#intricate. hit definition

[orcelito]

i think it's just in my nature to get stabbed

if i count this, then this would be the 3rd stabbing i have endured

#speculation nation #it very much follows the trends i saw in my prior stabs #aka tiny lil entry point but Much Blood #& other external signs such as bruising #like listen. she got me GOOD. i knew as soon as it happened that she cut me deep #slapped my hand over it and there was instantly blood. that doesnt usually happen for cat scratches for me. #this wasn't a scratch. this was a stab. i got stabbed in the Cheek. #nonzero chance it will scar. my other two stabs sure did. #also for new followers who have not heard the stories: one was a drink thermometer at work n the other was my machete #dropped the drink thermometer and tried to catch it. slammed it point-first into my palm. went a good half centimeter in. Ow. #machete was bc i was storing it in a random other box and forgot. upended it & dropped it point-first onto my finger #INCREDIBLY lucky it did not like. cut my finger off or w/e. it definitely hit the bone but it was on the backside of a finger #so it didnt hit anything essential. and really just kinda hurt like a bitch. #i have a backwards checkmark scar on my finger from it lol. i was very Very lucky. #also lucky w/ the thermometer that i didnt catch anything bad w/ it bc hands are really VERY incredibly intricate #sooo many things running thru those palms. i think it stabbed into muscle rather than ligaments. aka the less harmful outcome. #bc i still have full function of my hand! couldve been Much Worse. #aka what this means is i am a walking disaster and it really is a wonder i havent ended up in the hospital due to my many stupid accidents #anyways yea my cheek do be stabbed. guess that's why it bruised. crazy.

[usedpidemo]

Voguish (Itzy Ryujin)

(Thank you for the commission! I hope its to your liking.)

—————

If you had any other choice, you’d rather be stuck at where you were previously: earning a modest income, just enough to get by from job to job, performing straightforward work, and most importantly, friendly clientele to attend to. It wasn’t surprising; you knew this industry was built on the backs of some of the most snobbish, arrogant people you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting, but—

“You’re late. Again.”

Shin Ryujin was probably among the absolute worst.

If you’re going to make an honest assessment, Ryujin isn’t that bad. Serving as her head stylist for the better part of a year, she’s by far the client you’ve spent the most time with. She doesn’t talk a big deal about the money she’s making or prattle into a conversation intricately designed to inflate her ego to the moon, unlike some of the other A-listers you’ve had the ‘privilege’ of working under. 

However, her attitude is definitely up there.

It’s not even a little over a minute. In fact, you’ve been standing at her entrance door two minutes before the clock hits ten. Doesn’t matter if you’re in the right; her style, her rules. She doesn’t care that you're sweating buckets rushing her newly minted outfit from across the street up to the 27th floor. Any moment where she doesn’t look like a million dollars is a moment wasted.

“My apologies, Ryu—”

Ryujin’s glare puts the fear of God into your soul. “What did I say about using my name?” 

You pause. Gulp your throat. “My sincerest apologies, Miss Shin.” 

“Hmph.” Grimacing with disgust, she hastily snatches the dress from your possession, proceeds to slam the door on you, tone bordering on shouting, “Come inside. You’re late.”

Entering the door shortly after, you’re welcomed by a film crew in the process of recording her as she struts around the living room suite holding your dress in her hands. If there’s anything you’ve learned from attending to her, she’s as effortless of an actress as she is as a model. The moment her eyes face the camera, she instantly transforms into the picture perfect icon that has all of social media buzzing.

Moving out of the way has become muscle memory at this point. When she’s in front of the cameras, you’re merely an onlooker. 

“So this is my outfit for tonight,” she says enthusiastically into the camera, proudly flaunting the outfit—a convincing facade to the untrained eye. For the press, she’s this likable, larger than life figure living her best life, attending all these invitation-only parties and wearing the most stylish dresses. 

“It was a risque design, and I wanted to try something bold for once. It was love at first sight when I saw it,” she comments, and you know very well this wasn’t her first choice. They won’t know that this was the 12th option, handpicked just last night after weeks of trial and error, only to be thrown away right after. At her request, you had it ordered on incredibly short notice, and the plan almost fell through. It was hard to deny Ryujin’s wants, no matter how impractical or unfeasible they were. 

In a way, this was to be expected. Ryujin emanates this young, it girl energy. Like any aspiring icon, she usually wants to stand out from a usually safe crowd. Not that it hasn’t stopped you from interfering a handful of times, much to her annoyance. After all, you’d assume she was going to a casual party or some red carpet event, not a prestigious gala with some of the biggest people in the world in attendance. You name it: politicians, CEOs of tech giants, industry titans who make the cover of Forbes and Time every other month. There are high standards that must be kept, and she’s doing anything but uphold those standards.

The camera pans away from her, and she immediately tosses the clothing aside with zero regard whatsoever. You manage to save it before it becomes near valueless. No matter how bothersome she acts, you can’t bring yourself to call her out on her antics; not just because there are several careers at stake, including yours, but you know what she’s capable of doing when her patience exceeds breaking point. It’s a firsthand experience to catch Ryujin in a state that isn’t picture perfect.

“Where are you?” Ryujin shouts from the other room, irate. “Slow as ever, my goodness.”

When you approach her, she’s on her phone, seated in front of the mirror with her legs crossed, having commanded the camera crew to vacate the room, leaving you alone with her. It’s only when you are together that she’s her true self, and it’s not far from what you usually experience even with other people around. They understand it’s in their best interest not to interfere.

Turning her eyes, she catches you idling with her sharp stare. “Well? Are you just gonna stand there and look at me all day? You already do that on the regular.”

Her behavior’s something neither cameras nor testimonies will ever publicly reveal: that Ryujin’s practically a spoiled brat behind closed doors. Any attempts to expose her have been silenced by huge settlements, NDAs, and every legal bind in the book. And when those don’t work out, there’s the strangely coincidental disappearance of potential witnesses that read like every tin-foil hat post written by some gullible conspiracy theorist on the internet. 

In retrospect, perhaps there’s some merit to the rumor that her father is supposedly the head of some mafia organization, but you digress. She has never brought her personal history up in interviews, other than she’s been adopted by the founder of a relatively unknown investment firm. An elaborate lie.

She’s engrossed on her phone, unable to keep herself still while you struggle to apply makeup on her face. Time’s of the essence, she usually says, but she’s purposeful with how much time is wasted, with the primary objective of finding an excuse to lay on you. It was never going to be fair from the start. All the moments where you were late, in her eyes, were intentionally done to put you in the wrong. 

To be fair, the numerous stylists who’ve taken care of her warned you in advance. You couldn’t deny the opportunity for a huge paycheck.

“Miss Shin, please stay still,” you say, carefully stringing your words together, delivered in the least offensive tone possible.

To your surprise, she complies. It’s a miracle. She never obliges with your requests, let alone direct commands.

Applying the rest of her makeup takes only minutes. Usually, you’d be going back and forth, and you’d be in front of the mirror for hours. See how easier everyone’s job is when all parties cooperate and collaborate effectively? You’re doing your part like it’s second nature; you only wish Ryujin was this accommodating more often, and not whether her brain flips a coin to determine her attitude for the day.

“You look amazing, Miss Shin,” you comment, staring at the mirror, her face radiating with the glow of a million bucks.

Taking her attention off the phone, even if it’s only for a second, proves to be a chore, as proven by her particularly grumpy expression. She scans herself, peers through every little detail in the mirror—showing more interest in herself during this brief moment than her dozens of photoshoots over the last month—and gives the smallest of nods. You even see the tiniest of grins escaping her lips, too.

Her steely attitude unwavering, she commands you, sternly, “Bring me the dress. Now.”

A clap of hands and the door opens like magic. Your co-stylist briskly walks toward you, outfit in hand, promptly handing it over before immediately leaving the room. No words are necessary; she makes it clear who’s allowed to touch her, let alone dress her, and it’s only you. Handling Ryujin was as meticulous and methodical as preserving a historical treasure.

She finally gets off her chair, hands prepared to loosen her robe before something catches her attention. “Door.”

It’s common sense. You hurry over to the opened door, slam it shut. Then the magic happens.

Ryujin nonchalantly slips her bathrobe off her shoulders, letting it freely fall to the floor. She’s draped in nothing but the thinnest of underwear, her asscheeks openly poking through the fabric. It’s amazing how she’s allowing you to see her like this, her barest, when most of her shoots and red carpet dresses have been nothing but conservative. Sometimes seductive, but mostly safe. There’s nothing left for your imagination. On the other hand, you’re so used to this vivid sight, it’s almost part of your daily routine. You shouldn’t be fazed, but her perfect figure has you staring, shamelessly, like it’s your very first time seeing nudity.

At times, it leaves you vulnerable. Like now.

“You were doing quite well too,” she comments, snarkily, gazing at your blank expression through the reflection, snapping you from your daze.

Gulping your throat, you find yourself embarrassed, ears flushed red. Even while you go through the methodical process of measuring and dressing her, the shame lingers. You find yourself unable to glance at the mirror. The very few flashes and glints that meet you when you turn you face your reflection, you find her suppressing a tiny giggle. 

As you put on the finishing touches on her outfit, she brings the point home, “We’re already late by an hour.”

A quick look at your watch tells you it’s almost eleven. Ten minutes before the next hour. At first glance, it’s still early, but it can be deceiving. Parisian traffic is notoriously unforgiving, event or no event, showing no partiality. Getting from one place to another is a whole day’s work.

Then you remember the fans and paparazzi congregated at the hotel’s entrance. This crowd that you had to brute force through just to get her dress on time. The hotel security can barely hold them back, and you can hear several sirens screaming miles away, most likely police presence. Many persons of interest will be gathered in one setting, after all.

“How do you feel, Miss Shin?” you ask, taking a step back to let her soak in her meticulously curated appearance. 

She blinks rapidly. Then she takes a deep breath.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

—————

Everywhere you look lies nothing but chaos. Chaos and cameras.

Barricade is filled with an indistinguishable mix of both paparazzi and media from all over the world. Lights, whether from above or from cameras, flash in every direction that it’s almost blinding. Deafening shouts pierce through your ears that whispering is impossible. You’ve been to as many red carpet events as these journalists and photographers, but you’ve never attended an event of this magnitude until now.

Left and right, there’s a random celebrity being interviewed by a news junket. The women you spot are dressed to the nines, adorned in colorful and graceful garb, while the men are decked as if they're attending Sunday service. You can see it now: another round of fashion bloggers berating and cursing the men for their simplicity and lack of creativity, but that’s to be expected. 

Your phone vibrates from within your shirt pocket. It’s Ryujin, having disappeared somewhere in the crowd.

> Where u at? 😤

You immediately reply back. Your conversations have been practice for your future relationship:

> Can’t find you in this crowd 

> Taylor Swift is just across me XD

> Scarlett Johannson too

> And I think I saw Zendaya and Yuna talking with each other, can’t confirm though, they’re far away

To which she answers:

> Stop playing around.

> Get over here NOW

> Do you style any of them? 

> You don’t.

> Come here. NOW.

It’s a simple but strong warning. Aside from the fact that you’re there to attend to Ryujin’s needs and not larp as a celebrity, there's a change in her attitude during these events. She becomes strangely more attached. It’s become a byword for you to mention other women around her, yet she interacts with them in a friendly light for the cameras to see.

Ryujin’s preoccupied with what’s presumably the umpteenth interview of many when you finally reunite with her. She takes another moment to pose for the next wave of cameras, picture perfect as always, then after, she finally turns her gaze, meeting yours. It has been ten minutes since her last text, and you have many reasons to say why you’ve vanished.

None of which truly matters.

“There you are.” She says, glaring angrily at you, tone laced with contempt, sounding like you were gone for days.

“I can explain, Miss Shin,” you try to say, but it has no effect as she approaches you, careful as ever to keep a picturesque facade in front of the media. You can see her holding herself back from popping a vein. “Apparently President Biden and his wife are in attendance and we were told to make way for his entire security team—”

The way Ryujin pulls you by the ear while you both retreat from the chaotic crowd is comical. In a sea of cameras and eyewitnesses, some tabloid’s bound to catch you, take the unfolding scene out of context, and write a rushed article that spreads like wildfire, but no, it doesn’t draw an ounce of attention. She's a small fry in a pond of bigger fish, after all. Over your corner, you see a dozen Secret Service slowly guide the president along the carpet, parting everyone around old Joe. In a way, watching him brings you to a strange realization: that you can empathize with the poor geezer. You’re both in the same predicament, being strung along to places you have no zero interest in.

It’s an effective distraction. An air of tense, awkward silence falls upon you both as you stare at each other, your personal conflict hidden away from the public eye. You open your mouth, about to say a word, and—

Whack!

Ryujin hits you with the hardest of palms, all her pent-up frustration released with a single, powerful smack of your cheek. The force echoes throughout the enclosed space like thunder. Your lips draw a little blood. A quick rub of your face reinforces the consequence for your actions. Rough. Still, to say she looks unhappy after enforcing her will upon you is an understatement.

And just when you try to open your mouth (without the intention to complain; you’ve given up at this point), she follows it up with a second slap, with about half the impact of the first. This time, the other cheek. Her gaze is scathing, lethal, hypnotic—as if challenging you to try her already short patience. Say something, motherfucker, is subtly etched on her expressive lips without the need to verbalize them. 

Another tense moment of silence. She makes sure your eyes never leave her contact. When it finally breaks, her judgment echoes in your head like the toll of a death bell—a lingering reminder that you’ve truly fucked up.

“You’ll be seeing me after tonight,” she says, each word delivered like an arrow straight to your heart. Before facing the world again, she adds another devastating blow, “My hotel room. Midnight. Sharp.”

—————

For the most part, in the eyes of the public, you seem to have done a fantastic job styling Ryujin for tonight’s gala. Within hours of the event, numerous articles published of the event list her among the best dressed stars, praising the bold nature of her outfit, as she intended in that vlog-style video from earlier. It’s all smiles as you watch her from afar, casually mingling with every celebrity in attendance. In case she needs to remain fresh, have new makeup applied, or change into a new dress for afterparty purposes—sometimes all of the above—you’re closely on standby. Ultimately, she doesn’t; not a single time she has called or texted for assistance. In a way, it’s alarming.

Her reminder sticks firmly on the back of your mind. Every word she says, she means it—no matter how small or big they are. It lingers even as her personal driver and bodyguard messages you with the instruction to return to the car, where she’s mysteriously absent, having been commanded by Ryujin herself to send you and the rest of her personnel home. It’s uncharacteristically strange; either she’s changed her mind and is having a good time at the event, or she’s probably drunk out of her mind, and the latter is typically the norm.

When you retreat to your room, you nervously watch as the clock slowly ticks towards the inevitable. It’s like witnessing your death. You know you can’t stop it, and you can’t look away, either. With the understanding that you’ll likely see the sun rise when it’s all said and done, you don’t even bother to slip into your sleepwear. 

The clock turns midnight. Seconds later, you receive a text on your phone. The message. It immediately disproves any theory or hope of meeting her good graces:

> Meet me in my room. Don’t even think about hiding or running, cause I will know

Of course you comply; you really have no other choice.

Five minutes later, you’re at her door again, with nothing but your suit, ready to face her judgment. It swings open of its own accord. Without any formalities, you step inside the familiar living room, now tidied up and cloaked in near darkness—a stark contrast to the mess it looked earlier in the day. Not a sign of her presence can be seen or felt. If you’ve been feeling uneasy before, now you’re straight up anxious, and the terror leaves you pale.

The door slams shut. Now you’re completely in the dark, with nothing to latch or cling to but your own resolve, which is slowly fading too. You want to speak her name, but you know you’ll be trying fate again, and fate has dealt you a cruel hand already. You didn’t want to fall even further. 

Your slow breaths are the only sign of life.

And the faint voice in your ear.

Wait—

Before you know it, you feel your throat tense up and your body tremble frantically. Faint shadows coil around your waist and neck, and in that moment, your fate has been sealed. 

“At least you’re not late this time.” Ryujin whispers into your ear. Then your eyes snap wide open.

“Agh!” 

A powerful surge of pain overwhelms your entire body, renders you weak in the knees. You fall to the ground, barely keeping yourself from completely melting onto the carpet with your hands. Still, the pangs remain too much. You can barely hold up on all fours, let alone move your arms and legs. 

It’s not enough. A soft hand hovers across your arched back, brushes through your hair, before it’s immediately followed by a direct blow to your nape. Your shout of agony reverberates throughout the dark room while you’re forced further down on your knees. Nearly forced into a prostrate position, you’re barely holding on. Another hit of this force could knock you unconscious, maybe worse.

“You’re going to learn your lesson today,” says Ryujin, strutting from behind you, cloaked in what appears to be a white gown. She’s holding something that you can’t identify, but you can tell she’s not in the mood to play games. Sparks of electricity flash and fade close to her hand. It was a taser all along. You probably would have guessed that from the intense shocking pain you’re currently feeling.

“Bedroom, slowpoke,” she sternly commands you as she saunters toward the room first, leaving you alone to pick yourself up. You’re still reeling from the two shocks of electricity applied to your waist and neck; it stings. Your body struggles, aches, cries out in despair, but you ultimately muster up enough power to follow her minutes later.

What greets you in the bedroom is a dimly lit bed, with Ryujin as its centerpiece, and both ends of her figure bathed in a faint wave of orange lamp light. She’s draped in nothing but the same hotel-issued bathrobe from earlier, her legs crossed, gazing at you from behind designer shades, smirking with malicious intent. It’s regal, seductive, inviting, intimidating. You honestly could stare at this sight all day long.

Before you entertain the thought, she cuts it off. “Strip.”

Her gaze lingers as you quickly bare yourself in front of her. She grins, giggles, adjusts her glasses with each piece of clothing removed. It flashes at her widest when you’ve divested your shirt and your pants, revealing your chest and your evident bulge, unknowingly growing hard behind the elastic fabric. It seems to spark a new idea within her, even though she’s the type of woman who follows through with her plans after they’ve been organized and premeditated.

She hops off the bed, slowly saunters toward you with trained, modellike fashion, using you as a makeshift catwalk. Turning the corner, she retreats behind your back, gripping a hand on your neck, craning the other down your bare chest. Her tongue tickles the back of your ear, which morphs into the smallest of smooches while she drags you to the bed like a hostage. As she hauls you over the mattress, she continues to feel your skin and body, your ears titillated by the gentle moans and whimpers from her sultry lips.

Your bump knees with the bed before she sends you flying over the edge. Temptation comes knocking at the door of your suppressed lips; you’re itching to cry out in pain, pleading for a bit more consideration. You know it’s a futile effort. When it comes to sex, Ryujin was anything but gentle. 

“Don’t look. Stay still.” 

Following her command is second nature to you; even when your positions were interchanged, it was merely an illusion—you were never in control. Ryujin plants a palm around your throat, forcing your stare against the bedrest. The clanging sound of something resembling a belt or a buckle keeps you curious. Tense, breaths keep you calm. Deep down, you know what’s about to happen; there’s no stopping it, you can only brace for impact. 

In the gap between the point of no return, she tells you her mindstate, how her frustration and apparent jealousy never receded. “I hated every minute I spent there. You have no idea how difficult it was to keep a face in front of everyone, especially after seeing Yuna. Fucking. Yuna.”

Your reaction comes out, not through coherent words, but through a labored groan. You feel her finger circle rings around your ass, sticky and wet. Of course she was there, social media couldn’t stop buzzing about her appearance—and she rarely shows up to these galas. Now it’s all making sense. After all, you were Yuna’s stylist before Ryujin snatched you away. 

Ryujin continues to apply lube around your sensitive hole, occasionally fingering you. Holding in the groans from the discomfort proves to be impossible, but she prefers to hear you whine, especially when her name is spoken. It’s the perfect reprieve from the evening’s frustrations, keeping her from raising her voice to the ceiling. “She pisses me off so fucking much. First stealing my thunder at every fashion week, now this? I thought she hated art galas?”

It’s evident that she doesn’t like Yuna in any shape whatsoever. If not for the cameras and all the famous people in the building, she’d already be trading blows with her. If there was any one person she wanted dead, it would have to be Shin Yuna. Of course, knowing this, you never included your time with her on your job application, let alone mention the fact you briefly spoke at the event behind her back. She was in an already spiraling mood, and you didn’t need to make it even worse.

“I was thinking of using dildos for tonight, maybe just my fingers even, but I don’t think it’ll be enough. I really hope you understand.” That last sentence—she sounds apologetic, remorseful, but the warning is ultimately shallow; she’ll rough you up, wreck you, ruin you, and enjoy every moment of it. You’re merely a blank canvas to her twisted fantasies.

“Oh, oh–fuck!” She cries out, joining your deep scream in harmony as she plunges the dildo into your warm, wet hole. This isn’t your first experience on the receiving end of Ryujin’s strap, yet every plunge feels as destructive and spine breaking as the first. No pleasantries or formalities, just apply the lube then hit. The idea of teasing you goes against her very blunt, assertive nature.

“Shit—oh fucking shit, you’re so goddamn tight,” she says, snaking a hand around your waist as her plastic dick slowly penetrates your hole, little by little. She has you grasping at pillows, staring at the ceiling then down to the sheets, until you find the twisted image of her hips slowly pounding against your ass, letting the pleasure of pegging overwhelm her. It should be excruciatingly painful, an agonizing reminder to never get on her wrong side, but no, there’s something hot about getting dicked by a tough woman like her that arouses you.

Eventually, she comes to her senses, finds her footing, and remembers that she’s meant to punish you, not reward you. She knows how good you make her feel, even if your cock is meant to be inside hers, not the other way around. You can’t help speaking your mind, and it boosts Ryujin’s ego to the moon. “Please. Fucking use me, Miss Shin. Fucking ruin my hole like how I ruin yours, miss.”

Even upside down, you can see how visibly delighted she is to hear those words every single time. Can’t hide that wide smirk plastered on her lips, no matter how upset she is. It’s intoxicating. No matter how hard you’re huffing, the pleasure she derives from using you keeps you going. 

Slamming your eyes shut, Ryujin does what you both want. Fucks you with her dildo hard, clenches and quelches with each careful, intricate stroke. Sometimes you’re in that position, taking her ass and ravaging her body as your own. Now it’s her turn, and she’s been taking after you. Between thrusts, she slaps your cheek, pulls on your neck and hair. You’ve built this alarmingly toxic work relationship, but the sex has never felt this invigorating, so cathartic. The perfect use of frustration to be channeled into something pleasurable and rapturous. 

You’ve never seen Ryujin this focused, this committed to wrecking you. She’s using your hole with such ferocity you think she’ll make you bleed out. Behind those glazed, pleasure-filled eyes, she sees nothing but red. Difficult as it is, you follow a string of moans from her lips hidden beneath a continuous echo of groans from your end. It doesn’t help that these walls are thin and everyone on this floor can hear your escapades.

Neither of you care. There’s a good reason as to why she booked the whole floor to begin with.

The bed quakes, and quakes, and quakes—until it doesn’t. 

A puzzlingly calm fills the room after countless minutes pass. Ryujin’s frantic breaths close the silent gap, having pulled the dildo from your hole. It’s slick. You realize the change of pace. 

“Miss Shin, why did you stop?”

She doesn’t reply immediately. When she does, she’s still catching her breath between spoken words. “I told you—it wasn’t going to be enough. Lay down for me, will you?”

Without a second thought, you comply. This gives you an opportunity to truly see her in the flesh for the first time tonight. She’s wearing a combination of corset and lingerie, her juicy thighs layered with lace garter. Hopping off the bed, she unbuckles the strap around her waist, tossing it aside to the floor. You then focus on her plump ass, accentuated by her slim thong.

Damn, she looks better now than she does naked. You feel proud that she’s wearing your tailor-made lingerie.

Before you entertain the thought of undressing the very underclothes you’ve prepared for her, she slips the boxers off your ankles. She climbs onto the bed, stands atop you. Even with her short stature, in this position, she’s larger than life, a dominating presence that only desires complete control. 

“Hmm, I don’t know what I should do. I could let you fuck me, but that doesn’t sound right for a punishment,” she comments, playfully placing a finger on her chin, jokingly thinking. For a brief moment, it does appear that she’s stumped.

When the idea hits her, her eyes widen, and she has this self-conceited look, as if she’s got it all planned out. 

She reaches a hand down to her knee, slowly peels one of the stockings down to her ankles. Then she does the same for the other half. The way she positions both legwear on your cock is intentional; it’s to stir the idea of pounding into her cunt a real possibility. Your gaze remains fixated on Ryujin’s face, ever flawless in her scantily-clad figure, being her model self atop you. 

As she tugs on the lace of her panties, you start reacquainting your mind with the image of her tight cunt. She lowers it, barely down her thighs, enough space to tease, enough to make your heart race. Her attention is nowhere close to you; she has other priorities, and fingering herself is one of them. She rubs a digit around her heat, moans out in ecstasy with the same energy as getting fucked. The trembles of her body send aftershocks that reverberate all over the bed. 

It’s already hot enough to get fucked by Ryujin’s strap, but this—the sight of Ryujin pleasuring herself, mouth gaped wide open—is a hundred times better. This is the same reaction she has shown throughout the numerous times you’ve railed her, even though you’ve seen that face during sex. Against the mirror, against the water’s reflection, against the tinted windows of her cars—her face serves as motivation that keeps you hard whenever she demands it. Your hands begin to move on their own, reach down to the groin unknowingly, unsure of whether she’d want you to masturbate or not.

You feel your hard cock, already partially soaked with precum, dripping on her garter. As much as you want to keep them on, you can’t go against the deep seated urge to masturbate with her. Her foot begins to lean against your waist, right as you begin to stroke your shaft with your fingers. Moaning alongside her, you thrust your hips upward, passionately murmuring her name, with nothing but a singular thought: her pussy.

It’s etched on your needy lips. “You’re so sexy, Miss Shin. Please let me fuck you, God—”

She whines as though your hot breath is against her neck, growling a tone higher than normal. Her left foot is slowly clenching around your balls, the other at the bridge between your thigh and your crotch, gently nudging your free hand to move aside. She’s beginning to apply pressure on you, perhaps a subtle gesture to make you stop and give way for her feet to take over, but you’re engrossed in the moment to fully realize. Then again, subtlety isn’t her speciality.

It’s only when her foot presses down on your active hand that you slow to a complete halt. You gently rest her soles on your shaft, slowly wrap her soft toes around your tip. For the most part, their grip is shaky, but when they stick, they feel so slick, so warm, and significantly better than whatever effort your fingers can muster. She can’t wear heels without a few kisses placed on them, you recall; something about being Cinderella growing up, how she prefers to be treated, to receive nothing but showers of praise and attention, and you’re doing just that.

Her digits seemingly acknowledge what they’re stepping on, and soon enough it becomes the perfect makeshift ring to stimulate your cock. Her toes just feel the best, most direct spots around your sensitive shaft, gradually building momentum for when you eventually paint her pretty feet. At least, that’s the goal. You’re both drowning in pleasure, chasing separate highs, but using each other’s bodies as conduit for your own personal gain.

And it’s not that she doesn’t know; she knows. You’ve caught a glimpse of her half-lidded eye peeking down. She sees it, merely chuckles at the notion, and continues to finger herself atop your helpless body. Mutual trust brings you together; she won’t stop you as long as you won’t do the same to her.

“Yes, fuck, I’m gonna cum so hard,” you say, breaths hurried, and it isn’t a matter of if, but when. “Every part of you feels so good, Ryu.”

You’re past formalities at this point. She’s too far gone to care that you've called her by her casual name. Her fingers, both slick and warm at once, are catching fire from the frenzied pace she’s rubbing her clit, certain her dripping juices will find solace on your splayed figure. Racing with her orgasm, her underwear is halfway down her meaty legs, her very foundations shaking. Inadvertently pressing her foot tightly on your cock, she’s holding on for dear life, and it threatens to steal your soul before you reach that immaculate high.

With friction at an all-time high, one rough, slippery slip between her toes, all while your loins burn , moving as if you’re burying yourself deep in her cunt, eager to fill her with seed. The thin thread snaps. Sends you careening over the edge.

Your fall is accompanied by the endless scream of her name. To have your cock be graciously drained by her feet, it would be disrespectful not to. She’s still going, chasing that high even as your cum geysers all over her feet, spills over your knees, your belly, on the sheets, as if her own slick didn’t already make an utter mess of this five-star bed. You’re mentally cheering her on, distracting yourself from the endless cascade of seed gushing beneath you. 

This disastrous mess finds you again, this time in the form of Ryujin’s orgasm. She orgasms, cries her loudest cry, her features at their most corrupted. Her pussy gushes like a rushing waterfall, completely soiling her legs and panties with her slick juices. Your groin manages to salvage whatever her thighs haven’t absorbed, and it’s a sticky pool that latches onto her dainty feet. When she steps off your cock, the squelch of wet seed splatters on the sheets until she touches the ground.

You both take some time apart, let the aftermath of your orgasms fizzle out. Ryujin assesses the damage to her body; she’s still a model, after all. She hastily rids of the soiled underwear, treating it like some kind of contaminated object that can only be cleansed by fire. From the looks of it, she’s committed something dangerous, and you’ve done something scandalous. 

“Shit. We got carried away,” you say, lifting your head from the bed, panicked.

“No. You got carried away,” she replies, facing you with that familiar icy gaze. The honeymoon period is over. “Did I allow you to plant my feet on your cock? Huh?”

Swallowing your throat, you understand that she’s technically right, but also, she most certainly enjoyed the feeling of stepping on you—something you can use against her. Still, Ryujin’s word overrides all reasoning, no matter how logical they are.

You see her facade fall apart when she approaches you again. She climbs onto the bed like a cat, arches her back, and sends you back down to the mattress when she pounces on you. On her lips is the widest smirk you’ve ever seen on her. 

She wants more.

Rising to her feet, she plants her toes directly on your chin, oozing with the remains of your cum mixed with hers. “You did this, now you’ll clean it up.” 

As your tongue laps it up, she occasionally disrupts your rhythm by kicking you several times. Not that you’re hurting her (you couldn’t even if you tried) but for the delight of bringing you misfortune. It’s completely in line with the typical abuse and inhumane treatment you face from her during work hours. You won’t complain, but that was never in the cards, anyway. 

“I can’t believe my stylist is a complete freak. Fucking hell,” she comments, glaring you down as you give her toe the occasional kiss. She’s visibly disgusted by the realization sinking in, but deep down, she knows you’re the exact stylist she’s been looking for. 

—————

And as if that’s not enough, she’s found a punishment perfectly suited for you. 

“Just so you know, you’re not getting paid after the stunt you pulled on me today,” says Ryujin, in reference to your accidental disappearance during the red carpet. You’re laid out on the floor, prone, your groans stifled by the living room carpet. Meanwhile, her feet tread all over your bare back at a steady tempo, leaving what could have easily been hickeys red marks and footprints on your skin.

“How long do I have left, Miss Shin?” you ask, voice almost indiscernible.

“About ten minutes,” she replies, looking out the hotel room window, watching dawn slowly break over the Parisian sky. “Don’t ever disappoint me again, do you understand? Freak.”

——————

(A/N: First commissioned work complete! Definitely exploring elements out of my specialty, did you expect her to peg OC? Fun dynamic to write, thank you for reading!)

(P.S. If you want to have your own story/idol written, you can send me a commission :D)

#smut #kpop smut #itzy #ryujin

[sweetiecutie]

AHHHH I NEED MORE KEEGAN IN MY LIFE PLEASE could you write some Keegan h/c?

Pairing: Keegan P Russ x fem! Reader

Warnings: just general stuff, language, bad driving, NSFW under the cut, mdni, spit kink

A/n: it’s not a lot, but it’s better than nothing😌 Keegan is such a bad bitch, he deserves more attention

• Starting off - I’m pretty sure that Keegan would want a civil partner; someone not related to military and actually as far as possible from all the war stuff. First of all, it’s to avoid having constant fear of losing you on the battlefield - it’s a highly dangerous job, sometimes coming out alive is not only a matter of skills, but also pure luck. Secondly, the amount of trauma and emotional damage Keegan carries is more than enough for two people - he needs someone grounded and, well, more stable, someone who will be able to give him a piece of blissful domestic life, faraway from all the constant war Keegan lives in.

• Always referring to you as his girl in conversations with other people or when introducing you to someone new. “That’s Y/n - my girl” “That’s for my girl, she likes pink” “My girl doesn’t like the smell of smoke so I’m trying to quit”. It’s also a way of showing everyone that you’re his - letting others know from the very beginning that you’re taken and no one better try anything with his precious girl, otherwise a few bones will be broken.

• Gives off annoying older brother vibes. He’ll always playfully nag you, and it’ll only become worse once you start dating. Placing stuff on the highest shelves just to watch you struggle to get it yourself, drawing some silly doodles on your notes, messing with your makeup that you spent nearly an hour organising neatly, punching your favourite plushie just to get a rise out of you. And of course, constant bickering! “Keegan, can you pass me that book?” - “Fuck no” *passes the book*. “Keegan, I want some sushi” - “Well shit, what am I supposed to do about that?” *already placing an order online on his phone*

• Another amazing driver here. Keegan has horrible road rage, hitting the car horn aggressively, yelling most intricate insults out the window at whoever that happened to piss him off. I also have a feeling the he drives really fast and reckless, teasing you whenever you ask him to go slower - so you better always buckle up. And yes, he definitely got in a few minor accidents - scratching or leaving indents on other car’s bumper.

NSFW here~*•.

• And while we’re speaking of driving - just imagine giving him a sloppy noisy head while being stuck in a long traffic. Keegan is seething with hot anger, rolling his eyes on other drivers, lack of nicotine adding to his distress. And here’s a sweet lovely you trying your best to make Keegan feel at least a tad bit better, soothing his booming annoyance with your silky tongue swirling around throbbing shaft, cheeks hollowing to provide stronger suction, allowing Keegan to set the pace. And it seemed to work wonders on him - his nape against the headrest of driver’s seat, pretty blue eyes half lidded, staring at the car ceiling, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard, feeling your throat wrapped around his cock.

• Oh, how nasty he is. Biggest spit kink ever - ordering to open your mouth nice and wide just to spit a thick globe of saliva in it, then closing your jaw and making sure that you swallow it. Will gladly let you spit in his mouth as well; loooves messy wet kisses - either during make out session or after you gave him head, slurping up your spit mixed with his cum from your lips and chin. Very often uses his spit as lube, or telling you to spit in his palm before spreading it all over his needy leaking cock, plunging it deep inside your warmth.

• A horndog. You never have to ask him if he’s in a right mood because yes, he is. He is always in the mood to fuck. Now, he always lets you know that it’s totally fine if you say no - Keegan will never pressure or guilt trap you into any kind of intimacy, no means no. You can always cuddle up together or do something fun like cooking, dancing or simply dorking around. But if your sexdrive happens to match his - oh boy, I’m sorry for your neighbours. Let’s just say - there’s hardly any surface in your flat that you didn’t fuck on.

• It’s nothing new, but this mug is cocky. Like, I don’t think he has unimaginably big dick - not small for sure, but not huge as well; but the way he works with it - a chef’s kiss. Keegan just knows how to angle his hips to massage that one spot within you, how you like your clit to be played with, how he quickly discovers and memorises all the sweetest spots of your body. “Aw, cumming already? I barely touched you, does it feel this good?” - he’d purr, curling three of his long fingers inside of your needy cunny, thumb flicking swollen clit while hot mouth sucks on perked up nipples.

• Daddy kink? Daddy kink😏

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Feedback is very important, give writers some love<3

#keegan p russ #cod keegan #keegan russ #call of duty keegan #keegan russ x reader #keegan x reader #keegan russ x you #keegan russ smut #cod mwf2 #cod x reader #cod smut #cod #cod x you #cod x y/n #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty writing #call of duty #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #call of duty smut #call of duty ghosts #call of duty headcanons

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

🎶🎻 let's see if this actually helps me find this later

WIBTA for marking up my friend's sheet music?

ok so I (15m) have a friend (17f) and we both play cello in the classical music ensemble at our school. we have both been playing cello for approx 7 years. we had very different musical upbringings: she learned to play cello in a class with a bunch of other kids, and from what I gather there were many other instruments and the teacher took kind of a hands-off approach, which is typical for the kind of elementary school she went to. I, on the other hand, learned through private lessons (which I don't think I'm better for, it's just different) and my teacher (who I still take piano and cello lessons from) is a little bit obsessive when it comes to correct technique and stuff. I care a little less about technique than my teacher, but I definitely developed quite a few of her habits: I always pay really close attention to what the sheet music tells me, especially dynamics and which direction my bow needs to go in, or how many notes I'm playing in a bow stroke. part of this is because that's what the composer would have wanted and also because when I started my teacher would make me mark everything, and I mean EVERYTHING in my sheet music. we're talking fingerings, bow markings, highlighting every chreschendo and decrescendo, putting the counting in for all of the rhythms and more. now I typically only mark super important things, like if I keep forgetting a note or something, and I rarely mark my cello sheet music in ensembles, though everyone has seen me mark my bass music, since I'm new to bass.

Recently, since it's about 2/3rds of the way through the school year and we have a good group, my ensemble has been playing more challenging stuff. the parts or more intricately layered and dynamics are a pretty big thing, especially for the cello section, since we basically have one line for half of a piece which is just to play some half notes that crescendo and decrescendo over and over. and it's like, all we do, like it's a pretty big part of the song. the issue is that my friend just kind of ignores the dynamic markings and bowings in the music and what the other cellists are doing (there's three of us, including me and her and she sits in between us) so she just kinda plays the piece at the same volume. the whole time. and it's written right there. and she's heard me play it solo without the ensemble before, so in theory she knows how to do it. and after seven years of playing the cello, you should have the bow control to play quietly.

now, this wouldn't annoy me so much if her ignorance wasn't a recurring thing. last year, we played aquarius with the jazz ensemble and we both really liked the piece. except we had this one part. we had to play a bunch of tied whole notes in the beginning. just two in a row and then we'd change bows. (if you don't play an instrument, a tied note is basically when the note is played over two measures, in this case we would play the same note fore eight beats, and then reverse the direction of our bow) now, I can hold my bow in one direction for eight beats. it's not fun or easy and I'd rather play a melody or bass line to begin with, but if you're playing quietly (like we were supposed to be) you can maintain a pretty steady pace for eight beats in one bow. my friend NEVER did this. she would just run her bow back and forth on the note until we moved on to the next and then do the same there. and I'm talking like she'd play maybe ten notes while we played one. which, obviously, through off the rhythm. we weren't as close last year and I didn't know she'd been playing as long as she had, so I ignored it. but, she kept doing it and she still does. I've confronted her about it multiple times, saying how it's like if you breathed half way through a note on a wind instrument, how it messes us up because her bow will go in a different direction than the other cellos and hit me in the elbow a lot, and how it makes us look weirdly messy. every time she just kind of says okay and walks off.

now, I think my friend could benefit from having her sheet music marked like my teacher used to make me, because clearly just mentioning it to her is not enough and as we move on to harder music it's making us look worse. so, wibta if I brought some extra pens and highlighters and reminded her to circle or highlight different dynamic, rhythmic and bowing notations if she doesn't play them the first few times?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[a-lilypad]

@jegulus-microfic | march 31: body hair | 876 words

regulus calls the fire station when a strange burn mark appears in his house and fireman james comes to investigate (cw: mentions of sex and someone nearly gets set on fire but doesn't get hurt)

Barty is laughing. Regulus is in the middle of a crisis and Barty has the nerve to laugh at him. He knows he must look ridiculous, pulling at his plaid pyjama bottoms, zipping and unzipping his ratty hoodie, and adjusting his hair using every reflective surface in his house, but how was he meant to know the local firemen had become hot? 

He’d called the fire station earlier in the day after finding a mysterious hole burned into his downstairs carpet. Stumbling downstairs in a desperate search for coffee at 7 am he’d spotted it from the corner of his eye. It was quite small and in an odd place, just in front of a cupboard he barely used, and it looked almost as if some acid had corroded his floor.

Regulus had hounded Barty, his best friend and current roommate, but Barty swore it wasn’t him. Though he didn’t quite believe him, it was too big to be a cigarette burn which did, annoyingly, put the blame on something else.

However, what that something is he still has no clue, and it’s been driving him a bit insane. He had sat in front of the hole cradling his massive mug of coffee with his chin resting on his knees just..glaring at it. For hours, until he’d been dragged away from it and forced onto the sofa instead.

The fire brigade had taken forever to get there, he’d thought they’d forgotten him and was about to phone them again (third time’s a charm) when the doorbell echoed and he jumped up, tripping over his feet in the rush to get to the door while flipping Barty off for laughing at his urgency. 

He’d yanked the door open, flushed and breathing heavier than normal and proceeded to immediately choke on his words because the man standing in his doorway was the fittest person he had ever had the pleasure of seeing.

Messy brown hair, big hazel eyes framed by gold wire, and soft rosy lips. His brain short-circuited and all he could think of was what those lips would look like wrapped around him. He was screwed.

Now the hot fireman (James, he’d learned), is on his hands and knees inspecting the floor, and Regulus is lost for words. He’s pretty sure he’s drooling actually. His arse….dear lord. You could end world hunger with it. Regulus wants nothing more than to dig his teeth into it. Maybe take a chunk out of it and bring it with him wherever he goes as a reminder that the world is a beautiful and wonderful place.

James chooses that exact moment to sit up and take off his jacket, revealing the sluttiest shirt he’s ever seen. This uniform should be fucking illegal. It’s so tight that Regulus can see every single curve, every dimple, every line of the man’s body, it barely fits him, he is bursting out of it, the material squeezing the top of his arms. He wonders how the seams haven't burst yet.

His arms. Wow.

They’re huge and covered in black ink, two full sleeves of intricate patterns and whenever he moves they flex, golden brown skin glinting in the light. He’s definitely drooling now. Barty has to lean over and shut his mouth for him. 

“So, James is it?” Barty says, smirking, and Regulus has never turned his head so fast, glaring at his soon-to-be ex-best friend, right eye twitching. He wouldn’t fucking dare…oh who was he kidding of course he would, he lives to make Regulus’ life a living hell. He should have kicked Barty out the minute James got here.

James hums in affirmation as he goes back to probing the hole in the carpet. Regulus wishes that was him. 

He can see Barty’s smug smile and his eyes twinkling and starts slowly approaching, moving into hitting distance. “You got a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend of course, there’s just no way a hot guy like you is singl-ow fuck!” he breaks off as Regulus elbows him sharply in the side while hissing at him to shut up.

James turns around with a cocked eyebrow, smiling, and lets out a chuckle, “Nope, no girlfriend,” then looks straight at Regulus, gazing deep into his soul as if he’s searching for something, “or boyfriend,” and he winks. HE WINKS. Regulus cannot handle this man he feels a bit faint.

As he flops down on the sofa he sees James stretching, his arms reaching above his head looking like some form of God, his shirt lifting and revealing a strip of soft skin and a line of thick black hair leading down and down and down…his eyes follow it, he’s unable to look away. Regulus loves a guy with body hair, but happy trails have always sent him crazy.

He picks up a pillow and holds it over his crotch hoping he’s being subtle, but by Barty’s sudden cackle, he guesses not so much. Although he doesn’t have to worry about it for long as James goes back to poking around, chuckling a bit under his breath until a huge fucking white spark bursts from his floor effectively stopping the laughter but also setting his carpet on fire.

Huh. That’s probably not a good sign.

#i wrote most of this in the middle of a church service #jegulus #regulus black #james potter #starchaser #marauders #marauders era #jegulus microfic #jegulus fanfiction #fireman james potter #james x regulus #dead gay wizards #sunseeker

[eldritch-spouse]

Lacai getting caught stealing the Queen's new panties and her forcing him to eat her pussy as a punishment??

[""Forcing him""- Oh no, the poor pervert. Fem reader.]

Lacai figures he could just be patient.

He really could afford to wait only a few minutes until you and King Vesper depart for this evening's festivities. Left vastly alone in the mansion with only his team of servants and the occasional toy roaming around, there'd be nothing to stop this sleazeball from dunking himself head first into the used laundry basket inside your bedchambers.

But that's not his goal.

Sure, he does want to keep pairs of your panties for himself. For his growing collection, his trophies, though it was never the driving reason for his actions. Lacai wants to get caught, he thrills in becoming sloppy, leaving traces, keeping you wondering who is doing such a disgusting thing.

The King probably already knows, if Lacai had to guess. But not you. It's taking a while for it to click in your head. Lacai supposes he's a bit mean for accusing some of the less subtle servants, taking advantage of the fact that he's the most dressed person in the mansion- Though it's more than a little fun to throw you off. There's playfulness in every imp, after all.

Still, knowing the risk, because of the risk, the fantasy of it all, Lacai is currently in the main bathroom. Digging through your laundry basket as expected. It was placed there specifically for your comfort, everyone knows the Lord of Lust walks everywhere he can bare as the day he was born- Save for the chains, of course.

You don't. Not yet at least. You still cling to the creature comforts and routines of the surface, like a safety blanket. Lacai knows it won't take that long before you give into the demonlord's temptations however, admiring Vesper for his patience as pink claws scrape off clothing items one by one, day by day. Point being, Lacai supposes he ought to make the most out of this adaptation period, before there are no more clothes to steal away at all...

The impcubus makes a cursory glance around the room, to the doorway, before stuffing wriggling gloved fingers into your used items. Naturally having a sharper sense of smell than humans, he's already being hit with all sorts of faint signals, mostly your natural scent and a hint of sweat. A womanly musk. Nothing out of sorts.

Lacai hums quietly as he searches, tail wagging, images rapidly forming in his mind. Once again, he defaults to picturing what you might do if you stumbled in on this, a scenario he has made and remade an obsessive amount of times. You're not a full on raging pervert yet, at least not openly -It's all a matter of inevitability here, the waiting game- So you're definitely going to punish him in some way or another.

Mmm punishment... Your punishment. His tail curls giddily.

Would you send him to the floor, put a heel to his chest, berate him for his depravity while making him kiss and lick wordless apologies up the length of your beautiful legs? Don't you know he can't help it? That he's only a lovelorn, desperate, debased vassal? A thrall to your every movement, dirty enough to sate himself with traces of you- Have you no pity, beneath that sugary smile, for your gross little servant?

Just as he starts getting into the zone of a specific scenario, something already stirring in his pants, Lacai snags something between his index and middle finger that has his eyes widening.

" Oh? "

The fantasy slips away, slinking into the creases between the tiles on the floor when Lacai extracts a remarkable pair of panties from the pile. The previous pairs he had fished are all but swiftly discarded, the apple of his eye now a very expensive-looking piece. Purple, featuring intricate and manually woven patterns on all sides, vaguely transparent as they swirl and dance on the skin of the wearer and featuring short frills on the sides.

Fucking jackpot!

The imp's breath catches.

He's seen this pair before on you. It's very very recent. In fact, the King gifted it to you when you started truly settling into your new life as the consort of Lust. Lacai knows because he saw this very pair on you once. Vesper was determined to spoil you extra hard that day, he wanted you to feel irresistible, and thus, your outfit had to reflect that. The imp will never forget the way you sauntered across the halls in those translucent pink robes, thin fabric melting into a beautiful lavender gradient. The head imp is unashamed to admit that he constantly tilted his head and lingered in certain places just to better see your delicious ass framed by those patterns. The way it rode up your hips and framed your pretty pussy was hypnotizing. Lacai wished he could have just whisked you away for a second, a moment for his eyes -And hopefully hands- Only, but the sovereign had your attention the whole day and his servant understood it wouldn't be wise to get in the way.

Lacai brings the cloth to his face, moaning in glee as traces of you tickle up his nostrils to his brain, fireworks set off, his pants suddenly a hindrance when his length wastes no time poking out its slit and tenting them. You've worn these recently, he can tell, humming at the high the cloth offers his depraved senses while his hand trails a path down his front, unceremoniously crammed down dark pants to fetch his cock, pump himself to the image of you leaving these out for him- The thought of you playing with yourself through the cloth and letting your wetness coat it before discarding it, knowing he's going to weasel his way to it eventually, makes him throb painfully.

The more he palms and squeezes at his own length, the less Lacai seems to care about anything around him, cursing under his breath as he considers simply blowing his load right then and there without so much as a quick escapade to more private settings no one's likely to find him in. A shiver charts its way down his spine, making his tail tense when he hunches with growing pleasure, eyes shut, his peak approaching embarrassingly fast for his type of fiend, and then-

" Bastard! "

The imp gasps hard enough to nearly inhale your panties in the process, choking, skeleton jumping out his skin as he swivels to face you.

It's not even that Lacai is ashamed. It's that he genuinely didn't hear you.

" So it was you this whole time?! "

The demon doesn't offer much of a reaction to your very evident rage, instead taking the time to study your new attire. Apparently, Vesper is ever closer to having you strut around stark naked, because the sparse red fabric crisscrossing your body in a manner much too reminiscent of shibari to be a mere coincidence can barely be considered clothing by any definition of the word.

Lacai gets distracted by the sight of your peeking nipples for long enough that you catch him off-guard yet again and viciously yank the panties off his hand. Ah, there goes his golden find.

While you evaluate the item, checking if he had done something to it, the servant can't stop the heated grin that tugs at his lips when he realizes he's getting exactly what he asked for- Caught red-handed. His tail rises in anticipation and Lacai licks his lips, still finding traces of your musk there. He's the picture of smooth arrogance when you glare back at him, which humorously only seems to make you boil more.

You're probably thinking about all the excuses he gave you, all the clever little misleading comments, adding two and two together right in front of him.

" You little- " You huff. " Are you even going to defend yourself, you sleazeball?! "

He throbs at the comment, visibly so, and you finally seem to register the hand that's still in his pants, and hasn't really stopped teasing him all this time. Fury and flustered shock war on your face, making the other all but tremble with delight.

" Mmn no. "

He had to fight the urge to laugh when you flinched at the nonchalant response. A silent pause passes where your hues crash against violet ones. And while any other concubus would have seen this as an aggressive challenge, brightened their eyes warningly, Lacai knows he can't meet his oblivious ruler's boldness. So, as a different way of defying you, he keeps stroking his cock, as if he didn't feel minimally threatened by your distaste. And he doesn't.

" Unbelievable! " You erupt. " I am- I'm your Queen! "

It's the first time Lacai has ever heard you refer to yourself with the correct title, causing his usual lidded gaze to actually widen in genuine soft happiness. You seem to taste and test the term on your own lips, trying to sound confident even when it's very clear the role still intimidates you.

He could shoot your bravado down with another disarming quip, but it might ruin the fun. The imp knows he has to tread a thin line between teasing and compliance, playing at your pace is the best option.

" Get on your knees. "

Oh. Oh?

The smirk he sported before turns into an outright grin, Lacai's cheeks painted a plum purple. The imp obeys far too fast, eagerly awaiting a new order, beaming at the possible perversions running through your mind. What will you have him do?

Instead, you roll your eyes at him. " Ugh, take your hand off your dick for two seconds. "

Easier said than done, you're such a massive fucking cocktease. It makes him stupid. Nevertheless, two gloved palms rest on his thighs politely, girth back to straining at its coverings.

Wordlessly, your arm lifts and an index finger points to the tiled floor in front of you. Lacai feels a wave of heat course through him while he crawls your way, slinking on the ground like the pathetic pervert he is at heart, head low, a curled tail betraying his enjoyment. His panting breaths condense on the floor.

" I don't want to hear a single smartass comment from you. " He hears more than sees a leg stretching forward. " Make it up to me. "

A quiet purring coo erupts from Lacai's throat, the smaller demon instantly letting greedy hands drift to your heel-clad foot. He grabs you like you're made of porcelain, pressing lingering kisses against bare skin, between the lace of your gorgeous heeled sandals, going as far as to boldly tug on the thin fabric from time to time. He trails a feverish and imploring path to your ankle, then scoots ever nearer to you as his journey up your leg truly begins. Because, as much as Lacai would like to spend all day kissing every part of you, he's clearly got a preference and it's right between your legs.

You shoot the imp a warning look when he tries to get close enough to rest his groin against your leg.

Unfortunately for you, it keeps slipping your mind that concubi aren't creatures whose eyes you can look into for too long without suffering consequences. There's a reason Lacai keeps seeking eye contact while he performs his "apologetic" display, a reason as to why his reverent kisses are becoming wetter. He may be an imp, but his influence is still felt in a human's body.

And you're starting to get decently wet.

When Lacai begins mouthing at the inside of your thigh, hands flirting up and down the length of your skin, eyes wantonly drifting to that scandalously sheer strip of cloth covering your pussy, he can no longer hold the mischief maker in him that begs to pipe up, to rile.

The imp leans up, moving to happily place a peck on your covered cunt when you grab his left horn and yank his head away.

" And who said you could do that, you audacious bastard? "

He gives you this drunken smile, full of adoration and desire, mirth glinting in those pretty eyes. " But my Queen, your need calls to me. I only want to please you. "

" My nee- "

" You're wet enough to taste. "

There. The shock that flashes through your face like you've just been slapped. Such short memory you have. Maybe you're under the impression only King Vesper can scent your arousal... Wrong. So very wrong. Every time you pass by a servant with desire in your heart, all of them get a pulse, an alarm- You're exigent in your lusts.

Another stare down ensues, and what a wonderful view it is to have you looming over him, hopelessly turned on yet disdainful, forever trapped between those two states, a visage of turmoil and begrudging adaptation- Already too tempted and ruined to return to the person you once were, but unable to fully accept it either. The sovereign should demand a painting of you with this exact expression, in Lacai's humble opinion.

" How dare you. "

It wasn't even a question.

The impcubus blinks lazily.

After far too long being restlessly still, your index -Such long and beautiful nails you're sporting today, he hopes you puncture him with them- Hurriedly swipes that velvet cloth aside, baring to the servant your need. Slick, plump, he can almost hear your heartbeat there as blood flow increases in the area.

" Fix your mess, you animal. "

And even if you hiss it at Lacai like it's some sort of dreadful punishment, the two of you know so much better already. You're practically doing him a favor, without outright admitting that perhaps it turns you on that he was the underwear thief all along.

" Of course, my Lady. " Looking at his face or not, you can hear the grin in those words.

Lacai doesn't take off his gloves, you're starting to think it might be his fetish, but it would also be lying to say that the sensation of such expensive spandex spreading your lips isn't somewhat exotic. His fingers are delicate but explorative, tracing the length of your entrance and nudging your clit, slow, deliberately too light to give you any real stimulus.

Even now, he has the nerve to test your patience.

Nearly growling at the head imp, you grab his onyx hair and make sure to glue his mouth to your cunt. He moans, giggling hornily.

" Make this quick. "

Who is he to deny a direct order from his superior?

Lacai moves with a fury, the depths of his yearning for you -Brewing from the first day- Unearthed viciously as he latches onto you without reservation. Oh he will make it fast, fast enough that you won't even have time to beg him for more before you're convulsing atop him.

The imp has to keep you steady with handfuls of your ass, taking the opportunity to encourage you to grind on his face when you're finally able to find your footing after the initial shock. In the back of his mind, he really hopes you can handle cumming in heels without tripping or breaking something.

Between the sucking of your poor clit, rolled by his tongue like a pearl and the shameless lapping of your hole, you can only gasp and twitch when he quickly manages to stuff most of his tongue inside you. Your nails claw against his scalp and Lacai's spine arches when you tip your head back to moan throatily, the type of sound he loves hearing from Vesper's throne while he's working nearby, but for him this time.

No words of praise are spared to him when you grunt and twist your hand on his scalp, forcing the demon's head to twist back uncomfortably just so he can shove even more of his drooling tongue up your pussy, his chin caked in your slick and the noises of him mercilessly drilling into you ringing out grossly.

The shuddering whines you let out have Lacai heating like a furnace, so he waits patiently until you start truly fucking his face with harsh rolls of your lush hips before letting one of his hands fall to the front of his pants, eagerly shoving everything out of the way to offer his neglected length some merciful attention. As soon as he starts moaning and panting, you shake your head.

" No- " You rush between heavy breaths. " No, you're not allowed! Put your hands away. "

He does. And you're smart enough to voice an addendum as soon as another appendage begins to move.

" Cheeky fuck- Hhn, no tail either. "

The imp is proud of you for thinking that far ahead. Leave it to a concubus to get creative with their restrictions. He makes a theatrical show of whimpering against your pulsing cunt, though never slows his movement, even as you start rhythmically clenching on him. The taste of you directly is so much more than he could ever hope to gleam with just used panties. He can understand why Vesper will eat you out ravenously, why he's constantly trying to keep your juicy pussy stuffed. The imp is drooling like a fucking mutt and he cares none even when a mix of his aphrodisiac saliva and your wetness drip down his face, tainting his collar.

" Y- You don't deserve this. "

Oh he really doesn't, but it's sweet of you to offer anyway.

Lacai makes his gratitude known by thrusting his whole face harder against you, mimicking what he'd really like to do in that moment, neglected dick throbbing pitifully as he tries to phantom the sensation of your insides around him. His tail might not be used for his pleasure under your decree, but he can still flirt it around the tight ring of your asshole, feeling the way you jolt in response.

When the servant senses you tightening and coiling in an approaching climax, he makes sure to look right into your eyes, not wanting to miss those gorgeous faces you make for a single second. Your pupils dilate and your mouth parts, this series of rushed cries escaping you as your sweet complexion twists once more to a depraved one befitting of your station as Queen of carnality.

In his awe, Lacai falters only for a fraction of a moment before making sure to do his job properly and milking every drop of your pleasure out, enjoying the good soaking you cover him in and sucking your oversensitive button even as you spasm and tremble with too much stimulus at once. White gloves fix your legs in place when your balance starts to falter and Lacai purrs with delight while you ride those last embers of pleasure on his debased complexion.

He doesn't want to wash his face ever again. Maybe he'll let one of the other imps lick your cum off him, whoever's lucky enough to catch him first...

The impcubus watches adoringly, ever still and obedient, while you rest idly on him, content to stay like this the whole day. Eventually, your tense grip on his hair alleviates, and you pet him quietly before shakily unmounting his face- The bottom of it glossy and viscous with the evidence of your enjoyment. Your "punishment".

Although Lacai looks ever smug and self-satisfied, the way his shoulders hunch and his thighs flex betrays reality, that he's bursting to get himself off already. That much you can see.

" Was my humble apology appropriate enough for you, my Queen? Or should I try harder? "

The soft smile on your face turns into a frown and he titters inwardly.

" Ugh, you're a lot more tolerable when your mouth is put to use. "

Fuck, it's like you're after his heart with those comments. The sudden twinkle in your eyes thrills him even more.

" As a matter of fact- " You suddenly seem to recall the panties bundled into a tight ball between your digits.

Unwrapping the fabric, you smile almost nefariously as you lean to harshly press it against Lacai's face, almost grinding it on him. He hasn't been this turned on in a long while.

" There. Finish yourself off. "

That dismissive tone should have brought an inkling of shame to Lacai, but it flew right over his head and horns.

The demon muffles a heated "Thank you" against the fabric, eyes rolling while he immediately, finally drops both hands to his cock.

Even in his own selfish pursuit of euphoria, the imp makes sure to spread his legs and ride his sweater up, giving you an unobstructed view of the lurid motions he makes. Hoping you realize that it's far from the first time that he's fucked his own fist and hands to the thought of you, the sight, the smell. Oh, if only you were just a little bit more attentive to your surroundings, you would have caught the numberless times Lacai got off just around the corner, in the same room as you, quietly.

You seem to appreciate the little degenerate show, this pleasantly amused expression framing your pretty features, eyes drifting from his glazed eyes to the outline of his filthy tongue cleaning your panties and the hump of his legs into his own grasp. It definitely doesn't take much for the impcubus to reach his peak, having been teasing himself since before you showed up.

Lacai makes sure you're watching him intently when he curls, holding his breath before belting out a pathetic noise that vibrates your palm and staining the floor with the surprising suddenness of his own trembling orgasm. He's too busy trying to prolong the high to notice the fact the one stray shot stains your foot, to which you grimace faintly, observing him idly while righting your outfit.

The cloth is finally removed from Lacai's face. " Thank you. " He speaks properly, sighing, cleaning his own lips and cheeks.

You're about to reply, when hurried heavy footsteps ring outside, giving you only enough time to turn before two polite knocks are heard.

" Vixen? Are you alright? " The King's voice sounds mildly confused.

The doors part and he pokes his head inside, bright wide eyes searching for you, then quickly taking in the picturesque state his Queen and main servant are in. A smile full of genuine adoration graces his dark lips as he realizes what you were both up to, though his expression shifts rapidly to something more serious.

" Come, my Lady. You can play with him more later, we have places to be and we're already getting late. "

Nodding bashfully, you fix your hair quickly while Vesper turns his attention to Lacai with a disappointed expression, the infernal gold on him clinking at every movement of his head tendril.

" Lacai my dear, I'd encourage your fuckery any other day, but I did warn you we would be busy today. Did I not? "

Said imp, covers himself half-heartedly. " I- I understand, forgive me S- "

Right as he's about to finish the sentence, you quickly shove those cute purple panties in his mouth, giggling and petting the gagged servant's already messy hair when he gawks.

" It's fine. " You wink, making the demonlord laugh loudly at your antics. " But if I find another pair of panties missing, I want you to actually punish him. "

Lacai watches you clean your foot on his pants and follow Vesper outside, the King's reply making him gulp dryly.

" Oh, I do promise. "

#Lacai oc #Vesper oc #demon oc #monster oc #terato #terato tag #monsterfucker #monster x human #monster boyfriend #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia #not sfw #minors dni

[spaghettiwench]

since @thedonutdeliverygirl and @jesslockwood were asking artists to do some lockwood and co tattoo designs I thought I'd finally draw the trios rapiers! Its an idea that's been knocking around my head forever so:

lets break it down!

First up is Lucy's rapier! I wanted the design to reflect a traditional fencing rapier. Very utilitarian and heavy hitting since she's the type of fighter who banks more on brute strength then technique.

Second is Georges rapier! I wanted this sword to reflect more historical references of rapiers (I did the smallest google search so if it's inaccurate my bad) because he's definitely the type of guy to commission something historically accurate.

Last but definitely not least is Lockwoods rapier! He's absolutely the kind of guy to have a very intricate and elegant weapon. The cage around the hilt being use to trap an opponent's blade and disarm them, he very much relies of technique rather then brute force.

Might do more of these little tattoo designs later if i'm feeling it ;) who knows!!

#i believe in weapons reflecting their weilder #extension of themselves and all #screw zodiac signs what does your sword look like #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #save lockwood and co #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood #george casper karim #george cubbins #the whispering skull #the empty grave #the hollow boy #the creeping shadow #the screaming staircase #lockwood and co fanart #swmakes

[kazutora-kurokawa]

Hi there! Could I please request some hcs with Tenjiku? Where reader has like this yk2 grunge/alt OR the goth style of clothing if ykwim? And, because of this style reader has, they draw a lot of attention to themselves and because they are pretty too ofc, hehe😈

It's like the exact opposite to the hyper feminine, pink coquette style!reader you did recently on another hcs. I hope you understood what I meant because english is not my first language... 🤧🫶🫶

Tenjiku x Y2K Grunge!Reader

♡ SFW, suggestive, fem reader, fluff, jealousy, flirting, reader gets hit on a lot, reader attracts attention ♡

note: thanks for requesting anon and don't worry I understood ya perfectly 🩷

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Izana

🎴 Gets you a pair of earrings that match his, he needs everyone to know you're together

🎴 Super possessive over you and will absolutely roundhouse kick the shit out of someone if they flirt with you

🎴 Does your makeup for you, probably steals your boots too because they make him look taller

Kakucho

🩷 A fan of all of your outfits, thinks your style is very chill and fits you well

🩷 Especially loves when you wear baggy clothes because he thinks you're prettiest when you're comfy

🩷 Won't threaten anybody if they look at you, but definitely gives them a polite warning look (he deadass gives them death stares but he swears he didn't)

Ran

💜 Always threatening people in public for looking at you (he can't blame them though because he be looking too)

💜 Makes jokes about bondage when he sees you decked out in more than one belt

💜 Matches jewelry with you and really wants to get matching tattoos

Rindou

🩵 Doesn't understand why you drown yourself in accessories but he can't deny it's cute

🩵 Loves when you wear skirts, especially denim ones with intricate stitching

🩵 Gives people side eyes when they look at you, he knows you're beautiful but he also knows that they see his damn arm around your waist

Mucho

🔷 Loves when you wear oversized t-shirts, it reminds him of how cute and tiny you are, he'll even offer up his own shirts for you to wear

🔷 Won't hesitate to rock someone in their jaw for looking at you for too long

🔷 Buys you a bunch of jewelry and chains for you to hook on your pants, he got you dripped tf out for real

Mochi

🍡 Obsessed with the fishnets that you wear, whether it be stockings or a shirt, he's here for it

🍡 Puts people in headlocks for hitting on you and only lets go when you tell him to

🍡 Loves how you look in a crop top, he thinks your tummy looks cute (he pinches you nonstop too)

Shion

🖤 Y'all are that one hot grunge couple honestly, he's in love with the way you dress and wants to match constantly

🖤 Makes you walk ahead of him when you're out so you don't see him beating the shit out of somebody for looking at you

🖤 He especially loves the big boots you wear, just a normal amount though he totally doesn't want you to step on him or anything weird like that

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Taglist

@arlerts-angel @i-literally-cant-with-this @trevengersprincess @giugiette @katkusuo @happy-trenchcoated-impala @drunkcheesecake @darkstarlight82 @reiners-milkbiddies

#tokyo revengers fluff #tokyo revengers headcanons #tokyo revengers x reader #izana x reader #kakucho x reader #ran x reader #rindou x reader #mochi x reader #mucho x reader #shion x reader #unrelated but every time I think of pants chains I think of Nagito from Danganronpa lol 😭

[gubbles-owo]

For the tail rating: Asbestos (arknights), Ho'oleyak (arknights) and W (arknights)

HEAVY HITTERS RIGHT AWAY, HUH??

okay, so like. i want to be fair, right? i'm less interested in ranking tails *against* each other so much as I am in appreciating the variety of them. but like. if i had to choose the best tail in arknights. IF WE'RE ALL BEING HONEST HERE,,, yeahhh Asbestie would win this one absolutely no fucking contest. It's long. It's got volume. It's dexterous. It's WET. if you try getting your grubby little paws on the thing she will bear no hesitation in kicking your fucking teeth in for even thinking about it, so on top of all these amazing qualities it is also FORBIDDEN. lord knows there is only one person on terra who knows how it tastes, and I bet she's addicted to it. Asbestos tail rating: i need to choke on it Next up is- wait oh my fucking god jesus fuck. ign christ holy shit.

sorry to be such a lesbian but. god. fuck. focus here gubby. okay like i said i'm not really ranking tails against one another here, but ho'ol would certainly give asbestos a run for her money. it definitely would win out in the length department, because christ look at this thing

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh it's long as fuck. it's swift and silent, imbued with terrible strength. in her spoken voicelines she DIRECTLY references the doctor (u) choking on her tail. not from her tail or otherwise implying some kind of choke-hold, nonono. ON. this thing is going down your fucking throat and you are going to like it. ...i wonder what it tastes like. admittedly i did not finish lone trail before the event closed, but even from what i saw, the written descriptions of ho'ol's tail. some lucky tail enthusiast had a field day describing how her tail moves about in detail so intricate i can only describe it as fetishistic. and that is a COMPLIMENT goddammit. if this tail does nothing for you then i am sorry bb but there's no saving you. Ho'olheyak tail rating: i need to choke on it. and i suppose with that it's time to bring things back down to earth, because, okay if i'm being honest w's tail is. fine? but like. man given the previous two this just doesn't hit the same way...

The barbed shape is kinda neat, but in general this thing is pretttttty thin. If you know me at all then you know where i stand on the whole thin vs. phat tail debate, so I can't say W's tail impresses me all that much. Very thin, but very light and I imagine pretty quick. I wonder how sharp the end of that thing really is, but I'd guess that's it's likely safe to touch. I'm still in chapter 6 and admittedly don't know much about W as a character yet, but I imagine she'd either cause petty mischief with it in some way or alternatively get all embarrassed pissed if it's accidentally touched. I wonder what it tastes like. W tail rating: i am probably going to step on it (by accident)

#hi this took me over an hour to write #and i have none regrets #...but i forgot to take sleep meds wHOOPSIE #gubbles' official tail ratings #asbestos arknights #ho'olheyak #w #arknights

[howtofightwrite]

perhaps an odd/specific question, but if a character got shot through the hand at very close range without access to medical care (apocalypse) how serious would that injury be? would it be possible to bandage/treat it without medical knowledge?

So, there's a couple factors here that could have a meaningful impact. However, on the question of how serious, this depends on your definition. If you're asking, “is this life threatening?” The answer is yes, but probably not for the reason you're thinking of. If you're asking, “will this cause significant changes to what the character can do,” then, again, the answer is yes.

The chances of bleeding to death from a gunshot wound to the hand aren't especially high, if the wound is properly bandaged, and the victim can stop bleeding. That last part isn't guaranteed, but unless there's some contributing factor (like a history of alcoholism), if they can stop the bleeding, that won't be what kills them.

What might kill them is bacterial infection. Contrary to popular belief (and, even contrary to what I've said in the past), bullets do not burn hot enough to sterilize the bullet. Meaning the bullet can be a vector for bacterial infection (of course, the bandage, and any debris forced into the body by the gunshot, are more likely to become vectors.) In a post-apocalyptic setting, without access to medical treatment, a bacterial infection can absolutely kill you.

Of course, improper bandage hygiene can also result in an infection, days after the original gunshot wound occurred. In a post-apocalyptic environment, you really do not want to ignore open wounds.

On the non-lethal side of the question, they're never going to be able to use that hand again. At least, it's not going to be the same, ever again. How bad it is will depend on what they were hit with. But, in most circumstances, a gunshot to the hand will break bones in the hand. In many cases the bullet can even eject bone fragments from the hand.

Without medical treatment, broken bones in the palm of the hand can permanently impair its use, but when you're ejecting critical portions of the hand's structure, yeah, that's not going to work right without those bits. When you look at most of your skeletal structure, your bones basically create a kind of intricate pulley system. Depending on what's damaged, destroyed, or ejected, that might mean that some fingers are still functional, or it could create a situation where they're unable to use their fingers at all. In some cases (such as with a shotgun), you might even eject enough material that the hand itself is completely unsalvageable.

So, the short version is, it might not kill your character, but that hand is going to be very seriously messed up, and it will probably, permanently change their life, and might still kill them later.

-Starke

This blog is supported through Patreon. Patrons get access to new posts three days early, and direct access to us through Discord. If you’re already a Patron, thank you. If you’d like to support us, please consider becoming a Patron.

#writing reference #writing advice #writing tips #how to fight write #starke answers #starke is not a real doctor

[jeongin-lvr]

ᵎ　🍶　⊹ pink little skirt, s. changbin

ᝰ✧ 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀！ 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾，𝗌𝗎𝖻！𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋， 𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗅 ＆ 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗃𝗈𝖻， 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗑 （𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗍），𝖼𝖺𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝗑／𝗁𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗑，𝗉𝗎𝖻𝗅𝗂𝖼 𝗌𝖾𝗑／𝖴𝖭𝖤𝖣𝖨𝖳𝖤𝖣

[ 3697 words ] ✩ [ do not repost ] ✩ [ 𝗆．𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 ]

𝗜 𝗥𝗔𝗡 my hands down the smooth moire fabric of my pink skirt, admiring in the mirror as the creases shifted flush against my skin. The cloth was thin, cottony and hugged my curves deliciously. I even had to admit, this skirt was among my favorites even though it was so new. So new, in fact, that the shipping package was sitting crinkled and ripped open on the bed behind me.

I reveled in the silky miniskirt for a moment longer before turning to put on the rest of my outfit. And while I slipped on a lace-ridden white top, all my mind wandered to was my boyfriend.

How he always said he likes skirts; especially ones like these. How he liked to watch it ride up my thighs when I did anything- bend over, sit, anything. And even when I had called him a pervert and hit his shoulder playfully, he defended himself with a similar expression.

I flattened my top against my stomach and chest, my eyes falling to the skirt again. Oh, he'd definitely like this one. And I felt my heart flutter as my mindless little fantasies began to tramp across my mind teasingly.

Changbin had no self control, all the other times before- when I wasn't aware of his tendencies -I'd wear a simple skirt, walk around the house like it was nothing. Oh, but it was something to him. Changbin had a thing for those little skirts, his favorite being any miniskirt I had. He'd somehow end up throwing me around the couch edge or maybe on the kitchen countertop, or maybe if we were in public, he'd hide us away somewhere and fuck me in whatever little skirt I chose to wear that day.

Wearing skirts around him was a hazard, a risk. But, god, it was such a thrill. To see him all worked up, eyes glued to my bare thighs and barely covered ass; he was well aware by now that I were teasing him, tempting him with such atrociously short clothes, but he had no complaints.

I decided to touch up my lipgloss in the mirror, gliding the applicator across my lips in a swift motion a few times before I was satisfied. I checked myself out once more, then grinned with approval, grabbing my purse and heading to the living room where my boyfriend was, patiently waiting for me since I had kicked him out of the bedroom we shared.

His head was low on his phone, back facing me, broad shoulders covered by a simple black button down that was mouth-wateringly right around his arms and chest; maybe he was doing a bit of teasing as well.

"Hey, baby," I bent down to his shoulders, nuzzling my head in his neck and wrapping my arms around him, making sure to sensually drag my finger across his chest in the most alluring way.

The male hummed and looked up, unable to see my little skirt from where he sat, but he smiled. His eyes glossed around my face, admiring the light makeup and the way my hair softly framed my skin, "Hey, beautiful. You ready?"

I nodded, stepping away from behind the couch and tiptoeing to the front, revealing my tiny little skirt, the lace of my socks squeezing the fat of my thighs effortlessly; my bag dropping to beside him, but he didn't really notice.

His big brown eyes instantly fell to my thighs, loving the sight as my skirt rolled up more and more with every cautious step.

"Damn," He mumbled, my face feigning innocence as I draped my legs across his body, simply rustling with his delicate strands of hair. My fingers traced intricate lines down the back of his neck, his eyes on mine but I refused to meet them, opting to smile as I played with his hair.

I adjusted my body on his lap, planting my ass right on his growing erection, a soft one. Not too obvious, but I took note of it with a smirk.

Teasing was exhilarating.

Changbin's hands lowered to my ass, squeezing with a shaky breathe. His deep chocolate irises glancing across my entire body smoothly, taking every inch of me in his hands. I tilted my head, doe eyes refusing to break contact with his, lips glossy and lashes fluttering.

"You okay, Binnie?" I asked, hiding my satisfied smile when I felt his cock twitch below me, a slight wince from the boy as I adjusted myself once again. Changbin let his gaze fall to my thighs, making it blatantly obvious to what he was looking at. Licking his lips, he watched the thin fabric of my skirt ride up my thighs, little by little, he caught a glimpse of his favorite panties on me; white lace with a little bow in the front, all presented right in front of him like a sweet present.

The male bit his lip, flickering his eyes back up into mine, "Do you know what you're doing to me?" Genuinely unsure, his hands snaking around my waist tightly, arching my back until it wouldn't budge anymore.

"What do you mean?" I asked with Bambi eyes, pursing my lips. The boy groaned, toying with the seamless edge of my skirt, fingers rolling the fine material. His hands refused to stop fidgeting, suddenly neediness was making everything around him a blur except for the girl presented right in front of him.

"Nevermind," He uttered, patting my hips, "You look very pretty today." He complimented, adorable smile lingering on his lips, sparkle twinkling in his eyes.

I sighed with satisfaction. Oh, how fun today was gonna be. I got up from his lap, ushering him forward too, "Okay, okay. No more sweet talk. Let's go!"

The boy whined, following close behind, begging for his arousal to fade.

Changbin held the shopping cart, watching as I stepped in front of him, eyeing the way my skirt was rise and fall. The way the fabric crinkled across my curves; when I'd bend over and my skirt was would, revealing that delicious pair of panties, the way they hugged my cunt. Changbin had no idea if I was purposefully teasing him this way, yet he had no idea how to look away. It was too much.

"Y/n, let's go," Changbin urged, eyes falling on mine. I turned around, feigning confusion as the way looked at em, helpless. He walked awkwardly, waddling with his lower abdomen pressing against the cart.

"Why?" I asked, purely wanting to test him more, how far could I push it before I got punished. Not that that would be a bad thing either. My hands trailed across the shelf, propping myself up as I looked him dead in the eye.

The male approached me, leaving the cart behind, staring down at me with pleading eyes. Absolutely infatuated, desperate, in need of my assistance. Changbin took my hand from the shelf, warm fingers dragging it across his bulge, hot and ready. I gasped, clicking my tongue teasingly, lips glistening with lipgloss.

"Now let's go," I looked back up at him, watching his pretty lips take in a breathe.

I smiled, wrapping my arms around his shoulder while swaying slightly, "We just need to grab a few more things."

Changbin groaned, following me as I stepped off. A few things wasn't too bad, but every isle, every turn through the store felt dizzying to the poor male. The sickening smell of the tile cleaner throughout the shop was making his head hurt, his erection never leaving him- causing him to stand in the most uncomfortable way. Changbin groaned with discontent around every isle, catching onto the fact that I was just teasing him now.

Finally, we stepped out of the store, his arms full of groceries he insisted on carrying. He hadn't spoke much, too focused on the way his dick throbbed desperately.

Once we got in the car, the atmosphere was thick with sexual imposition, but I just sweetly smiled at the man, my fingers adjusting the hem of my skirt. Silence, he closed his car door, ignoring the engine quickly, barely even checking for passing cars before reversing out of the stall. I watch silently, taking notice of the bulge practically begging for me beneath the thin layer of his jeans.

On the freeway, the car drove quickly, clearly he just wanted to get home so I could take care of what I'd started, but something in my heart fluttered. My mind sparking up an idea that'd surely get me in a bit of trouble.

I leaned across the seats, palming his cock through the rough material of his denim jeans; earning a surprised grunt from the man above me. However, he didn't stop me, which let me press forward. I took my delicate hands and rubbed him harder, his chest beginning to heave up and down with every simple touch of my bare hand.

"What are you doing?" Changbin asked precariously, eyes on the road but his mind beginning to feel fuzzy, drunk off my touch.

I laid my lips on his cock, kissing through the fabric, my pointer and middle finger prodding at the button to come undone. Feeling bold enough to procure his manhood beneath the fabric.

If the air was suffocating before, I was being asphyxiated now. Everything felt dangerous, but I didn't stop. I didn't even falter after unzipping the opening of his jeans, boxers tenting up instantly, I didn't hesitate to reach tenderly into the plaid fabric to grab his cock, hot and wet already.

I readjusted my position, unbuckling my seatbelt only to go back to the task at hand. My hand holding the base of his cock, awe in my eyes. The girth of it, the purple hues and veins lining the sides, the upright position it was in, all due to my little skirt he liked so much.

"Baby," He breathed out, breath fanning my face as I looked up at him, Bambi eyes wide, lashes fluttering innocently.

"Yes?"

"What are you doing?" He was speaking through his teeth, eyes never leaving the road before him.

"Helping you out?" I giggled, flickering my eyes back to his cock, my thumb pressing gently into the slit, collecting the oozing nectar that was addicting to me. The salty flavor reaping havoc on my tongue, making my cunt throb over nothing.

He grunted, finally removing a hand from the steering wheel, still not looking at me, "You... hurry up, then," Changbin adjusted his seat, slightly leaning back but still focusing on the road. Tiny breathless groans leaving his lips as I dragged my thumb over his tip, swift and repeating motions.

"5 minutes till home," He spoke just as I opened my mouth, ready to take him in my lips, "Let's see if you can make me cum, hm?"

"5 minutes?" I spoke in a mumble, confidence slightly faltering. Changbin knew how to hold his climax, he preferred not to, but he's done it tons of times before. Edging me on while simultaneously dragging on the arrival of his own orgasm; never letting me see how fucking hot it was. It made my tummy spin, my cunt helplessly wet, panties turning grey from the dampness of my cunt.

"What's wrong? You were so confident earlier," Changbin's voice low as he spoke, almost in a scolding manner. His dark eyes lingering forward, I could barely see him blink, "Dressing in that slutty outfit. I'm not dumb, baby. You wanted all the attention, hm? Well, go on, let's see how good your mouth really is."

My breathing hitched, mouth salivating. God, he was so hot! I blinked back down, cheeks dusting with blush. I quickly adjusted my hair out of my face and looked down at his cock.

Spitting on it, lubing it up more than it already was, my eyes watching it twitch in my hand, yet not a single moan from the man above.

"Hurry up now," Changbin teased, black button down straining around his biceps, chest rising and falling with every movement I made, "4 minutes."

I hastily took his cock in my mouth, wasting no more time than I already had. The bits I couldn't fit were preoccupied with my hand, jerking him off with quick flicks to match the hasty movement of my mouth.

The car was silent apart from the wet noises from my mouth, slurping sounds and squelches that's sounded pornographic. Time seemed both too fast and too slow all at once. Every now and again a shaky breathe was let out by Changbin's pretty lips, but never more than that. Frustrating to a new level, my thighs squeezing tight from how erotic it all felt.

Sucking my boyfriend off mid drive, minutes away from home because I was too desperate for a taste. Disguising my slutty behavior with the guise of "helping him out" when in reality it was all to fuel my own sick fantasies.

And he played right along, already knowing as soon as we were home he'd have his way with me.

I thought of all the ways he would make me take him, on the kitchen island, legs wide while he fucked me raw; maybe as soon as we'd get in the house he'd push me against the door and fuck me there, not caring if anyone came by or knocked. My mind wandered, lips and wrist doing all the work while he drove smoothly.

"Hmm, that all you got?" Changbin chuckled, making that familiar turn into the driveway of our house. Missed opportunity, we were home and I hadn't garnered a single bit of cum from the man. Oh, he was good.

"You'd think someone so fucking hot would know how to use her mouth," He shrugged, shoving my shoulders back until I was off his unclothed cock, sprung free and glistening in sweat, red from my lips. My cheeks sore, jaw hinges burning and throat beginning to scathe with a burning sensation.

"Bin..." I pouted, wiping the bit of dribble from my lips off my chin, nervously pulling at the front of my skirt. I plopped back into my chair, whiny and red with blush.

He didn't respond, instead looking out the window, putting the car in park effortlessly before opening his door. In one smooth motion he slipped his cock away, getting out of his seat all at once. For a second I was confused, eyes watching as he wandered through the dusk, the night air around us darkening the surrounding lots beside our home.

Changbin finally finished whatever he was doing, then quickly came to my car side, opening the door and grabbing my wrist.

"What-?"

"On the hood," Changbin demanded, "Now, pretty girl. Gonna show you how to properly fuck." He was playing around, his eyes lidded and dusted with a glossy haze of lust. The air was cool, making me shiver, the engine still hot from running earlier. He was dead serious.

I felt my cunt throb, the exhilaration of being outside, though dark, just openly for anyone to see? For some reason my head was spinning and my cunt was the neediest it's been all day.

I got on the car, my bare ass meeting the warmth of the hood of the car, skirt lifting already without any altering needed, my panties freely visible to anyone looking.

Though it was dark, it wasn't 100% pitch black. Instead, just the right amount of purple-red that made the sky look like a painting; moonlight rising higher and higher, stars blinking and swirling like an oily work of art. Nothing but the sound of wind whistling and trees rustling to fill the air, our breathed barely audible in the sleepless void of the night.

His fingers met my bare thigh, pulling my thighs wide open, even wider than they already were, hands gliding up and down my plush skin.

"Bin, what if someone sees?"

He ignored my question, "God this skirts been driving me wild all day. Everyone was staring at you, you're such a fucking whore. My whore. Yeah?" Clandestine words for secretive touches, fingers gliding smoothly over my drenched panties, the thin lace not holding anything in. One touch had me shivering, moaning with a wide O shaped mouth.

"Speak."

"Y-yes, Binnie," I moaned, his thick fingers tugging the delicate fabric to the side, not even bothering to take them off or lift my skirt. That was part of the appeal, the presence of that skirt was what was making this whole ordeal even happen. Mixed with the cold air directly blowing on my cunt, I couldn't stand the torturous foreplay.

He went to rub my clit, fingers already soaked in my leaky liquid, but my hand caught his wrist, "Just put it in. Please, just need your big cock to fill me up..."

"Aw, my little slut wants me so soon?" Changbin tilted his head, ghosting my lips and breathing sensually down my face. Quickly, he collided his lips with mine, breathless groans deepening the moment, deepening the restless kiss. Lips mending together, kneading our pink mouths like dough. Skin hot, libido running high.

"Please?" I whimpered in the kiss, his thumb slowly rubbing me in figure eights.

"Can't say no," Changbin moaned, grabbing his cock out of his right pants; guiding his dick to my cunt, watching with an intense stare.

He slipped the tip in, the thickness of him stretching me out making my mind spin; lowly little whimpers filling the abnormally quiet night air, the moon being the only witness to our secret rendezvous. My hands grabbed his shoulders, nails digging into his already red tinted skin. Slowly, little inch by little inch, he pushed himself inside of me, single wet slap of our bodies colliding being the only proof of the connection.

I glanced down, high on risk. High on the way I felt so indescribably full. His cock generously prodding at my sweet spot, every little movement making me shiver and shake.

"Yeah, you took it so well. Good little slut," He groaned, grabbing my hips, one hand on my jaw as he slipped one fingers onto my tongue. Pressing into it while rocking back, nearly emptying me only to fill me up again. And then again, and again. And effortless motion that had me unwinding bit by bit, moans slurred by the way his fingers filled my jaw.

The only conducive outcome being that I needed to cum, I needed the sweet ecstasy of his cum to fill me up while we were out in the open, daringly on the verge of being caught in every way. His pretty cock pumping into me while I couldn't hold back or resist my own mewls of validation. Gripping onto his black top for dear life as he used me to his liking.

"You're so... fucking tight," He moaned, probably louder than intended but he didn't seem to care, "So warm. God, you take it so good."

I clasped onto his bicep, my hands too small to wrap around his well built arms; so I clamped my nails down, maybe a little too hard as I heard him since and hiss from the contact, never faltering his thrusts into me. Over and over he'd hit the little gummy bit deep within me, the angle of the car making it perfectly available to reach.

"Bin- right there, oh fuck!" I yelped against his fingers, drool salivating down my chin, leaking to my neck. My head falling back and forth with every detrimental thrust he pushed into me.

"Such a good slut," Changbin groaned, jamming his fingers farther down my throat, pushing far enough until I gagged, causing burning tears to fill me eyes, one after the other began to slip down my throat; gags and slapping filling the air, lewd sounds from just us.

Maybe I would've cared more about getting caught if I was being stuffed full of thick, perfect cock. Being used like a cum-holder was all I needed, all I wanted from him.

Changbin pried my jaw wide, fingers no longer gagging me, instead just opening my mouth wider, kissing along my lips easier to place that way. His warm tongue gliding across my teeth, my lower lip, my own tongue struggling to keep up with his dominant pace.

And one after the other, his consummate stealth and agility allowed him to master the pattern and hit speed in order to make my eyes roll back, my cunt clamping around him as my orgasm began to flood my body.

"Cumming! Bin, fuck sensitive!!" I whined into the open air, head falling back, eyes landing on the watchful moon. My jaw hanging wide as breathy pants filled the cold air. But even though the air was cold, I felt so warm. So sweaty and fulfilled.

The man continued to fuck my overstimulated hole, groaning before his own climax overtook his body, muscles stiffening as he emptied his load into my fluttering cunt.

He didn't pull out, opting to let his cum simmer inside of me with having it leak.

Changbin wrapped his strong arm around my waist, then his other hand slipped from my lips, dragging a string of saliva with it. His damp hand now cupping my cheek as he cooed sweet nothings into my ear, breath faltering to match his shaky, post climax voice.

"You should wear this skirt more often," My boyfriend snickered into my ear, holding me up as a sudden wave of sleepiness overtook my shaky body.

I whined, finally feeling his dick slip out of me, hasty movements to stuff it away, fix my panties before anyone saw. Though, it wouldn't have mattered if anyone did.

"I will if you fuck me like that every time," I played along with his playful offer, arms lifting me from the hood, steamy with the hazy glow of our shared sweat from the heat of our bodies.

"Sounds like a deal," Changbin wrapped my thighs around his body, taking me by the back of my plush thighs and making his way into the house.

#what is happening #oneshot #stray kids #writing #skz scenarios #skz #skz fanfic #skz imagines #skz oneshots #skz smut #skz x reader #skz changbin #seo changbin #changbin x reader #changbin x y/n #stray kids smut #changbin #changbin smut #changbin x female reader #skz fluff

[odderevents]

I have had a thought. Steve secretly knowing how to play the piano bc he learned as a kid and had to stop bc his dad's an asshole is lovely. I've seen this floating around a few times and I love it. Eddie catching him playing the piano and being so fucking in love with him will never not be perfect.

But.

Consider

Steve playing the Harp.

It's definitely a rich kid instrument. Big ass fucking impractical instrument. Absolutely beautiful to look at and listen to. Hands playing piano is great. But have you ever seen an accomplished harpist? It makes you think impure thoughts about what those fingers can do.

So. Steve secretly knowing how to play the harp

Maybe his mom used to play it, so there's a big harp (the ones with the columns and super intricate base board, not celtic) that's just gathering dust in the basement. Steve started piano lessons, loved learning how to pull music out of an inert object. But his dad decides it's to effeminate, makes him stop. And sure, a harp is a different beast to a piano. But you've still got cords, and Steve's got a pretty decent ear, and he can barely remember seeing his mom play. So one day when he has the house to himself, which isn't an unusual occurrence at this point, he tries it out. And he's admittedly pretty shit at it, but so was he at piano when he started. Only difference is he has no teacher.

So maybe Steve discreetly finds a way to acquire a beginner's practice instructional book for harp. And works on it when he needs to get his brain away from things.

He's even more careful with it than he is with any dirty mags he might later acquire. He knows that worse, much worse than piano, harp is not a masculine instrument and under no circumstances should his father find out about his affinity for it.

It's still his go to when he can't sleep even years later, pulling out the now old and battered booklet of sheet music and exercises. Especially once the upside down bullshit starts. It's soothing and mindless at this point.

The harp that was much too big when he first started with it is now just the right size, it's weight against his shoulder comforting. He can close his eyes and his fingers naturally find where to land and pluck.

Even when he becomes friends with Robbin and then Eddie, both musicians who he knows wouldn't give a damn about him playing a woman's instrument, he can't bring himself to mention it. If he did, they would want to hear him play and he's self-conscious about being self-taught. Both of them play well, they play with other people and people come to listen. He doesn't consider himself a "real" musician. It's just something he does to keep his hands and brain busy on nights where the sheets feel like they're strangling him and the dark reminds him too much of when he can't see not because it's night but because something's hit him in the head again and he can't tell apart the sound of his heartbeat from something pounding through his walls.

So he goes to the basement. Finds his stool. Removes the dust cover. Goes through the meditative motions of tuning it by ear, because that's how he's always done it. And then he plays until the tips of his fingers feel numb. Somehow, he always comes out of it peaceful enough to pass out on the couch in the basement for a couple more hours.

Steve is so used to keeping it a secret he doesn't even think about it when he starts dating Eddie. It's just a thing that's always only been his, and most importantly, it's been vital to keep it that way for so long it's the natural state of things for Steve at this point. It doesn't ever come up. When Steve gets nightmares when he's sleeping with Eddie all he has to do is curl into his boyfriend's chest and feel the warm heartbeat that's not his own to settle back into himself.

The problem arises on a night when Eddie was supposed to stay with Steve but he got held up in Indianapolis when getting a new amp for his guitar. He would come back to Steve but it would be late in the night. Steve has been keeping himself busy all day so he passes out in the early evening on the couch in front of a shitty sitcom he put on to try to distract himself from the empty house.

Nightmares find him, which isn't terribly unusual, but he doesn't have his usual method of coping so he resorts back to his previous habit.

Eddie walks in bone tired after many hours of driving to and from Indianapolis, waiting while the clerk figured out they didn't have the amp he'd been assured over the phone would be available for pickup today, waiting some more while they had the amp driven from a sister shop an hour away because no way was he driving back and forth again to Indianapolis on another day. So yeah. Eddie is beat. All he wants is to dive head first into his boyfriend's impeccable pecs.

He doesn't find Steve waiting with a welcome kiss like he usually would when he walks in. Instead he's greeted with a hauntingly beautiful rendition of the melody of Master of Puppets in a way he's never heard before.

He drops his stuff in the entry hall and goes down to the basement where the music is coming from, curious to see where Steve might have found the recording. Eddie doesn't quite know what to do with himself when he finally lays eyes on Steve, with dried tear stains on his cheeks and his eyes closed as his fingers pluck and strum without hesitation. He's rooted to the spot as he watches Steve work his favorite song in a new and completely heartrending way. He hasn't been able to listen to it since he played it in the upside down. It always brings up the bitter blood tang of the air and the hair raising shrieks of the bats. But this is somehow different, it's soft and melodious but it's still got the same bones.

Eddie feels tears on his own cheeks. He's missed this song goddammit. And he couldn't be happier that it's Steve that's given it back to him

Queue tears and fear and confessions and comfort. Somehow much later in the future there's inexplicably a harp in some of the corroded coffin tracks. And it shouldn't work but it does

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington plays an instrument #steve harrington plays the harp #this ran away from me #it was supposed to be a random idea #sorry if it's disjointed #it's midnight and the idea was not going to let me rest #I'll probably come try to clean it up at some point #i dont even want to imagine the typos #i hate writing on mobile #but once again brain latched on the the idea like a chewtoy and didn't want to give it back #so you unwitting internet denizen are now graced with the aforementioned mess

[ogh-rambles]

Rewriting Fate - Prologue

Prologue (You're here!) > Chapter 1

warnings? a little curse here and there, otherwise none

— In which you get isekai’d into your gacha hell, only to get sent to the past. A past where a doll dons a more innocent spirit.

(You have no idea what just happened to you or what you did to end up here, but one thing’s for certain… This isn’t your bedroom.)

One second you were on Genshin Impact, going about your weeklies and crossing off your commissions in Inazuma. The next you’ve blacked out (which you don’t remember doing so), head spinning as you come to, bleary eyes greeted by a cloudless starry sky.

With the shock yet to hit, you’re left gingerly cradling your throbbing head as you collect yourself from the grassy floor.

“What the hell… Just happened?” You mumble to yourself, eyes flickering around to attempt to gain at least a little grip of your surroundings. 

A few arm lengths in front of you, waves of water lap gently against sand, the shore stretching out as far as your eye could see before it curves off into the distance.

You grimace.

Alone. Lost. Confused. On an unknown island? That was a thriller movie in the makings if you’ve ever heard one.

What was even better was that you could hear the faint sound of someone crying. Soft… barely-there sobs of mourning echoed from within what looked like a cave you hadn’t noticed before. An otherworldly glow seemed to flood out of the wide opening, blanketing the surrounding rocks in a sheen of blue.

“...ome… ba…” The voice being too faint to hear, you failed to catch a single word.

As much as you absolutely hated the idea of someone else being on this island with you, a twinge of guilt in you stopped you from getting up and leaving to wherever else that wasn’t… here. 

With a controlled sigh, you began to head over to the disembodied cries, frowning when they weren't getting louder the closer you moved towards where you thought they were coming from.

Reaching the opening in a few long strides, you almost fall over as you inspect the contents of the supposed cave.

Your breath catches in your throat as you realize what you are looking at.

“There’s no fucking way.”

(A… domain? Were you dreaming?)

You hastily slap yourself on the face, albeit a bit harder than you had anticipated. Cursing and pressing a tender hand against the stinging pain, you quickly determine that you are… definitely… not dreaming. 

Redirecting your attention back to the domain, you notice that the doors swing slightly ajar. Your expression sours at the implication it brings.

Since nothing was here but the domain, the crying seemed to be coming from inside the domain, in which the domain’s doors are open… You sigh, shifting nervously from foot to foot. This person was either beyond the door, or you were dealing with a rather quiet ghost.

Well. You had only one life so you should live it to the fullest right? 

(No, you lummox. You don’t just jump into the nearest magical door because you want to spice your life up.)

As you make your way closer to the doors, they appear to automatically start opening up wider, allowing you to see into the limitless starry vacuum you had always found staring back at you as you did your artifact runs.

(The sorrowful weeping grows louder and louder and you decide to put curiosity over hesitation. Whether that was a good idea or not, you were about to find out.)

Closing your eyes tight and setting your face – you step into the domain.

Before you have a moment to regret everything, almost immediately you hear the doors close behind you with a feeble clunk and (thankfully) a solid floor graces your feet.

Slowly opening your eyes, you’re faced with a beautiful Japanese-inspired interior, sunlight (or more like what you think is sunlight) filtering through bright vermillion maple leaves. It spills out onto the brittle hardwood floors, filling the room with an ethereal glow. 

The place is intricate and… and oddly familiar to you. 

(Perhaps it could be a one-time domain? You think to yourself.)

You usually forget them over-time, so you wouldn’t be surprised if this one was as well.

“No… Come back… Come back…” You flinch, finally remembering (and hearing) why you were here. “Why did you leave me…?”

(The voice is one that you’ve definitely heard before. But where from? Who was it? And why was your chest twisting and churning ever so painfully?)

You follow the whispering begs to a passageway next to the room. Carefully clambering over a steady wooden container you deemed fit for kneeling on, you peer into the hallway through a paneless window.

…

You almost fall off the box in shock.

(It’s… Kunikuzushi. Scaramouche. The Wanderer? Either way it’s him and you don’t know how to feel as you watch him pitifully curl into himself, arms gripping onto his sleeves.)

His head is facing you but his eyes are shut tight, a lone tear escaping every now and again, and you think you feel a pang in your chest once more. You can’t bring yourself to look away and.. Oh?

Oh.

Your eyes meet.

(Shit.)

tags! @0rah-s 🫣

a/n; i tried not to write too much for the prologue, i know most of you guys want to get straight to meeting kuni gahahahg

#genshin isekai #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact #genshin x gn reader #gender neutral reader #kunikuzushi #scaramouche x reader #scara x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #scaramouche #genshin wanderer #my writing #rewriting fate

[corpsebasil]

The Pirate Lord 18+

The battle had raged on for days.

You stood at the prow of your ship, staring out at enemy sails as they loomed on the horizon. Your chest tightened. You were exhausted. Every ounce of your Grisha power seemed drained, and you could barely summon a drop of water, let alone the tsunami you could’ve created had the enemy not forced you to waste it on smaller fleets over and over again.

The enemy were chasing after an enchanted sword, one that rightly belonged to Ravka, and it’s prince. You wondered over your captain’s intentions. Sure, you’d heard rumors about the prince Nikolai, but you didn’t imagine that any pompous royal deserved this much dedication to return his stolen treasure.

But if it was important to Sturmhond, it was important to you. And too many Grisha and sailors had already been sacrificed in this battle to back down now.

A ringed hand clasped your shoulder, his thumb rubbing against a knot in your skin. You closed your eyes, letting out a sigh as Sturmhond, your captain and lover, stood beside you.

“Looks like a piece of cake.” He said, tone sarcastic until the end. You glanced up to find him smirking, those blue eyes filled with a forced lightness that hurt you to the core.

“Definitely.” You purred, but still ran a thumb over the seashell amplifier pressed deep in the center of your collarbones, the opal and iridescent hues catching the light of the setting sun.

It had been a gift from a siren, a creature you’d thought mythical, when you’d rescued her from a group of lethal, piggish pirates. The shell had sang the whisper of the deepest parts of the sea when it’d been crafted into your chest, and Sturmhond swore sometimes that your collarbones and skin seemed to shine with the colors of a thousand rare shells when you used your power.

The captain had also sworn that you were the most beautiful thing on the seas, from anywhere, and you rolled your eyes whenever he lavished you with compliments and praises. The only praise that truly hit you in the gut was during the dark hours of the night, when you managed to pull sounds from him that made your blood run burning hot.

“Do you think we—” you stopped, running your fingertips again over the shell. You cleared your throat. “Do we have enough rum? I’m not going into the last night of my life sober.”

Sturmhond’s booming laugh brought a genuine smile to your face when he turned you, pulling you into his arms. He ran a hand down your braid, an intricate style that he still couldn’t comprehend. It contained beads and cuffs of gold, and tiny pearls that sparkled in the moonlight.

“You truly amaze me.” He said, and brought your mouth to his, savoring the feel of you. He’d never admit it, but if he lost you tomorrow… “What do you think? One last sea-shanty?”

“Eggs and pickles?”

“Rum and ale? Lots of rum, less of the ale?”

You grinned fiendishly, looping your arms around his neck.

“Now you’re speaking my language, captain.”

It was his turn to smile, a wicked smirk that make your cheeks flush and heat blossom in your chest. Even more so when he moved a hand to grab your ass, yanking your hips flush against his.

“I love it when you quote me.” He drawled, that devilish gleam in his eyes making your heart drop straight into your stomach. “And maybe,” he murmured, bending his head to nip your earlobe, his voice warm against your neck. “if you’re good, I’ll let you kiss me all over, later.”

“I’m always good.” You lied, and the slap he sent to your ass made you squeak out a laugh. “Bastard.”

“Hellion.”

“Idiot—”

“Are you two done confessing your love for one another? Because we have serious planning to do.” Tolya stood not ten feet away, neither of you having had noticed his approach.

You fought a wince as a mortified blush washed your features, immediately pulling out of Sturmhond’s grasp. You didn’t look at him, instead giving Tolya a cool look that could freeze the coldest ring of the afterlife.

“If you’re done gawking like a pervert,” you cooed, resting a hand casually, too casually, on the hilt of your sword. “then fine. Lead the way.”

Tolya gave Sturmhond a pointed look before walking away, and you didn’t give your blonde captain a second glance as you follow his third in command.

The silence strained as you followed after Tolya, the crashing waves and your boots the only noise against the deck as you walked. You tried to ignore his comment, but.. You and Sturmhond were not in love. No, what you shared was an easy, sometimes vicious banter, a loyalty that crossed every boundary, and some of the best sex you’d ever had in your life. The position you both played in each other’s lives was straightforward.

There’d never been a question of love. You knew he didn’t have those sorts of feelings for you, his second, just like you didn’t feel that way towards him. But sometimes, when he was extra sweet to you, or when he’d sink his hands in your hair as he kissed you, murmuring the most kind of compliments onto your mouth, you felt a painful tug towards him that you couldn’t ignore.

And the idea of losing him, of him dying tomorrow in battle, was unthinkable.

-

That night, drunk as bandicoots and finished with your planning, you and Sturmhond crashed into his cabins, unable to tear one another’s clothes off fast enough. You gasped as he almost tore your shirt in half, throwing you onto his desk and yanking your legs up around him. You almost collapsed at the first thrust up into you, your voice breaking on a cry you were sure the entire crew most likely heard.

But who cares.

“Y/N,” Sturmhond panted, pulling you flush against his chest as he slammed home over and over. “gods, Y/N.”

“Sturm—” you didn’t manage to get the word out, not when his hand found the place between your legs just as his mouth sucked a dangerously rough bruise against your neck.

Your finish hit you so fast and hard it was almost embarrassing, your face pressed against his shoulder as you choked on a moan. He lifted you and moved the both of you to the bed, slowing his pace to a lazy, almost reverent one as you slowed your breathing. And when you opened your eyes, finding him blinking open his own, the vast blue of them and the softness in his stare made your throat tighten so quickly you had to turn your head away.

“Y/N?” He asked, pausing his movements. You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t get the words out. “Darling, what is it?”

“You—” you swallowed, unable to look him in the eye when you forced a joke, running a hand down the smooth skin of his muscular back. Even the touch of him was beginning to make your eyes water, to your horror. “The orgasm was so good I’m a little emotional about it. Sorry.”

He laughed boyishly and kissed your neck, his rumbling chuckle easing something in your heart. He rolled his hips against your own, so slowly you could feel every inch of him, and you couldn’t stop the pleasure filled sigh that left your parted lips.

“I don’t believe that for a second.” He murmured against your skin, but didn’t argue, not when you flipped him onto his back, taking control of what was your last time bedding the captain.

His face was flushed, blue eyes heavy-lidded, and you kissed him, savoring every single Saints-given second.

-

The next morning was chaos.

Not only did a storm break over the sky, drenching your hair and clothes, but the enemy had fired their first blast at you, rocking the supposedly impenetrable ship with a force that almost threw you over the side of the ship.

“Get back.” Sturmhond growled, yanking you away from the rail. “Do you want to fall and drown before we start? Because if that’s the case, you might as well do it willingly.”

His anger surprised you into a sudden flash of annoyance, shoving his arm away.

“Now is not the time to be an asshole.” You spat, glaring fiercely as you stormed past him, knocking your shoulder against his as hard as you dared.

And when the first enemy pirate ship came into range, you stepped right back towards the ship’s rail, taking a deep breath. You tunneled deep into your power, as far as it could possibly go. Closer. Closer. Just when you could see the whites of the enemies’s eyes, you threw your hands out, gritting your teeth as a tidal wave so large and overpowering it crested the ship, slammed down with enough force to crack rock.

And when the water settled as much as it could again, the waves still roiling, you wiped the rain out of your eyes and stared out at the spot where the ship was. Was, because now it was sunk.

A battle cry rose behind you from your crew as you swallowed, shoving the sleeves of your wet shirt up to your elbow. Through the darkness of the thunderclouds and the water spearing out of the sky, a faint glow caught your attention. You glanced down, finding that shell, that siren’s gift, glowing faintly. And damn him for being right, but that light seemed to travel along your collarbones, threading throughout your very skin.

More. The ocean whispered to you, a lethal voice inside your own mind. More, child.

You shivered, but didn’t have much time to acknowledge the seas unending hunger before the next ship came, then the next.

“Fire!” Tolya shouted, and tugged his arrow back in its bow, straining up, up, up, until he and the rest of the archers on deck sent a volley of lethal arrows towards the enemy. It must’ve hit the man at the wheel, because a second later the ship turned, crashing directly into the one beside it. “Again!”

The enemy advanced one by one, and while the archers fired, as the few Grisha on board did their best to guide the winds so that ships would collide, they still neared. So you worked. You brought wave after crashing wave, your skin growing tight as you sunk one ship, then another, then another. You felt your chest tightening as the bottom of your power approached, and had to grip the rail momentarily as you heaved for a breath.

One ship left. One. Your crew had taken them out, had survived, thanks to the Grisha, the brave pirates beside you, and Sturmhond’s advanced weaponry. Nothing could have prepared you, though, when a bolt shot out from the other ship. When the crew on that ship began to crank your own vessel towards them.

The cord was too far to reach with your sword, so you slammed the bolt with water, trying over and over again to dislodge the deep-rooted point buried in the ship’s side. No. No, no, no. Men began to throw grappling hooks up onto the rail, you and other crew members dashing forward to yank them out as soon as possible. You tugged on one as hard as you could, the damn thing refusing to give, and your mouth dried out when a burly man below you climbed up with inhumane speed.

You barely had time to jerk away as he swung his blade for you, the edge of it coming within lethal distance of your head, but was stopped by another sword that slammed against the pirate’s own with so much force that the man fell back and plunged into the water.

You whirled to Sturmhond; your eyes were wide, heart beating in your chest, and you wouldn’t be lying if you said his face was the most amazing thing you could’ve seen in that moment.

“You need to hide.” He told you, tugging you away from the edge as your crewmates fought every pirate that attempted to board. “Your power is gone. You cant fight like this.”

“I can fight.” You scoffed, but your limbs were indeed weak. You weren’t sure you could lift your sword if you tried. “Let me help.” You urged, meeting his hardened stare, every inch of lover gone. This was only your captain, and a fighter, telling his subordinate a command. “Let me.”

“No.” He growled, an inch from your face, and you didn’t even have enough energy to rage at him. But then his face softened, a single fraction, as he kissed you, hard enough to bruise. And when he pulled back, eyes scanning your face as if to memorize it, he said, “if we survive this, remind me to marry you.”

Your heart stopped, stopped in your chest, and you clutched his shirt tightly, unable to let him go. You only had seconds, but your eyes were shining with tears as you stared up at him.

“Remind me to say yes.” You whispered, a last, desperate promise to the man you loved, and you could only stand there looking pathetic, feeling floored, as he left your side and threw himself into the fight.

You backed away, glancing around the chaotic deck as if looking for a sign from the Saints. You pressed a hand against your chest, begging the voice that had spoken to you since you’d gotten your amplifier, for aid. Please, you pressed your hand harder against it, looking out at the sky, and the sea, and the battle. Please. Please.

No. Was the silent response, and you almost sobbed aloud. You do not need my help.

“Please.” You whispered, this time out loud, the word a lost attempt for aid slipping away on the wind. And so you looked to the fight, trying to steel yourself. You wouldn’t die like a coward. You would not be afraid.

But your cry of fear was genuine when an arrow flew through the darkness, slamming home into one of your crewmates. And then your vision went white as Sturmhond crashed onto the deck, his head cracking violently against the wood.

You weren’t sure if you were exploding. One second you were you, and then you were screaming. Screaming—maybe that was the sound that filled your ears, your head, your heart, and the fighting paused briefly enough that you knew you had been. You strode forward, eyes on Sturmhond, then on the enemy still attempting to climb.

“Get out of my way.” You snarled at Tolya, death incarnate, and dove low enough back into your power that something in you cracked.

And then the biggest wave of your life, angry and hungry, rose in front of your ship. Enemy were already screaming, running, fleeing as best they could. Some even had the audacity to jump into the water, the damned fools. When you sent the wave plummeting down, the audible crack of the prow of the opposite ship was deafening. Pirates screamed, on both sides, as you raged and raged, forcing the ship down, down, down, shoving every pirate, every scrap of debris, onto the ocean floor.

And you held it there, insuring that there were no survivors, before you fell forward to grasp the rail, but not fast enough for your legs to catch you as you blacked out onto the deck.

-

Your body hurt. Ached. Your hand moved involuntarily to your chest, resting against the shell. The ocean hadn’t lied. And whether She had aided you or not, pushing alongside that last drop of power, you realized you didn’t care. That She allowed someone to wield Her at all was a blessing in itself.

You peeled your eyes open slowly, glancing around Sturmhond’s cabin. It felt like every inch of you had been wrung out to dry. You noticed, though, that your clothes had been changed. Tamar, most likely. And then you saw the body in the bed beside you, his blonde hair rumpled in sleep, as he slept soundly.

You could’ve sobbed, then. You reached out, running a hand as softly as possible against his forehead. He reached up, waking slowly, and grasped your wrist. His thumb ran along your skin as his eyes opened, that wicked blue finding your own.

“Y/N.” He rasped, shifting slightly, then winced. “My future wife.” You ignored the world ending surge of emotion you felt at those words, attempting to prop yourself up on an elbow.

“You were shot.” You whispered, the terrible words unable to rise any louder. “Shot. I thought I’d—” you swallowed. And then you forced away the urge to joke, to say what you didn’t mean. “I thought I’d lost you. It almost killed me.”

“Literally, I hear.” He murmured, groaning low in his throat as he managed to sit up, brow furrowed in concentration. “Took out the—the whole fleet, huh?”

“Not the whole fleet.” You argued. “I almost couldn’t do anything at the end. But then you—and I—” you squeezed your eyes against the tears that threatened when the blankets fell away from his chest and you saw the bandages, the wound that had cut through his shoulder having had barely missed his heart.

And then, damn you, you did weep. You cried as you covered your face, curling into yourself. You doubted that you’d ever forget that damning sound, that crack of his head against the deck. The fear you had felt was like nothing you’d ever felt before. Because you loved him. Loved Sturmhond. And you would’ve gladly allowed your power to kill you if that’s what would’ve saved him.

“Darling, no.” Sturmhond sighed, reaching out with a strained sound to touch your shoulder. “I’m fine. Thanks to you.”

You managed to calm yourself as you moved over to him, propping yourself up on your knees as your body adjusted to movement. You reached out, running your hands over his face and neck, surprised to see moisture in his own eyes as well. He looped his arms around you, fighting his grimace.

“Did you mean it?” You asked carefully, avoiding glancing down at his wound. “When you said you’d..” False hope was a terrible fate, so you couldn’t finish the sentence.

He craned his neck up a fraction, silently asking for it, and you gave him the soft kiss he wanted. When he pulled away, a line of moisture running down his cheek, you wiped his skin clean.

“Every word.” He said firmly, eyes fierce. “I want to marry you. I don’t want to just be your lover, Y/N. Nor your captain. Your equal.” His eyes trailed to your amplifier, then up. “I knew the first time you took out a ship with that gift that I loved you. That I was in love with you.” He squeezed his eyes shut again as a stab of pain rocked through his shoulder, and his voice was strained when he spoke again. “You could sail…anywhere. A thousand miles from me. And nowhere on this planet could save me from my ties to you. You’re mine. Always.”

You were crying again, embarrassingly enough, and he cracked a half-hearted smile.

“The prospect too upsetting? If you want we can have separate bedrooms.”

“Shut up.” You scoffed, and kissed him again. The moment that man was healed, you were going to ravish him. Then you pulled back, glancing over to the sword resting against the wall, it’s emerald encrusted hilt glinting in the candlelight. “Now, what the hell is all the fuss over that sword?”

He grinned slyly, that smile that always told you when trouble was on the horizon, and tucked you against his chest the best he could throughout his pain. And as he stroked your hair, kissing the top of your head, he spoke.

“Later,” he said, and you felt his grin against your head. “when I’m healed, I’ll tell you. But I’m not in the condition to be punched right now.”

“What?” You demanded, and he laughed, tugging you back down when you tried to sit up.

“Later.” He insisted, and closed his eyes, slipping off into sleep.

hello helloooooo

#this is very pirates of the Caribbean of me #sturmhond x reader #sturmhond the sassy biotch #shadow and bone #nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai x reader #wattpad #shadow and bone imagine #fluff #smut #nikolai lantsov smut #pirates #sturmhond smut

[moki-dokie]

reasons i will never forgive the showrunners if they don't at least acknowledge jjpope by the end of s3

featuring: ✨✨✨queerbaiting✨✨✨

wearing each other's clothes:

jj taking every opportunity ever to touch pope (god there are SO many more examples too):

jj getting sexual with, to, or about pope and ONLY pope, ever:

INTRICATE RITUALS:

(with coincidentally well timed lyrics right as it cuts to this scene sorry not sorry editing choices like that are done for a reason)

jj very often gazing at his lips instead of his eyes while talking to him:

(seconds before going in for the kiss)

jj constantly putting himself between pope and danger or being protective of him:

KISSING:

INTIMATE NECK KISSING IN A HOT TUB FOR WHICH THERE IS NO HETEROSEXUAL REASON FOR????:

I RAN OUT OF ROOM FOR IMAGES BUT LETS NOT FORGET ALSO

how jj has quite a few pet names for pope but no one else, how pope and jj are almost always paired off together, how jj has explicitly said 'i love you' to pope TWICE, how jj calms pope down when he starts spiraling, how jj and pope have more physical contact and affection than the two romantic leads, how jj is supposed to be a manho from how he's introduced and yet the opening shot is the one and only time we've seen him with someone in a romantic or sexual manner. how about the multiple accounts of people sharing gifs of them to people who have never seen the show with 0 context provided and damn near every time the consensus is 'they are not straight/they are hitting on each other'. I've covered most of this before. the list goes on.

we could even get into film editing choices from the perspective of my bestie who has a degree in that very field and how SO many of their scenes are shot, lit, scored, and all around edited with romantic intent,.

but then wait, there's more! how about how multiple members of the cast (including rudy!!) have stated they support the ship and think it's cute? or how multiple netflix socials heavily suggested jjpope was going to be canon? how so many of the key jjpope moments were improv that could have been cut and redone (like the fucking hot tub scene) if they didn't want it going in a possible homo direction??? or how jjpope was the first major ship to come out of obx BECAUSE of such heavy handed subtext?? and then the showrunners have the audacity to pivot to jiara at the last second because of a handful of fucking rabid stans that harassed the cast so severely it drove most of them off of socials??? with the paper thin excuse of 'oh we never expected that lets explore it'???????????

and whats the definition of queerbaiting again? "Queerbaiting is a marketing technique for fiction and entertainment in which creators hint at, but then do not depict, same-sex romance or other LGBTQ+ representation. The purpose is to attract ("bait") a LGBTQ+ or straight ally audience with the suggestion or possibility of relationships or characters that appeal to them."

right.

i still have a sliver of hope that their 'exploration' of jiara is just like, 2 episodes of them giving it a shot and realizing they actually suck together. i still have hope they aren't gonna do us so blatantly dirty and might give us something even if it's just crumbs. most of the cast are loud and proud queer allies, the showrunners have so far been pretty fucking cool and extremely supportive of the queer community, even refusing to film in north Carolina because of transphobic bathroom laws. it would feel especially dirty if they really did bait us because of that. but man. MANNN. it just ain't looking good. i'd hate to give up on the show. i love it and love the actors even more but if they do it, i might just have to.

#long post #jjpope #mayward #obx #big sigh #jjpope nation is either about to riot #or celebrate #or be underwhelmed bc they end up delivering the absolute bare minimum but its better than nothing #which is personally what i'm expecting #WE SHALL SEE #i am prepared to bite tho

[your-eternal-lies]

YOU’RE STUCK WITH ME (chapter four)

Main Navigation || Series Masterlist Please follow @your-eternal-library for all my fanfiction updates.

PAIRING — Steve Rogers x f!Reader SUMMARY — As his perfectly normal civilian neighbour, you’ve always been secretly curious about the Captain. Getting to know him while trapped together in your building’s elevator, however, definitely wasn’t on the agenda.

WARNINGS — None.

YOU’RE STUCK WITH ME

CHAPTER FOUR THE ARTS AND THE HOURS

The darkness of the elevator seems to press against him like a tangible force, urging the silence to stretch on infinitely. Steve shifts in the cramped space, his knees brushing against yours as the two of you have now found purchase on the floor, his leather jacket spread under you in a makeshift blanket. 

The initial irritation that had marked his unplanned confinement seems to dissolve into the soft shadows surrounding him, now that he’s gotten to know his neighbour a little more. 

“Ever play two truths and a lie?” You ask, breaking the silence, obviously bored. He checks his phone, it has now been an hour since the elevator stopped, with no signs of rescue on the horizon. 

“Can’t say I have,” Steve replies, the corners of his eyes crinkling with curiosity. 

“You tell me three things about yourself, or vice versa—two are true, and one’s a lie. You guess the fib.” 

“Sounds easy enough,” he says, already mentally sifting through his own truths and falsehoods. “You first.” 

“Okay,” you clear your throat dramatically, allowing your head to drop back against the wall behind you. “One, I’ve bungee-jumped off the Macau Tower. Two, I can recite every line from The Notebook. And three, my favourite colour is blue.” 

He taps his chin, pretending to deliberate. “I’m going to say… the third one?” 

“Nope, never even seen The Notebook,” you say, your voice softening, eyes meeting his as you turn your head. “I love blue.” 

“Well, now I know,” he grins, in that moment feeling a swell of tenderness in his chest. 

“Your turn, Cap.” 

Steve takes a breath, “I once danced with Marilyn Monroe. I’ve painted a self-portrait. I hate coconut.” 

“Self-portrait?” You raise an eyebrow. 

“No,” he chuckles, his cheeks turning red. “It’s a terrible piece, but it exists somewhere. The lie is Marilyn, I never met her. And I do actually despise coconut.” 

“Who hates coconut?” You exclaim, feigning outrage before chuckling quietly to yourself. “But you paint? That’s really cool.” 

“I draw, too,” he inhales deeply, the sound cutting through the stagnant air of the elevator. “I find it… therapeutic, to put pencil to paper. It helps me make sense of things—things I’ve seen, stuff I’ve been through.” 

“What do you draw?” You ask, your tone soft and betraying genuine intrigue. 

“Sometimes,” he begins, his voice lowering as if sharing a forbidden secret. “It’s just abstract shapes, lines, and shadows. Other times, it’s memories of…” Places he can’t return to, people he can’t bring back. 

His voice trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished. You don’t press him, instead you wait patiently for him to continue. 

“Mostly landscapes,” he says, his gaze growing distant as he switches gears. He squeezes his phone in his hand, as the minutes stretch indefinitely, maybe he can have the courage to share the man beyond the shield—a dreamer, an artist, and a quiet soul who speaks in shades and contours. 

“Maybe I could show you?” 

Steve is more than talented. 

You scroll through his camera roll, a digital photo album bursting with snapshot images of charcoal, oils, and watercolour. 

The view from the Brooklyn Bridge at sunset, the light hitting the water in a way that makes the painting look like it’s moving, like the city skyline is breathing golden fire. 

A cityscape twisted with ribbons of futuristic technology entwined with threads of the past; an intricate dance of what had been and what was to come—a disorienting world not quite ready for a man out of time, a touching display of raw honesty in lines of graphite that bares a soul on paper. 

You push down a little tiny lump of emotion in your throat, trying not to acknowledge his bashful gesture of scratching at the back of his neck. This version of Steve is so at odds with the persona you’re so used to seeing in the action-packed news reels, a far cry from the stoic shield-wielding soldier you’d pegged him for. 

“Okay, so this one,” you tap one, a sketch of a figure standing at the edge of a precipice, looking out into an abyss that seems to pulse with both danger and wonder. “You’ve got some serious metaphors going on here. What, is Captain America contemplating a leap of faith of some kind?” 

Steve chuckles. “Both? Sometimes, you stand on the edge, not sure if you’re ready to jump into what’s next.” 

You nod, smiling so hard it makes your cheeks hurt, hoping it doesn’t make your admiration for him, among other things, painfully obvious. “That’s deep, Rogers.” 

Steve tuts in disapproval at your teasing tone, swiping the phone out of your hands, but he’s smiling too as he glances down at the screen. 

“Okay, I’m giving you a hard time,” you say, your tone shifting into something softer, more sincere. Your shoulder bumps lightly against his in the dark, and somehow his eyes shine like stars when he glances over at you. “But these are really something, Steve. You’ve got a gift.” 

“Thanks,” Steve says, the vibrations of his deep voice drawing a flush of warmth up your neck, and you break the eye contact reluctantly. “That means a lot to me… coming from the world’s most cynical woman.” 

“I’m not a cynic,” you laugh, your heart flip-flopping when the corners of his eyes crinkle in a way that should be illegal without a permit. “I’m a realist. There’s a very big difference.” 

“Is that what you call it?” Steve’s lips twitch, the ghost of a smile still playing there. 

“Even if I am a cynic, I’m not that bad.” You admit, not missing the way his smile finally reaches his eyes. Your shared laughter dwindles down to a comfortable hush, and you shift on the floor next to him, your legs starting to cramp from sitting too long. 

“You’re right,” Steve relents, his eyes betraying an affection you’re surprised to see. “Not bad at all.” 

« Chapter 3 || Chapter 5 »

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers series #steve rogers fluff #summer’s fics