseok: Not really.

Jeongguk: Is he upset?

Hoseok: He's pretty upset. He's taking another shower now.

There's a pause, and then Hoseok's phone rings, showing Jeongguk's name. Hoseok hesitates, then answers it. Before he can say anything, Jeongguk says, "I'll tell you what happened. No need to speak. And if he comes out of the shower, you can just hang up."

Hoseok hums, and Jeongguk continues. "I was really touchy at the gym. Tentatively at first, testing the waters to see if Namjoon would allow it. He allowed it and seemed into it, so I laid it on thicker and thicker, and he flirted back. I thought everything was good. So then, when we went into the showers, I followed him into his stall. I had a towel on, and I hovered in the doorway, asking him to let me in."

Jeongguk sighs, seeming to collect himself. "He let me in, and I begged for a kiss. He hesitated, and I offered to leave, but then he pulled me in and pushed me into the door as he locked it behind me. We kissed until we were both super turned on, and then I begged to suck his cock. He said no, and I begged again, and he said no, so I backed off and said it was fine. But then I guess he changed his mind. We took our towels off our hips, draped them over the door, and I got onto my knees. He seemed like he was into it and happy, but then once post-orgasm clarity hit, he seemed...different. Like a switch had flipped. He wouldn't say much, just stood in the water stream and stared at the floor, and I attempted to console him, but he didn't want it. You okay, Seok?"

Hoseok hums; he is as okay as he can be. Jeongguk continues. "Anyway, I managed to get him to leave the shower and get dressed. I was apologetic, but he just shrugged it off. He said he needed to walk alone and gather his thoughts, so I went another way up a different elevator. I gave him his space. Fuck, Seok, I never would have pushed him if I thought he would feel so guilty."

The sound of the shower curtain opening pulls Hoseok's attention, and he whispers, "Gotta go," and hangs up. Then he texts Jeongguk.

Hoseok: I'm not surprised he feels guilty, but it's worse than I expected. I'll talk to him and see what he wants to do. I'm not mad at you, but I wish I could have prevented this from happening.

Jeongguk: I feel like an idiot.

Hoseok: You are an idiot. <3

Jeongguk: </3! We want to get lunch. Maybe if Joonie seems more relaxed, we can get room service and talk?

Hoseok: I'll let you know.

Namjoon comes out of the bathroom, and Hoseok turns to look at him. He wears a towel around his hips while using another towel to dry his hair and walks to the closet. He seems to just stare ahead for a while, and Hoseok clears his throat quietly.

"Baby, would you be okay with bringing the two of them here to talk things out? We could order room service and—"

"No."

"Oh. O-okay."

Namjoon drops his arm to his side, dangling his towel in his fingers, and he continues to stare at his clothing. "I might look for a flight and go home today."

Hoseok's heart pounds and everything feels heavy. "Baby, we're going home tomorrow."

"I want to leave now."

Tears well in Hoseok's eyes. He wants to console Namjoon, but he's never seen him shut down like this before, and he doesn't know what to do.

"Look, I wish you would stay, but if you need to go home now, I won't stop you. Maybe a ferry to Busan would be good? Stay in a hanok overnight and take the train to Seoul in the morning?"

Namjoon nods his head, but they're shallow and noncommittal movements. Hoseok stands and cranes his neck to try to see Namjoon, then makes his way to the closet. Namjoon stares ahead with tears in his eyes, and Hoseok gently pulls the towel from Namjoon's fingers, making him flinch.

"Joonie," Hoseok says softly but sternly. "How can I prove to you that I'm not upset?"

"I'm upset," Namjoon croaks weakly. "I disappointed myself. I hurt myself. I hurt you and—and Yoongi-hyung."

Hoseok rolls his lips in between his teeth to bite back the urge to make any noise in response to the idea of Namjoon possibly hurting Yoongi, then licks his lips. "I asked Jeongguk, and he told me that Yoongi is not upset."

"But we agreed—we said we would all—" Namjoon inhales a shaky breath and sighs.

"Listen, I understand that we agreed on that boundary. I know that we all said it was important for all of us to be together. But Yoongi trusts us as much as I trust all of you. I'm not worried about my husband running off to be with another man; whether you feel affection for either of them does not hurt me because we all—to some extent—seem to feel that way about each other."

Namjoon closes his eyes. His breathing is measured and shaky on the exhale.

"Would you have been hurt if the tables were turned today? If Yoongi met me in the gym and we fooled around, still high from what happened last night."

Namjoon bites his bottom lip and knits his eyebrows. "Maybe," he mutters. "Maybe at first. But maybe not?"

Hoseok swallows a lump, and his voice shakes. He decides that perhaps giving Namjoon a half-truth might help, despite the fact that the entire truth is almost a mirror of what happened in the gym shower.

"Yoongi and I kissed when he came here."

Namjoon's breath hitches, and he opens his eyes. When he turns to face Hoseok with surprised, pained eyes, Hoseok feels instantly anxious and looks off to the side, squeezing the towel in his hand.

"We were talking about last night, and about you and Jeongguk, and then we just...looked at each other and then…we kissed. It wasn't terribly heated, but it wasn't innocent, and—and I wanted more. I'm sorry, baby."

Namjoon nods and scoffs, and Hoseok meets his gaze to find something burning, something Namjoon appears to try to blink away. "Good, so none of us are trustworthy. Wow."

"Baby—"

"No. Wow. Thank you for your honesty, Hoseok."

Not Seok, not Seokie, but Hoseok. That one stings.

"Wh-what I mean to say is that we are all still excited about what happened last night, Joon. Because it's the two of us and the two of them, not because we're unfaithful people at heart. I mean, god, how long have we been married?"

Hoseok is panicking. The air twists and contorts in ways that throw Hoseok off balance, and he finds it hard to focus. At this point, he truly doesn't know what to say, and he's terrified of saying too much.

Namjoon finally begins picking out clothing, sliding on a white tee, brown slacks, and a brown cardigan. All the while, Hoseok stares ahead at the shirts hanging in front of him, barely seeing Namjoon in the periphery, watching as the lines of the sleeves hanging together blur in and out of focus. When Namjoon is dressed, he goes into the bathroom, then returns while shoving his phone and wallet into his slacks.

"I'm going to go have lunch and look for a flight or ferry home, and I'll be back to pack a bag," Namjoon says. He doesn't turn back and look at Hoseok. "Good luck with the rest of your stay. Tell the guys I'm sorry."

"Namjoon, wait," Hoseok calls—no—whimpers. He feels weak and suddenly defeated. So, so defeated.

"I'll text you when I figure it out. And at each stop, so you don't worry."

Tears pour down Hoseok's face, and he tries to blink them away, tries to get his bearings on what is happening, but as the suite door opens and clicks shut, Hoseok feels grounded in place. Hoseok wonders if he should try to chase after Namjoon. But, ultimately, he doesn't make a move.

Hoseok wakes up in a pile of bodies. It's hot, and he's covered in sweat, and his clothing tugs and indents uncomfortably around his waist and thighs. Yoongi stirs and releases his hold around Hoseok's back, allowing Hoseok to sit up. He sucks in drool and mutters a weak "S-sorry," to Jeongguk, whose shirt is too dark to reveal the size of the wet spot.

"You cried all over me, baby; a little drool is nothing," Jeongguk says, and Hoseok weakly nods.

Noise from the television can faintly be heard, and Hoseok squints through sleepy eyes. "What's this?"

"Some old western," Yoongi responds as he sits back and crosses one leg over the other, which is how Jeongguk sits. Hoseok straightens himself out and then pulls his knees to his chest.

"Thank you guys," Hoseok mutters, staring at the white comforter covering their bed.

"Are you hungry?" Yoongi asks.

A large palm rubs circles into Hoseok's back. He's inclined to think it's Yoongi's hand, but he's not quite awake enough to tell. "Yeah."

"Good," Jeongguk says, running a finger along Hoseok's cheek and neck. "We ordered a bunch of shit; it should be here any minute. Also, uh...Joon-hyung texted you to say he landed in Seoul about ten minutes ago."

"Th-thanks."

Hoseok was still crumpled on the floor when Namjoon came to pack his suitcase, and he didn't speak a word until, while in the open doorway, he said, "I love you, Seok. Safe travels tomorrow."

Yoongi and Jeongguk kept their distance until he was gone, and once they had the go-ahead, they came to get Hoseok and bring him back to their room for a cry session that exhausted Hoseok until he fell asleep. Everything piled on at once and felt too heavy to carry, and Hoseok let it all out. Now he just feels numb.

Room service comes shortly after Hoseok wakes up, and they sit around their table, passing around plates of steak, seafood, vegetables, rice, and noodles. Yoongi fills everyone's glasses with wine, and they eat and drink quietly. It's still light outside, probably just mid-afternoon.

"Seokie, baby, do you wanna get high and forget about everything for a bit?" Yoongi asks.

"High how?"

Jeongguk leans forward, elbows on the table. "Ecstasy."

Hoseok doesn't do drugs—being an employee of the government and all—but he has in the past, and the idea entices him. Maybe, for the next 8 to 12 hours, it would be nice to just feel euphoric and let go. Hoseok nods his head. It's still daytime, his flight is tomorrow evening, and they don't anticipate getting any more actual work done, so...why not.

Hoseok nods. "Sure. That sounds fun."

"Yeah?" Yoongi asks, sounding shocked.

Hoseok shrugs.

Jeongguk gets up, walks over to some luggage across the room, and starts unzipping zippers. Hoseok pokes at his food, drinks his wine, and tries to feel a little excited for what's to come, but it's tough to feel anything at all, so he just doesn't.

When Jeongguk returns, they inspect the little pink pills with a beloved cartoon character stamped on the front, and Jeongguk mutters something about how sometimes it's beneficial to have a drug lord father-in-law. The three of them touch their pills together over the center of the table as if they're shots of liquor, and stick them on their tongues.

The pill is bitter and tastes repulsive, and Hoseok lets it sit for just a moment to bask in the awfulness before he chases it down with the rest of his wine. The waiting period between swallowing a drug and feeling a drug is always filled with anxiety—anticipation putting every nerve on edge—so Hoseok goes back to picking at his food, so he doesn't overthink it too much. Nobody has much to say; probably the others are feeling the same way, but Hoseok doesn't mind the silence.

Several minutes pass, and Yoongi's voice breaks the silence. "Would you ever swap bodies and fuck yourself?"

Hoseok looks up to find Yoongi looking at Jeongguk, but then his gaze turns to Hoseok. Hoseok shrugs. "I guess so. I don't see why not."

Jeongguk nods. "I would lick my pussy."

Yoongi nods and chuckles. His eyes look a bit glazed over and far away. "Nice. I would. I would fuck the shit out of me."

"You should use my body to fuck yourself," Jeongguk suggests.

Yoongi takes a long, finishing gulp of wine and reaches for the bottle, dumping the rest of it into his glass, filling it a little over halfway. Two full, recorked bottles sit in the center of the table, and Hoseok finishes his glass, then reaches for one of the full bottles.

"I'm suggesting it because I think we should put Seokie back in your body and take care of him," Yoongi says. Hoseok's eyes fly between Yoongi and Jeongguk, who share a glance and then turn to Hoseok. Yoongi smiles sweetly. "Would you like that, baby?"

Hoseok licks his lips. He knows he should put a stop to this affair and prevent further damage to his relationship. But he's already come so far, and he's about to come up on drugs. What's once more?

"Yes, daddy."

Once the choice is made, they quickly shuffle over to the penthouse suite. Although there is plenty of time to jump before the drugs have a chance to kick in, they do not want to risk anything weird happening. A staff member stands idly while Yoongi performs the jump himself, and Hoseok decides that, while it is pretty fucking sus, he has bigger fish to fry than to keep asking why people let the Mins do whatever they want.

The jump is easy—so easy that Hoseok actually fears that nothing happened, just for a moment. But then he sits up and looks to his left and sees his body lying there and lets out a huge, deep sigh of relief. Once the men get their bearings, they thank the staff—who said and did nothing to assist them—and shuffle back to Yoongi and Jeongguk's suite. As soon as they arrive, the room feels foggy and air is a bit light.

"Whoa," Hoseok mutters as he stumbles back to the bed. "I think it's happening."

"Good, baby," Yoongi says sweetly from behind Hoseok. He runs his hands up Hoseok's back, making Hoseok flinch and then sink into the feeling, and when Hoseok groans, he remembers he's in Jeongguk's body. He tells himself that Yoongi's hand runs up Jeongguk's back, and when arousal licks between his legs, Hoseok feels beyond excited that it's between Jeongguk's legs that he feels the familiar tingle.

"Let's get you out of these clothes, okay, baby?" Yoongi asks, wrapping his arms around Jeongguk's torso, gripping Jeongguk's stomach tightly in one hand while the other goes down between Jeongguk's legs and rubs his pussy.

Hoseok feels Jeongguk's legs tremble beneath him, and he gasps. It feels so good, like Yoongi has somehow lit hundreds of tiny fireworks inside him, and Hoseok arches Jeongguk's back and rubs Jeongguk's ass over Yoongi's cock. When Yoongi groans a deep, raspy sound, Hoseok melts against his chest.

"Please, daddy," Hoseok whines in a voice deeper than he's used to. "Please, I need you."

Jeongguk gets onto the bed wearing only briefs, and he sits in the center against the headboard and pats his legs. Hoseok is stunned at the sight of himself and clambers onto the bed. Jeongguk's limbs feel heavy and wobbly, but Hoseok does his best crawling between his own legs.

"I want you to suck your pretty dick, baby," Jeongguk says, smirking at Hoseok. "Let me see what my perfect lips look like around your shaft."

Hoseok wonders if this counts as selfcest and whether it's ethical to suck his own cock, but decides that he still doesn't feel weird about it and tugs his briefs down. Hoseok knows what his cock looks like, but it's strange seeing it from this angle, and when he licks up the shaft, he's pleasantly surprised by his taste.

"F-fuck," Jeongguk whines in Hoseok's voice. "I'm still not used to how this feels."

Hoseok licks his cock, then begins to tease the tip. His mind is floating in the clouds, and he feels like melting, but he does his best to stay in solid form to fellate himself while his voice moans and whimpers in pleasure above him. Hands are on Jeongguk's hips, pulling his sweats down, and Hoseok makes sure to wiggle Jeongguk's ass for Yoongi as he's undressed.

Yoongi gets Jeongguk's pants to his knees before spreading him with his hands and licking over Jeongguk's pussy and ass, and the feeling sends wave after wave of pleasure so intense that Hoseok worries he might collapse.

"F-fuck, I'm still not used to how this feels," Hoseok whines.

All feelings that aren't pleasure melt away. Yoongi licks and caresses in slow, deliberate movements that cause Hoseok to suck and lick in a similar rhythm, steadily building and drawing out arousal, as if they have all the time in the world and there's no need to rush. Hoseok thinks he's in love, thinks he could be sandwiched between the two of them for eternity—thinks the way he feels electrified is enough to cure all his pain and worries. But he knows it's the drugs; they're hitting him really hard.

Time and space operate differently, and as eternities pass in seconds, Jeongguk whines about feeling like he's going to come. Hoseok is so focused on Jeongguk that he doesn't feel the build quite as strongly, but the feeling of Yoongi's mouth is still so perfect and inviting that he lets it be this way, at least until he can swallow down the load that Jeongguk keeps trying to warn him about.

Hoseok sucks his cheeks in, and Jeongguk squeals, a pitchy nasally sound that Hoseok is all too familiar with making, and Jeongguk grabs his own hair tightly as he holds his head in place and fucks into his throat. Hoseok keeps Jeongguk's jaw relaxed and takes everything given to him, and when Jeongguk comes in his throat, Hoseok swallows it proudly, litters kisses on his cock and thighs, and thanks Jeongguk for coming for him.

As soon as Hoseok is finished focusing on his task, the overwhelming, shaky euphoria returns, and it feels like a dam has been broken, causing the pleasure to flood in. Hoseok falls forward on his thighs and whines as Jeongguk runs fingers through his hair and tells him what a good boy he is. He doesn't have a chance to whine about feeling like he might come before it rushes over him, and he comes hard. All he can do is whimper "Please" and "Thank you" over and over.

Yoongi's languid movements are heaven, and though Hoseok feels like the orgasm begins to wind down, it keeps coming, never stopping. It's too much, and Hoseok begins to worry he might experience a full mental collapse if it continues, but he doesn't want it to end. But then it does end. Yoongi stops, and Hoseok whines, even though he can still feel traces of pleasure tingle between Jeongguk's legs.

"I want you to sit on my face," Yoongi says as he crawls to the head of the bed and lays next to where Jeongguk sits. "Can you do that for me, baby?"

Hoseok looks up to see Yoongi talking to him and nods weakly. Limbs are still gelatin and so heavy, but Hoseok manages to shimmy Jeongguk's calves out of his pants, get out from between his legs and crawl to Yoongi. Yoongi pulls his shirt off and tosses it aside, and Hoseok sits up on Yoongi's hips and runs Jeongguk's hands up and down his body.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Hoseok mutters.

Yoongi smiles at Hoseok affectionately, then looks at Jeongguk, reaches a hand to pet Hoseok's cheek, and says, "You're beautiful too, baby."

Hoseok's breath hitches. He wants to be beautiful in Yoongi's eyes. He wants it so badly. Jeongguk leans down and kisses Yoongi deeply. Both men moan, and Yoongi reaches up to grip Hoseok's shirt to hold Jeongguk close.

"Your lips taste so good, Seokie," Yoongi whines against his mouth, and Hoseok gasps again. He can't begin to explain the euphoria he feels, despite not being able to experience the kiss that Yoongi shares with his lips. Jeongguk pulls out of the kiss and sits up. He removes Hoseok's shirt and crawls down to where Hoseok is, near Yoongi's hips.

"Kiss me," Jeongguk whines, and Hoseok leans down and kisses him—kisses himself. Hoseok likes how Jeongguk kisses, spinning his tongue gently while moaning. Jeongguk sucks on his bottom lip and smiles against him when he moans, and Hoseok thinks once more that he must be in love, though he knows that it's as effect of the drugs; they're still hitting him really hard.

Yoongi's hands rub up Jeongguk's thighs, and Hoseok whines. He remembers he was supposed to sit on Yoongi's face. Hoseok pulls from the kiss, and Jeongguk nods toward Yoongi to signal Hoseok to go and Hoseok chuckles. He suddenly feels shy, though he has no reason to, especially since he's not even in his own skin—especially since he's in skin that Yoongi loves and has memorized a thousand times over.

"Get over here, baby," Yoongi says, and Hoseok does as he's told. It's awkward to crawl up his chest and kneel around his head, but Hoseok gets where Yoongi needs to be, and Yoongi wraps his arms around Jeongguk's thighs to guide Hoseok right to where he wants him.

Yoongi wastes no time going back to work on Jeongguk's pussy, and Hoseok falls forward into the headboard, doing his best to angle Jeongguk's hips to not suffocate Yoongi. Yoongi seems unbothered—like he's done this many times before—and Hoseok closes Jeongguk's eyes and gets lost in the shimmering, all-encompassing pleasure once more.

A gasp followed by a deep, raspy whimper comes from Yoongi, and Hoseok looks back as best as he can to see Jeongguk sucking Yoongi's cock. He wishes he could get a better look at his own lips around Yoongi, taking Yoongi's shaft into his own throat. Yoongi's tongue pulls Hoseok back into Jeongguk's body, and this time he licks and sucks fast and hard like he wants Hoseok to crumble and come as soon as possible. Hoseok wonders if he can handle coming again or if it might be enough to stop Jeongguk's heart.

Yoongi pulls his mouth away and says, "Grind your hips down on me."

"Huh?" Hoseok asks, feeling suddenly very dizzy.

"Rub your pussy on my tongue and make yourself come."

Hoseok gives Jeongguk's hips a tentative swish against Yoongi's tongue, and although it's not the right spot, it feels good. He leans into the headboard and tries again, angling Jeongguk's hips down a little, and when Jeongguk's clit rubs on Yoongi's tongue, Hoseok trembles and whines.

"Oh," Hoseok says, realizing he can do this. "Okay."

It's awkward at first to swirl Jeongguk's hips and chase his own high, but once Hoseok finds a rhythm, he gets lost in it—completely swept away. Yoongi moans and whines while he keeps his mouth open for Hoseok, only occasionally sucking on Jeongguk's clit when he finds it in Hoseok's rhythm to do so. It's not as fast as a build as it was before, but it's exhilarating. Hoseok envies Jeongguk for getting to ride Yoongi's face often. Then, Hoseok feels silly about being envious and tries not to think about it right now—tries not to think about anything right now, which is impossible because all his mind can do is feel overstimulated and race.

Hoseok feels overwhelmed. So, so fucking overwhelmed. He leans into the headboard more and struggles to move Jeongguk's hips. Yoongi pulls him close and goes back to work on Jeongguk's clit, and Hoseok whines and shakes. There's an external shakiness that spreads throughout, but there's also an internal shakiness, like all the blood in Jeongguk's body is being pulled by magnets. Like he's full of glitter, and it's all shimmering under intense bright light.

"I don't know if I can come again," Hoseok whines. "I'm too—I'm so—intense. It's too intense."

"Wanna lay down, baby?" Jeongguk asks.

Hoseok nods and sits back, and Jeongguk and Yoongi somehow manage to get Hoseok onto the bed but not without creating a big, weird tangle of bodies. Once they shimmy around, Yoongi and Jeongguk lay Hoseok down and litter kisses all over his—Jeongguk's—face and neck and chest, and Hoseok giggles and pants. He's so sweaty; maybe he's even melting. Maybe he'll evaporate and disappear into the bed completely.

"I can't stay hard anyway," Yoongi mutters against Jeongguk's clavicle. "I don't know why I thought sex while coming up was wise. I was just excited to make you come."

Hoseok feels sad for Yoongi. "We'll make you come, I promise," he whines, and Yoongi chuckles.

"Baby, it's okay," Yoongi assures.

"I might need to go outside," Hoseok says, sitting up and shedding Jeongguk and Yoongi from him. Hot. He feels so hot.

"We can shower," Yoongi suggests.

A shower sounds good. So they shower. It's cramped and awkward, but they touch and hold and kiss, and Jeongguk and Yoongi focus most of their attention on Hoseok. When the water feels too cold, and his high starts to feel more evened out and less internally chaotic, they return to their wine and share a full bottle while swaying and dancing around the room to music Yoongi plays from a laptop.

Hoseok sometimes thinks about Namjoon, and he hopes that Namjoon is feeling relaxed and getting the clarity he needs. Hoseok knows that no matter what Namjoon chooses, he will accept. Even if it breaks him. Even if it shatters him into a million pieces, and he loses some of them and is never able to fully heal. He knows he'll have to let Namjoon do what he needs to because he's the one who fucked up.

Hoseok tries to tear his thoughts away from Namjoon, but it's hard to. When they're in a pile on the bed, hands stroking hair and breaths gasping a whimpering, it's hard not to think about Namjoon.

When they fuck again, over and over again, tangling their three bodies in ways that makes Hoseok dizzy and sore, he thinks about Namjoon. When they collapse into a sweating, writhing, sticky mess of intertwined limbs and exhaustion, he thinks about Namjoon. He thinks about how fucked everything is and how much he wishes he could just make it alright. But he knows he wouldn't go back and change a thing because he's so, so deeply infatuated with Yoongi that he can't imagine his life now without him. He can't imagine never jumping into Jeongguk's body again.

It's 4 am when Namjoon calls. Hoseok rolls out of bed in a sleepy search for his phone on the bedside table, but as he reaches for it with Jeongguk's tattooed hand, he realizes that he shouldn't answer it. How would he explain being jumped at this hour. Instead, he stares at Namjoon's photo on his phone, at his name in bright white letters across the top. Yoongi grumbles, and Hoseok realizes he never silenced the ringer and whispers, "Sorry."

Silence and darkness fill the room once more, and Hoseok sits on the floor holding his phone in Jeongguk's hands. He feels deflated, like a balloon filled to the brink of explosion, then let go to fly around the room as all the air pushes itself out, leaving him a vacant, hollow shell of unwanted, shimmering latex. Hoseok's screen brightens once more with a message, and when he reads it, his heart drops. The vines around his ribs clench so tightly that cracks begin to form.

Namjoon: I know it's 4, but I can't sleep. I told myself that if you picked up, we could talk it over, and I could begin to heal. But maybe it's for the best that we have some space. I'm going to stay with family for a while in Ilsan. I don't know when I'll be back. I'll call when I'm ready. Love you, Seok. Safe travels.

💛😰

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#hoseok smut #namjoon smut #yoongi smut #jungkook smut #bts poly #bts smut #yoonkook smut #yoonkok #namseok #namseok smut #hoseok x namjoon x yoongi x jungkook #fic: dollhouse

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notmuchtoconceal · 2 years

Text

V -- I

( o ) goodimpressionofmyself

28.03.2021 - 6 monts ago ( + 9)

–

sir yes sir

(he was clacking up the steps. clack. clack. clack. you could hear him over the crowd. crowd to roaring crowd.

wood buckling through the vibrations. the vibrations of his little feet. such thunderous applause from such little feet.

since that first night. eyes on him.

light streaking through panes of glass. color bleeding through faces of glass. a nebula of city lights drifting with the roar of the freeway.

the way he spoke. it made you alert.

you knew. always knew. there were entities. roaming our borders. the borders of our bodies and minds. a fortified body--which was a fortified mind--was always on the alert. always on the defensive.

the way he spoke. it made you brave.

you knew. always knew. that this thing within you--this thing which spurred you to action--was the best and greatest in man. there were things about you, you knew -- which they could never allow you to forget -- that were, oh how shall we put it... less than suitable to, shall we say? respectable company.

you saw the broken glass glimmer behind the mess hall. she was folded over crying. bundled up in stained lap linens.

they were sheep. you were too big for sheep’s clothing.

they knew this. you knew this. nothing could be done. it was a material phenomenon, as observable as the fact that water will overflow from a bucket with gold at the bottom. if you stood in line, you wouldn’t be attacked. if they stood in line, they wouldn’t be attacked.

nobody would have to get hurt -- long as everyone followed the rules.

you followed the rules. on the side of the road. blindfolded. shivering in the cold. the cigar marshy in your mouth. any minute now. any minute comes the blow of the popgun. nothin but your briefs.

fuckin dumbass.

are you an admirer of minoan pottery, by chance? or synapsidia?

they took you in the back. hands tied behind your back. you were on your hands and knees. boots up on your back. mud flaking off your back. your broad back. the oak coffee table -- strong enough no doubt -- to support the weight of three or four lesser men.

i hope you won’t think it too crass to suggest, but i would like to scatter a few tomes across the breadth of you.

school was marching ahead.single file. straight line. (forward.)

left. right. (backward.)

i can see the tagline now -- hardbacks for a hardback.

you saw an opening. you took it.

your boots tapped across the tile with theirs.

tap. tap. tap.

there could be only motion. you could be only motion.

negotiation was a tactic of stillness. when two forces in opposition meet there will be combat until a time comes when combat is exhausted into stillness. when we are engulfed in stillness, we may at last speak cordially.

he took to the podium. with your spine straight, you stood.

your spine magnetically repelled from the rod -- two inches off the lowlands of your shoulder blades.

the way you stood that first night. the night you met him.

perhaps, if you are to find the results to your liking, we could go so far as to include the garish touch of a fruit bowl.

the way you stood when your brothers stripped you. lead you barefoot through the autumn air. the cold air. the wet air. the compost which clung to the pads of your feet. the swamp muck congealed between your toes. when you could see the paw prints tracked across the blondewood. the filth of your arches demure beneath the heft of your leather manacle. the chains clinking around your ankles. one of your brothers -- anchored by an elbow and three other hands -- sat in position.

staring down the bottoms of your feet.

his eyes grew dewy on the approach. protests muffled by fingers prying apart his teeth. you watched his eyes as he panted. panted against the dry mud. his breath warm on your feet. steam between the cracks and pores of your feet. you could see it in his eyes. how little he could fight. how when the tip of his tongue crawled forth from his mouth -- eyes sliding shut in submission -- there could be no doubt that surrender had been made a choice. that this choice was the inevitable consequence of previous actions. that a man funneled into regret, be it by insobriety or indolence, has none to blame but himself.

there was no rope binding your wrists crosswise. against your back.

the sun warmed your face. the smell of spring blew in your hair. you watched the people. the people and their longing.

their longing to believe and to belong.

- thank you, thank you. folks, it’s a fine day. a fine day. a fine day for liberty. a fine day for justice. today is a day about justice. justice -- as you know -- blind as a bat. can’t see a thing. she walks around. she carries scales. bumps into things. probably drops whatever it was she was gonna try’n weigh. what is it? what’d she have to weigh, huh? what was so important? gold? a human heart? oof. no. all over the carpet. that’s gonna leave a stain... folks, would you ask justice to bend over? would you ask justice to get on her knees and feel around -- you know, just feel around as she gets a little -- well, as she jiggles her big beautiful -- excuse me, her big beautiful behindus all over our faces -- smearing more blood in the carpet? you should. it’s a beautiful thing. that thing's still beating. she’s got that super hearing. don’t you worry, she’ll get it... folks, you can’t help justice. justice is a big girl. justice -- she’s old enough to clean up after her own messes. she can handle her own screw-ups. she knows her place. she’s very pretty. she stands right here. right outside the courthouse.

the way he spoke. it made your eyes red.

you knew. always knew. the way they talked. like you were a son. like you were a bronco. the certainty of your body. the pillar of your posture. the oats which you could sow by nature of your gift. your endowment of form. the vigor which was their evident lack. your strong heart -- your deep lungs -- held upright by your spine -- pounding in metronome with hexagons of solar light – you who conformed to the unstoppable -- you who were a bulwark before any display of force.

-/` ~\\--

the way he spoke. it made your heart yearn.

you could feel him. the glide of his hand through your hair. unseen. in the light streaking through your hair. the waves cresting in the smile on your face. the surf rocking against the shoreline your eyes couldn’t see. could only grow heavy in the cold tide -- the laps of a night concerto over black water. by night you weren’t the same. he weren’t the same. his boots, two sizes too large, padded out by three layers of wool socks, could be nothing but inadequate beside your size sixteens.

in the estrus of his face, the jowls had swollen up like dugs in a trough, and every greasy gesticulation of his lips sent vibrations through the caviar-gilt gristle clinging to his prominence.

- look upon ye mighty. i am what is most supper. i am that which is the ascendant. i am a neon sunrise at three in the AM. i am the best of nights. i am the end of today. i have only the greatest noodle houses. the best rainy nights in shanghai. i bought up time in other people’s heads -- my mental timeshare scheme. sure you’ve heard of it. i got all their names. my names are the best and the most secretive. nobody knows em. once an elephant overheard one a my names, and i gotta tell ya folks... i shot him. right in the head. it was a tragedy, sure, but he had it comin. nothin you could do. nobody’s supposed to know, and if you know, well... you’re supposed to forget, and you can’t forget, well... folks, i only got the whitest elephants.

some nights are no different from any other.

a procession of identical frames you’re moving through.

you feel some nights are an eternal night.

a night you’re plunged back into.

here. always here. this place. these faces.

eyes to the floor.

left. right. (downward.)

elbow. shoulder. (upward.)

it depends on if you see it or if it blurs.

if there’s steam on your face or grit in the brick.

if the lens goes out of focus -- if you lose yourself in the photochemical illusion -- the face becomes blurry.

in the flatness you can see the screen, clear enough to reach out and touch.

if i may risk being too forward, i must confess -- having now seen you on your knees, i much prefer you on your feet.

- look at him, grigori. look at the big guy. i know you gotta be lookin. he’s fuckin huge. that big guy belongs to me. that’s my big guy. don’t matter what kinda compromisin situation i got him in, somebody wants to sneak up on me, he could yank that six shooter outta his ass quick enough to blow the motherfucker’s head clean off before i’d even hear the click. where’s the click? i dunno. i’m deaf now. you’re fuckin dead. what happens when you mess with me and my guy, asshole. my guys, they got the biggest dicks. they got the biggest guns. i fuck the dumbest sluts with the fakest tits. i want my swimmers plungin down her neckline... like skiers. i want em on milkers like condescension on water balloons. i wanna motorboat two jumbo-size snowcones drippin with my own syrup. the syrup i produced. nobody else produced the syrup. it was me. i did it. i’m the best flavor. i'm gonna sell a pump with my face on it -- be on everybody’s tastebuds. you’re tastin me right now. i smell like sixteen filipino whores. not twelve. not fourteen. sixteen. very important. that’s two eights. eight minus two is six. one minus one is one. one plus eight is nine. see that. all the math i know. i cut the eight in half. i had another one. you didn’t see it. i smell like hibiscus and vaginal mucus. parfum de pussy. as a gentler man might say. the nocturnes. i am not gentle. not sorry to say. those chicks. those chicks with their hyena clits. mighta been hawaiisian whores. not sure. don’t keep tags on em. they’re free to go. sometimes. sometimes ya just want a chick with a big dick. bigger than yours. want her grindin up against your ass-crack. wanna feel her dry hump your p-spot til it ain’t dry. juicy. nice and juicy. til there’s so much seepage. you know -- you know you ain’t feelin sweat between your ass nah. not anymore. my girls. all my girls. they got a choice between me and the boot. i indulge em. i indulge em endlessly. great word -- indulgence. it’s tasty. don’t often think a words as tasty, but some of em. [chef’s kiss] just sayin it makes me feel like a fat broad... folks, i love the art of indulgence. that’s love. you give em what they want. they never forget to come back. not like an elephant. an elephant always remembers... to forget. me, well. my guys stick around. my girls always come back. that’s how it works... folks, i don’t make the rules, i just pocket the change. i’m gonna be licked all throughout the summer festival. i’m gonna be the dumbest bitch with the biggest flower bonnet. i want my fat cans stuffed in a dress decked out like a modern art masterpiece. i wanna be the ugliest dyke. i wanna dog faced cubit sculpture right out in the square. i wanna moan like a sow in heat -- be just the dumbest, fattest cow =/=

grigori. oh my gosh. grigori. grigori, my titties. my titties’re swellin up. i’m gonna drench myself in my own spunk. gonna fry in my own marinade. gosh. oh gosh. light the gas. bash his skull in with the nine-iron if i get there. i wanna be seein stars from the pasture mooooooooo

you never used to not see.

sometimes -- you realize -- you’re not really here. it's like there’s a key in your head, winding you. making you nod along with the clockwork. sometimes -- it dawns on you -- you’re there and not there. you’re doing a thing and a system is running on repeat. you’re doing a thing without being aware. you’re having thoughts which aren’t becoming actions. a plan formulated but not put into place will self-refine into confabulation. a plan -- formulated -- must be put into action as quickly as possible.

you were standing that night.

you weren’t standing any longer.

the straps tighten around your thighs. the edges of the leather raw. the smell of leather black and raw.

tobacco fumes condense into matter.

the colt -- slick against your prostate. preserved. in the breathing mask. the milker pumps. breathing his smoke.

one battery. eight nozzles. the slurp ripples through your blood. sparks of static cling grind against your bones.

i don’t suppose you even mean to hide it, but i can tell you’re a man with a particularly profound depth of feeling.

time would march forward. you could count the seconds.

from which station did you last depart? on which side of the border did this train derail --

the cargo hauled up a mountainside by the valor of your hands -- your hands battered by rock and calloused by rope.

the cresting cliff face of your lats. rapt with tension.

a wedge of leather. different from the straps. different from the mask. teasing the soft flesh of your inner thigh. quickening for impact.

the warm mouth wrapped around you. the betrayal of your manhood.

musical notation ringing up calves to strapped ass. the gullet pounding your tight ring. mechanical suction slobbering and sputtering.

something stuck in your throat. the taste of ash.

a groan as the trigger presses deeper.

teeth bared. you could feel your lips curling. curling through the tube. the anatomy of contortion triggering a sympathetic cast.

the memory of another. another night. the same night.

your little brother’s face. masked in mud and slobber.

borne through the anguish.

brother. brother. your cockhead. man. so fuckin sensitive.

makes ya yip like a dog. yip. yip.

fuckin dumbass.

the way you don’t need to smile. it does so much without needing to do much at all...

the way he spoke. it made you remember.

his words. when he wasn’t this. when he wore suits. when they didn't hang off him in folds -- you could believe. when he spoke, unburnt and unmarred -- sharp as the razor of his tongue and the chisel of his jaw. when he burnt hot as a cherry in the smoking lounge.

when his words sunk into your ears, acrid as the billows from the smokestack in his snout. when he was a young man. when you were a young man. rapt to other young men. when you and they were conduits awaiting a charge. a mass of potential energy. inert without the word. when you went where you went. when you fucked who you fucked. when you who strut like a stallion would still brood like a mare.

sometimes i wonder if all the things i say... sometimes i wonder if all the things i say could ever amount to some of the things you don’t.

there was another time. you were standing.

the day the buzzer rang. the day the gates slammed shut. day you first became a trigger-finger. a killer for the state.

you had seen men. men who roared with nodes more shredded than you. men who moved with cruelty more quicksilver than you. seen them reduced to whimpering children by the aftermath of processing a woman.

a fickle sentimentality, the love of woman. their breeding hips, their docile natures. for a man who lies with woman, his instinct is to shield and to nurture -- to be the sun which shines for the bloom of his wives and daughters.

the tears and the storm. the parting seas.

could you ever love.

could you ever love with the intensity they love.

engulfed in that singular passion. that which consumes the spirits and ravishes the senses. that which makes you bashful and silently woman-like... as though reassurance played on repeat in your head. that which lends your frame a fleshy cast -- rendering you clay-like and pliable.

how would you look to a man whom you never expected to see again?

they were brave men. they were worthy men.

they were not men whose lead you could follow.

one who was about to embark upon a journey from which you knew he would not return?

some--you realize--never realized. we were always making choices. we could choose to look away. be as disloyal as we could permit within the bonds of loyalty. we could look away even if we couldn’t speak.

you didn’t look away. every encounter leaves a trace.

there was no neutral contact. when you’ve seen them and they’ve seen you -- they’re recording a recording. recording over themselves with a recording of you. our minds are chemical reactions. syncopated darkrooms. he who sees most clearly takes control of the situation. you see him. you know him. you master him. to put it simply. to look is to assert. to look is to condemn. to look is to conquer.

to be alone is always to be disloyal.

you looked at her. she was lovely in her way.

she would be lovelier with a jaw more square, a brow more protruding, cheeks more angular and broad -- but she was lovely nonetheless.

perhaps she thought you were lovely, too.

what was most lovely about women -- that of which their siren-ensnared prey could dream but never escape -- was the sleekness, the elegance of their snake-like bodies; their curves like jungle cats, their dells like carnivorous plants; the coy predation which parted their bodies to make men grovel with a glance. writhing in cruel imitation of sensuous submission display, slowly they’d slink in their teeth -- a baptism in rosewater. lilies of the delicatessen; the worm rapt with her foliage.

she was a creature who could kill.

don’t forget that.

you looked into her eyes. her eyes were lovely. eyes were seldom more lovely in men than they were in women.

when you thought about women, you thought about what they lacked.

no hardness. no defined lines. their bodies weren’t constructions -- their bodies were facsimiles -- carved from ivory and painted in pastels. women made you feel flat. you looked at them and found yourself thinking less. silently drifting. frost on a distant shore.

men fight to win. women fight to kill.

she was different in her way.

the way an agitation oscillated beneath her sedation. it was as if her body were composed of resonance. the very matter of her being seemed to vibrate at a level slightly below audible detection.

you feel on some level that to look at a woman and to think is an offense to taste.

keep looking. she’s not going anywhere.

it’s more noble, you think, to think about what women have.

their hair. their breasts. their hips. the delta which flowed beneath the navel. women were most lovely when they spoke. they were often their loveliest when they sang. they were sublime when their faces were twenty feet tall -- crystallized in the molecules of nitrate film. entombed in the pyramid amphitheater at the museum of mineral and metallurgical arts. silently viewing midday.

what could she do? she had no time.

it was a foolish sentiment, the mad veneration of women. this attribution of fragility which reduced them to the level of chattel. no man would entrust his son to a weak woman any more than a woman would trust a weak man to her son -- not a stud like you. some men found women the most beautiful things. the allure of the pearls which overflowed from their clam-shell bodies, beading the mud where the pigs would roll. their opalescent bodies stirred the most vicious passions. every act of love was mirrored in an act of hate. it could never be done. their incompatible natures. a man could only ever be equals with a man, as he could hate no man the way he hates a woman. a man has no interest in any individual woman -- he is concerned only in constructing her.

he de-fangs her. he saps her venom and stuffs her with saccharine and sawdust. he vulgarizes and degrades her -- leaves her little more than a child in her eyes. your head would spin as they would speak. in the whirlpool of thought, you found yourself ready to capsize. they must have loved it. it would make sense for them to have loved it. they simply had to love being told what to do by meannders –

there could be nothing done. nothing without the lie of equality. what kept people going were foolish sentiments. beauty. truth. justice. love. they settled you, and they stilled you. when you weren’t fighting, you were dying. one doesn’t inhabit a neutral state without shutting down. one simply oscillates between two boundaries at such a speed that the agitation advances to a state which creates the illusion of stillness.

maybe i’ll try it your way for once... maybe i’ll shut the fuck up for a moment.

the way he spoke. it made you still.

his words. they gave a form to things.

you saw. saw the things that people did.

when they spoke their words grew heavy and less certain. when they spoke, the smoke would spew from their mouths and they would look away -- look off into nothing.

what did speaking do for men -- what function did it serve in maintaining group cohesion? how did it become a way for the speaker to assert something which is felt but not seen. look.

look at how men are using words.

when you told yourself to look. you had to do it.

you were always doing what you were told.

starting now...

1 --

2 --

( o ) --

you saw them talking. saw their words grow dimmer and dimmer. staler and sludgier. a mire which hung in the air too transparent to be viscous. that was talking. talking served as a pretense to align some inner discord with the outer world, to spew an unending smog between the speaker and their senses -- his words were brick. familiar enough to scrape the hands. as he spoke, he laid them in concentric circles.

he spoke, and he built walls -- and the walls climbed high and blotted out the sun. you couldn't see. the specs of clouds interred here with none to shield your eyes from the dirge which filled the empty well.

where in the darkness, the smoke spewed forth without divergence from their mouths -- the pillars of their heavenward cries, where the grey gave way to black and black to blacker grey -- where the clouds which seared your eyes found relief only by shutting out the world, but still the smoke still spewed and spewed. until nobody could see.

until his was the only voice which rung across the hacking tide.

until, finally, silence became unknowable.

[ ]

- holy fuck. holy fuck, grigori. you saw it. you saw it. i didn’t blow my load. i didn’t bust my nut. the nut, let the record show, remains unbusted. gotta get one a my guys on that. streets are fulla nuts. the panties. grigori. the silky smooth... the lace, the satin... the crack between my ass. they are unspoiled. my little soldier. he knows how to march. it’s a figure of speech. there ain’t nuthin little about him. i’m like an animal. grigori. you see. i get so carried away. lotta other guys. they couldn’t keep it under control. not me. i’m all about control. grigori. you see. other guys. they couldn’t handle sittin here. not with twenty pounds of medical grade silicone chewin off their nips. inner and outer suction. crushes the lungs. not me. my chest is still strong. i’m built like a bull. drink it straight from the tap. sangria. santa sangre. hombre de leche. wanna feel that OJ pumpin through my heart. i wanna feel the bran pumpin through these veins. wanna be the heartiest breakfast. breakfast of champions. ooh la la ra ah ah. gosh i’m sweaty. so gosh damn sweaty. put me on the tubes, grigori. my oratory prowess requires... annotation. i said. i said so many things. i bet i could wring the sweat outta these knockers myself. i ain’t gonna turn back. not tonight. not into a pretty little cowgirl. uh uh. not me. i’m a cow man. i got my boots. i got those pointy things that go on the boots. i got a saddle. i got it all, basically. i do it all. grigori. grigori you saw. i don’t gotta tell you. grigori. grigori please help. get this thing off a me. grigori. grigori now. feels like a squid died on my chest -- i can feel it licking. can feel it teasing. it's giving me squishy kisses grigori i think it wantsta get frisky.

while i would certainly hate to impose, i think you ought show at least some concern. it’s a particularly nasty cut, and it looks as though you’ve been letting it steep all night.

- oh fuck. grigori. grigori. the panties. the panties got caught in the stirs. no -- no. don’t tug. they’re gonna rip. grigori. grigori stop. those belong to svetlana. sweet svetlana. she ain't got a clue i got em.

a man in your position ought know it’s flattery to struggle so fruitlessly.

- listen to that leather. got those proper breachers. wide load.

i swear i shan’t breathe a word of this to the other uniforms.

- makes my ass look like a stallion. i'm a bull. look at me. i could pull a carriage.

better attention ought be given to the nails -- they resemble claws, oh friend to man.

- right, big buy. let’s get that octopus off ya.

it must be terribly cramped for them. strapped up in those big briny boots all day... it’s truly spectacular how broad they are.

- all that shit. get it off.

a carving knife. an emery board. a hearty whiff.

- off, off.

you are quite earthy between the toes. you have notes comparable to mushroom tea.

- can't spell it without mental.

gin. vera. rainwater.

- can't spell it at all.

the unburdenable bearing of lightness.

- i am the first consciousness.

it will sting.

- saddle up. see how much you can carry.

i’m hardly stroking the outer fold. i’m going to have to press in deeper.

- fuckin love how you buckle. just like a belt

it’s red. red like a lip

- there you go, boy. there you go big guy.

you have such splendidly formed ankles, i hope you don’t mind my saying so. between the taper of your foot and calf, they appear strangely elongated. strangely elegant.

- that’s it. spread it out. get me nice and even.

it’s hard to believe that such subtle contours could possibly support the weight of you.

- know how much you love this part, big guy. open up.

have you ever had a kid brother?

- that’s it. love the feelin. that in your mouth. don’t ya, big guy.

did he ever press his lips to where it hurt, to attempt to heal -- with the balm of affection alone -- some tear in the flesh?

- love the taste. love bein this. love havin it locked in. nice and firm. right between the teeth. love bein my horse. love knowin i decide where you go. how fast you go. how far you go. how much you carry. how much you wear. how much you eat. how much you cock. i make the decisions. i'm the decision maker. i decide. me.

a provincial sentiment, perhaps. i am a sentimental man.

- i’m the real man.

you’ve been such a gentleman

- i am no man.

to humor my indulgence with such resolve.

people came to you. people wanted things. when people came to you and didn’t want things. you didn’t know what to do. you looked inside yourself. there was no map. only terrain.

there were people, you saw, who were always engulfed in stillness.

they spoke, and they spoke, and their words never stirred anything but the rheumy balm of their own melancholy.

these opium clouds -- these wisps of silvery haze, which drifted but did not sting, would merely numb. something weighed on them. within them. something which stifled their urge to move. something which could not be seen with the eyes, but could be heard in the fractures of their voices and the fear wet in the sharp breaths between their words.

you ate with them. the other tables weren't full. you didn’t like to eat when people watched. the way your arms stuck out. how they looked at your hands. they would get on your face. what you needed. the intensity of your need. it made them sick. their little bodies didn’t need as much.

they jumped. they stared. they didn’t seem to have anything to say when you were there. marionettes of satellite signals. a vague sickness. comfort had made them leprous. maybe once they had been beautiful. so beautiful they had to be destroyed. could only be destroyed by virtue of their frail bodies existing in the same sphere as beings like you.

the most beautiful things, you could see more clearly, carried that quality of stillness. these things which were fragile and seemed to sparkle as though quartz flowed through their veins. they brought you into starker focus by revealing to you what you were not. all which is not angular, but curved. all which is not severe, but merciful -- the lead free crystal goblet of an eagle’s tear. that which is strong will inevitably shine bright -- as that which shines bright will inevitably be strong.

your hand reached out. it was fragile in yours.

she was still that day. you could see it in her throat.

they did things like that in those days. left you to rely on ingenuity. there were people without names. too many people to name.

helena... helena…

you didn’t know him. his face was a pin cushion.

purple. pearly white.

she had such slender hands. hands like a piano player’s.

he was your brother. you’d seen him here.

father…

her hands wrapped around your wrists. yours around her throat.

her face was getting fat. her teeth were yellow. yellow like a cat’s.

sopping bread. crustacean roe.

the worst was how they smelled.

her eyes lost the hate. her eyes lost the fear.

she seemed slower somehow.

a fly had been living in her throat.

yes son

you went to where she lived. he was sitting on you. purring. you scratched his ear. he had neck. so much neck. you grabbed him by the flap.

you let him tear up your arm.

they were few. they were heavy.

on occasion, the sadness which clung to the lips of the opium eaters would turn your heart to wine, and you would find yourself swayed out of line, to upon approach be met always with a defensive measure. sudden evasion. unnanounced open fire. some would send out an SOS and deny all hope of rescue. some got lost solely to procure sponsorships for their wanderings. what was this. this negation of life -- to loathe opportunity for its impropriety -- the supreme arrogance of the indolent who by virtue of sloth come to believe that motion must surrender to stillness solely by the proclamation of an arbitrary moral right.

it stirred the force of your jaw. the taste of their blood in the heat flash of your hatred. clamping down on the necks of the meek, fit only to be torn asunder by the cut-throat mandibles of pack hunters like you. what is right is what can be procured. the theoretical will always collapse under the application of the practical.

i want... to…

the strength drained from her. you saw how she could move. still thrash and claw and screech. she didn’t. her head rolled back as it groaned.

your eyes weren’t on her. she was in your hands. your hands so tight. it went out from in her eyes. you could stay in position. it got easier.

her eyes enraptured with you.

the stars in the reef of her veins. the quiver of her breath. electricity hovered in the air. storm currents stirred the islets of her misty thighs.

she was only a girl. only at the end anyway.

it would be my pleasure if i might speak with you again. it would be a most dubious honor if we could speak in company less... respectable than your current employer.

- what those muscles are for ain’t they, big guy. you see this. you see him. does anything i say. can’t stress it enough. i tell him to piss he says what mouth. i say jump he says front a what bus. word association. rifle. hour. benedict. eggyweggs. marbles. corinth. pistils. lavender. wasp. all right. some of those words made me feel bad. some words. some words are very hurtful. that is a hurtful word grigori. don’t you say it. you know the one. casserole. that is the ugliest word in the english language. english. english grigori. the argot of the old empire. hotel of the peninsula calipha. have you never glanced at a cheat sheet? tsk. tsk. grigori. the people are counting on me. counting on me to keep things running smooth. the people wanna smooth count. they wanna count the babies. they wanna count the butts -- but we will not be counting baby butts uh uh. not in this country. not in my country. grigori. the number of baby butts in this country will remain a mystery. for all time. that is not knowledge which is meant to be ascertained by man. you see any man counting baby butts you let me know. i want him hanged. his guts will be ripped out his asshole. he will be yo-yo’d up and down from the palace balcony. we'll have a party. pin up his guts like streamers. it's not gruesome. it's art. it's the human body. it's a beautiful thing. invite the kids. everyone loves kids. i wanna charge the kids he abused to go for a ride. ride him up and down. put a quarter in the jar. release the quarters into a stream. let the quarters spawn. grigori. grigori. look at me. grigori. i forgot for a moment that i was ridin a man. ridin a man like a horse. look. he likes it. think he likes bein a big dumb farm animal. wanna go nibble on some hay don’t ya big guy? want this big ugly bearded monster to grab your big dumb horse cock give ya a lil squeeze? wanna blow another load in the bucket take another two months off my face? fuckin look at him grigori the dumb idiot’s startin ta drool. got such a fuckin tight reign on him he’s prolly gonna choke. you can breath good can’t ya horsey? he don’t care. he don’t care. he’s just a dumb fuckin horse all he knows how ta do is take a load. grigori. grigori you're not looking at me. grigori. who’s got more loads than me grigori huh? nobody. nobody that’s who. i give all the loads. i am the load bearer. i am a pall. i am apparent. every load you bare. that’s me. i'm the best load. the greatest load. i'm filled to the brim with loads. grigori. look at me. grigori.

i know you can see me.

you were standing. always standing.

he lead them through the crowd. they walked ahead. they thought they lead. he was parting the crowd.

these people with familiar faces and familiar masks. these people you'd always known. these people from a land you'd never known.

his leisurely gait gave eyes time to crane -- crane the unbroken fluidity of his head. his shoulders hung in pins of folded velvet. his spine was a tasseled pull-cord.

he was not, you suspected, a man who did much marching.

packs off! (in deep)

for the first time. it might have been eight years. you could see her. the woman for whom you were a son. it might have been her.

she was always talking. she wasn't talking now. she talked and she talked. she talked and you heard her. heard her emphasis and her stresses. she talked and she talked, but she never seemed to talk to you. you were always out marching.

she was beautiful. in her way. beautiful before she forgot to move.

you kept your eyes down because you cut with a glance. strength followed strength. weakness abhorred strength.

you became abhorrent.

somewhere.

somewhere there were places where people weren't always marching.

you figured you'd march until you found it.)

#revivify #addendum #i who have no need #-- I #dog brain #woof woof #/#*****#homogeneity #fraternity #good briefsboy

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fat-slobby-jojo-girls · 1 year

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Hermes wears Trishs extra large padding and just complains how itchy they are. Especially against a butt that’s as big as the latinas.

"So how do they feel? Are they snug enough not to leak? I made sure they were extra sized just for you. Thanks for modeling by the way, it's hard to find models your size and you're the only one in Morioh with an ass this big." Trish said taking notes as she watched the bottom heavy beauty pose infront of a mirror In nothing but a thick mattress sized diaper.

"I can't close my legs and I have to waddle just to move... hell the crinkling is so loud I can't hear myself think! How the hell did you convince women to buy these? They're obviously diapers and they're...." Hermes paused as she gave her ass a shake. A sudden feeling was spreading across her ass one that sent a shiver up her spine as her cheeks ignited.

"They're ITCHY! ITCHY, ITCHY! Wha- what the heck did you do? My ass! My ASS!" Hermes yelled her pudgy fingers unable to unfasten the plastic tapes holding the diaper on. Tears welled up in her eyes as she shook and twerked her padded rump in a desperate attempt to easy the itching feeling spreading across her ass and crotch. "My poor tushy! I-I feel like I got ants in my PANTS! MOMMY!" Hermes whined crying as she grinded her bottom against the wall all while wailing and crying to herself. It's was quite the sight seeing the overly confident and badass stand user in such a pathetic state. Her ass was her largest asset and was just as sensitive. The itching was enough to break her tough act and bring the strong slob to tears all while Trish watched with wicked glee.

"Oh I may have swapped the baby powder for itching powder... oh well! You'll be fine in a few hours. I'll just take your clothes with me since you won't be needing them. Have fun! Oh and my company reserves the right to use all the footage we collected by the way. Consider this pay back for smacking my ass. See yah!" Trish grinned and left Hermes to her fate whistling and smirking as she waddled off to grab a snack.

#muse: trish #muse: hermes #slob

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hamilton47hammond · 2 years

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switchflare7 · 2 years

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If you look bad, you are feeling poor. However it is surprisingly very easy to increase one's fashion. This information is loaded with excellent trend advice that can have you looking awesome very quickly whatsoever.

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bankshill3 · 2 years

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Should Have Grainy Leather Pocket Belt Bag

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batesterry48 · 2 years

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holdmytesseract · 2 years

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Caught

Loki Laufeyson x fem!Reader

Request: “hi! i saw that you don’t write smut but you do write things that are a little ~steamy~ and i was wondering if you could write something with loki where the reader and him are getting steamy but it’s a secret relationship and all the avengers walk in? thank you!!💗” - Requested by a nonny. :)

Summary: You and Loki are in a secret relationship. Keeping it a secret works out perfectly - until you two are getting caught in a quite steamy situation...

Warnings: suggestive smut, a few swear words

Word Count: 1,5k

a/n: This one got quite a bit hot... Hot enough, I hope... Thanks for requesting, nonny! I really hope you like it! 🧡

I exited the shower, rolling my head from side to side. Today's training session with Cap and Nat had been really challenging. They forced me to bring up my A-Game - but I loved it and really enjoyed the training with them. On tiptoes, I went into my bedroom on the search for something to wear. Shrugging off my bathrobe, I looked through my wardrobe. I was already on the verge of reaching for a comfortable sleep t-shirt, when my eyes flickered to my left and caught a glimpse of my boyfriend's black shirt peeking out from under the covers. He must've forgotten it here three days ago... I smiled to myself, kicked the doors of the wardrobe shut again, grabbed the black shirt and slipped it on. Immediately, the scent of his cologne drifted through my airways, making me sigh softly. I loved to wear his clothes. Although they were way too big for me. It made me feel close to him. Especially when he was on a mission. Just like at the moment.

I hated it, when we weren't together on a mission. That only meant for us to be separated even longer. After all, the time we were able to spend together was... rare. But well... I guessed that was the price you had to pay for being in a secret relationship. Yes... Loki and I weren't an 'official' thing. Why? Well... A lot of people told me to stay away from the mischievous god. They said he was bad company for me and would only break my heart. Of course, I didn't listen to them. I felt quite attracted towards him from day one and wanted to get an idea of the handsome god myself. Long story short, I soon discovered that the feeling was mutual. We spent a few quite hot nights together and somehow made it to fall head over heels for each other. That's where we were now. I didn't want to tell anyone, because I wanted to enjoy the secrecy and privacy this kind of relationship provided us. Nobody trying to talk me out of this. Nobody prying into our life's. Sure, it wasn't always easy to keep this whole thing a secret, but Loki and I managed it perfectly. I was so lost in my thoughts, that I didn't hear the door to my quarters opening and closing quietly; didn't realise that Loki was back - until I felt a pair of strong arms wrapping around my waist from behind. "I love it when you wear my clothes." This caused me to immediately snap back to reality. "Lokiiiii!" I shrieked up. "You scared the shit out of me!" I clutched my chest, tried to calm my racing heart down again. Seconds later, his dark but sensual laughter filled my ears. "I'm sorry, my love. I just couldn't help myself." I turned in his embrace and slapped his upper arm, before I wrapped my hands around his neck and pulled him in for a sweet kiss. He may have scared me to death, but the happiness of seeing him again after three days overweighted. Loki chuckled in the kiss and pulled me close. "I missed you..." I mumbled after breaking our kiss. "I missed you too, darling." The next kiss we shared was a bit less innocent. Things between Loki and I could get heated up quite fast... Especially after we had been separated for a while. I tangled my hands through Loki's still damp raven locks, while his palms wandered further down, until he reached my hips, grabbing them firmly. "How did your mission go?" I asked him panting, after I popped my lips free from his to take a breath. Loki knitted his eyebrows at my attempt for small talk and shook his head. "This stupid mission is the last thing on my mind right now, darling." His hands moved even further south until they landed on my bottom. He shifted, moved to clash his hips onto mine, making me squeak up and caused my breath to hitch in my throat. "Can't you tell?" Loki purred, smirking mischievously. I wanted to answer him, but he didn't even give me the chance to do so. His lips were attached to mine again within seconds, kissing me ferociously. It wasn't long before our kiss was all teeth and tongue. "Again... I love it when you wear my clothes, darling- But you need to wear them the right way, at least." In a snap of his fingers and a flash of green, were the buttons of his black shirt undone again, exposing my bare upper body to Loki. My sleep shorts had disappeared into thin air as well, leaving only him still fully dressed. Our positions had shifted as well. I found myself suddenly sitting in his lap - on my bed. "Now that's better." His seductive voice urged to my ears, while his hands slipped underneath the fabric of his shirt, fingertips grazing the skin on my back, leaving sparkling goosebumps behind. "L-Loki..." I moaned out his name, eyes falling shut, as he started to nip and kiss down my neck. I clawed my fingers in the fabric of his black tee, pushing and pulling. Loki knew of course exactly what I was insisting and with another flash of green was his t-shirt gone. Another moan slipped through my kiss swollen lips at being now able to feel his porcelain skin underneath my fingertips. We were completely lost in each other. But just as I wanted to trace my hands lower to the hem of Loki's grey sweatpants, the door to my quarters suddenly got ripped open. "Lady Y/N! You need to- By the Norns!" Thor's voice boomed through the room, making me jump off of Loki quickly and scrambling to cover myself. "Thor?! Why are you screaming like a little gir- What the hell is this?!" Tony walked straight into the room after Thor. And where Tony was, wasn't Peter far... "Hey, Mr. Stark, what's the noise about?" "Certainly nothing for kid eyes..." Tony said, still quite in shock and lifted his hand to quickly cover Peter's eyes. "Hey!" The teenager protested. "I am not a kid anymore!" Tony nodded. "Oh yes you are!" "What's going on in here, guys?" Natasha, Clint, Steve and Bucky followed soon, also decoyed by the noise. And within seconds stood almost the whole Avengers compound in my bedroom. Of course, there was no denying in what Loki and I were doing... Alone to find both of us half naked on the bed left nothing much for imagination. Everyone stared at me and my lover with a different expression. While Thor and Steve looked shocked, were Bucky and Tony looking quite disgusted. Clint wore a rather neutral expression and Peter? Well... He had still Tony's hand in front of his eyes, so... Altogether looked everybody shocked, while I was blushing in the darkest shades of red and wanted nothing more than to disappear into thin air. And Loki? Loki just smirked smugly. "Is this what I think it is?" Nat looked from me to Loki and back. "I-I-I... W-We..." I stammered, not getting one proper sentence out. Suddenly, Nat started to smirk. "I guess someone owes me 20 bucks now." She said, crossing her arms and looking at Tony. "That certainly wasn't the deal." Said man bickered. "Thor owes us 20 bucks!" Thor's mouth fell agape. "Why me?!" "Because you claimed she wouldn't get involved with Reindeer Games!" "No, no, man of steel, that is not fair! I was drunk that night!" "He's got a point there. We all knew that they were going to end up together... Even if we warned Y/N. " Clint said, shrugging his shoulders. Tony just rolled his eyes. "Oh for fucks sake..." "Language!" Steve's voice cut through Tony's, who commented that with another eye roll. "Is this about Y/N and Mr. Loki? Can I look now?" I just stared at the scenes unfolding in front of my eyes, kinda speechless. I didn't see that coming. I thought they were all going to rebuke me for ignoring their warnings and now? Now I watched them bickering in front of me like little kids about the bets they made. They made fucking bets! Loki was visibly annoyed by their childish behaviour and clearly had heard enough. A moment later, I found myself wrapped up in a cloud of green fog and after a blink of an eye, we were inside his quarters, landed softly on the bed. I looked at my lover blinking. "Well... That didn't quite turn out like I thought it would..." Loki shook his head. "Next time, we lock the door, love." "Next time, you keep it in your pants." His laugh filled my ears, before he shot me another smug smile. "Oh we both know you can't resist me." That was actually true... "Yes, but you can't resist me either." Loki chuckled and moved around, grabbing my hips on the way and pinning me to the mattress underneath him. "I never claimed something different. Now, where were we?" And once again, I wasn't able to respond something.

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darkmulti · 3 years

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-> 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐞

-> 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝.

-> 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

-> releasing this a bit early because we reached 4K+!! Thank you guys so much! I love you all<3

-> THIS PROFILE CONTAINS DUB-CON AND NON-CON THEMES! PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

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It was a Saturday night — the busiest day of the week. You worked at the strip club, not as an exotic dancer but as a waiter. The money you were making was just enough for you to survive on your own.

Tonight, you wanted to ask your boss if you could start working as a dancer. You packed your new dancewear and everything you might need in case the boss says yes. It was around 4 pm when you arrived. You walked to your boss’s office and gently knocked on the door.

“Come in”

You grab the door handle and push the door open, revealing your boss Taehyung with a glass of whiskey in his hand.

“Hello, little one. What can I help you with?”

You thought the nickname was creepy at first, and when you politely asked him to stop calling you that, he said that he had a nickname for every employee. Over time, you’ve grown used to it. And you’d be lying if you said that it didn’t give you butterflies in your stomach.

“I know this is sudden, but can I start dancing?”

Taehyung squeezed the glass cup tightly, almost shattering it with his bare hand.

“But why? You’re just a little angel. Angels don’t sin, little one.”

“Sir, I really need money. I want to go back to school and get a degree so I can have a permanent job.”

There was a pause of silence before you spoke up again.

“I-I can show you my skills. I’ve been practicing. I even brought my dancewear.”

Taehyung shoots you a glare. It was intense and almost threatening. He sighs as he puts the glass of whiskey on his desk and walks to the couch, where he sat down with his muscular thighs spread apart.

“Go wear your little outfit and come back here.”

You innerly smile and leave to the dressing room to change. Once the door closed, Taehyung let out a chuckle. He’s never going to allow you to be a dancer, he just wants to watch you for his pleasure.

After adjusting your straps and fixing up your hair, you sprayed some perfume around your neck and walk back to his office.

“Sir, I’m ready.”

“Good, now come in and lock the door.”

You did as told then remove your robe. It didn’t take long for Taehyung’s member to harden after seeing your body on full display. Taehyung turned some music on then said “the stage is all yours, little one.”

You’ve been practicing for months, just for this moment. Bending over and whipping your hair back, showing off your beautiful body to him. Taehyung motioned you to come to him, so you can give him a lap dance.

He placed his hands on your hips and made you grind on his bulge. Your face warmed up after feeling his boner that you caused. Taehyung started moving his hips with yours, making you whimper.

His hands moved to your breast and gave it a light squeeze. “Sir, I thought touching is not allowed.”

“I’m the boss. I make the rules. Right now, touching is allowed.” You were too naive to understand that he was manipulating you.

30 minutes pass and you finally stop and take a step back.

“So... what did you think?”

You were expecting a positive response and even a praise but you got the complete opposite.

“I’m sorry, little one. You’re not good enough. I can give you a raise but I’m not letting you become a dancer.”

“But what if I practice more? Could you reconsider?!”

“No is my final answer, little one. I’m a very busy man and I don’t have time to watch you dance just for you to fail.”

Embarrassed. You felt so embarrassed. You genuinely thought Taehyung was enjoying your show. Well, it sure as hell looked like it. A gloomy look took over your face and you walked towards the door to leave.

“Don’t give me that pouty face, little one.”

Taehyung abruptly pulled you on his lap and attached his lips to yours. You didn’t respond until Taehyung’s hand spanked your butt, causing you to moan.

“Grind on me, baby. I know you want it just as much as I do.”

You rubbed your clit harder against his bulge until you released. “Keep moving, little one. Help daddy cum too.” He growled, before grabbing your face and kissing you again. Deep moans left his mouth turning you on even more. His hands all over your body — it felt euphoric.

Taehyung let out one last groan before cumming in his pants. “Fuck! You’re so fucking good.” he kissed your jawline and moved down to your neck.

“How about this, little one. You become my personal dancer and I pay you money. You can stay with me, I’ll buy you everything you need as long as you accompany me and satisfy my sexual needs.”

“Like a sugar daddy?”

“Exactly”

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Rules:

No dating

No lying

No revealing clothes

If something is wrong, tell him

No swearing

Don’t be bratty

Obey him

Never reject his kisses

Don’t leave without his permission

Answer his calls and texts immediately

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

How he’s like:

Taehyung’s a charming, gentleman

He treats you like a queen

He never ignores you

You’re his first priority

This man spoils the shit out of you

He buys you luxurious clothes and accessories

For your birthday, he bought you a brand new Porsche convertible

Taehyung’s very possessive, but you honestly don’t mind

You love spending time with him anyways

Anytime another male is too close to you, he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him

If you hug him, his hands will immediately go down to your ass and grab it

He’s very affectionate

Even at important events, Taehyung will always hug you, kiss your lips, cheeks and forehead in front of anyone

Sometimes you forget that you’re his sugar baby because he treats you like his wife

Your opinion matters to him

Whether it’s a big or small decision, he always wants to hear what you think

In the morning, he makes you breakfast

Especially if you had a long night with him (if ykyk)

When he’s doing work, he makes you sit on his lap and do some cock warming

Taehyung loves travelling with you

He’d rent out expensive villas or hotel room

Taehyung loves swimming with you

The man enjoys your company

You’re so lovable, sweet and innocent

It was almost like you were made for him

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Yandere Taehyung:

Taehyung was secretly obsessed with you

After he hired you as a waiter, he wanted to know everything about you

Since the job application required your address, Taehyung knew where you lived

He broke into your apartment and hid tiny cameras in places you’d never see

There were cameras in your kitchen, living room, bedroom and bathroom

He did this to keep an eye on you and make sure that you’re not seeing another man

When you’re at work, Taehyung stops by your apartment and takes some of your underwear to get off

He hacked into all your social media accounts, unfollowed guys he didn’t like and checked your dm’s regularly to make sure nobody was trying to get with you

If you made plans with your friends, Taehyung would show up (in disguise) and watch you from afar

Whenever you had plans or even a date, Taehyung would call you and say that more waiters are needed and he will pay extra because it’s an emergency

So you end up cancelling on your friends/date which angers them

Soon, your friends stopped inviting you to hang out because you always cancel last minute because of work

Taehyung’s plan was too isolated you from your friends which gives him the perfect opportunity to swoop in and be your one and only companion

And what do you know, his plan worked

Not only that but since you have no friends anymore, you’re always with him

So he never has to worry about you fooling around behind his back

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Sex Life:

Taehyung was incredible in bed

He never failed to satisfy your sexual needs

You’ve both tried so many kinky things in bed and it was honestly fun

He was addicted to eating you out

Hickeys all over your body. Between your thighs, on your stomach and chest. All over your neck, collar bone and jawline.

Taehyung loves marking what’s his

Traditional rough sex + doggy

But hey, it gets the job done

Three round minimum, 7 rounds maximum

Taehyung will always cum inside of you

He loves watching himself cum into your little hole

He gets more turned on when watches cum his leaking out of your hole and running down your thigh

Dry humping is something he’s into

The idea of both of your coming without having actual sex drives him crazy

Blowjobs for days

He loves watching you suck him off

Make eye contact with him while you suck and he’ll have an orgasm

You must swallow all of his cum

Don’t spit it out

Before Taehyung got you, he used to use your underwear to masturbate

You eventually started to notice that a bunch of your panties disappeared

Therefore, Taehyung returned most of them (except for his favourites), some washed, some not

Taehyung could literally cum to the thought of you wearing panties covered in his dried-up cum

It made him hard just thinking about it

Over time, you notice Taehyung becoming more aggressive in bed

It would get so bad that you’d have to use the safe word to get him to stop

You noticed he started doing things he’s never discussed with you before

Sometimes, you cry under him because he scares you

He’d pin your hands above your head and fuck as hard as he could

You were not used to it nor were you a big fan of it

He was taking everything out on you

Taehyung would start at 21:30 and finish at 04:00

Unknowingly, Taehyung’s yandere side took over him

Some may know him as V

His cruel and sadistic side who felt no remorse whatsoever

V’s kinks are dark and heavy

He choked you until you couldn’t breathe, tied you up so you couldn’t move, and slapped you when you asked him to stop

V enjoyed watching you cry too

Overstimulation was the worst part

Your core was crying for a break but V couldn’t care less

The man fucked you until you passed out

Minimum 7 rounds, maximum... there’s no maximum

In the morning, he’d still be deep in you and depending on his mood, he may or may not fuck you again

At this point, you didn’t care if it was Taehyung or V, you needed to leave him

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Trying to break off the (3 years) contract:

This is when Taehyung goes fucking insane.

After nights of relentless sex, you finally decide to break the contract. You couldn’t handle the abuse anymore. Sex every night to “remind you of your place” was complete bullshit. You stayed with him for two more months, hoping that the old, sweet Taehyung would come back and save you.

Unfortunately, he never did. After you lost all hope, you wanted to get away from Taehyung as soon as possible. He can keep all the gifts and money he’s given you if that means freedom.

You woke up only to see Taehyung missing from the bed. He must’ve gone to work, you thought. You get ready and pack all of the clothes you brought to his mansion. You write a small message on a notepad, saying that it’s over. You didn’t dare to tell him face to face because you knew exactly where it would’ve lead to.

You left his mansion and took the bus back to your apartment. An hour later, Taehyung was blowing up your phone, spamming you with messages.

“Where the fuck are you?!”

“Answer my calls!”

“Explain the message on the notepad!”

“What do you mean that we’re “done” ?”

“The contract’s not over yet! I still fucking own you.”

“Get your ass over here!”

“You’re making your punishment worse for yourself.”

“How can you say goodbye to me like this?! Do I mean nothing to you?!”

“You’re going to regret this!”

“Come back here, now!”

“Stay where you are, I’m on my way!”

You started to tear up because you were petrified. You drop your phone in fear and ran into your closet. You hid in a basket full of your clothes so no one could see you. Not even a minute passed and Taehyung was banging on your apartment door.

“OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR, Y/N.”

You covered your mouth, stopping the sobs from coming out. You needed to find a weapon. You looked around your closet and that’s when you spotted something.

A camera.

A tiny camera is hidden in plain sight. Your heart dropped to your stomach. How long has that been there? Who placed it there? Your mind immediately went to Taehyung. You were trying to connect the dots but how could he have possibly gotten into your apartment?

You stopped questioning when you heard Taehyung break down the door. He came right to your bedroom and opened the closet door. He pulled out the basket you were hiding. “Get up.”

That’s when you knew the camera belonged to him. He knew your exact location. You couldn’t help but wonder how long he’s been watching you.

You take a deep breath in and stand up. Taehyung’s fierce eyes encountered your terrified ones. He grabbed your jaw and pulled your face close to his.

“What the fuck were you thinking?! You nearly gave me a heart attack! I thought one of my enemies kidnapped you but no! You just left me with a shitty ass note.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?!” Taehyung pinched the bridge of his nose. “SORRY?! THAT’S ALL YOU FUCKING GOT?!”

He picked up your glass jewelry box and threw it on the floor. The whole thing shattered, causing you to burst out in tears. “T- Taehyung! Stop! Stop it! You’re scaring me!”

“Good bitch. Seems like I haven’t scared you enough because you still have the nerve to fucking leave me.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Omg, I finally wrote something after months of being an unproductive piece of shit.

This is bad, but I still hope you enjoyed 😊

Oh and I apologize for any mistakes. Like always, I’m half asleep:)

xoxo,

naina❣️

#taehyung smut #yandere taehyung #taehyung yandere #kim taehyung smut #Sugar Daddy Profile: Kim Taehyung #bts smut #bts profile #taehyung profile #bts yandere reaction #bts yandere #yandere bts #dubcon #non con

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helliontherapscallion · 3 years

Text

Lost Time (The Ashes of Yourself Part 2)

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: mentions of suicide attempts/ideation, swearing, daddy/abandonment issues

Word count: 3,879

You and Techno stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, both of you not knowing what to say to each other. So much was left unsaid between you two throughout your childhoods and the past four years that you didn’t know where to even start. You supposed a simple ‘how are you?’ would suffice, but that’d be too simple, far too simple for not talking to each other in literal years. But you couldn’t just say ‘hey, I’m incredibly jealous that you are Dad’s favorite and I totally didn’t send you my suicide note that you may or may not have seen’, that’d be way too much trauma dumping for your taste. You couldn’t think of anything else to say, so you chose to sheepishly grin at him and awkwardly wave.

“Heh uh, how’re you…?” Smooth, (y/n). Real smooth.

You watched as he furrowed his brows slightly before he hesitantly gave you a small wave with his gargantuan pink hand. “...I’m doin alright. You?”

“I’ve seen better days.”

“Right…”

An awkward silence fell over you two as you glanced down at your bloodied hands. “Sorry bout the blood. It won’t really stop until I stop moving.”

He shrugged, “that’s fine. I’ve bled everywhere in this house. Nothing that won’t come out.”

“Alright then.”

You wanted to crawl into a pit and just let yourself die, you hated this awkward atmosphere you created. Your mind scrambled to find something to say to the man other than a stupid ‘alright then’. You haven’t even seen him in four years, surely you would be able to find something to talk about. You were snapped out of your thoughts when you heard him clear his throat.

“I uh got some clothes for you. They’re Tommy’s old clothes from when he stayed with me during his exile. I don’t know if they’ll fit, but I’m guessing that they’re better than the wet ones you’re wearing.”

When he saw you wince when you tried to stand up, he rushed to your side and helped you stand up. You could feel the backs of your knees start to drip blood. “Do you have any spare lava?”

His hands paused on your upper arms, “yes, but why would you need it?”

“It kinda heals me. I mean, just enough that my skin stops cracking open and bleeding everywhere.”

“Why don’t we just take you to a lava lake in the Nether?”

You glanced out the window at the flurry of snowflakes falling to the ground and being whisked off to other places by the harsh wind. You shuttered, remembering what it felt like to be fully engulfed in water. “Water hurts. I don’t want to get burnt out again.”

“Right, I’ll go get a few buckets full. Stay here,” with that, he ushered you to sit in front of the fire once again and draped the large blanket over your shoulders again. You could hear him move to another room and rustle around what you presumed was a chest before you heard his heavy footsteps walking behind the couch. You could hear the billowing of the wind when he opened the door before it was cut off by the door closing.

You leaned forward and put your hands in the fire, relishing in the feeling of the flames melting away the charred skin slightly. The flames licked and caressed your dark skin slowly giving you more feeling back in the damaged tissue. As you were turning your hands over the flames, you thought about your voluntary near death experience just about an hour before.

The thought of the ocean finally taking you and dragging your charcoaled corpse into its depths never to be seen again was alluring. After feeling the intense pain and the suffocation that came with chucking yourself into the ocean when you’re part blaze was definitely a deterrent, but you just had to push through the pain. This was something you’d dreamt of doing since you were fifteen and you’d be damned if you were going to let pain stop you.

You know you felt sort of… grateful that Philza saved you when you were laying on that beach, but now that you had time to reflect on what happened, you felt resentful that he did. Of course he’d take away the only good thing you had going on in your life, he was full of audacity and impudence when you were a kid. He hasn’t changed at all much to your disappointment. You shouldn’t have expected him to change in the first place, that was just something that you knew in the back of your mind would never happen. A large part of you craved his approval and affection, but you knew that wouldn’t happen.

Your thoughts were cut off by someone pulling you back gently from the fire. “I got the lava. Uh, I can set up an area for you downstairs with netherrack.”

“No, you don’t have to, I just have to put it on my joints for a few minutes.”

“Don’t you want to, uh, fully cover yourself?”

“I can hold off until the snowstorm dies down. It’s nothing too major.” You dipped your hands into the large bucket of lava and sighed in relief, “that’s much better, thank you Technoblade.”

“It’s no problem, but you literally just almost died. How is that something that’s ‘not major’?”

“I’m used to… well, this,” you took a hand out of the lava and gestured to your stone covered arm. “It’s just more than I’m used to. Kinda uncomfortable, but I’ll live.”

“What do you mean you’re used to it? You don’t live by water do you?”

“Yeah, I live by the ocean so I’m bound to get a little charred. No big deal,” you took your hands out of the bucket, shook the excess lava off, and stuck your elbows in. You looked at your now dully glowing hand and wiggled your fingers. There were more blackened scars etched into your skin on your joints, but you didn’t care.

“Heh? Why the hell would you live by an ocean?”

You wove your hands nonchalantly in the air, “I always liked how the water looked when the sun set. The way that the pinks and yellows would reflect and bounce off the waves? Breathtaking.” You also lived by the ocean so that you had an easy way out of living, but you weren’t about to tell him that. Too much trauma dumping.

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Have you ever seen the sun setting over the ocean?” You rose a brow at the piglin hybrid sitting on the couch.

“Well, no but-”

“Then you can’t knock it till you try it. I’ll take you to my old place after I can take a proper lava bath. You won’t regret it, promise.”

“Still, you’re literally made of fire. Look what happened to you… Er, speaking of, how’d this happen?” He looked you up and down inquisitively with his red eyes.

You sighed as you took your elbows out of the lava and dipped your feet into the buckets. “...Do you still have your communicator?”

You watched as his floppy ear flicked and his eyebrow rose at you, “...Yes, but I only talk to Dad. Why, did you leave me a message?” Before he could stand up to grab his communicator, you stopped him with a hand on his shin. “No, I didn’t. I was just wondering.”

He didn’t look convinced, “...tell me what happened. Were you pushed?”

Your shoulders tensed up against your will before you forced them to relax. “I fell in, got too close to the edge.”

“You’re so lucky Dad was already at your house, you could’ve died. How could you be so careless?”

You only responded with a blaze-like frustrated grunt that rumbled in the back of your throat and removed your feet from the buckets. Picking up one of the buckets, you took a swig of the lava. The viscous liquid crawled slowly down your throat and soothed your burned esophagus and stomach. Clearing your throat, you looked over to your estranged brother. He was looking at you with disgust, his snout scrunched up slightly and his mouth twisted into a grimace.

“What?” Your voice sounded less strained and scratchy. Overall, it felt better to speak.

“Your- your feet were just in there. That’s disgusting.”

You blew out a puff of smoke and watched as it drifted to the ceiling, “my feet were just in water, remember? They’re clean. And besides, I swallowed and inhaled a lot of water so I needed it. I mean, my lungs are still stone, but there’s nothing I can do about it except wait it out.”

“That’s still gross. Wait, can you not drink water?”

“No- well technically I can, but it hurts. Gimme one sec.”

He was quiet as he watched you take a deep breath and dunk your entire head into the lava bucket you weren’t drinking from. His youngest sibling was… strange, but he found that he enjoyed your company so far. The only company he’s had at his cabin recently was his brothers and dad, which burned him out slightly with their big personalities. You were as awkward as he was and that was refreshing. But he couldn’t help but feel guilty after hearing the majority of yours and Philza’s argument. Now that he thought back on his childhood, the majority of his memories were of him and Philza. He didn’t have many negative memories past his adoption, and that was because he spent all of his time adventuring with Philza. He did everything with his adoptive father and absolutely nothing with his siblings. He knew nothing about Wilbur, well Ghostbur now, or Tommy until they stayed with him during Tommy’s exile. He’s never talked to you or spent any time with you before, and he wanted to get to know who you were. He wanted to make up for lost time.

After you were under for a while, he started to worry that you drowned yourself. Just as he was about to pull your head out of the bucket with a hand close to your forehead, you slowly removed your head from the lava and held it over the bucket so that the excess would drip off from you. Panting slightly, you sat up fully and wiped your eyes clean of the lava. You could hear some rustling in front of you so you opened your eyes to see your brother holding out clothes to you.

“Go change, I’ll make dinner. There’s a spare room upstairs, second door on the left. You can stay there for now.”

You hesitated before you took the clothes from him, “I… Thank you Techno.” You weren’t expecting him to be so kind to you, he was known as the blood god after all. He was ruthless when he battled, leaving thousands without families. You saw him a couple of times when you were younger coming home with Philza covered in blood with a malicious expression on his face. That always made you try to avoid him; not that you had any difficulty doing that, he was never home.

He curtly nodded before he turned to walk into where you assumed was the kitchen. You trudged up the stairs and tiredly drug your feet down the hallway towards the second door on the left. When you opened the door, you were pleasantly surprised. You didn’t know what you were expecting to see, but it certainly wasn’t this. It was simplistic, yet it looked like a professional decorated it.

The bed looked incredibly comfortable and soft with a large white comforter draped over the top. At both sides of the headboard, twin chests sat underneath double hung windows with wooden frames that matched the spruce planks that made up the walls. You were sure that once the relentless snowstorm stopped you would be able to see a spruce forest in the distance. Lanterns hung at the far corners of the room opposite of where the bed sat. Glancing at the opposite wall, you saw a framed portrait of a nether fortress. You assumed that it was the nether fortress on the other side of his portal. If you squinted, you could see orange specks that you assumed were blazes.

After you got dressed, you were pleasantly surprised to see that Tommy’s clothes fit you. Despite the slight bagginess of the pants and the sleeves of the jumper hanging halfway past your hands, they fit relatively well. Humming in satisfaction, you hung up your wet clothes to dry and made your way downstairs following the savory smell of cooking meat and potatoes. Your mouth watered at the smell, it’s been a while since you’ve eaten an actual meal. You’d just been surviving on an apple a day with the occasional potato when you had some leftover from making homemade vodka.

You walked into the kitchen and looked at your brother standing at the stove, the stove looked miniscule compared to his seven and a half foot tall form. That man was a giant and you wouldn’t be lying if his height alone didn’t intimidate you slightly. If he wanted, he could grab your entire face with his hand. Various light pink scars decorated his muscular arms that poked out from the rolled up sleeves of his blouse. He wasn’t wearing his huge fluffy cloak, instead it was draped over the back of one of the chairs at the large wooden dining table. Every part of your body wanted to take it, wrap yourself up into a blaze hybrid burrito, and take the best nap you’ve ever had. His corseted form moved gracefully around the kitchen grabbing various spices and herbs.

You saw his ears twitch before he moved his massive head to look back at you, you could see the corners of his mouth quirk up ever so slightly. “They fit you, that’s good. Take a seat, dinner's almost ready.” With that, you took a seat at the table. You felt like a child again, the table was huge, the tabletop coming up to your lower chest. The table and chairs were made of what looked like dark oak wood. The wood was carved intricately with complex patterns etched into the frame and the back of the chairs.

You eyed the cape draped over the chair next to you. It was a deep royal red with black speckled white fur lining the border of the fabric. If you looked closely, you could see that the pendant that connected the two ends was made of gold and had a diamond encrusted center. It looked incredibly soft, it would be so easy to just reach out with a finger to pet it. Your brother wouldn’t notice if you did it quick enough so that you could touch it before he turned around. When you gathered the courage to touch the cloak, you reached out with a slightly shaking hand to pet the fur, watching Technoblade the entire time.

Everytime he would move to grab a spice, you would quickly retract your hand and try to act as innocent as possible only to try again after he didn’t turn around again. Just as you finally touched the fabric, you were in awe with how soft it was. It was like petting a newborn puppy but better. You truly couldn’t put into words how soft it was.

You were snapped out of your trance by a small chuckle, “soft isn’t it?” You jumped, quickly retracting your hand and smacking your head against the back of your chair in the process. You could feel your cheeks heat up more than they usually did, you could see the glow of orange intensify at the bottom of your vision. Your brother was staring at you with amusement, his mouth quirked up in a small smile. He was carrying two plates full of steak and potatoes, putting one in front of you before walking to sit opposite of you.

“Uh, yeah. It- it’s really soft.”

“I got it from a nation thousands of blocks from here, it wasn’t easy to get. Those guards were not happy to see me stealing from their king.” He chuckled before he started to eat his food.

“Is that where you got the crown too?”

“No, Dad got it for me as a going away present when I moved out… You’ve grown up so much since I’ve last seen you. I remember when you barely reached my waist and now you’re only about a foot and a half shorter than me.”

“You’ve gotten taller also, more scars too.”

“You as well. Are all those from water?”

“Yeah, it only scars when I crack the stone on my skin though.”

“Ouch. So like you get scars whenever you move?”

You shrugged, “basically.” Turning to your plate, you struggled with not wolfing down the entire thing in one go. You didn’t want to have your brother get the impression you had bad table manners. Wilbur raised you better than that. When you took a bite of the stake, you moaned slightly at the taste. Quickly swallowing your mouthful, you looked at your brother with wide eyes. “Ender Tech, where’d you learn to cook? It’s delicious.”

He gave you a small bashful smile and shrugged, “when you’ve been living alone for this long you pick up on a few things.”

“I’ve been living alone for about a year now and I still can’t cook.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, “well what do you eat then?”

“Just an apple a day, maybe a potato too if I have any to spare.”

He narrowed his eyes, “how the hell are you still alive? That’s hardly enough.”

You blankly stared at your plate, “I’ve been asking myself that everyday, things aren’t… amazing living alone. Uh, let’s talk about happier things. I wanna get to know you.”

He stared at you for a while before he sighed, “fine, but we’re talking about this later. How do you wanna go about getting to know each other?”

“It’s gonna be hard cuz we have like seventeen years to catch up on, but I think we can do it. Let’s… let’s play the favorites game. We take turns naming a category and we both say what our favorite thing in that is. I’ll start, what’s your favorite type of mythology? Like Greek, Egyptian, Norse…”

His eyes lit up at the mention of mythology, “I like Greek mythology. I can talk for hours about it.”

“Nice! I personally like Norse mythology better, we have to exchange myths sometime.”

“My turn, what’s your favorite myth?”

You matched his excitement, “I really like the Ragnarok myth. The fact that the gods know of their impending doom and destruction and are actively working towards it is- is just really intriguing. What’s yours?”

You both abandoned your meals as your conversation diverged into telling each other various myths from your respective favorite mythologies. Your favorite ones he told you were the tales of Orpheus and Eurydice, Persephone and Hades, and Psyche and Eros. You were a sucker for romance even if the thought of you being in a relationship was something you were uncomfortable thinking about. Romance stories just made you happy to see people finding comfort and fulfillment in each other. You told him more about Ragnarok, the creation of Mjolnir, and the murder of Baldur.

Before you two knew it, hours passed by. Your untouched dinners grew cold and the clock struck midnight startling both of you out of your story telling. You both looked at the grandfather clock then back at each other in shock, “we’ve been talking for four hours Tech.”

“Yeah, we did. It- it was nice talking about mythology. Usually people get bored when I talk about it.”

You rolled your eyes, “Ender, I know. Why don’t they find it as interesting as we do? It’s been a while since I’ve had someone to talk to, it’s nice.”

“We better go to bed, we can just eat a bigger breakfast tomorrow before we take you to the Nether and your house. You probably want to sleep in your own bed.”

You laughed nervously, “yeah about that… I don’t really have a bed anymore. Or an actual house for that matter.”

“The fuck happened?”

“I may have burnt it down accidentally.”

He was silent for a bit before he looked at you suspiciously. “Are you gonna burn my house down?” And there’s the thing you hated most when you told people of your lineage and abilities. They always believe that you’re a being of destruction and inferno. They always grow to not trust you around them or their possessions fearing you would burn them to a crisp. You cursed your biological parents daily for giving you these genes.

You shrunk in on yourself slightly, “no, I’d never do that to you. I’m in control as long as I keep my emotions in check. Can’t get too excited, scared, or happy. I just can’t do anything extreme and my temperature stays low.”

He grunted, nodding in satisfaction. “We probably should get to sleep soon if we wanna get stuff done before the family reunion.”

“I forgot about that… Have you met the kid Phil’s gonna adopt?”

He drew in a long breath into his nose and huffed it out of his mouth. “Yeah, his name’s Ranboo. And he’s actually only about half a year younger than you are. I don’t know how to feel about him yet, but he seems like he has good intentions.”

You drug a hand through the flames idly flickering on your head, “is Phil seriously gonna adopt another kid? I don’t think it’s a good idea for him.”

“That’s what I thought, I don’t need any more orphans running around here. You, Tommy, and Wilbur are more than enough. We can talk more about this in the morning.”

With that, you picked up your plates and took them to the kitchen. Before you could turn on the water faucet, a hand on your shoulder stopped you. “I’ll get it. You can’t be around this stuff.”

“A little water won’t hurt me. It’s the least I could do, you made dinner.”

“A little water will hurt you. Go to bed, I’ll handle this. It’s only two dishes.”

You opened your mouth to argue with him, but it snapped shut as soon as he gave you a warning look. “Go to bed (y/n).”

“...Aright, thank you for doing that. I’ll see ya in the morning.”

He grunted as you walked out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and into the guest room. You walked straight to the bed and plopped down onto the surface. You felt sort of bad that you were rubbing soot off onto the white comforter from your still charcoaled skin, but it was nothing that you couldn’t clean in the morning. The bed was extremely comfortable, a stark contrast to your old one. Your old one had lumps and some exposed bedsprings sticking out of the fabric. With the weight of the heavy comforter and the plush mattress, you were out like a light.

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@crybabyjabby @izzybobizzy13 @goldenstarofthunderclan @bunnyz-pxstel @averytiredfanfictionwriter @dcml04 @sparkling-gayyyy @bbigbbrainn @thaticecreambish @kiinokochii

Series taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@appetiteofapeoplepleaser @misfortunatem00n @hee-hee-haw @bi-narystars @akikko-yataro @snapple311 @jo171718 @alex--awesome--22 @cinnamonmochi @waterstrawberry @jefferyepsteindidntkillhimself @imamusicalnerd @fo-love @sylumarts @theshitinmytrunk @rinzyx05 @wasteofspacze @bands-are-amazingly-addicting @im-a-depressed-gay @charlotte-is-missing @s-n1428 @lifestylesleep @dame-sunflowers @bongwaterflavoredgatorade @aestheticpkmntrainer @emma-the-duck17 @pek0ra @wreny24 @willow404 @shiningsunrises @vanhakirja @dont-hug-me-im-a-fander @soulless42 @giavanna

#sbi x reader #sleepy bois x reader #sleepy bois inc x reader #philza x reader #technoblade x reader #ghostbur x reader #tommyinnit x reader #mcyt #mcyt x reader #sibling reader #platonic #tw: suicidal thoughts #tw: suicide attempt #tw: swearing #tw: abandonment issues #tw: daddy issues #tw: depression #tw: blood

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