#it’s nothing I’m nothing and nothing is going to change that nothing is going to change in general | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mediumgayitalian · 3 days

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“You ready, Lou?”

“Duh.”

“Cecil? You’ve got full faith in your cabin?”

“Yep.”

“What about you, Will? Were your threats successful?”

“My bribes went wonderfully, thank you.”

“Then I think we’re a go.”

“Gods, this is going to be great.”

———

Knockknockknock.

Nico locks in on his game. He is so, so close to finally making it through this stupid quest, he can feel it, and if he doesn’t beat The Imprisoned before Percy he’s going to set the camp on fire.

Knockknockknock.

“Just — hold on a second!” He spams B, cursing loudly to himself, ignoring the twinge in his lower back from holding this position for so long. “Fuck, fuck, come on.” He clenches his teeth, knuckles white against the Wii remote, until finally — the boss falls. He cheers.

Fuck yes. Take that, Percy.

Tossing the remote on his bed, he jogs over to the door, sliding open the three bolts and unlocking the chains. On his porch is a blur of movement, hair frizzy and pulled-on, shirt rumbled.

“Oh, hey, Annabeth.”

She barely acknowledges him, focusing intently on pacing back and forth on the stone porch at the speed of light. He settles against the door frame, stretching out his spine, watching her mutter to herself.

“Chiron is leaving,” she says.

Nico raises an amused eyebrow. “I am aware.”

“With Mr. D. To some conference.”

“I heard.”

“He’s gone until early tomorrow evening.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He left me in charge.”

“Probably wise.”

“I need an allegiance, Nico.”

“Slow down and tell me what you mean, first.”

She sighs, coming to a stop in front of him. Her fingers still drum across her biceps, and her eyes dart around, evaluating. Her teeth dig into her bottom lip.

“Camp’s a lot of work,” she says finally. “I’ve never been in charge of so many people at once before, and like hell am I gonna let Chiron think I can’t handle it. I have a Plan, and you’re a part of it.”

Nico resists the urge to groan. Chiron leaving is supposed to mean he gets the next day or so off — no classes, no socializing, nothing. Just him in his cabin and the genuinely disgusting amount of junk food he has amassed.

(…And Will. Maybe.)

“It’s nothing crazy,” she promises. “I just need you to lurk.”

“…Lurk?”

“Yeah, you know. Chill in the shadows and scare people into complacency. You don’t even need to do much, just that thing where you stare at people like you know the exact day they’re going to die.”

“I do love lurking,” Nico admits. And to basically have a free pass to scare the shit out of whoever he wants… “I’ll do it.”

She smiles brightly. “Thanks, Nico! I knew I could count on you. I’ll meet up with you right after Chiron heads out, okay? To give you a list of people to keep your eye on.”

“Sure. Bye, Annabeth.”

“See ya!”

He closes the door and pads back to his setup, shaking the remote to get it going again. He can’t quite shake the smirk off his face.

The next twenty four hours are going to rock.

———

“Swiper No Swiping, initiate phase one.”

“Roger that, Sunny Dick.”

“…I’m revoking your code name priveledges.”

“No no no, I’m sorry, I’ll change it.”

———

Before Chiron leaves, he gathers them all in the amphitheatre.

“Children,” he calls, adjusting the bow slung across his back. “I am leaving now for my conference. I will be back before the sun sets tomorrow.” He gestures towards Annabeth, standing stiffly beside him. “Annabeth is in charge. Consider all my authority transferred to her before I return, am I understood?”

“Yes, Chiron,” courses the camp, some with significantly more attitude than others. Across the gathered crowd, Will catches his eye and winks. (Well, tries to. He has yet to catch on to the fact that he cannot, actually, wink, and instead just blinks really intentionally. Kayla and Austin have sworn him to secrecy.) Nico rolls his eyes, ears burning, and looks away.

“Good. Regular rules; no maiming, killing, or injuries above level seven. Any arson will result in a revoking of dessert privileges. Yes, Julia, even if you help in putting out the arson. It is the fire that is the issue, you understand. Excellent.” He claps his hands together. “I am looking forward to one day of peace. Try to avoid ruining it for me too quickly. Goodbye, children.”

With a wave and a fond squeeze of Annabeth’s shoulder, he trots over to Half-Blood Hill, ignoring Mr. D’s loud complaining about how long he took. With a snap of Mr. D’s fingers, they disappear. For a brief, uncanny moment, everything is still.

“Alright,” Annabeth shouts, clapping her hands together. Nico jumps. “Dinner is in an hour. Whoever is the first to fuck something up will be doing dishes. I will be watching. Dismissed.”

Wading through the swathes of ambling teenagers, she walks by where Nico is leaning against a pillar, half-hidden in the shadows.

“Lurk,” she orders, passing him.

Nico shoots her a mocking salute, fading into the shadow behind him. He barely catches her grin before he dissolves into the darkness.

———

“Phase two in effect. Ready to go, Sabrina Spellman?”

“Prepped to go, Teletubbies Sun Baby.”

“I hate both of you.”

———

“Halt!”

Across the common, three suspicious figures freeze, glance behind them, and then resume walking as casually as they can.

“I said halt! Do not move! Cease all function!”

Milling nervously towards each other, Dumb, Dumber, and Dumbest pause, shifting the three massive cardboard boxes they hold each.

“Hi, Annabeth,” Will says, smiling innocently. Cecil and Lou Ellen match him, eyes wide, expressions angelic.

Annabeth stomps over to them, fists clenched at her sides, entirely unmoved by the cherubic display in front of her. Nico stays right where he is, hidden by the shade of Cabin Eight.

“Explain yourselves,” Annabeth orders.

The three stooges exchange a look.

“Whatever do you mean,” Lou Ellen asks, shifting the boxes to free up her hand only to place it delicately over her chest. “Why, we are only helping our dear friend William —”

“Our dear, dear friend,” Cecil adds.

“— carry these many boxes of medical supplies, so as to lower his great burden —”

“Massive burden,” Will says sagely.

“— and free up his evening in order for him to spend his limited time with us, his most cherished friends.”

“Especially cherished,” Will and Cecil chorus together.

Unable to bite back a smile, Nico rolls his eyes so hard his skull hurts. They’re not even trying to not get caught, at this point. Idiots.

Clearly agreeing, Annabeth scoffs. “Yeah, right. Boxes down, all three of you. You’re being detained for suspected illicit substances.”

“Annabeth!” Will cries, hand to his chest, “after all I do for this camp, you would accuse me of being — illicit?! Me?! The outrage! The insult! The impugn, the —”

“Can it, Solace. Open the boxes.”

Huffing in perfect unison, the three of them carefully lower their boxes to the ground.

“Tape off.”

Intentionally slowly, they run a nail along the edge of the packing tape.

“Flaps open, guys, c’mon.”

With flourish, the trio fling open the thin cardboard panels. Inside each box is rows of bandages, packaged syringes, sterile bands, tongue compresses, and more that Nico can’t name. Annabeth glares at the boxes with perhaps more disdain than the situation calls for.

Then again.

It is camp.

“See?” says Cecil, gesturing grandly. “The shipment just came in from my dad.”

Like a hound dog locking in on a bleeding squirrel, Annabeth’s eyes narrow. Her lips spread into wide, frankly maniacal smirk.

“Your dad is in a conference with the rest of the Olympians right now, Markowitz.”

Caught.

“Well,” Cecil says, and then nothing else.

“He meant it in the royal sense,” Lou Ellen pipes up in his silence. Cecil nods frantically. “You know, ‘just’ as in, like, recently, as in this morning —”

“Do you three think I’m stupid.”

“It’s just medical supplies! You can look through them if you want —”

Even if they weren’t acting like criminals, Nico knows his friends. He knows his boyfriend, especially, and recognises that damn look on his face. He can also physically see Annabeth’s stress ulcer coming back.

Closing his eyes, Nico fades into Cabin Six’s shadow. It’s a quick jump, so the stretch is easy, and the darkness bows easily to his hold. He reappears silently behind the group, taking advantage of the setting sun, and darts out to grip Lou Ellen’s arm.

“Boo,” he whispers.

She shrieks at the top of her lungs, jumping three clean feet in the air. Coincidently, the boxes of medical supplies flicker, turning into a truly baffling amount of instant mashed potato boxes.

“I knew it!” Annabeth shouts.

On cue, all three doofuses turn to Nico, jeering and complaining about ‘ruining the fun’. Nico’s glare is ineffective on Doofus #1, but the other two can be cowed. He focuses on channelling the flames of hell to reflect in his eyes like his father showed him until they look away, muttering at the ground.

“We still don’t have any illicit substances,” Will insists, glaring right back. Nico sticks out his tongue. He crosses his eyes like a four year old. How immature, honestly. “So we’re just gonna take our stuff and —”

“Absolutely not, Golden Boy. Put that hand away.”

Wisely, Will draws slowly back from the boxes, tucking his hands in his pocket.

Annabeth stares, hard, at the three of them, flicking her dark eyes from the potatoes and back. The tips of her worn-out converse tap slowly on the packed grass, tip-tap-tip-tap, as they all squirm.

Understanding dawns on her quickly.

“It’s supposed to rain tomorrow, for the strawberry plants.”

They squirm harder.

“Oh, you godsdamn bitches.”

“It would’ve been really funny,” Cecil mumbles, staring at the ground. “Rain making the ground turn into a sea of mashed potatoes. Like Cloudy With A Chance Of Meatballs.”

“The only meatballs around here are the ones clogging up your skull!” Annabeth shouts, which doesn’t quite make sense but sounds clever coming from her anyway. “Who was gonna clean that up, huh? Magic?”

“I mean, probably,” Lou Ellen says, promptly shutting up at Annabeth’s glare.

“And you, Will! I cannot believe! Where is that responsibility you’re known for, huh?”

Will pouts. “I can be responsible and do fun things.”

“Fun, he says. I’m going to fucking kill you, how’s that for fun. The one day I’m left in charge, I cannot believe —”

“If it helps, it’s less about you and more about April Fools being tomorrow,” Cecil interjects tentatively. “Like, we were going to do this whether or not Chiron left.”

Annabeth glares darkly. “Of fucking course you were. It’s always you three, I swear to the gods. I should have known.”

“It’s honestly kind of embarrassing for you guys,” Nico adds. He smiles smugly at them, relishing in their rolled eyes and mocking hands. “Like, everyone expected this. You did this to yourselves, honestly.”

“Boo, you jag,” Lou Ellen protests. The other two knuckleheads joint in the booing, Will taking it an extra stop forward and blowing a raspberry, both thumbs pointing down. Nico responds with a wide grin and two middle fingers.

“Enough,” Annabeth says, rubbing her temples. “Extra chores, all three of you. Go help the cleaning harpies until sundown. And not another peep of complaint or I’ll have you on chores tomorrow, too.”

Without another glance at them, she turns around and walks away, muttering at least you caught it early at least you caught it early at least you caught it early over and over to herself.

“Pretty sure you guys have physical labour to do,” Nico says brightly when she disappears into the Big House. “I’d get started on that, if I were you.”

“Butthead,” Cecil mutters.

“Kiss-ass,” Lou Ellen agrees, making a face.

“Traitor,” Will whispers, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he walks past.

Nico watches them go, standing guard over the boxes in case they try to come back for them.

He can’t help but think that they all look a little too jovial for having their plans ruined before they even started.

———

“Is he still looking?”

“No.”

“Okay, Phase Three, let’s go let’s go let’s go —”

———

Every time Nico wakes with the sun, he sets aside twenty minutes of his morning routine to curse Apollo, his father, Apollo again, Phanes, and Prometheus. In that order.

He does like the bonus of getting breakfast. Usually he sleeps through it and has to hope Will saved him coffee cake, which he does, every time, because he wants to bribe his way into Nico’s affections. But there is something to be said about camp coffee cake when it is still warm, crumbly on the top and soft on the inside. It is a rare and occasionally worth-it treat, and on his bleary walk to the dining pavilion, Nico tries to keep this in the forefront of his mind. Fresh coffee cake. Fresh coffee. Fresh fruit. And Will, probably, not that seeing him is worth getting up early or anything. (So what that he gets all excited and energetic when he sees Nico up in the morning. If anything it’s embarrassing for him.)

For once, he’s actually early enough that there are very few people already at breakfast. He sees most of the Athena kids, still half-asleep over their mugs, and pretty much every camper under the age of eleven. A few head counsellors, too, watching out for the little ones or catching up on a rare moment of quiet. Nico makes a beeline for the breakfast spread, cutting a slice of coffee cake to leave on the platter and putting the rest of it on his plate. He puts a single strawberry in the middle of it so no one can accuse him of being unhealthy, then ambles over to the Apollo table.

“Neeks? Where’re you going?”

Nico pauses. He shifts his plate to one hand, rubbing at his bleary eyes. He looks at the Apollo table. He counts one, two, three heads — Kayla, Austin, and…Cecil?

“Nico? You good, babes?”

He turns, slowly, to face the voice. Picking at a plate full of pineapple, next to Reika Onason, Lou Ellen's sister, is Will.

“I know mornings are hard for you, but you’re meant to eat at your table,” he teases. “Come sit, doofus. Unless you’re taking advantage of Chiron’s absence to make friends elsewhere, I guess, but it seems unlike you.”

“You’re — what’re you — what?“ Nico says dumbly, struggling to reconcile the imagine in front of him.

For some reason, Will is eating his breakfast at the Hecate table.

And that is not all.

For some reason, his camp shirt does not say head medic. For some reason, he is wearing black jeans. For some reason, dozens of Celestial bronze rings adorn his fingers, carved with sigils. For some reason, his hair is clipped back, and there is black eyeliner around his bright blue eyes, and his nails are painted darker than Nico’s, and he is sitting at the Hecate table.

“What are you doing?”

“Having…breakfast,” Will says slowly. His lips turn down in concern. “Nico, are you okay?”

“I’m fine! It’s — you’re the one acting weird!”

Will and Reika exchange a look.

“Maybe you should go see Cecil,” Will suggests carefully. “Did you sleep okay last night? Maybe you hit your head —”

Nico looks desperately back at the Apollo table. They watch him strangely now, too, and after a second Cecil gets up from his — Will’s — seat, and walks over.

“Everything okay?” he asks, impish expression almost serious. “You look pale, Nico.”

“I’m worried,” Will says. “He’s acting — confused, Cece, maybe there’s a —”

“I’m not confused,” Nico scowls. “You two are — doing something.” He gestures vaguely between them. “As revenge for yesterday.”

Will snorts. “What, the potatoes? Don’t let Lou hear you discredit her like that. If you think she’d plan some revenge prank on you this early, you don’t know her at all.”

Nico’s head starts to hurt. He sets down his plate, rubbing his temples. Why would Lou Ellen be so bothered by that? Why isn’t she here, with her sister? What the hell is going on?

“Both of you — cut it out. Whatever dumbass prank you’re pulling is just stupid.”

“Did I hear something about a prank?” Bounding over from the camp store, arms laden with contraband junk food, is Lou Ellen, smiling brightly. “Whatever it is, I want in!”

“Oh, thank the gods, you’re back.” Will makes grabby hands at the pile. She tosses him a pack of twizzlers off the top, rolling her eyes as he tears into like he didn’t just polish off two and a half entire pineapples and three bowls of oatmeal. “I was going through withdrawal.”

“I’m not helping you when your stomach cramps up,” Cecil promises, snorting. His eyes follow the candy ropes in their harried journey towards Will's gaping maw. “You can sit in your misery.”

“Bleh bleh bleh.”

Nico narrows his eyes at them. Clearly, they’re all in on this — bit, or whatever it is. It’s a little too coordinated to be a quickly-planned revenge prank. They must have had a backup to the potatoes, although a pretty weak one. Unless they somehow managed to bribe the entire camp into agreeing to act along with their dumbassery, and Nico knows none of them can come even close to affording that, then all it takes is one person on Nico’s side before their little ruse is broken.

“It’s too early for this,” Nico says, interrupting their bickering. He picks up his breakfast and trudges off to his actual table, ignoring Will’s pouting. He has to brush the dust off the bench, but it’s worth it to avoid whatever headache the three of them will inevitably give him.

Coffee cake, save him.

———

“It’s not looking good, Katara —”

“I actually like that one.”

“— he’s totally onto us.”

“Just stick to the plan. Power onto Phase Four.”

———

To Nico's great satisfaction, many other people do double takes as they walk into breakfast.

As the Athena table, minus Annabeth, who is likely putting out a literal or metaphorical fire somewhere, wakes up, they start to notice the strange seating situation. It starts with Malcolm, who stares at Cecil in a lab coat with the same expression Nico has seen him wear when attempting to solve the Hodge conjecture. He leans over to murmur something in his brother’s ear, and then all seven of them are looking between the Hecate, Apollo, and mostly-empty Hermes tables with suspicious frowns and furrowed brows.

Nico catches Will’s eye, smirking.

Game’s up, he mouths. Will only shrugs innocently at him.

It’s Annabeth who finally puts a stop to the nonsense, striding in at the tail end of the rest of the slowly-waking crowd. She has grass in her hair and murder in her eyes.

Excellent.

“I swear to the gods, I just dealt with you three,” she snaps, raising her voice so they all can hear her. Coincidentally, it attracts the attention of every other nosy person at camp, which is everybody. “Just ‘cause Chiron’s not here doesn’t mean the rules go out the window. Back to your tables, let’s move.”

“We’re at our tables,” Cecil protests. “Why do people keep saying that?”

Annabeth takes a very deep, very long breath. She has a whole day of this, too. How unfortunate for her.

“Maybe because you are full of shit, Markowitz. Go sit with the rest of you troublemakers.”

Kayla clears her throat. “Annabeth, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” Her thin eyebrows are drawn tightly together, lips turned down into a frown. “Cecil is exactly where he’s supposed to be.”

That gives her pause.

That gives a lot of people pause. Nico sets down his coffee cake.

“Cecil’s at the Apollo table,” Annabeth says slowly.

Kayla meets her gaze, face creased in concern. “...Yeah, I know.”

“Cecil is a Hermes kid, Kayla.”

She snorts. “Yeah, sometimes I think so, too. But as much as I would absolutely love to trade my brother —”

“Hey!”

“He’s a healer, Annabeth. He got claimed and everything.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Annabeth says, dragging her hand down her face. “Kayla, I don’t know what they paid you —”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” With a clatter of plates, Will clambers on the table, clapping his hands. “Your attention please, everyone!”

Without so much as a pause, Will claps his hands together. Immediately, a ball of green light expands from them, flashing almost too bright to look at. Nico watches, slack jawed, as he tosses it into the air, making it explode into a thousand little sparkles, descending gently over everyone’s heads. The little kids laugh in delight, reaching for them like they’re bubbles.

“Does that settle things?” he demands.

Silence rings for one, two, three seconds.

The camp erupts.

Dozens of voices overlap, all shouting over each other at once. Hands gesture wildly at Will, at Cecil, at Lou — trying to piece things together. Will is their head medic — isn’t he? Then why is Cecil wearing scrubs? And why is Lou chilling at the Hermes’ table, chatting with Julia over a bowl of cereal? Something isn’t right.

“Just — everybody quiet!”

It takes a minute, but everyone settles down, sitting back in their seats and fidgeting, looking around with half-confused, half-amused smiles. Like they’re laughing at a joke they’re half convinced is real.

“Who thinks this —” Annabeth makes some vaguely indicative movement at Will, Lou, and Cecil — “is weird? Raise your hand.”

Almost all hands go up. Only a handful stay down — Will, Lou Ellen, and Cecil, of course, but the entirety of the Hermes cabin stays oddly silent, as do Kayla, Austin, Reika, and, shockingly, Clovis.

“Stoll,” Nico demands before Annabeth gets the chance, “you’re buying this?”

“Buying what?” Connor says after a moment. He shrugs, eyes twinkling in amusement. “I’m just chillin’ with my sister, Nico. Cecil is great, but he hasn’t been in our cabin since he got claimed.”

The rest of the Hermes kids nod in agreement. Whispers filter through the tables — first Kayla, now all the Hermes kids?

“If I may,” interjects Clovis, yawning. “There’s an…energy, around.”

“Gods, yeah, I was feeling it too,” Will agrees frantically. “Almost a…blanket, of some kind. Something heavy and stifling.”

Malcolm looks over with interest. “You think we got cursed, or something? The whole camp?”

Will shrugs. “Maybe? Can’t think of any other reason you guys are remembering things weird.”

“It could be a god’s interference,” Nyssa suggests, raising her voice to be heard from the Hephaestus table. “I mean, that’s what happened to Jason and Leo and Piper, right? Their memories got fudged.”

“Yeah, but camp-wide…”

“Could still be possible.”

“There’s no way! They’re fucking with us, come on —”

It doesn’t take long for the arguing to start up again. This time, though, more people looked spooked — more people look to the dumbass trio themselves, eyes wide like they’re looking at ghosts.

Like they’re believing this shit.

Nico scowls, shoving away from his table and stomping over to his boyfriend.

“You are so full of shit I can smell you from across the room,” he says, raising his voice to be heard over the noise.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” He wiggles his fingers in Nico’s direction. They spark with the same green light. “Want me to switch your eyes and ears again?”

That sounds horrifying. “Try it and die.”

“Alright, grouchy.” He holds his hands up, stepping back from Nico’s glare. “I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

Alarm bells go off in Nico’s head. This is more than just strange, it’s wrong. And not just ‘cause he looks different — so what if he looks different. Will could shave his head bald and tattoo himself purple, Nico wouldn’t care.

But his aura.

The essence of Will, that Nico has grown so used to be stopped noticing. The quiet, warmth strength, the feeling of a soft breeze in the summer, of walking past a window in the late afternoon, of smokey August campfires and scratchy guitar, is gone. Is different, rather; almost blocked. It feels like a cloud blowing over the sun, making everything warped and off and shadowy.

Something is afoot. Something is wrong, and not just some vague, made-up spell like the Trickster Trio would have the camp believe. Something like smoke and mirrors, something shadier.

He watches Will fall into step next to Cecil, ducking away from his ruffling hand. He frowns.

If there’s one thing Nico can do, it’s wade through the shadows.

———

#can anyone guess what these dumb ass mother fuckers did.#pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #nico di angelo & will solace #solangelo #established solangelo #will solace & cecil markowitz & lou ellen blackstone #annabeth chase #nico di angelo & annabeth chase #my writing #fic #longpost

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rxzennia · 1 day

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domestic headcanons

– tales of the voracity pathstrider

✎𓂃 ambiguous relationship (oh my god they were roommates); living together; word vomit; incoherent scenarios; ooc aven probably. i offered my exp mats to gepard instead and now i have to grind traces all over again, maybe i should build clara while i’m at it (losing this particular 50/50 has driven me insane istg)

after aventurine’s endless pestering, you finally agree to move in with him. he’s got a whole block all to himself, so what’s you temporarily claiming a room going to change?

the moment you agree, and by that i mean the very second you agree, he’s going to arrange for people to move your stuff

you just need to move yourself over

he’s not going to let you do any hard labor, that’s what the grunts are for

it’s so quick? like, it only took the morning to have everything packed, moved, and unpacked

when you get to your desk the first thing you do is clutter it up

but there’s so much space?

you just can’t stack your stuff enough so that it’s snug the way you like

you try, but all you’ve managed to do is make a paper fortress on one side of your desk

why do the senior managers have so much space?

but you soon realize you didn’t really need to finish building your wall of documents

because your boss sits on your desk whenever he fancies annoying you

so there’s your clutter for the other side

though you still leave a few of your spare scarves there just so it’s not completely empty

a little out of place, but you have nothing else bulky enough

it’s okay, that corner of your desk is often occupied by a certain someone anyway

surprisingly, living with aventurine isn’t unpleasant at all. maybe it’s because you’re almost always within reach now, he’s started bothering you less – instead, he’ll do his work in your office. he has a perfectly good office of his own (arguably comfier too), but he insists on sitting next to you.

frankly, you are tempted to kick him out, but this is his place. you shouldn’t try to kick out your host landlord. and it’s not like he’s actively preventing you from concentrating. you usually leave him be, but you might’ve accidentally gotten used to it – when he’s not around, you feel like something’s missing. just a little bit, though.

he can and will always poke his head over to see what you’re working on

“arranging your meetings, go away.” you push his face back towards his laptop

“hey, leave 6pm to 8pm free!” he whines, as always, he’s trying to get a dinner date(?) with you

“no can do, you’re having dinner with mr diamond.”

he will throw a hissy fit

“why must it always be meal times? i want to eat with you!”

will complain and complain and complain even if you ignore him

you give him a flat “i will be present as well.”

you’re so bloody infuriating

he stares at you for a whole minute. and then he closes his laptop

you look at him. what is he trying to do now?

“not what i meant.” he gently whacks you over the head with the device, “you and i. dinner. alone. get it?”

normally you stand your ground and make him go through with these meetings

but sometimes you cave and indulge him

this is one of those times

“fine, i’ll push back your meeting with the media department tomorrow.”

you see literal flowers around him as he gets his way

well, not exactly his way, because if he had his way he would be free today

a compromise for tomorrow is good enough, he supposes

he will bring you out to lunch and dinner every day if he could

if only you’d stop telling him you technically don’t need to eat and just go along with it

and if only you’d stop scheduling every. single. important. meeting. during. meal. times.

still, he finds it amusing to read your face whenever you’re in those meetings with him

the only good thing about them, really

because you will have the tiniest furrow in your eyebrows when you eat something you don’t like

and it’ll last until the taste goes away (which is usually the entire meeting)

or you’ll have the most serene expression ever (though it’s more neutral than anything, really) when you find something you like

loves it when you try to not make it obvious that you like a particular dish because you’re not discreet at all

that is all you will eat for the rest of the meeting

you are given your own room, but more often than not you find yourself in aventurine’s room at night.

mostly because he drags you away from your desk – no, scrap that, it’s only because he drags you away from your desk. otherwise you would’ve kept working. or maybe gone and did some combat training. or anything but sleep, really.

you soon realize he likes cuddling you when he sleeps

this is something you’ll never deny him if he asks

in fact, he doesn’t even need to ask nowadays

you show up in his room everyday at around the same time

if he wants a nap in the middle of the day, you’ll also be there

you notice how much more quality rest he gets when you’re by his side

and how much less nightmares bothered him compared to before

(maybe you should try casual sleeping, too?)

whenever you try to slip out of his death grip to get some documents, or to use the bathroom, or for water, he will quietly ask you where you’re going

in a very, very slurred, sleepy way

you will try to explain, and all he’ll tell you as you wrench yourself out of his arms is a quiet “stay”

how are you supposed to go if he says that while letting you go?

good luck if you’re hoping to use the bathroom, most likely you’ll have to hold it in

otherwise, if you need anything else, your scarf-serpent can get it for you

although one time it returned with your documents in its mouth and drool all over it

then you had a rigorous session trying to teach them how to coil around things to pick them up

more like you had to learn, since they’re somewhat sentient extensions of you

on the off chance that you’ll be out for the night, you’ll leave your favorite scarf with him

it’s not as comforting as your person, but it does smell like you and feel like you

he’ll take it as a placeholder until you’re back :(

aventurine hates it when you’re out of office. whether it is to represent him, or to discuss matters with clients before you pass it onto him, he hates it when he’s alone at home.

odd, because he was so used to being on his own, and he was so certain he was going to be alone for the rest of his life.

this man will sit in your office regardless of your presence

your spare scarves keep him company

imagine his surprise when a bunch of faceless noodles slither onto him

he makes the connection very quickly

did not expect that every one of your scarves are mini leviathans

he thought there was only a few, and they move between scarves

a welcome surprise because he knows these huge little guys are friendly

those are the same guys that swallow monsters, so they’re actually not very friendly

but they’re friendly to him because they’re you

one of them will coil into a pile on his lap and rest its head on his thigh

and the others will be all around him

will slobber over him 100%

he will try to pet them, and will realize that they’re really affectionate with him

they will try to eat his hands

but, like, in a not alarming way

hold his hand in their maws but will not bite. only drool

when he pats the one who has his hand, it’ll let go

literally “that’s a weird looking dog” but there's more than ten of them

when you return from your errands, the first thing you see is aventurine dragging a bunch of your snakes along with him as he practically runs to greet you.

you wrap your arms around him as he jumps towards you, and you give him a few spins before setting him down again.

then you lower your scarf

you’re comfortable enough with him to not cover yourself up anymore

oh how he loves seeing your face, aeons, you have no idea

“guys.” you snap your fingers, and the creatures collapse back into inanimate fabric

you catch all of them, of course, then you open one arm for your boss

the best part (real)

he snuggles up against your side naturally

you lift him up easily even though both your hands are busy

he’s practically sitting on your forearm as you walk around the house

princess treatment

you’ll cuddle with him properly once you drop off your stuff

“ten minutes,” you tell him, “then i’ll have to get back to work.”

he will throw another hissy fit, like, “why are you busier than i am? i’m the boss!”

you pinch his nose and go: “exactly, mr aventurine”

instantly droops like a kicked puppy

he doesn’t even try to hide it

absolutely hates it when you’re formal with him in private even if you’re joking

feels like you’re back to square one all over again

“don’t call me that,” aventurine groans as he grabs your hair and tug at it like a toddler.

you glance at him. “displeased?”

“of course!” he tries to shake your head violently, but damn you and your stupid strength. “what happened to aven?”

you don’t respond

you’re busy tossing everything onto your chair and praying nothing falls off

he moves on to slapping your face lightly

“hey, hey!” as his hands smack and grab everything that’s touchable on your head

surprisingly, you let him

he might also pull on your scarf

and after a while, he’ll resort to rubbing his cheek against yours

“are you ignoring me…?”

you sit down on the couch and set aventurine in your lap. “impatient, are we?”

“can’t help it,” he doesn’t hesitate to bury himself into your embrace. “i hate when i’m alone…”

“aven…” you pat his back, knowing full well you’re falling for his tricks again. “there, there. should i just call it a day?”

“you would?” he asks, like a child receiving a gift for the first time, “really?”

“really.” you sigh as he tugs you down into spooning him, and you watch him tangle his limbs with yours.

eventually, you pull him closer to you. jeez, there’s just no way you can win against him, is there?

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #aventurine #aventurine x reader #ares's voracity pathstrider tales

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qveerthe0ry · 2 days

Text

Your Ride, Best Trip

Summary: You sleep with your boyfriend Marcus for the first time Word Count: 9,001 Pairing: Marcus Pike x f! afab! reader Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: 18+ mdni, first time, vaginal fingering, oral (m! and f! receiving), unprotected PIV, squirting, creampie, dirty talk, so much fluff, so much kissing Betas: @for-a-longlongtime and @perotovar as ALWAYS. Love you homies I'm kissing u both <3 A/N: I have nothing to say for myself this time

Marcus Pike is perfect.

He’s your dream man.

He’s sweet. He brings you flowers just because, and he’s remembered your go-to coffee order, and he never goes to bed without texting you goodnight.

He’s effortlessly kind. He offers to walk your dog for you when you aren’t feeling well enough to get out of bed, and he always does the dishes when you cook for him, and he makes sure his bathroom is stocked with all the personal products you use at your own place.

He’s fucking handsome. His smile is straight and pearly white, and his big brown eyes warm you up, and the way his broad shoulders fill out those suits he wears to work never fails to make you weak in the knees.

He’s so smart, and he’s so funny, and he’s all yours… finally.

See, when he hadn’t so much as kissed you by your third date, you wigged out a bit.

How could you not? He’d been so thoughtful and caring and all you wanted was to feel those pillowy, soft lips against your own.

So you asked him what was up, and he told you.

Divorced. Broken engagement. A whole year of therapy to pinpoint what went wrong, what he could change, and how he could do better, how he could feel better. And then, he said, he found you— like fate— when he wasn’t even looking, when he least expected it.

You had no problem taking it slow. You’re still convinced you’d wait forever for him, as perfect as he is.

After too many little dates to count, he told you he wanted to be your boyfriend, if you’d have him.

You told him you’d love for him to be your boyfriend, of course. You’d be crazy not too.

And then he finally kissed you.

It was slow and hesitant, but it still made your heart race, made your stomach do flips. He cut it off before it could become anything more than chaste, and left your front door with a sheepish goodnight.

You’ve kissed a lot since then. You never really enjoyed kissing that much, before. It always just seemed like a means to and end, a formality before moving on to other things.

But now it’s one of your favorite ways to pass the time with him. Waiting for an Uber to take you downtown, finally getting to his place on Friday after a long work week, cuddling in bed together with an old movie playing.

You haven’t made out with anyone this much since high school. And you enjoy it, you do, but Jesus Christ, he’s been your boyfriend for three weeks now and you need him.

It doesn’t help that he touches you like you’re the last person on earth. His hands are so big and they’re gentle and electric when they find the bit of skin just under the hem of your shirt.

You think it’s going to happen, this time. Friday night takeout has long been abandoned in the living room. You’re in his bed, in his clothes, and his pinky is teasing at the waistband of his sweats that you’re wearing.

His tongue in your mouth is making you dizzy, and there’s no more blood in your brain with all of it rushing between your legs. You whimper, and you arch against him, and you want him so bad but you can’t say it. You’d feel bad, making him rush when he’s made it clear he wants to take things slow.

When his lips leave yours, you open your eyes, and find his pupils obstructing all the deep, dark brown you adore.

You have to squeeze your thighs together for a miniscule amount of relief. He notices. Of course he does. Damn that Quantico training.

“Sweetheart—”

His eyes flicker down to your lips. You’re sure they look obscene, red and slick from nearly an hour of him sucking and nibbling on them.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

You don’t know why you say it, but you are sorry. You feel so bad for wanting him like this, desperate and aching in his bed, over eager.

“Don’t be,” he shakes his head and gives you a reluctant smile, a smile that tells you you’re going to fall asleep extremely sexually frustrated.

But it’s fine. He’s so worth it.

You give him a soft smile back, and lean in to peck his lips. But he pulls away with his brow furrowed.

“What do you want?”

His voice is gentle when he asks. So is his hand on your back, under his shirt you’ve claimed. But it doesn’t stop that fight or flight response from kicking in.

“Nothing! Nothing, Marcus, I’m okay— I’m great. Just wanna cuddle.”

But the creases in his forehead don’t smooth out, and his hand ceases the soothing circles across your spine.

“You’re lying.”

You sigh and close your eyes.

“I’m not lying, I’m just— I don’t want to push you to move too fast.”

You expect him to be angry. But when you open your eyes again, his own have taken on that puppy-like quality you usually love. Right now, it just makes you feel guilty.

“I’ve been lying, too,” Marcus whispers.

It’s your turn to scrunch your face up. Your blood runs cold, waiting for him to elaborate. A million scenarios run through your head at lighting speed— all worse and worse until your breathing picks up and you beg him with your eyes to just get on with it—

“I have a small dick.”

His face is so flushed. He can’t meet your gaze.

He’s staring at the bedsheets between you, and you’re both just silent for a long, awkward moment.

“I mean— the divorce and all that, it’s all true. And I did want to keep from moving too fast. But— the last few weeks I guess I’ve just been… stalling?”

He finally looks up from the threads to gauge your reaction.

“Marcus…”

“I get it, okay? If you wanna go. I know I lied, and you didn’t sign up for—“

“Marcus.”

You watch his shoulders raise and his mouth snap shut, and he looks terrified.

“I don’t want to leave. You didn’t lie. It’s just— you really think that would bother me?”

He lets out a big breath, and the tension in his body eases up a little.

“I don’t know. Most people were… bothered. I guess,” he shrugs.

You cradle his jaw in your hand, let the day-old stubble tickle the pad of your thumb as you think about how to best navigate this conversation.

Because saying ‘I don’t care’ seems too dismissive. But you don’t. You couldn’t possibly care less about what’s in his pants, when everything else about him has made you fall so, so deep already. But you don’t want to make it sound like it’s something you have to even bargain with, like the pros outweigh the cons, like it even is a con. Because it’s not.

“I’m not bothered,” you finally tell him.

He still doesn’t meet your eyes, in fact, he rolls his.

“You don’t have to lie to me. It’s okay, I’ve heard it all. I know I’ve lead you on—”

“Jesus,” you cut him off, “what did— who made you feel this way?”

He finally looks at you. His eyes are wide and he looks vulnerable and hesitant. You swipe away some hair that’s fallen flat across his scrunched forehead.

“Everyone?”

You sigh his name, and you’re tentative when you lean forward to kiss him, softly, when he lets you.

He looks less terrified when you pull back. You try to smile, but this whole interaction has left such a bad taste in your mouth that it feels more like a grimace when your lips turn up.

“That’s— Fucking awful, to be frank. Pardon my French.”

He chuckles, but his gaze falls away from your face again. His sheets are not that interesting to look at.

“Really, Marcus. I mean— maybe if someone’s just looking for a hookup, then I get it. You want something specific, whatever. But why would you ever think you were leading me on?

All you’ve done is be sweet to me, and shown interest in me, and taken care of me. Unless you’re like, secretly an ax murderer, or committing some kind of major tax fraud, you haven’t led me on at all.”

He’s still not looking at you. Why won’t he look at you, and believe you?

“I don’t want to sound dismissive. I understand you’re insecure about it. I’m insecure about some things too. I don’t want to invalidate that. But I need you to know that the last thing I care about is how big your dick is.”

There. He’s looking at you. He looks a little mortified, but he’s finally meeting your gaze.

“Really?”

You scoff.

“Really really.”

A reluctant smile tugs on the corner of his pretty mouth.

“Why?”

“Because— now, don’t go getting a big head about this— you’re perfect. Like, everything about you. You’re sweet and you make me laugh and you’re gorgeous.”

His face flushes, but he lets you continue.

“And I’m in this, with you. I want this to go somewhere. And I think we’re super compatible.”

“Me too,” he whispers.

“Good, so… we’re on the same page then.”

You watch him lick his lips, and his hand that’s been loosely draped over your waist finally starts back up, drawing little circles across the base of your spine.

“And… There’s other reasons,” you mumble, voice low with a hint of mischief.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah… For one, your hands.”

“My hands?”

He emphasizes his question with a squeeze of your hip, and you giggle at the way it tickles, and also with a bit of embarrassment.

“Yeah… They’re uh… big. I look at them a lot. Honestly surprised you haven’t noticed.”

He huffs, lets his big hand travel further up the shirt on your back.

“Your nails are always trimmed, and— your fingers are long and thick. I’ve thought about them a lot.”

He breathes your name, and now you realize you’re the one avoiding eye contact. When you look back, his pupils are all blown out again, and it spurs you on.

“And I love to give head.”

“Jesus.”

“And the bigger it is, the quicker I get tired. I could stay down there all night, if my jaw didn’t get sore.”

“Sweetheart—”

“Really, it’s one of my favorite things, making someone fall apart under my mouth. But I hate gagging and choking my way through it. It’s tedious.”

He says your name again, this time with a warning tone.

You bite your lip to keep anything from tumbling from your mouth unwarranted.

“You’re not lying.”

His eyes dart back and forth across your face, and you shake your head in lieu of opening your mouth again.

“Fuck.”

It’s the first time Marcus has cursed in front of you. Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and your clit throbs.

“I’ve thought about you so much. Your lips, you have to know, right? How plump and full they are… I think about them at night, when I’m touching myself.”

That’s convincing enough, apparently. Before you can embarrass yourself any further with your confessions, he surges forward to press those plush lips against yours and groans into your mouth.

His hand flattens against your back and pulls, manhandling you closer to him. Your fingers find his silky hair and tangle in the strands, holding on for dear life at this shift between the two of you.

You can’t muster up an ounce of shame. Finally, you have Marcus where you want him, pressed against you. You hike a leg over one of his, getting it between your thighs for even the smallest amount of friction.

You feel him gasp, chest inflating to press even closer against yours. It’s a rush, finally getting this after waiting so long.

Your hands scramble to get under his white t-shirt. His skin is hot, even against your sweaty palms. There’s so much to feel, the slight swell of his stomach, and the muscle of his flank, the soft but firm pecs.

You whine when he pulls away from your lips. He shushes you gently, and you open your eyes to watch his slick lips and his hooded eyes and flushed face disappear briefly, just quick enough to shed his shirt.

Smooth, is the first thing that comes to mind. His tan skin has no hair above his belly button, just the errant freckle here and there. His nipples are peaked, and you reach out to press your thumb against one before your mind catches up to the action, before you realize you’re gawking.

But when your hand stutters against his skin and you look up at him, he’s smirking, amused and turned on. You falter a bit, mouth open while you search for something to say, some sort of excuse as to why you’re devouring him like you’re starved.

He saves you though, with his low, grumbled voice.

“I think about you, too. All the time.”

You dig your nails into his soft skin at his admission, scraping against his chest.

“You know that? You think I haven’t had you a million different ways in my head?”

Your heart stops beating, and you stop breathing, and the heat between your legs only gets heavier and wetter.

“You want me to show you, sweetheart?”

Your heartbeat comes back as a rush in your ears, and you squeeze the meat of his pec as you nod.

He kisses you again, licks at your lips until you suck his tongue into your mouth, and now it’s just filthy. No more pretense, it’s been months of pretense, and neither of you have any more patience.

His fingers seek out your own nipple, a tight bud protruding through cloth, and he rolls it between his fingers gently over the material of his shirt.

“You come over and wear my clothes like this, and you think you don’t drive me crazy?”

The words are grumbled into your mouth, against your cheek, then your jaw and your neck as he seeks out more of you to kiss.

“I don’t wash them when you leave. I wear them and I smell you all day and it makes me feel insane.”

You mewl at his admission. Everything he says now is so fucking raw, now that you’ve broken down his walls. He shushes you again, grabs the hem of his shirt to help you pull it over your head.

He curses when he sees you. It’s the first time. You’ve both been toeing this line of modesty, and maybe you’d be more nervous if you weren’t careening toward the pleasure he’s promised you.

He coaxes you to lie on your back beside him, and his mouth works a slow trail down the side of your neck, nipping and suckling until he finally gets your nipple in his mouth. You arch into it, encouraging him with a hand tangled in his thick hair. You feel his groan reverberating around your rib cage when you scrape your nails back and forth across his scalp. You need him, like nothing you’ve ever craved before.

“Marcus—”

“I know, I know.”

His syrupy voice isn’t as soothing as his lips, though, when he cranes his neck back up to kiss you again. He nips there, a sneaky distraction from the way his fingers trail down to circle your navel, and then even farther, teasing the hem of his sweatpants you’re wearing. His featherlight touch makes you jolt when it finally registers, your stomach jumping under his fingers.

“Can I?”

You’re nodding against his lips, into the kiss, and then whining when his hand breaches the waistband. Those thick, long fingers flutter across your mound. Your breath catches on every wiggle. But when his fingers splay out, half on one side of your slit and half on the other, teasing your lips, you exhale hard and press up into his touch.

“Oh, are you that sensitive?”

His voice is half-teasing, half-shocked, as he mumbles into the tingling skin of your neck.

“It’s just you.”

And it’s true. There’s no ego-stroking here. You’ve waited too long to get this and now you’re fiending, any touch is a relief.

And he’s huffing into that skin under your ear, like you’re playing it up too much, but he bites down on the skin anyway and groans.

“So sweet, huh?”

You make a disgruntled noise but there’s not enough blood in your brain to get your point across. Instead, you wrap your hand around his meaty forearm and force his fingers lower, where you know your underwear is a soaking, sticky mess.

He curses and pulls away from his assault on your neck to look at you. You’re certain you know what he sees, blown out pupils and sweat-slick forehead and bitten, shiny lips.

“That’s all for me?”

There’s a sly smile tugging at one side of his mouth, just barely there, but you see it in the way one dimple grows more than the other. You nod in answer, scrape your nails up the hair on his arm and watch him shudder.

But he retreats from between your legs, and chuckles when you squeeze his forearm tighter in protest. The sound makes you shiver, all low and gruff and teasing. But he softens the blow with another one of his kisses, heated and sloppy and needy. His hands, always so gentle and careful and big, find the creases between your hips and thighs. It makes you arch up into the touch and whimper again, and you wonder briefly if you’ll ever not be desperate for him again.

He watches your face twist up when he pulls away from you, watches the way your breasts move with every heave of your lungs. His dark eyes travel lower, where his thumbs sear circles into your hips, and his tongue swipes across his lower lip.

“Can I take these off, sweetheart?”

The tenderness in his voice fills you with a completely different warmth, white hot flames simmering into a blaze of feelings you aren’t sure you’ve ever truly experienced before. You let it consume you.

“Yes, please.”

He hums a satisfied little noise as his fingers hook under the waistband. He takes his time, making sure to catch your underwear as well. It’s a sight, his huge hands working your only remaining cover down, down, until you’re bare to him and he’s gently cradling each of your calves to fully remove the last of your clothes.

Those hands work their way back up, attentive, memorizing the valleys and peaks of your flesh, the nuances of your skin, the way it bends over your joints. Before you know it, he’s propped himself up beside you once again, one arm supporting his weight so his other hand can work its way between your thighs.

You drag your eyes away from his fingers to look at him, only to find him focused on your face.

It’s a few long moments before either of you move or speak or breathe. It’s you who breaks the spell, only because you know you’re at the very edge of control.

“You sure you’re ready?”

You reach up to cradle his neck in your hand. It’s hot to the touch, and so are his ears, the tips of them burning a cute pink where your thumb grazes them. His eyes get softer and crinkle even more around the edges.

“I’m positive… can’t believe I psyched myself out for so long.”

He huffs and shakes his head at himself. You’re ready to kiss that apprehension away again, but his hand on your thigh pulls, as gentle as everything else he’s done, to spread yourself open for him.

The cool air makes your breath catch in your throat. Or maybe it’s the anticipation. So close to what you’ve thought about every single night for weeks. Months– since the day you first met, if you’re being honest.

He keeps his eyes on you, and you hold his gaze even though it burns. But only until his fingers brush you. Your eyelids flutter shut at the feeling, mouth open wide in shock at how electric just one simple touch feels.

His finger glides so easily around your opening, and you hear him gasp as he explores all the slick.

“You’re soaked.”

His voice is thick with awe, as another finger joins in on the fun, gathering up your arousal. But they don’t breach, and you feel like he’s teasing, readying a whine in protest.

The noise gets stuck in your throat when they trail up, gliding through your swollen folds. They find your clit, full and begging for attention, and circle with hardly any pressure.

Oh, he’s fucking good at this.

There’s no apprehension in his movements. It’s like he’s read a fucking manual on how to press all your buttons. The light, slick touches are building up that heat in your gut quicker than you can ever remember with anyone else.

You’re stunned silent, eyes pinched shut and your head tilted back into the mattress, digging in for even an ounce of grounding.

“That feel good, sweetheart?”

Your vocal chords come back to life, finally, as you whimper from the gentle drag of his fingers.

“You have no idea.”

He chuckles, and you open your eyes to see his own still trained on your face.

“I think I do,” he mumbles.

He shifts, presses his hips into you, and the hard line of him digs into your side.

You clench around nothing, and your clit pulses under the pads of his fingers. He curses and responds to the needy little bud, applying more pressure and speeding up those little circles.

All the while he grinds his hips into you, soft little movements that sync up with his hand, and you want him so bad. You’re losing patience by the second, the only thing keeping you from pouncing is the way his fingers work you over so perfectly it’s like you’re touching yourself.

You’re not, though, and that becomes perfectly clear when one thick, long finger presses lower and slips into you. It slides so easily, despite how much girth it has on one of your own. You both make stuttered noises at the feeling, and Marcus’ lips capture your own to let them mingle together.

Your hips egg him on, lifting and shifting, but he is teasing now. It’s a slow drag in and out, his finger pin straight, and if he hadn’t been so diligent this entire time you’d think he didn’t know what he was doing.

But you whine, a soft plea of his name into his mouth, and he obliges. That thick finger crooks up, just as the heel of his hand flattens against your clit, and stars bloom behind your eyelids.

You groan, and he laps it up before his lips leave yours.

“That’s it. This what you needed?”

A pathetic whimper comes out in response as you nod your head. His finger presses harder into that perfect spot, and his palm slides over your wet clit. You’re clenching around him, savoring the feeling of being filled by him, working your hips down and back to meet his motions. It grows and grows, that feeling in your gut, so close that you can’t be bothered to worry about what needy noises you’re making.

He mutters another frantic curse, and his hips jump to press his cock into you harder.

“I gotta taste you, sweetheart. Can I? Will you let me?”

You nod so fast you’re surprised your head doesn’t detach from your neck. He soothes that frenzied part of your brain with another kiss, slips his finger out of you, and moves to get between your legs.

You thread your fingers through his hair to keep him still, even if it’s just for a moment. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and the drag of his sweatpants across your sensitive center makes you arch up into him for more, to seek out more friction.

He just huffs a laugh against your lips and angles his hips away, denying you the simple pleasure of grinding against the tent in his pants.

“Not yet. Let me take my time with you. You’ve waited so long, right? I’ll make it up to you, you just gotta let me.”

You huff.

You should’ve known Marcus would be just as much of an infuriating tease in the bedroom as he is outside of it. The trivia dates and the cocky smirk he always sported when he won, the little bets he’d make on how a movie’s plot was going to twist, the refusal to ever let you pay for dinner— it’s all adding up now, and you can’t believe you didn’t expect it.

Marcus Pike is a smug little prick underneath the humble, sheepish grins, and it’s hot and it’s yours.

“Put your money where your mouth is,” you breathe.

He chuckles and trails said mouth down the length of your naked body. You watch his plump lips explore your skin and leave wet patches littered in their wake, shiny little stakes claiming you. His five o’clock shadow is just long enough to abrade your skin a bit, delightful little pricks that make your muscles jump involuntarily.

He makes it to your mound before looking up at you. His brown eyes are mostly obstructed by his pupils, but they shine all glassy in the dim lamplight of his bedroom. His shitty grin has faded and he looks determined, and it steals the breath from your lungs.

He teases some more, of course he does. His lips peck and tickle the creases of your thighs, the skin of your outer lips, and the very tip of your hood before you finally see his pink tongue slip out.

All of a sudden you can’t watch, can only let your head fall back and close your eyes and drown in the anticipation.

The pointed tip of his tongue just barely grazes you, tracing a razor-thin line from your dripping hole all the way to your mound. It tickles, and your breath comes in faster as he does it again, and again, and again.

Just before you can beg for more, he flattens his tongue and drags it up your slit. He laps at your folds, slow and calculated, and the satisfied noises tumble out of you as you feel his taste buds glide against you.

All you can think to do is find his hair and use it to hang on. Your legs spread wider, and he takes the encouragement. His tongue finds your clit, so swollen and sensitive with need by now. He circles it, then wiggles his tongue back and forth, playing with it, playing with you. He shakes his head from side to side to give you more, presses even more firmly, and the heavy feeling in your gut tightens tenfold.

Your hips start to move on their own, rocking up into his face, helping his motions along. He groans with it, muffled and wet between your legs.

A delirious thought gets stuck in your horny brain. You don’t know how you’ll ever let him leave this spot between your legs now that you’ve finally got him here. It’s so wet and warm and incredible, and your nails dig into his scalp to drive the point home, to try and lock him here forever.

His voice snaps you from your reverent thoughts, thick and deep.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You taste so good, looks so fucking pretty.”

You brave a glance down at him, his red soaked mouth and his dark eyes that are boring holes into your pussy. One of his hands releases its grip on your thigh to glide across the dripping mess of your center. He toys with you, spreading you open with splayed fingers, watching the way your folds bend to his whim. With it exposed and protruding and aching for his touch, he leans down to wrap his plush lips around your clit and suckle. Curses fly from your lips at the concentrated attention, and it’s so so so fucking good you’re sure you’re going combust.

His hand slips lower, and his mouth doesn’t stop, and you’re dangerously close to tipping over the edge. And then two thick fingers slip easily into you, immediately seeking out that spot inside you and tapping there.

It’s blinding pressure overwhelming the two places you need him most. He drums up a rhythm that would remind you of a dance, maybe, if your brain were cognitive enough to form a coherent thought. Down with his head, engulfing your clit, and up with his fingers, squeezing that spongy spot inside you. Over and over, he works you with soft grunts against your cunt until your fingers lock up in his hair and your hips start to shake.

“Please don’t stop,” you pant, “I’m so close.”

To his credit, and this is more than you can say for the majority of men you’ve been with, he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down, nor does he speed up. He keeps at you exactly how you need it, moaning strung-out little noises into your center until you’re dropping.

All the wind is knocked out of you. Your hips jolt into his face and he takes it in stride, lapping at your clit when the seal of his lips is broken from your erratic movements. You tremble through it, clench around his fingers, and squeeze his head between your thighs as you ride it out on his tongue.

As the shivers roll through you, Marcus’ fingers slow, and though he can’t remove his tongue from you because of how your legs have him in a headlock, he stills his tongue so you can take the last bit of what you need from him.

His breathing is just as heavy as yours, wheezing out moans and muffled words of encouragement. When you feel yourself slipping down from your peak, you let go of the death grip on his hair, and open your legs, and grant yourself a few deep breaths before you dare to look down at him.

He carefully, cautiously pulls his fingers out of you. A comforting ‘shhh’ is cooed into the sweaty skin of your thigh when you make a strangled sound. Both of his hands splay out on either hip, a light and grounding touch accompanied by the kisses he’s dropping all over the skin he can reach.

Finally, you grant yourself a peek down at him. The first thing you notice is how his broad shoulders are, heaving with baited breath. Then, his normally pristine hair, sticking out every which way and then some from your frantic fingers.

His face is red, you guess from exertion. Or maybe you really did restrict some blood flow. Christ. That’s what he gets, being so goddamn good at that.

And then his lips. His lips. Those lips that up until now you’ve only ever kissed or dreamed of. They’re even more plump, swollen and slick with you, shining just like his chin is.

You don’t know what to say. You know you want to kiss him. Funny, considering that’s how all this started, but you’re dying to see what you taste like on him.

Luckily, he breaks the silence, after licking those delectable lips and clearing his throat.

“So… How’d it compare?”

Your face contorts on its own, surprised at the sudden and intrusive question.

“Pardon?”

But then he laughs, pressing those wet dimples into your heated skin to hide them.

“To all those thoughts you told me about. How’d I do?”

You laugh too then, a weary huff of breath as you sit up.

“Don’t go fishing for compliments,” you tease, though there’s not much heat behind it with how out of breath you still are.

He goes to respond, but you get a hand in his hair again and coax him up. You meet him halfway, swallowing his surprised noise when you finally get those pillowy lips against yours and lick at them, his tongue, his teeth, until you aren’t sure what taste is you and what is him. Until you realize you’re flat on your back again as he hovers over you, still between your thighs.

You both hum when the kiss breaks, and you rest your forehead against his, nuzzle his nose and sigh at the floaty feeling in your limbs.

“Better,” you whisper.

You feel his grin bump into your own. You nip at it, playful and languid as you finally begin to get some of your bearings back.

And then you’re shocked back into the realization that there’s all this smooth skin right in front of you, this hunk of a man hovering above, the one who just melted your brain into a fuzzy little mold of itself. You grab his hips as he licks into your mouth and scrape your nails up his flanks, unhurried, while the touch makes him shiver.

You feel out the strength in his pecs, those broad shoulders you often daydream about, and then you push. Catching him off guard, he gasps as he loses his balance and tumbles to the side, and then laughs when you press him into the mattress and straddle his hips.

You laugh along with him, but it slowly tapers off as his hands find your naked skin— your stomach and hips and back and then your ass, where it hovers just above that bulge in his sweatpants.

He’s looking up at you with what you can only describe as horny apprehension.

His eyelids droop over his dilated pupils, but his brow is all pinched up in the middle. His mouth hangs open, like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out.

So you kiss him, soft and gentle, as gentle as he’s been with you all night. His sigh washes heat across your cheeks, and you feel him relax under you just a little.

But then you shift in his grasp, lower your ass, and press your soaking center to his crotch. You whimper at the feeling of his sweatpants dragging across your sensitive, wet cunt. He moans and bites at your bottom lip maybe a little too hard.

But it’s okay. He pulls away and pants your name and you settle there, your weight pressed down on his cock. Your lips find that smooth patch in his stubble, biting that chiseled jaw, licking down the curve of his neck, his shoulder, up to his ear. You delight in every goosebump you draw, and breathe in his scent before you speak up.

“Will you let me suck it?”

All his breath rushes out in a big gust. His fingertips dig into your naked sides, and he nods.

“Please.”

It’s a barely-there whisper. You pull away from that silky soft skin where his pulse is hammering to check his reaction.

He’s begging with his eyes. It makes you smirk, sitting up straighter, trailing your fingers down the front of his body until you reach the drawstring of his sweatpants.

You’re still sitting on his groin, though. You give a little playful wiggle, and his hips rock up to grind harder. But you don’t want to tease any more. Every moment spent teasing him, you’re also denying yourself, and you’ve been patient for long enough.

So you shift down the bed, nestled between his legs, and get to work on the tie of his pants. Every time your fingertips brush the hair below his belly button, he sucks in a breath. You finally get the thing untied, and look up one last time for permission before you start to drag the material down, grabbing his boxers as you go.

Your eyes stay trained on his face instead of staring at his crotch, especially as he wiggles a bit and lifts his legs to remove his pants. You don’t want to stare, and you also don’t want to not look, you don’t want him to be uncomfortable at all with you.

You want it to be perfect. You want to make him feel the way he makes you feel.

He nods his head, and you cease averting your eyes to trail down his body, the bushy happy trail and the neatly trimmed hair above his cock and his cock.

His little cock.

It is, indeed, on the smaller side. Probably one of the smallest you’ve seen in real life. Three and half or four inches long, if you had to guess.

And it’s so pretty, cut and on the thicker side, the slightest upward curve that makes your pussy tighten around nothing.

You dive right in, press your nose to all the hair while you kiss at the base of him, humming when his cock twitches against the side of your face. He smells so good and clean, like always, but down here there’s even more of that Marcus smell that always lingers beneath his soap and cologne, salty and warm.

When you drag your eyes up to him, his head’s thrown back against the pillows, not looking at you. You want him to look, you want him to see how much you’re going to enjoy this.

You’ll make him look, one way or another.

For now, you just lathe your tongue up the underside of him, then back down to tickle his balls, all the while enjoying how his prick jerks under the attention.

He’s making little noises, mostly puffs of breath and gasps, and his hands twist up in the sheets beside you. You grab one of them, slow and steady, and lead it to the back of your head.

And then, you finally get your lips wrapped around the head of his dick, and you slowly sink down until he’s entirely in your mouth.

It’s not until your nose presses against the flatness above his cock do you hear him release a strangled groan. That’s when you look back up at him and find him staring down, mouth agape, locked on your mouthful of him.

You pull back up, wiggling your tongue as you go, memorizing the ridges and hairs and veins. Your eyes are locked on his, and his are locked on your lips, so you try to give him a show.

You open your mouth and stick out your tongue, nod your head up and down to let his cockhead tickle your tastebuds. A gruff noise leaves him, hearty and hoarse, and you want to smile but you’re not in a position to.

Instead, you flick your tongue against that little band of tissue just under his slit, and his hips stutter as his grip on the back of your head tightens.

“Fuck, sweetheart.”

Now you do smile, your lips upturned against the head of his cock, and it jerks against your mouth while you kiss it, until you envelop it once more.

You hum around him, at the weighted feeling of him occupying your mouth, how smooth it feels against your tongue and how nice it is to take him all the way in and not gag or choke or drool.

It makes your cunt ache, makes you crave him even more, makes you want to be full of him everywhere.

You reach a hand down to touch yourself. You’re still dripping, can feel it all slipping from your entrance and cooling your skin in the air conditioning. You’ve had just enough time to recover from the mess Marcus made of you. You’re sensitive but not too sensitive, when you trace your clit with your fingertips and moan around the mouthful of cock.

“Oh fuck, are you touching yourself?”

Your eyes flicker open and look up to him. He’s clenching his jaw, grinding his teeth as his nostrils flare. You hum and nod your head to answer, his cock slipping back and forth through the ring of your lips. He whimpers, and his head tips back against the mattress again, and it makes you speed up the efforts on both him and yourself.

He curses, soft little chants, kneading the back of your neck in his big hand as you suck him in over and over. You close your eyes and lose yourself in it for a bit, the way he slips so easily in and out, the way his hips move just a little, like he’s trying not to but he can’t help it. The sounds, his grunts and your sloppy mouth and your fingers working over your slick folds.

He says your name.

You hum, use your free hand to play with the fuzzy skin of his balls.

He says your name again, and this time it’s urgent, almost panicked.

“Sweetheart, stop, please.”

You do, immediately. You open your mouth wide and let him fall from your lips and unhand him while you look at his exerted face.

“Are you okay?”

He huffs, and his cock bobs beside your face.

“I’m so okay. I just— did you want me to…? It’s okay if you don’t, I just didn’t want it to be over—”

“Marcus.”

His heated babbling stops as he clamps his mouth shut. His broad shoulders lift and drop with his heading breath.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

You smooth your hands across the scattered hair on his thighs when you ask. His prick twitches again at your question.

“I— Yeah. Yes. I do.”

He looks almost guilty about it, with his wide eyes and the bashful expression spreading across his face.

“I want you to fuck me so bad,” you tell him, “I’ve wanted it for way too long.”

His breath leaves him in a shuddery exhale, something like relief or awe.

“Yeah? You still want it?”

His hand skates from the back of your neck to your jaw, his thumb brushing the apple of your cheek.

“Please, Marcus. Give it to me.”

You turn your head to kiss his thumb, a sloppy little peck before you take it into your mouth. You smile around it when he groans, and bite it before it slips away.

“Can you get on the edge of the bed for me?”

You can, but not without throwing a cheeky ‘yes sir’ his way. You’re not sure if the noise he makes is from arousal or a lack of amusement, but there will be plenty of time to explore that later.

For now, you do as he says. You scoot so your ass is just about to fall off the side of his bed. The wooden bed frame is the perfect height to rest your heels on, and as Marcus slips a pillow under your head, you’re as comfortable as ever.

The mattress dips when he gets up to stand in front of you. The lamplight from the nightstand is really doing things for him. The slight sheen of sweat on his chest glistens, as does the wetness at his temples where his hair is starting to curl up. All those lean muscles have never been more apparent than they are now, the golden glow creating beautiful shadows across his naked body.

He’s so hot.

It doesn’t help that his big, warm hands snake up your bare thighs as he gets between them. His small dick stands at attention, pointing toward the ceiling, and you feel your pussy spasm with anticipation.

“Please,” you whisper.

He nods, steps closer as you spread your legs wider and wiggle even further off the bed.

“Perfect, sweetheart.”

He leans over you with one hand on the bed to brace himself. The other is wrapped firmly around the base of his cock, and he looks down to watch it as he glides it through your slit.

“Are you ready?”

You nod and hum your affirmative. He takes the go-ahead and his cockhead slides across your clit, down, so slowly, until it catches on the rim of your hole and you both gasp at the feeling.

You look down to watch too, lifting up on your elbows to see the moment your pussy lets him sink inside, fluttering around him, engulfing his prick one inch at a time.

You knew it. You fucking knew his cock was perfect but still you’re shocked at the way the curve makes him drag across your upper wall. And when his hips are flush with yours, all that pressure is concentrated at that bundle of nerve endings inside of you, and you’re going to lose your mind if he doesn’t move.

“Oh fuck.”

You let yourself flop back in the bed, but reach for his hand that’s supporting his weight. Your nails scrabble for purchase against the skin of his wrist as you curse again, your walls contracting around him as you tense.

“Fuck, Marcus, please.”

You’re so far past caring about how desperate you sound. You need him, the textbook definition of it; it’s an absolute necessity that he fucks you.

He curses, and you realize you’ve closed your eyes. When you open them, his jaw is hanging and he’s looking at you, your face, like it’s something he’s never seen before. Like he’s shocked you’re here in front of him.

But his hips are still, and you’re helpless to the way your own cant up to urge him, and finally he’s pulling back out. The slow drag against the most tender spot inside you rips a noise from your throat, involuntary. He pulls almost all the way out, until the head of his dick is kissing your opening and you can feel how he stretches the tight ring of muscles.

And then in again, almost as slowly, and you’re already out of breath. The feeling steals all the wind from your lungs. It’s setting you on fire, perfect friction against just the right spot, the one that’s still tender and alight from your previous orgasm.

“It’s so fucking good,” you manage to choke out.

Marcus moans above you, and his hips snap into you, and his free hand finds your waist so he can dig his nails into your flesh.

“It is, fuck, sweetheart, you’re so fucking good.”

A bead of sweat drips from his nose and lands on your belly, and that seems to make you snap out of it.

“Fuck me. Fuck me hard, please, make me come.”

You watch his mouth quirk up into a pretty smirk, dimples on full display.

“Yes ma’am.”

Your giggles only last for a moment, dissolving into a high whine when he slides out of you and back in, a harsh thrust of his hips that doesn’t let up.

He fucks you. You try to watch; it’s too hot not to. His biceps flex respectively, one with his effort to hold himself above you, and the other where he holds you in place by your waist.

His neck, the one vein there that’s protruding as he bares his teeth. The way his chest is rapidly rising and falling as he drives into you. His big brown eyes, even darker now as he succumbs to the feeling of you.

But you just can’t keep your eyes open for long. It feels too good, you’re too close to the edge. Your insides are so tender and alight from the first time you came. Every single thrust inside you is taking you apart and building your second so quickly. Your eyelids droop closed and there’s already stars blooming behind them.

His little noises are louder, like this. Grunts and gasps and moans, falling over you, all for you.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you warn him.

Your back arches to encourage his pace. His skin slaps into yours faster as he groans.

“Thank god, me too. What do you need, sweetheart?”

Without a verbal answer to his strained question, you slip your hand down to press against your throbbing clit.

“Shit, yeah, play with your pussy for me. I wanna— fuck— let me see you come. Looks so gorgeous.”

His voice is thick in his throat, and you work your fingers over yourself faster. You’re clenching wildly around him, you can’t help it. Every thrust in sets your nerves on fire, almost too much, but not quite. His grunts are turning into growls, uninhibited and primal. You feel the mattress shift and open your eyes to find him standing up straight.

Both hands grab your hips now, and that little angle change makes him grind even harder into your g-spot, and you’re tumbling over the edge. It’s been building under the surface for so long that when it hits, it’s blinding. There’s static in your toes that washes over you, up, up, dragging a fiery heat with it that consumes your center and makes your head fuzzy.

There’s screaming.

You’re screaming. Your eyes are clenched so tight, as are your fingers, all your joints, your pussy, around Marcus as he fucks you through it with sloppy thrusts.

“That’s it, oh my god, sweetheart, you— fuck. I’m gonna come, I’m— where?”

“In me.”

Your throat is scratchy when you answer, and you don’t have any time to elaborate on why that’s not a bad idea. You’re still coming, wave after wave of warmth rolling across your body, and you’re vaguely aware of how wet everything is, the sound of him fucking you even more obscene.

His shout doesn’t quite rival yours, but you feel it when he empties inside of you. His cock jerks and and twitches, wringing out every little bit of pleasure from you, and you think you’re still coming, the pinpricks of pleasure are still too intense to be aftershocks.

He stays pressed as deep as he can be as his stomach convulses and his thighs shake, just like yours do where they’ve somehow wrapped around him. Your eyes open again, and the lamplight is so bright now, his breathing is so loud. He grunts and pulls out a bit, then presses back in, and again, until it falters and his whole body slumps.

His top half collapses onto you, his little breaths huff and tickle the tingling skin of your belly. Your own breath comes out in a weak moan, and it takes all the strength you can muster just to run your fingers through his sweaty hair.

“Jesus,” he says.

Your name cascading off his lips in such a strung out voice that it makes you clench around him again.

“Huh?”

God, how are you ever going to move again?

“You uh… Is that a common occurrence?”

Christ, why is he using such big words?

“What are you talking about?”

He clears his throat.

“You like— You squirted?”

You laugh, one delirious huff. It makes his head rock on your jiggling belly.

“I what?”

You gather the will to look down at him. His mouth is open, surprised and amused, and his eyes are shiny and bright.

“Yeah, like, a lot.”

He’s still inside you but softening, and his own chuckles make him slip out.

You lift up on your elbows as he stands up straight and the evidence is clear. The hair above his dick and high on his thighs is all dark and soaked.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

The sheets on the edge of the bed are absolutely ruined, and you pray he’s one of those men that has a mattress protector. You’re more than a little mortified, and the way he’s staring at you, silent, is beginning to make you squirmy.

“What?”

“Why do you seem so surprised?”

His fingertips are feather-light across your thighs, and you shiver.

“I’ve never actually… done that? I would have warned you.”

He makes a pained sound, and those fingertips turn into a tight grip just above your knees.

He doesn’t speak up. Instead, he lies on the bed beside you. He holds himself by his elbow, but that hand strokes your scalp while the other traces up and down your thigh, your hips, your breasts, anything he can reach. You avoid the topic at hand to relax into it, and you think you’re finally coming down as that boneless feeling washes over you.

You’re vaguely aware of his cum dripping out of you, but the sheets are a lost cause anyway. You just watch his lax face, the way the wrinkles in his brow are all smoothed out, the way his eyes follow the patterns he’s drawing on your body.

He catches you staring. His gaze meets yours and he smiles and it’s sunny. It warms you through, despite all the sweat that’s cooling on your body.

“Hi,” he whispers.

You giggle, and he does too. He tries to hold it in by biting his lip, but it’s no use. You will your exhausted bones to shift and face him, and he presses his lips to yours and they meld together.

It’s languid, unhurried, just reacquainting after too long apart. It feels a little goofy, with how you’re both smiling so wide, but it calms you into settling down after such a high.

Both of your breathing seems even, when you part.

“That was—”

“It’s never—”

You both chuckle.

“Ladies first.”

You feel shy now. You can’t imagine why, but a fluttery feeling overtakes your stomach.

“I was just gonna say… That was better than all those times I imagined it.”

You didn’t think it was possible, but his smile grows even wider. His eyes flicker from yours to the sheets between you, and you think maybe he feels as bashful as you do.

“It’s never been that good.”

A sigh escapes him when he speaks, and his nervous gaze lands on you when his face falls into something more earnest.

It takes your breath away. Because it’s never been that good for you either, and isn’t that such a perfect coincidence?

You tug him to you by the back of his neck, eat up the surprised little sound he makes against your mouth.

“When can we go again?”

#Pedro pascal #Pedro pascal x reader #Pedro pascal smut #Pedro pascal fanfiction #Pedro pascal characters #x reader #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike smut #the mentalist

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gyuswhore · 2 days

Text

Shut Up (don't)

anniversary event [closed]

lee seokmin x reader

prompt(s): carrying on the argument between sloppy kisses and heavy make out

word count: 2.7k

warnings: smut (MINORS DNI), mean words are thrown at one another while they're fighting, heavy makeouts, fingering (f. rec), breast play, p in v, unprotected sex, soff ending bc im a sap

[a/n]: i have nothing to say. enjoy.

masterlist

Nearly getting rearended, and then breaking the heel of your shoe, to becoming the receiving end of another plethora of snarky remarks from the department weasel; it was all beginning to spill over the rim of your too warm, too full cup.

All you wanted was to eat a good meal in front of another mindless TV show and nap the weekend away in the arms of your favourite person. Hence why the excitement at your front door was overflowing, creaking the door open to find a darker than usual hallway. You can only slip off your broken shoes and deposit your keys and bag so quickly, barely considering the amount of noise you’re making with all the shuffling and clanging in the doorway.

“Seok! Babe, are you home?” you raise your voice a little as you enter the kitchen, slamming the grocery bags down on the counter with a loud huff. You peek out the door into the dark halls, brows furrowed.

Opting to put away the perishables first, you grunt as you stand back up after stuffing all the frozen packages into the freezer, hand supporting your lower back. You were more tired than you’d initally thought.

Shuffling into the living room, your turn on the lights, remaining confused as ever as to why they were off. Even in an empty house, at least one of the lights would remain on.

You nearly jump out of your skin when you register the lump on the now visible couch, taking a moment to realise it was your boyfriend, still in the clothes he had left in this morning.

He’s shifting, groaning as he comes around to reveal his face, eyes bleary and face slightly red from sleep.

“Oh,” he grimaces as he realises you were the one to turn the lights back on. “You’re home.”

“Why are you sleeping on the couch? Have you eaten yet?” you ask your boyfriend who’s now attempting rub the sleep out of his eyes.

“No,” he confirms, voice still scratchy. “I’m gonna change and go to bed.”

“Wait, I did the groceries before coming home. I can make you your favourite. You can go to bed after you eat,” you insist.

He doesn’t answer as he simply rises and makes his way towards the hall leading the bedroom.

“Seok? Honey, I’ll be quick, I promise. Twenty minutes tops and then you can go to bed.”

Catching up to him, you grab his hand in an attempt to get him to look at you, which he does. Except he looks…annoyed? He brushes another hand across his hair and face, looking more exasperated by the second.

“I’m not hungry,” he says, slower than usual. Like it was taking an effort to get the words out. “Now can you please just—”

“You can’t go to bed empty stomached, you’ll wake up with a headache!”

“You’re giving me a fucking headache right now.”

You freeze.

On instinct, you drop his hand, letting it ball into fists at his side. He blinks for a long moment, pinching his nose bridge, before turning around entirely to continue his retreat back into the bedroom.

It’s like you’ve snapped out of a daze when you register his retreating form, zero comment from either of you after the bomb he’d planted in the room.

“You don’t get to say that to me and then walk away,” you say, and he’s still not stopping. “You aren’t the only one who’s had a shit day, at least I’m not being an ass about it.”

That seems to do it for him, turning around with furrowed brows and an open mouth that’s ready to shoot back. “This is your problem, you can’t leave things alone.”

“I’m sorry that I care if my boyfriend’s starving himself?” Your voice comes out louder than intended, the heat of the situation creating an emerging buzz in your head.

“Don’t care then! Your idea of helping is whatever you want done for you, have you considered that I just want to be left alone?” He tries to control his arms movements but they explode into some waving motion anyway, eyes meeting yours in a wide, angry, accusatory hold.

“Seokmin.” His name leaves your mouth in an unbelievable laugh. “Are you listening to yourself?”

“How can I over all that clanging and banging you do the minute you step foot into this house?!”

“You know what?” you begin.

“God, just shut up, I can’t do this with you right now.”

“This is beginning to sound like you have a problem with me.”

“I just said—”

“No! Just fucking say it. Moving in together was a bad idea and you wish you’d never asked!” You know you sound hysterical, arms thrown over head as you fight the urge to push something over.

“Stop it.”

“I’m trying to make this work with our schedules but if you’re gonna blow up anytime you don’t get your way—”

Seokmin tries to shut you up again, only this time he succeeds.

In the midst of your rampage he’d crossed the distance between the both of you, opting to slam his mouth onto yours instead of using his words.

Both of his hands have gotten hold of your face, keeping you from moving your mouth in an way except against his own. He’s taken away your power, your hands come up to grasp his forearms.

“Seok—” you start again, but he only plants his lips on you again, sliding his tongue at the seam of your mouth to intrude even further.

You’re mad at him. It’s taking alot to remind yourself of that. He’s trying to shut you up. He doesn’t want to listen to you. He…

Even Seokmin, with all his other worldly breath control, can’t keep his mouth on your forever, leaving your swollen lips to let you both breathe for a moment.

“What the fuck is this supposed to be doing?’ you ask, breathless but angry.

“Shutting you up,” he reponds, gripping your waist so hard it almost hurts, shoving your entire body right into his personal space.

You aren’t any better than him, bringing your hands up to his hair, tugging at the strands just to have something to grip on to.

“This isn’t over,” you mumble between wet, sloppy kisses, already half gone.

“Like hell it isn’t,” Seokmin grunts, letting go only to pull you onto the warm couch, caging you between the armrest and his own overbearing body. He’s taking over you from all sides, the muddle of your mind unbecoming of the anger that coursed through you just minutes prior.

Pairing that with your existing exhaustion, your mind seems to be skipping over most of the filler scenes that unfold.

Your top is gone to wind before you can register his fingers working the buttons. His hands have reached underneath your tight skirt, fiddling with the waistband of your stockings. He’s struggling with the overlapping fabrics, the existing difficulty of handling stockings earning a dissatisfied grunt from his throat.

Opening your eyes, shifting them to focus on Seokmin’s face, you don’t doubt you look just as fucked out as he does. Pupils dilated, hair dishevelled and sticking out from everywhere, clothes barely framing where they belong. He’s growing frustrated as he instead attempts to shuck your skirt off.

“Just—” He cuts you off again, even as you try to help with the wretched zipper.

“Not a word out of your mouth,” he says, almost like it’s a plea, shielded under his scratchy growl. “Not until I’m done.”

This is nothing like you’ve ever seen before, your sweet, gentle boyfriend had turned into some deep monster from hell, like the events of tonight unsheathed some unfed entity that only festered on its ignorance. Despite everything, you can’t seem to complain, enjoying every bit of this as every passing moment only stacks the already leaning tower.

And when you thought he couldn’t get any more unhinged, you hear the distinct sound of a rip!

He’s ripped your tights.

“Seok, I just bought those!” you blurt before you can stop yourself.

He doesn’t answer you this time, opting to let his fingers do the talking. You feel a distinct pressure on your hot core, and you’re immediately putty. Seokmin is rubbing slow circles over the damp crotch of your panties, steady, but just enough to have you bucking your hips uncontrollably every so couple seconds. Your breathing is loud, bordering whimpers as you squeeze your eyes shut.

It’s criminal the way he pushes into your core, stuffing you with bulk of his finger and the fabric of your underwear. And just when you feel like you can’t take it anymore, he removes hands entirely.

You nearly scream, the ache becoming near unbearable. He’s shuffling around to take his clothes off but you couldn’t care less if he fucked you half dressed. He’s naked before you can do something about it yourself, immediately planting himself back on you.

“Put that mouth to better use,” he whispers, bringing two of his fingers to your lips, letting them push past and rest on your tongue. You start sucking on them instantly, tongue running over his long, beautiful fingers, letting him shove them as far as you’d let him.

When he relents, he only slips them somewhere else. You watch between your flushed bodies as his sticky, glistening fingers disappear, sliding inside your ready, coated walls. Hands finding purchase on the bulk of his shoulders, he lets you dig your nails into his pristine tan skin as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. Throwing your head back you can only groan into the empty ceiling at the feeling.

“God, Seok that feels so good.”

He goes faster, deeper, separating his fingers inside you to test your limits. Finding that spongy spot, he shows no signs of relenting, now pistoning into you.

When he stops, you come round to watch him line his hard member up to your entrance, not giving you a moment to register the emptiness. Except, you stop him.

“Wait,” you breathe out, pushing yourself on your elbows.

“What?” he asks, like he’s been snapped out of a trance. You maintain eye contact as you push him into a sitting position on the couch, letting his back hit the plush of the pillows. You take the opportunity to slide out of your torn and tattered tights, feeling the muscle of his thighs as you sit on his lap.

“Fuck,” he curses when he realises what you’re doing.

You readjust, grabbing his hard shaft, pumping him slowly as you prepare to line him up to your entrance again. Pushing your chest into his face during the process, he wastes no time in latching his mouth over the lace of your bra, licking over the fabric, pushing the tip of his tongue right where your nipple was.

It send waves of shocks right into your core, busying the tip of his cock to rub itself on your dropping hole, savouring the feeling. Seokmin’s thrown your bra away, his mouth now in full contact with your breasts, tongue flicking across the nipple as he nips and sucks to his heart’s content. His fingers flick over your other nipple, pinching and stimulating it just the same. The sight of his fingers is doing so much to you, enough to encourage you to sink into his cock with finality.

It’s a stretch, but nothing you haven’t been practiced to handle. He has a hand low on your hips, guiding your ass to sit on him fully. When you move it’s easier, the pleasure returning in its waves and sparks.

“Fuck, Seok,” you whimper, as you start moving faster, bouncing on his cock, ass slapping his thighs.

You find a place holder behind you on his knee, reaching one of your hands back to clasp his skin, the other finds reprieve in his hair, mouth still sucking on your breast.

His palm rests on your ass, guiding you up and down his shaft in a constant rhythm, moaning into the plump of your breast. Letting go of your nipple, he throws his head back in a guttural moan, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of your walls engulfing him whole. He continues to play with the swell of your breasts, fondling and groping.

Taking advantage of the access, you lean into neck, pressing kisses onto the expanse, suckling on a spot near his ear, savouring the salt of his skin on your tongue. Your hips continue to bounce on him, but inevitably slow as you feel the burn on your thighs and hips.

One particular landing is felt with a harsh buck of Seokmin’s own hips and you realise with a loud moan that he’s meeting you halfway, finishing what you started. Soon he’s created a pace of his own, thrusting his well oiled hips into you so good it has you blinking away the gleam of stars.

“Baby,” your voice comes out pleading, and he knows exactly what you’re trying to say.

“Come, baby, it’s alright. Come all over me.”

Taking his words to your cunt, you oblige, letting yourself come undone. It’s loud, it’s desperate and it’s raw, needing to wrap your arms around him in a latch for support. He smells like him, and it’s making the high continue to wreck your body in waves that won’t end.

Seokmin cums just as your coming down from your own high, tightening his hold on you as he rams his cock into your overstimulated cunt to get his own fill of pleasure. His thighs stutter beneath you, his sounds deep and loud.

By the time he’s done neither of you have enough air in your lungs to say a word, slumped over one another as you catch your breaths.

Seokmin is the first to recover, and your fluttering eyelids drift open at the feeling of his lips on your shoulders, leaving butterfly kisses as you remain curled into his chest, head on the crook of his neck.

You’re uncomfortably warm, but you cuddle into his chest closer, feeling the heat that radiates off of his body. His lips have found your temple, seemingly not caring for your sticky, sweaty skin as he trails his kisses to your cheek, right next to your ear.

“I’m sorry for blowing up on you like that. I always want you to care, please forget about what I said,” he whispers into your ear, and it’s enough to have you shuffle impossibly closer into his naked chest. It’s like you’ve molded into each other’s skin.

“I’m sorry too, for not being understand and for blowing up on you as well. I should’ve handled my emotions better.” You lift your head for a moment to plant a kiss on Seokmin’s jaw, and then find his lips.

He kisses you so softly it hurts, pecks of affirmation between his “sorry”s.

“I love you,” he mumbles into your lips, and you cup his jaw as he pulls away ever so slightly.

You can see a stretch at the corner of his lips and you realise he’s smiling; you almost weep at the sight.

Kissing him again, you whisper right back, “I love you more.”

“Please don’t ever leave.”

“Never.”

“Promise?”

You let out a little giggle, “Promise. As long as you won’t ever leave me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, nothing but love in his eyes.

“We still have to talk about what happened,” you say, brushing the pad of your finger across his cheek.

“I know, and we will,” he gulps. “I think we need to sleep on it.”

You agree quietly, but quip anyway. “If I had to take a shot, I’d bet it on all that pent up energy you just unleashed. I think you feel better right now.”

He exhales through his nose, slightly embarrassed at being called out, but replies nonetheless. “It…it probably was. I do feel less tense.”

“Hm,” you hum, bringing you arms to wrap around his neck, tucking your mouth right near his ear. You trace a lone finger down the center of his chest.

“Since we’ve decided this is a topic for tomorrow, do you think you’ve got a little more frustration in there to let out?”

He’s still sheathed inside you, and you can feel his length begin to harden.

You don’t realise what’s happening as you feel yourself being jerked forward, suddenly suspended in his arms as he struts towards the bedroom. Arms tightened, a hint of a squeal escapes you, and you can only giggle as he tickles whispered promises into your neck.

Promises that you can count on him to fulfill.

#🎁gyuswhoreturns1!#svthub #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen smut #dokyeom smut #dokyeom angst #dokyeom fluff #dokyeom scenarios #dokyeom x reader #dokyeom imagines #svt smut #svt fluff #dk smut #seokmin smut #seokmin fluff #dokyeom

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ichimerapunk · 3 days

Text

I’m kind of surprised I haven’t seen any fanfics that run on the idea that Alfred is a ghost? (Either as like the main focus of the story, or just a subplot.)

Think about it.

A lot of stories kind of have Alfred as being this eternally elderly man regardless of how old everyone else in the story is. The man doesn’t seem to age!

More importantly, where does he get the time and energy to do all the stuff he does to keep the manor and the family functional? He somehow manages to keep the giant house that is the Wayne Manor in order despite how many people live there plus his added duties thanks to the family’s vigilante lifestyle? When exactly does this man sleep? Also, I always find it amusing how in stories Alfred seems to always be cooking but it’s rare to actually show him eating himself.

What if someone plays with the idea of him not needing to sleep, eat, etc. because he is a ghost?

I just kind of imagine the idea of Alfred getting up one morning to start the day and nothing seems amiss either to himself or the rest of the family; however, when he retires to his quarters for the night he discovers his body laying still and cold where he had left it. (Could you imagine him, after coming to accept he is a ghost, just… getting rid of his own body and going about life as usual and never telling anyone in the family?)

Maybe I just find the idea of Alfred, rather than passing on, just continuing to take care of his family like nothing has changed touching, if in a morbid way.

The idea could, technically, be construed as the rest of the family not paying Alfred any mind or taking him for granted so much they don’t notice he died, but in my head its more of a fluffy/humorous thing where Alfred is just very good at hiding his ghostly nature from anyone.

This story idea doesn’t even have to necessarily be a Danny Phantom crossover. It’s just that this fanfic idea was spawned out of this brief scene idea of Danny coming to live at the manor (insert any other story plot as to why), and both Alfred and Danny clocking each other immediately. (The idea included Danny fretting over asking Alfred about it but being afraid Alfred might not know he’s dead, and Alfred noting Danny is half-ghost but his only concern is that anyone living under his roof is cared for.

(If I didn't already have a dozen or more story ideas sitting in folders not yet completed, I'd kind of want to brainstorm on this more because I think its a cool concept?)

#batman fanfic idea #batman facfic plot bunny #Alfred Pennyworth #Alfred Is a ghost #dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #danny phantom crossover #dp x dc fanfic idea #dp x dc plot bunny

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latenightdaydreams · 17 hours

Note

Had a dream

Recruits make a bet on who can scare Colonel König

first. Money for the winner. Stupid idea I know lol

Got me thinking about

Hiding under his desk when hes out of his office. Him coming back later and locking his door. Sitting down in his chair. Just as your about to grab his leg to scare him he undoes his belt and pants.

Recruit wants his cock in their mouth

This isn't stupid at all! Sounds like a porn set up haha

Let's Make a Bet (g/n)

MDNI🔞

Master List

>cw: bets, voyeurism, oral, mention of sex, masturbation

1.2k word count

Colonel König is a stoic man, never showing any emotions. Never laughs at jokes, crying at sad moments, or even showing fear when face to face with death. The man is made of stone. That’s when you and another recruit got the stupid idea to try and scare him; whoever wins gets $200. Shaking hands, you both accepted the challenge.

Your fellow recruit first tried something small and simple, a tarantula in the break room. König simply looked at it, picked it up, and walked it outside, totally confused. Small pranks like these didn’t shake the man so you decided to turn it up a notch.

When you knew König would be out of his office running drills, you decided to sneak into his office. Your heart pounds as you enter. You’re small enough to fit comfortably so you crawl under the large wooden desk and wait.

A half hour passes before you hear the door open, König muttering about things in German as he locks the door behind him. He walks over to his desk chair and sits down, facing sideways. You wait until he turns to try and scare him.

You hear the clicking sound of his mouse and occasionally the keyboard when finally, he turns to face you. You wait a little while trying to suppress your giggles from the excitement. König types quickly and then relaxes back in his chair.

Just as you’re about to grab his legs, his hand moves to his belt buckle and you watch as he unbuckles his belt. His hand unbuttoning his cargos before pulling his zipper down. You watch as he pulls out his flaccid dick, which looks like your boyfriends fully erect. The smell of his natural musk after a long day of sweating fills the space. Instantly you feel yourself getting turned as you watch in anticipation.

From his computer, you hear soft sounds of moaning and you realize he is watching porn. His cock slowly getting erect, he grabs it and pulls the foreskin back, exposing his bright pink head. His hand begins to lazily stroke himself unaware that you’re under the desk watching. His cock is massive, porn star huge, and you’d love nothing more than to know what it feels like.

With one of your hands, you slowly begin to rub yourself through your pants, your own arousal growing by the second as you watch his hand begin to move faster. Small moans leaving König’s lips as you see precum begin to drip from his tip. His other hand came down to tug on his balls.

You feel an overwhelming want to just suck his cock. Taste how his bitter cum would taste on the tip of your tongue. Trying to decide where to go from here, you just continue to watch as you please yourself.

König’s hand slows as he moves the one from his balls back to his mouse and seems to be looking for a different video to watch. You take a deep breath, one you think König heard, so you gently rest your hands on his lap.

You won the bet; König jumps in his seat and screams like a small child as he kicks his desk back. He looks down and sees you.

“I’m sorry I know this looks so weird,” you begin to explain in almost a panicked ramble.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” König shouts, his mask hiding his red face full of embarrassment.

“I- I,” you stumble over your words before deciding to just be bold, “I want to suck your cock.”

“What?” König’s defensive demeanor changes slightly as he hears your words. He couldn’t believe his ears. He always found you attractive, so to be put in this situation, he feels as if this is a dream.

“Let me help you cum.” You look at his hand trying to cover himself.

He looks down at his cock losing its erection because of the fear, and then up at you with desire in your eyes.

“Are- are you serious?” He sounds slightly unsure.

“I am…”

König sits for a while before he nods his head and motions for you to move out from under the desk. You crawl forward and kneel before him.

His piercing blue eyes gaze down at you as you inch closer to his cock, his hand slowly moving to the side so you can grasp it with your own. He lets out a soft shuddering breath as you do. You slowly stroke his cock as you look up at him, his eyes have softened.

You lower your head and pull his foreskin back before flicking your tongue on the tip of his cock. König’s breathing begins to pick up, his eyes shifting to the frozen porn and then back to you.

“Can you take your shirt off?” He asks feeling a little nervous asking for something extra.

You gladly lean back and pull your shirt off, König looks over your body and smirks under his mask. Your skin looks so soft and beautiful. As you lean back down and begin to lick his cock again. He reaches out and begins to caress your bare shoulders and down your arms, you feel as soft as you look.

Holding his cock up, you lick his balls. Gently taking one into your mouth at a time and sucking on them while on of your hands strokes his cock. Your tongue licking them all over, making them slobbery before moving your attention back to his cock.

You wrap your lips around his cock finally and he lets out a soft moan. You lower your head on his length, taking in a few inches, sucking as you bob your head. König looks down at you, eyebrows pinched beneath his mask.

“Just like that Schatz,” He leans his head back and closes his eye; letting the waves of pleasure take over.

One of his hands moves to the back of your head and gently pets your hair, resisting the urge to shove your head down farther on his cock. The room filled with the sound of your mouth desperately wanting to please him and his small moans.

Your hands grasp his thighs as you push your head down further, making yourself gag. His hand applies slight pressure to help you get his girthy cock into your tight throat. His hips bucking upwards slightly as spit begins to pool at the corners of your stretched lips. He looks down at you and stares in awe at you before his eyes travel down what he can see of your body.

He looks back at the frozen porn of a woman bent over and he looks back at you. Your eyes looking up at him noticing his want. Slowly releasing his cock from your mouth, a line of spit connecting from your lips to the tip of his cock.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

König doesn’t speak, just nods. His eyes look as if they’re glossed over with a lustful daze. You stand up in front of him, his eyes traveling down your body. You begin to undress in front of him. His hand reaches out and caresses your hips before standing himself, his pants dropping to his ankles. He grabs your waist and turns you around, pushing you gently down onto his desk. Your face touching the cold wood as you feel excitement rush through your body. He steps behind you and squeezes your ass before lining himself up with you.

You won the $200 bet and get to experience your first BWC, it’s been a pretty good night.

#konig #konig x reader #könig #konig x y/n #konig cod #könig x reader #konig smut #könig smut #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig x reader smut #konig x you #konig x gn!reader #könig call of duty #könig x gn!reader #könig x gn reader #könig x y/n #könig x you #könig x reader smut

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maxsimagination · 2 days

Note

would you write more for kim little please? maybe her dating someone younger on the team and the rest of the girls find out? <3

𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙖 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮 - 𝙠.𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚

warnings: none, just an age gap

-------

“kimmyyyy, no i wanna sleep in. pleaseeee.”

i groaned as kim pulled the curtains to our shared apartment. i wanted to enjoy the last moments with her until we had to go to training and pretend we weren’t dating.

it wasn’t because we didn’t think they’d accept us, it was more because kim was 33 and i was only 22.

the team might not think that was bad, but if they knew then it was only a matter of time before the media knew, and it would blow up indefinitely once they knew. we just weren’t willing to risk it right now.

i ended up being dragged out of bed by kim, the scot managing to haul me to the bathroom. i was half asleep but went through my morning routine like clockwork.

we rocked up at the training fields within the next hour, but kim walked in first. we drove there in the same car but walked in separately so people didn’t suspect anything.

“yn!”

“leah!”

i greeted the blonde when i walked in, levelling her excitement with my own. she jumped onto me in a hug, before slipping back onto the floor.

we walked into the dining hall where the rest of the team and staff were, picking up our designated plates and electing to sit at katie’s table. which also happened to have kim at it.

i, obviously, chose to sit next to kim but thankfully no one picked up on that.

we were allocated an hour to eat breakfast before everyone had to actually start working for the day. all the players filed out to the changing rooms where we changed into our boots, and i slipped my hoodie off while i had the chance.

i caught kim’s gaze as i jogged out to meet leah, throwing a cheeky grin at her expression.

leah was up with katie and cait, talking about god knows what. i joined in, but then jonas cut everyone’s conversations short with his yell for attention.

“girls! let’s get started please. we’re doing a jogging warmup lap, then weights.

find a partner once you’ve finished the lap, use each other for spotting. we don’t need any injuries.”

there was collective murmurs of agreement, and we started jogging around the field. i naturally found myself jogging next to kim, as if a magnet pulled us together.

“gym partners?”

i questioned, she nodded.

we made our way to the weights section of the gym arsenal had.

“we are so doing legs first.”

i all but dragged kim over to the leg press to kickstart our session. kim did not want to do legs, she was into training arms, which was very visible from the bicep muscles that she sported.

one of the many things i drooled over.

i had shoved at least 250lbs onto the leg press machine and watched as kim’s eyes bulge at the amount of plates.

“you’re telling me you can safely lift that?”

“nope. but i’m gonna.”

i ended up doing two reps of fifteen, before upping the weight to 300lbs. kim may have had an aneurysm at the amount of weight i was pushing, and making it look like it was nothing. but she still stood behind me, watching, spotting, and dancing her fingertips over my shoulder blades.

it gave me tingles, and was slightly ticklish. what we didn’t know was that leah was looking from across the room, and she knew that something was up.

when the gym session was over and we started actual drills, leah was quick to pin me as her partner for anything. i thought it was weird but didn’t question it.

when we had a break leah took my hand and walked past kim, beckoning her to follow us. leah walked us away from the groups of girls, so we were out of earshot.

“there’s something going on between you two. spill.”

both of us were quick to sputter out some form of excuse.

“no, what do you mean.”

“don’t know what you’re talking about, lee.”

leah gave us both one of her stares.

“cut the crap. i see the way you look at each other, the little touches. not to mention you both come into practice witching minutes of each other, every morning.”

i exchanged a look with kim, there was no point in hiding this from leah. she was like the fbi, she knew everything.

“okay. we’re dating. we have been for a year.”

something settled in leah’s expression, now she knew what was going on.

“i knew it.

kimmy, going for the young ones are we?”

leah poked at kim’s side, grinning at the skipper. there was an eleven year gap between us, hence why we had kept it secret for a while.

“shut it, lee. do we need to tell the whole team?”

“it would make things easier. for you that is. but only if you want.”

i look over at kim. she looks over at me. i shrug, i never had a problem with telling everyone, kim was the logic one who knew the ins and outs of the media.

“fuck it why not. they’ll figure out eventually.”

“we don’t have to say anything, we can just walk out there and start acting like a couple. see how long it takes them.”

i throw out the idea with a grin. why not have a little fun with it.

we end up agreeing on my idea. training still had a couple of hours left and jonas gave us a few more drills to do, so me and kim forgot all about keeping the secret and just had fun training with each other for once.

surprisingly, none of the girls, not even the staff, said anything. not even kyra or alessia, of all people.

you’d think that the two most gossipy youngsters on the team would say something. but by the end of training, no one was any wiser. so leah told them all.

kyra let out a very loud, ‘oh my god!’ which caught the attention of alessia, who told lotte, so on and so on. soon the whole team knew and it was like a weight was lifted off our shoulders.

“kimmy, i didn’t know you were into the young ones.”

katie’s irish accent was unmistakable as she caught up with us to poke fun at the skipper. cait walked alongside me, she didn’t tease neither me nor kim, simply said she was happy for us.

you could tell she was true with her words, she was in a very similar situation, when her and katie first got together.

“a proper cougar then, our skipper.”

lotte and alessia laughed as they walked past.

it was funny, all the jokes they threw around, but most of all i was happy that they accepted us.

#woso #woso x reader #woso community #kim little #kim little x reader #kim little imagine

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aesethewitch · 2 days

Text

Ambient Spells

The idea of the ambient spell isn’t so uncommon. My use of the word “ambient” may throw you for a bit of a loop. An ambient spell is any spell that permeates a space in an unobtrusive way. They affect the area surrounding their vessel and require little to no maintenance or upkeep. They’re long-term workings that require varying levels of effort to put together and cast. Depending on what exactly you need, they can be as simple as setting out a bowl of salt or as complex as crafting a home decor piece from scratch.

I always recommend making ambient spells that are self-fueling. I often refer to them also as “set it and forget it” spells. They’re the crockpot of spellwork — work up front for a slow burn output.

Chances are that you’re already aware of or even know how to create ambient spells. Any spell that affects the vibe of a room, for example, would count as an ambient spell. Lighting incense specifically to invite in positive energy counts. A ward that sucks up baneful magic and transforms it into blessings also counts. The primary idea of an ambient spell is that it’s making a change to your environment in the background. It’s the cool breeze in summertime, the subtle piano at a fancy restaurant, the scent of fresh-baked cookies fading as the day goes by. Positive, but not overt.

When to Use (or Not Use) an Ambient Spell

By their nature, ambient spells are fairly general workings. They can be quite powerful, of course, just like any other spell. The thing to keep in mind is that they’re not ideal for targeted magic.

For example, I wouldn’t create an ambient spell to banish someone from my life. I might make an ambient spell to make an area unwelcoming to them, or to anyone who would do me harm. The unwelcoming vibe might discourage them from coming around, sure. But it may not work outside of the area the spell lives in; and it may not get rid of them for good.

Similarly, an ambient spell might make a good general ward for keeping out loud, unwelcome spirits, but it wouldn’t specifically cast out the one particular spirit who’s been causing problems. It might discourage their behavior, but it wouldn’t necessarily get rid of them. A concentrated, single-use banishing spell would work significantly better for that purpose. Afterwards, an ambient spell can keep the area clear of that spirit’s influence.

I also wouldn’t use an ambient spell to draw in specific success. General success or money, absolutely — whatever wants to come my way is welcome, via a basic money bowl set up next to my wallet. But if I specifically want a promotion or a particular amount of money, I’m not going to leave that to the ambient money spell. I would craft a spell specifically for what I’m looking for.

When deciding what kind of spell to cast, keep this idea in mind. An ambient spell is best for behind-the-scenes results that happen without your concentrated effort. When you want something specific, a more targeted spell will work better nine times out of ten.

Creating an Ambient Spell

It’s possible to create an ambient spell with nothing but energy work. However, I often find that these fade quickly and don’t lend themselves well to self-fueling. They tend to need more active upkeep than I prefer for a spell that’s meant to be set and let go. I recommend choosing an appropriate vessel of some kind to contain the spell to help it last longer.

How do you decide what’s an appropriate vessel, though? And how do you set one up? How do you make a spell self-fueling? Let’s start from the top and go in order.

Identify the Purpose

Decide what the spell will do. This is going to define the components and the way you’re going to cast the spell. In my experience, ambient spells work best when they’re given a single purpose. For example, I wouldn’t make a spell that’s a ward and a cleanser and a spirit welcome mat. It dilutes the purpose. Choose a single, clear motive for the spell.

Choose a Vessel

Now that you know what your spell will do, it’s time to decide what it’s going to look like. The vessel you choose should reflect the spell’s purpose in some way.

An open bowl works well for absorbing energy. Why? It’s open. The face of it is open to the room, ready to take in whatever kind of energy you assign to its contents.

A closed jar, on the other hand, would be good for repelling. It’s closed off and sealed — a one-way road going out of the jar and into the room to clear it.

A wreath hung at the door could serve a lot of purposes, depending on what it’s made with. I would use a wreath as an agent of transformation or as an energy emitter to release a certain energy into the space.

A stone makes a solid vessel for protection or grounding. I have one on my working altar to help keep me in the moment and create a good environment for working magic.

When you’re choosing your spell vessel, keep in mind how visible you want it to be. Certain vessels are going to naturally be more obvious than others. A wreath, for example, is hard to miss — but it also just looks like nice home decor. A jar full of herbs and things would be more obviously a spell, but they can be small and easily hidden.

I have both obvious and hidden ambient spells peppered around my home for varying purposes. If you’re keeping your practice a secret, you’ll likely want to keep your spells more obscure or hidden. But if you aren’t, and you can make the choice of whether you want the spell to be in plain sight or not, consider the effect you want the spell to have.

If you want the spell to absorb bad vibes, baneful magics, the evil eye, or other negativity, a hidden spell might serve you well. Hiding the vessel somewhere means that whoever’s casting against you may not expect the resistance. On the other hand, if you want a vessel that allows friendly spirits to visit you during the holidays, a beautiful centerpiece on your dining table that’s charmed with spirit-friendly magic might serve the purpose.

Choose an Energy Source

Ambient spells need to draw energy from somewhere. Think of it like a battery. The ingredients you put into the spell may provide a temporary charge, but if you want the spell to be long-term, it needs an input. How will your spell recharge itself?

If you want the spell to be shorter-term, only a few days or so, then you can skip this step. But if you want an ambient spell to last a while, like a ward or vibe-adjuster, you’ll need to think about this carefully.

Like when choosing the vessel, the energy source should match the purpose of the spell. For example, I have a simple room refresher spell set on a table that’s central to my home. The purpose of it is to take anxiety and negative thoughts to turn them into positivity. I set it up so that the act of walking past the bowl swirls the air around it, and therefore also the energy around it. That kinetic energy fuels the bowl’s magic and keeps it going. I don’t have to actively recharge the bowl or its contents, because we walk past it constantly.

Another example would be an ambient spell to help you do the dishes. (Whether that’s remembering to do them or finding the motivation for it is up to you.) The fuel for the spell could be the act of walking into or past the kitchen, running water elsewhere in the home, or even cooking or eating.

The energy source could also be something like lighting a candle next to or over the vessel on a schedule, if you prefer. This would add an upkeep step, of course, and wouldn’t be my first choice. The only ambient spell I do this with is my money bowl, and that’s because it’s tuned to be able to shift focus from day to day depending on what exactly I need (commissions versus tips versus discounts, etc.).

Setting Up an Ambient Spell

Decide where you want to place your spell’s vessel ahead of time. If you have pets or kids, make sure you put whatever it is out of their reach. If the vessel is something like an uncovered bowl, you’ll want to be sure that it isn’t going to get knocked over. Similarly, if it’s made of glass, you don’t want it to fall and shatter. If your vessel needs to be hidden somehow, determine where you’ll keep it. It would be smart to make note of where the spell is and what it looks like in your grimoire or spell notebook just so that if you forget about it, you can identify it later on down the road.

After you know where you want to put it, it’s time to choose ingredients and fill your vessel. The components you decide on should, obviously, match your goals.

Casting an ambient spell is much the same as casting a regular spell. The only thing to keep in mind is that an ambient spell has a sort of prolonged release.

Upkeep and Care of an Ambient Spell

For the most part, ambient spells should require little to no upkeep. With that said, you should still do routine check-ups on them. I include them in my regular rounds when I check on my wards and various protections, but you could do yours whenever it makes the most sense to you.

Depending on how you decided to fuel your spell, you may need to do a bit of feeding. Whether that’s lighting a new candle, refilling a cup of water, mixing around a pile of herbs, or giving the vessel a little shake, do so anytime it feels like the spell’s energy is flagging. It may take some practice in sensing energy to know exactly when a spell needs refueling. This is partly why I suggest creating a schedule to check in on the spell; ambient spells are a great type to practice sensing spell energy, since they’re typically long-lasting and may wax or wane depending on the day.

If your spell is fully self-fueling and it doesn’t seem to be working anymore (or at all, even from the start), it’s time to take it apart. Discard disposable components according to your practice’s tenets. Cleanse the rest for future use. I would suggest washing your spell vessel alongside magical cleansing.

A Ready-to-Use Example

Here’s an extremely simple example of an ambient spell I use in my home to keep the main living area light, fresh, and conducive to getting work done. Since both my partner and I work from home, it’s important that our areas have an aura of focus.

Materials:

- A small bowl, preferably green or brown - Enough salt to fill the bowl halfway - A few pinches of dried rosemary

Instructions:

1. Ensure the bowl is clean and dry. Pour salt into the bowl until it’s halfway full. 2. Sprinkle dried rosemary into the salt and stir. 3. Instruct the spell, in whatever way makes sense to you, to exude focused but calm energy into the space. 4. Place the bowl in an area that is frequently trafficked. 5. Leave the bowl in place until it no longer provides a fresh, focused energy to the space. Dispose of the contents, clean the bowl, and reset the spell.

Notes: - This spell is powered by movement specifically, because both my partner and I work from home, and we pace when we’re having a hard time focusing. The spell draws in the energy from our pacing and the frustration we’re putting out to fuel itself. It then transforms and releases the energy as calm, focus, and productivity. - I suggest a green or brown bowl because this spell is meant to work for our jobs. Green for success, brown for grounding. Personally, my bowl has both colors. - When instructing the spell, you can speak to the bowl, write a petition, do an incantation, or whatever else you like. This is the most personal part of the spell, and it’s what makes the thing Go. It’s up to you to decide how it’s going to work.

Final Thoughts

I would hesitate to call ambient spells “low energy” spellwork. While they can be low-energy-friendly in the long run, and they can be extremely simple to set up (such as the one I described above), they aren’t always. Ambient spells do require an up-front energy cost. Even so, I find them very rewarding and useful.

Folks who visit my home often comment that it’s an inviting, friendly, good-natured space where they can leave their worries and anxieties behind. That’s on purpose. I’ve got ambient spells in place that eat up anxiety and spit out positivity. I’ve got ones that repel hexes and are charged by sunlight. All of these spells are long-lasting and well worth the effort it took to create them.

I hope this little guide is useful to you! If you’ve got questions, feel free to send me an ask. I’m happy to ramble about ambient spells or other types of magic as much as you’d like.

And if you did enjoy this post, consider dropping a couple dollars in my tip jar! Supporters of all types (tips, commissions, shop purchases, and memberships) get early access to posts like this, sometimes up to two weeks early, and every bit helps me keep the lights on.

#aese speaks #spells #spellwork #my spells #witchblr #witchcraft #witch community #beginner witch #ambient spells #practical magic

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wittlesissyb4by · 1 day

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“It’s simple. All you have to do is cum in your diaper. Cum in your diaper, and i’ll let you go.”

He growled and muffled something unintelligible through the ballgag. Probably a ‘fuck you’ or some other explicative, but still he he started wiggling his hips. Groaning in protest, but still swishing the ridiculous diaper back and forth. The labored, muffled breathing through the gag intensified. Soon, his groans turned to moans. They became more frequent and more desperate. Despite his predicament, he was still doing his best to finish the job. The springs creaked as his humping and driving of the diaper crescendoed, more desperate moans escaped his lips, then stopped abruptly. His legs started to spasm, and I could tell he was emptying his balls into that sodden pamper.

“Did you cum?” I asked, “Did you make a goo goo?”

He gave a disdainful grunt, deflated.

“Well that didn’t take long. You sure you’re not secretly enjoying yourself?”

He said nothing at that, remaining stockstill.

“Well…now you can sit in it with your shame.” I smiled. “Sorry, I had my fingers crossed the whole time. I guess you couldn’t see it because you’re huffing that huggie on your face!”

That got him going. He was spewing vitriol through the gag as I exited the room. I could still hear him screaming through the door as I turned the lock. He sure sounds grumpy, but I’m sure he’ll change his tune when he needs his diaper changed…

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rainydayathogwarts · 22 hours

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Curtain call - Spencer Reid

Summary: You're an actress. Opening night of the show, a cast member is killed. FBI finds out you were the real target... Warnings: mentions of blood, a kiss 2k wc

Adrenaline rushes through you as you run through the wings, catching your breath as you made your way across the backstage. You had just about a minute until you had to be on stage once more, the big number now coming to its end. Rushing into the costume room, you barely acknowledge the one thing obviously wrong with the messy space until you reach for your next costume on the rack, moving all other clothes aside to find it. There’s something inappropriate about your outfit. One, there isn’t supposed to be any blood on it yet there it is, a bloody handprint, running all the way to the bottom of your dress. That’s when your eyes trail down to the bottom of the clothing rack, where you get a clear look of the body lying underneath the row of clothes. Blood was soaking through her entire costume and her skin was turning blue. It’s only when someone runs into the changing room at risk of missing your cue that you hear a gut-wrenching scream. Later, you’d be told that it had come from you.

Being called into the theatre the next day for “mandatory debriefing” was not what you had expected after such a traumatic experience, but you came in nonetheless, afraid of losing the job after the scene you had caused the night before. After screaming bloody-murder, half the cast ran into the changing rooms to find you hysterically crying over your cast mate’s body, holding her cold hand. The audience had been scared half to death, and after the authorities made it onto the scene, everyone was evacuated out of the theatre. By finding her body, you had cost everyone a night of the show.

But once you got to the theatre, angry yellow tape cutting off access to the public, you were approached by a handsome man with a serious face and confident posture, offering you his hand even as he walked towards you. “Miss L/N? It’s nice to meet you, I’m Agent Morgan with the FBI, and this is Dr. Reid. We just have a few questions we would like you to answer for us.” Agent Morgan had been a very kind man, who told you every formality that was written in the book, however the man he had introduced to you as Dr. Reid caught your attention in a way you weren’t aware would be good or bad. Dr. Reid stayed silent as Agent Morgan questioned you, deeply staring at you as you answered all that was thrown at you, shooting you quizzical looks every now and then and glancing down at your fidgety hands.

“Thank you so much for all this Miss L/N, that’s all our questions.” As Agent Morgan began to stand, Dr. Reid looked up at you, “Actually, I do have a few more if you don’t mind.” Agent Morgan shot his partner a confused look, slowly backing down into his seat once more. “Do you know why Evelyn was in the costume room when she was? With my limited understanding of the play, I was under the impression that her character didn’t have any costume changes up to the point you had gotten to before she was killed.” And then those that followed:

“Was anyone other than you supposed to be in the changing rooms at that moment?”

“Is there anyone in the cast who has taken a specific liking or dislike towards you?”

“Can you remember any specific encounters with anyone as you were going in or out of the theatre?”

“Have you received any eye catching letters from fans recently?”

Finally, Dr. Reid’s prying had gotten you somewhere, leaving you more terrified than ever, with Agent Morgan reassuring you “It’s just a theory that Dr. Reid has, so we’re only taking precaution. There’s nothing to worry about just yet.” The two agents drove you back to your place where you led them to the curse fan-letter drawer in your study. "I don't usually read them because there are so many." You admitted, crossing your arms tightly over your torso, observing as the doctor starting frantically pulling letters out of the tidied drawer, eyes briefly scanning the name on the front of each envelope. He threw several to the side, dropping the rest onto the floor after reading the name until nearly ten minutes later, all the letters laid on the floor.

Dr. Reid scrambled to gather the letters he had tossed to the side, standing up hurriedly. You stared at the pile in his hands, glancing back up at the two men for an explanation. "These are all sent from the same person. I'd like to read them and see if analyse the language used. I think one of us should stay here with you for the mean time." You nodded at Dr. Reid's words, briefly looking over to his partner for confirmation. "I think Reid should stay here as he looks over the letters." He moved his attention from you to Dr. Reid "You can ask her any questions you might have and it'll be good protection." The partners nodded to each other and immediately, Agent Morgan exited the room.

Dr. Reid's hand came up before hesitantly placing it on your shoulder. "Do you mind if I get settled here? Ask some questions?" You shook your head silently before asking "Um, since you'll be here awhile, can I get you something? Coffee?" Dr. Reid nodded, muttering a quiet "That would be lovely." You don't know what it was: maybe the fact that he was here to protect to or trying to save your life, but felt your heart beat in your chest aggressively, as though trying to break through your skin. You brought him coffee, sugar and packets of cream on the side just in case and watched in awe as he emptied out the small cup of sugar. Sweet, just like him.

"Dr. Reid-" "Spencer. Please." You nodded, scooting your chair closer to him as he took a sip of coffee. "Did I make a mistake by not reading these?" The envelopes made loud unfolding noises every time he pulled a letter out of a different one, and he shook his head. "No. I know I wouldn't open so many of these and I have an IQ of 187." You grinned, your chest bubbling with a giggle. Spencer perked up at the sound of your laughter, smiling gently at you. He wasn't trying to joke around, but he was happy to lift up your mood. He studied all the letters laid out in front of him, and immediately noticed a pattern.

'02.02.18, I saw you in Oliver! today, you make an amazing Nancy.'

'14.02.18, I watched you in Oliver! again. You somehow get better the more I see you on stage.'

'07.03.18 I loved you today in the show. I watched the evening show. Did you see me too?'

'17.03.18 I saw your show again. I can be your Bill Sykes if you'd let me."

'11.04.18 I've been waiting anxiously to see you again since Oliver stopped touring. You make a wonderful Veronica.'

'15.04.18 We can be Seventeen together! Let me be your JD.'

"This isn't good." Without any further explanation, he pulled his phone out, dialling a number. "He's using obsessive language and saw her in Oliver! and Heathers, both of which have abusive partners who either kill or try to kill who Y/N's playing. You need to go visit his address right now." Coincidentally, just as he hangs up the phone, your doorbell rings. Your blood runs cold and you stand up instantly, but Spencer steps in front of you, blocking you from going anywhere. "Stay behind me, but stay close." He mutters, pulling his gun from his hostler. Spencer watches you closely, and the profiler in him notices how your breath begins to speed up and your eyes glaze with tears.

One of his hands comes up to cup your cheek and he whispers "Breathe. I'm right here so no one's going to hurt you, okay?" You nod, staying as close as you can to him without touching him until you get to the front door. He peeks through the peephole and his shoulders drop as an "Oh." Escapes him. He opens and closes the door faster than you can register, now holding another letter in his hand, identical to all the ones scattered on your desk.

Six words are written on the letter when Spencer opens him, and his face pales. It was meant to be you. Spencer grabs your hand, dragging you back into your study - the one room in your house with no windows. He locks the door, pressing numbers on his phone again before it's against his ear. "It's definitely him, he just sent another letter. We're in her study but he might be around the premises or returning to his house. I don't plan on getting her out of the study until you get him." The second the words leave his mouth you're processing them, and tears are welling in your eyes once more.

The sound of sniffling gets his attention back to you and his hands are gently coming up to your shoulders, leading you to sit down in a chair. "I'm scared." You whisper helplessly, looking up at the doctor. He crouches down to your level, and hand on your knee. "Hey, what did I say before?" He looks at you intently waiting for an answer. "No one's gonna hurt me." Spencer nods, a soft smile gracing his features. "Yes, exactly. No one's going to hurt you. I have an excellent team looking for that son of a bitch as we speak and I am right here with you."

You nod, not entirely convinced, which he can apparently tell, so he continues with "Come on, look at these muscles. You think anyone will get to you when I have these babies?" His tongue pokes out slightly as he flexes his arms, which are actually more toned than you realise. You laugh again and feel yourself launching your body at him before you can stop yourself, pulling him into a tight hug. He hesitates, but eventually, his arms are pulling you even closer to him, one hand rubbing circles on your back to soothe you. You break the hug, but before you can help yourself, you realise you're leaning into him, pressing your lips against his in a passionate kiss. To your surprise he immediately returns the kiss, his hands cupping your face as he deepens the kiss.

He's panting when he pulls away from you, whispering "This is unprofessional. I'm sorry, I like you, I do, but I shouldn't." Cocking your head to the side, you can't help but smile slightly. "It's only unprofessional for one of us so technically it's not unprofessional at all." His face twists in confusion as he tries processing your words. "That's not how it wo-mmph." the rest of his words are muffled by the second kiss you give him, which you feel him melting into as one of his hands comes to rest on your hip. "After- after the case. After the case, I'll take you on a date." His face falls at his own words, his face reddening in embarrassment. "That is- I mean that's only if you want. I wouldn't take you on a date if you didn't want to, that's totally fine."

The door to the study slams open just as he finishes rambling and you scream in fear, tightly gripping Spencer's hand and turning around expecting to find a middle aged balding creep, only to find a much sexier bald man, putting his gun back in his hostler. "Did you not hear us screaming for you? We thought he might have gotten to you before we found him. Ms. L/N, you're safe, we found him." Agent Morgan's gaze slowly trails to where your hand tightly grips Spencer's, and when he sees the flush on Spencer's face he makes a "Huh" noise, before walking out of the room once more.

taglist: @ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist

#spencer reid x you #rainydayathogwarts #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #dr spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer x reader #criminal minds fanfic #criminalminds #criminal minds fics #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #derek morgan

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seresinhangmanjake · 3 days

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Stolen Angel - Part 5

Demon!Jake Seresin x reader

Summary: You thought you were having a one-night stand with some random, normal guy. Turns out he’s a winged, demon-like stalker who has been obsessed with you for years.

Warnings/Notes: Jake is a little dark. Kidnapping. Manipulation. Obsessive behavior. Eventual smut and happy stuff. I’m sure there are typos. This used to be a different fic for August Walker, so if you see it, it’s fine. I wrote that one too.

Words: 3550

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

JAKE POV

Jake sighs at the knock on his door and sits up in his bed. It’s too early. Last night was long, watching you struggle to not verbally defy his every attempt to help you. But your wing was inflamed, which would soon lead to your back becoming inflamed, and he knows you’re intelligent but is it so hard to understand that not taking care of the injury could mean infection? Being here does not make you immune to such ailments and yet you puffed and huffed and barely held your tongue at his cleaning the area and applying a bandage with ointment. And just when you’d had a conversation with him about you being good. Terribly disappointing. You better shape up if you intend to get what you want.

“What, Javy?” Jake calls at the second knock.

Javy enters Jake’s room and leans against the door after closing it behind him. “So? You taking her?” he asks.

“Possibly,” Jake says, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. “There are stipulations, but she’s determined. She’ll do whatever she has to to get there.”

Javy raises a brow. “Does that explain her cozying up to you yesterday?”

A slight smirk sneaks onto Jake’s face. ‘Cozying up’ is definitely one way to describe what you were doing the day before, although your actions were nowhere close to how affectionate you’re capable of being. There is plenty of passion in that body of yours that a few soft touches don’t do justice, but for now Jake will take what he can get.

“It does,” Jake confirms with a nod. “She’s my clever little angel, but manipulative attempt or not, it’s not like I’m going to push her away.”

“Oh no, of course not,” Javy snorts. “You? Do the respectful thing?” With a shake of his head, he lets out a low whistle to which Jake rolls his eyes. The sarcasm in his friend’s tone is wildly unappreciated.

“Do you honestly expect any better of me?”

“Not these days,” Javy says, “but is it so horrible of me to want you to see the error of your decisions and change? When I offered you a life here you were a different man.”

A different man. A weaker man. A man who had nothing left to live for.

Losing everything he once cared about—that is what changed him, but who’s to say the man he is today isn’t who he was always meant to be? Maybe it burrowed inside of him long ago and was waiting for the encouragement to expose itself. And what is so wrong about that? That doesn't make him a bad man.

He was a man who was missing the drive and purpose he needed. But then—despite being under the cruelest of circumstances—he found it. And when you find purpose you have to take hold of it and claim it any way you can before it’s ripped away from you. If Javy still can’t understand that then it must be the type of thing you have to live for yourself in order to grasp how it feels.

Jake’s eyes contain a challenge against his friend’s stare as he leans forward to brace his elbows on his knees and clasp his hands. “You try having Fate fuck you over, and then we’ll see the kind of man you become,” he says.

Javy sighs and crosses his arms. “I’m not denying the poor timing of your first meeting, but you coped with that for years, and now that you’ve snapped–”

“I haven’t snapped,” Jake snaps.

“Yes, you have. She was moving up in her life, finding some happiness, trying to make some friends at a new job, and then you took her,” Javy tells him, but not to chastise. That lecture was one Jake received weeks ago and Javy knows another won’t alter what has been done. “And you can’t keep her in The Tower forever. When this catches up with you—because it will—what do you intend to do?”

“She will love me by then.”

“You’re hoping she will love you by then,” Javy counters, “And you’re hoping when questioned, she’ll lie for you.”

Jake groans and shoots to his feet, running a hand through his hair. Gesturing in the general direction of your room, he says, “If she loves me then she’ll be lying for both of us because she’ll know it’s the only way we can be together.”

“And if she doesn't?”

“I'm not entertaining ‘if she doesn't’,” Jake says harshly. “She will. I’ll get rid of that stubbornness and she’ll remember why she wanted me in the first place.”

Javy pushes up from his leaned position, nearing the blond. “She wanted you because the two of you had some kind of carnal pull to one another, but–”

“It’s more than that,” Jake stops him. “We share more than that. She just refuses to see it.”

But you will. You’ll come to your senses. He knows that it’s more than sex, but it’s because of that sex that he believes something in you felt him over the years even though you did not see him. That’s why it was so easy to come together that night. You don’t sleep with just anyone. You’re picky and careful, as you should be, but you showed no reservations when giving yourself to him. You weren’t timid when he stripped you of your clothes; you were too focused on ripping him out of his. You weren’t embarrassed by your sweet moans and pretty cries. You were comfortable around him, and you will be again.

When Jake realizes Javy hasn’t spoken, he shoves his thoughts aside and pays closer attention to the look directed his way. It’s a medley of emotions. Skepticism and concern. Cautious hope and pity and acceptance. Acceptance of what, it’s hard to determine. Impending doom, likely, since Javy’s so sure of its inevitability.

Finally, Javy blinks. His lips stretch into a thin line, then he says, “Be smart about this, Jake.”

And Jake replies, “I’m always smart.”

“You're not,” Javy has no shame in telling him. “That's the problem.”

—

READER POV

“You can’t speak to anyone from your past, you can’t be seen by anyone from your past, you have to stay in my sight at all times, and you can’t do anything that would jeopardize our ability to return here on time,” Jake says. “You break any of these rules and I drag you back before midnight.”

Raising a brow, you cross your arms over your chest. “You think I can’t manage that? I’ve complied with everything you’ve asked of me for two whole weeks.”

Everything down to accepting his cupping of your cheek one night as he nearly kissed you. He hadn’t though, and his reasons for pulling back instead of taking what he wanted as he’s so used to doing robbed you of four hours of sleep.

“I wouldn’t put it past you to go rogue,” he says. “But you can’t. There are actual consequences I can’t protect you from.”

Yes, you know. He has mentioned that often. “Consequences, Angel. There are consequences to not following the rules.” For the last couple of weeks, it has felt like hours upon hours of the same droning on, the same lesson as if your short-term memory is flawed. But then he’d thrown in “It's your first time, and there’s a chance you’ll forget everything I’ve told you the minute you touch foot down there. You’ll be tempted to break them.”

That was what finally struck a cord of concern.

Of course, it had crossed your mind to break them, even though you’d known of Jake’s fate when he had done the same, but if he had to warn you of the temptation, you wondered how tempting it would really be. Would you be spending your precious, limited time there miserable because of the invisible chains on your wrists and ankles and the gag in your mouth as you try to resist the desperation to bond with the life you left behind?

“How tempted?” you had asked.

You were taken aback by one look from him. A harshness was in the green, but you are no fool, and you could see exactly what it was concealing. A memory—pain.

“Incredibly,” he’d told you. “At least, I was. And I paid for it.”

You hadn’t responded, but you kept his words in the back of your mind, ultimately deciding to trust in your strength. It was either that or risk never seeing home again, and that wasn't, and isn’t, an option for you.

“I’m not going to do anything, Jake,” you swear.

He peers into your eyes a little too long, but you let him search for the lie that isn’t there until he’s satisfied. He blinks and then gives a sharp nod. “Good,” he says. “Then close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Close them,” he repeats. “You don’t need to know how to get where we’re going.”

Another thing to comply with. Rolling your eyes, you drop your arms to your sides. Jake pulls a blindfold out of his jeans pocket and folds it in thirds.

“Seriously?”

He looks up and steps closer. “Close, your, eyes,” he instructs again.

With a sigh you do as he says, then he wraps the fabric around your head, tying a little knot in the back.

“This is–” Stupid, you were going to say, but you’re cut off by the yelp that escapes your throat when you’re suddenly lifted into his arms, your legs and wings draped over his forearms.

“Hold on Angel,” he says.

Your hands clasp behind his neck. “Yea, no kidding.”

When he shoots up into the air, you have to tuck your head against his t-shirt to block out the rush and whirl of wind that’s quickly encompassing you. It’s all too fast, the pressure much too extreme that you feel as if you’ve gained thirty pounds in ten seconds. It’s the initial take-off of the rollercoasters at the theme park you went to as a child. The kind of feeling that locks your limbs in place.

However, it’s not long that you’re going up before you begin to fall back down at a speed that suggests the man holding you can’t fly and you’re about to greet the end of your life. The sharp change in movement twists and curls your insides. Your lungs are confused, unsure whether inhaling or exhaling would better suit you at the moment. You don’t know, so you don’t breathe.

Jake lands with a thud and sets you down on wobbly legs. One large hand wraps around your upper arm; the other slips the blindfold over your head and back into his pocket. You’re well-hidden behind a large tree as your eyes adjust to the bright neon lights that bleed from the city night.

Home. You’re home. You’re at the far end of a sidewalk by the docks that no one visits after six o’clock in the evening, but it’s still home, and you already feel yourself being sucked in by the central bustle of bodies and cars.

You take a step forward, much weaker than you intended, and Jake’s grip on you tightens.

“Not yet,” he says. “You need to shed your wings.”

That detail had escaped you, the excitement too overpowering. But you keep that excitement from showing on the outside, just as you had when he’d told you a few days ago that removing the wings was possible for you, too.

Standing taller, you prepare yourself for more instructions.

“Close your eyes again,” he begins, his voice a deep vibration in your ear. “Clear your mind. Create an image of your wings and the feathers plucking free, falling to the ground one at a time until you have no more. Picture the bone and cartilage crumbling,” he says. “And keep doing that until you feel the loss of the weight.”

It takes at least a full minute, but you’re lighter. When you look down, your feathers coat the ground, a few layered with his. Like ash and snow.

“Good,” he says, but his tone doesn’t match the praise. It’s the slightest bit wounded as if he’s grieving something he held dear.

You turn your head. Your eyes flick to his and you find them glued to your back—your back which is now bare of the one thing that shows the world you’re something other than human.

His Adam's apple bobs. “Let’s go,” he says.

“Where can we?”

“Anywhere that keeps you from running into someone that would recognize you or would’ve been concerned about your sudden absence.”

That definitely knocks out work, the old late-night cafe you used to frequent, the park on third—too small. But as far as you know, everything else is fair game. And if it’s not, you’re sure Jake won’t hesitate to inform you.

—

The temptation he’d warned you about isn’t as aggressive as you anticipated. It’s there, for sure, but you don’t find yourself itching to be bold. There’s no one you wish to see, and you skirt the perimeters of the locations you choose because of the thought that you might fuck up and give him reasons not to bring you back in the future.

He should be thrilled with your behavior. He should be riding one of his ego trips from getting you to do what he wants without additional scolding, but that’s not what’s happening. Instead, he’s worse by the hour.

Occasionally his eyes light up when you smile or chuckle at the places and things you haven’t seen for the month that has felt like a year, but between your grins and laughs, his face hasn’t once failed to fall.

He has taken to trailing behind you. If both hands are not in his pockets it is because one is running through his hair or down his face. To your statements, he hums. To your questions, he mutters answers. He hates it, you realize. All of it. Almost as much as you hate the place he has forced you to exist in ever since he took you.

His mood is only exacerbated by your desire to go to your apartment.

“Can you hold this?” you ask as you raise the window. “Won’t stay up, and maintenance ignored all of my requests.”

Jake nods, placing his hand on the base of the sill so you can ease yourself through the opening. You do the same for him as he steps off the fire escape onto the ragged carpet of your living room floor.

You take in the space, and it’s so…weird. Not a thing has shifted from the place you left it. The only additions left out of the memory you’ve kept in your mind are the layer of dust coating every surface and the slip of paper under your front door with Eviction Warning written in red lettering. And the smell. It doesn’t smell like you remember. You’re not immediately soaked in the scent of lavender essence left over from the half-burnt candle on the side table.

“Feels like I’ve been gone forever,” you say. You look over your shoulder at Jake. “Does time move differently there and I just didn’t notice?”

His hands are back in his pockets. His eyes are tired. “No, Angel,” he says.

Your sigh fades into a hum.

As you move about the room, you measure it all with your eyes.

Your couch. You always sat on the right. That cushion is more worn than the other two.

The lampshade is still crooked from when you last changed the lightbulb. Its poor alignment had caused a slight burn mark in the material from the shade leaning against the heat of the bulb, and yet, rather than straighten it out, you had twisted it on its diagonal axis so the mark faced the wall.

The TV remote is nowhere in sight, of course, because you were never the best at remembering where you put it down; a habit so frustrating you’re tempted to hunt for it now.

Your coffee table still has the scratch in the middle from when you’d dropped your mug onto the wood, shattering it to pieces. That had pissed you off. You’d just bought it from the flea market.

A mug—you’d left one out that morning. You turn your head to your kitchen where it still sits on the counter.

You walk over and grab it. There’s a coffee ring in the bottom, so you take it to the sink and wash it out, then flip it over to dry on a dishcloth. You weren’t a fan of leaving dishes scattered about, even for half a day, but you don’t know why it ever mattered. Since moving in, no one had entered this place but you, and well…him.

Suddenly, something deep and thick descends upon you. Though the space around you appears to have frozen in time from the moment you disappeared, there are things that did not freeze along with it that you can’t ignore.

Like the food in your fridge and the special chocolate cookies in your cabinet that the grocery store rarely had in stock. Rotten and stale. What a waste.

There’s a plant in your bathroom—a little one that relied on your sense of responsibility to keep it alive. It sits on a shelf in a dark purple pot you’d found on sale and now brittle leaves surely litter the tiles.

And, oh god, the cat. You used to leave a bowl of tuna out for the stray cat that climbed the stairs to paw at your window. What about him? Is he ok? Did he give up after being ignored? How long did that take? Did he feel abandoned? Does he miss you?

Bracing your hands on the counter, your head falls forward. You close your eyes and take a breath, and then you open them and—Fuck, there’s a cheerio on the floor. You forgot the damn cheerio; that tiny ring of processed wheat from breakfast that has been hanging out here in limbo wondering if it’ll be trashed or devoured by ants because you were running late that morning and told yourself you’d throw it out later but you didn’t and so there’s a fucking cheerio on your floor.

You can’t look at it, but then you don’t know where to look, or what to do. You don’t dare go into your bedroom. The sheets will be rumpled. Your underwear will be wherever it landed when it was taken off your body and tossed aside.

Shit, the laundry! You forgot to take it out of the washing machine. Mildew probably grew in the creases and folds. They'll have to go through the cycle again. You'll need detergent. You're out of detergent—used the last of it on the load that needs to be rewashed. Your favorite t-shirts are mixed in there somewhere. But it’s fine. You’ll do a quick wash, quick dry, quick fold, and put them in the drawer where they belong. How long could that take? An hour? Two? You have enough time, right? And while you're at it you really should set some tuna out and get rid of the spoiled food and fix the lampshade and find the remote and apologize to the plant and–

“We can pretend, Angel,” Jake whispers from behind you, making you jolt in your spot. You didn’t hear his approach—he keeps doing that—and he’s so close that his breath flutters wisps of your hair. “Forget everything, for a bit. Be the way we were that night.”

His disruption sidetracks you from the laundry, the cheerio, the cat, the plant, the food. For a second, you can barely process his words, but it doesn’t take long for the confusion to sort itself out.

You swallow. “I thought I wasn’t allowed to be human anymore,” you whisper, reminding him of what he has drilled into your brain again and again and again.

“You’re not,” he says. Then his arms are flanking your sides, palms pressing into the edge of the countertop. “But we look the part, don’t we?” Hot air is on your neck. You think you can hear his heart thumping. “Just tonight. Just here.”

Just here. Here, the last place you were before he made you into the creature you are. Here, the last place you can say that you were entirely you. Here, the last place you spent a happy moment. Your final happy moment. A moment that included him, back when you believed you were bringing home some guy. Just some guy. A beautiful guy. A human guy.

You liked that human guy.

You miss that human guy.

Sometimes you wish he'd show up again. Save you and promise you it was all a nightmare.

“Why?” you ask.

“Don’t ask why,” he answers. “Just tell me yes.”

And because you don’t want to go back to thinking about what you’ve lost; because you’re uneasy and overwhelmed and numb and weak now that you're realizing home really isn’t home anymore but a ghostly echo of who you were, you don’t possess the mental wherewithal to care about your decisions. All you want is a memory—a good memory—within your reach.

So you turn yourself right around, and you kiss him.

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #top gun maverick #jake seresin fic #top gun #jake hangman seresin fic #top gun hangman #jake hangman seresin x y/n #demon!jake seresin #tgm fic #tgm #jake seresin x you

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thepixelelf · 3 days

Text

Oh Baby, You Part 50 - Cherry

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Idly, you watch the digital, red numbers above the elevator go up one by one. You’ve sometimes wondered if Mingyu hates the chairman’s office, considering its spot on the very top floor, and his genuine fear of heights. Then again, the building is an entirely closed space— he’s more of a bungee jumping scaredy cat than an Empire State Building one.

You look down at the container of cookies you brought. They’re not his favourite, since you didn’t have all the ingredients for that, but you hope they’ll do. Before Mingyu’s complete integration into chairmanship, you used to bake together all the time. You know he’s better than you, (always has been,) but ever since that time you ended up in a baking summer camp together all those years ago, he’s insisted your cookies are the best.

Of course you know he’s being nice, but that’s just another great thing about Mingyu.

You’re wearing a mask over the lower half of your face, and Jeonghan said there’d be no one around to see you. Still, you walk through the halls with your head lowered and only lift it when you come upon Jeonghan’s desk.

He eyes the container. “You sure about this? I’m not even supposed to be going in there right now.”

“Don’t worry,” you say with a smile he can only see in your eyes. “If he’s truly upset, I’ll just leave him the cookies and go. But I promise I’ll try some other time to get you the vacation days you deserve, okay?”

“It’s really not that important…”

Playfully rolling your eyes, you head towards Mingyu’s office. “Whatever you say, Jeonghan.”

You pull on the thick metal handle of the door without knocking, and as soon as you walk in, Mingyu speaks without moving his eyes from his computer screen. “Not right now, Jeonghan. Just tell whoever needs me to—”

“Hey, stranger.”

His face immediately lights up upon seeing you, and you pull down your mask with a smile. Yeah. There’s your best friend.

“Sunshine!” Mingyu pushes himself to standing and quickly rounds his desk to pull you into a hug. “What are you doing here?” He retracts a bit to look at your face in obvious confusion. “I thought you and Jeonghan agreed we shouldn’t meet up here because of… you know.”

You step back and hold out the plastic container of cookies between you. “About Jeonghan…”

Sighing, Mingyu lets you put them in his hands. “Please tell me this isn’t about the whole ‘vacation’ thing… You know I can’t, Sunshine.”

“Why not?”

“It’s just not how things are done.”

“‘How things are done’? Mingyu, you’re the chairman. If there’s anyone who can change the way things are done, it’s you. Especially for someone who’s spent a good third of your life doing his best to help you.”

He sets the cookies down behind him and takes one of your hands, letting your joined fingers dangle between you as he leans back onto the edge of his desk. “Look, I’d love to give Jeonghan some time off. I really would, but we’re in the middle of a lot right now—”

“You’re always in the middle of something here.”

“—and,” he continues, countering your little dig with a wry smile, “I as much as I wish I could give everyone here time off, I’d need time to find a suitable person to fill Jeonghan’s position while he’s gone. That’s where the four months come in.”

You tilt your head, trying to summon those eyes that Mingyu would say he can never refuse. The problem is, you’ve never really been in control of whatever expression it is that he sees. “Surely you could find someone in less time than that.”

He chuckles. “I don’t know if you understand how good Jeonghan is at his job.”

“I have a pretty good idea,” you say with a roll of your eyes.

Mingyu glances at the door, and you turn to it as well, but nothing happens. “Speaking of,” he says quietly, returning your attention to him. “Where is Orion? With Soonyoung?”

“Actually, he’s at a daycare for a—”

“A daycare? Jeonghan didn’t tell me he arranged anything.”

You blink. “Well that would be because he didn’t. I set it—”

“What? Why?”

Pausing for a moment, you make yourself remember that this is exactly the thing you, Mingyu, and Jeonghan are always worried about. Oftentimes, you the most. Having some stranger spend just enough time with Orion to see his resemblance to Mingyu.

“Orion will be preschool age within this next year, so I thought maybe I’d transition to some in-person classes while he attends. The daycare would be for emergencies, or things like weekend exams, or…”

Or when you don’t want to burden your only friends for the rest of Orion’s younger years.

Mingyu rounds his desk again and bends over in front of his computer. “What’s the name of this place?”

“Dream Daycare. It’s near—”

“You know that was careless, right? You should’ve asked Jeonghan or I to—”

“I looked into it. I went over like six places before—”

“Jeonghan would’ve—”

“He has enough on his plate—”

“—taken care of—”

“Mingyu!” Your raised voice manages to shut him up, but he only meets your eyes for a second before he goes back to his computer screen, investigating the daycare’s website. “I did the research. They had no idea who I was — not that anyone really does, since Jeonghan’s done such a good job keeping me anonymous thus far — and seeing as the place is mostly run by some sweet old ladies, they probably have no idea who you are, either.”

He sighs out through his nose. “Are they good?”

“What?”

“Good caretakers,” he clarifies, and you see the genuine worry in his eyes now.

Of course. You should’ve known that the revelation Orion’s true identity wasn’t Mingyu’s primary concern; his safety is.

Exhaling, you try to give Mingyu a reassuring smile. “Yes, Mingyu. They’re excellent. I only chose the place I thought was the best, safest, and kindest for him. He’s my son, after all.”

It’s small.

It’s so small, so short that you almost don’t see it, hear it. Almost miss it entirely.

But you’re certain that Mingyu… scoffs before he says, “Is he?”

For more than a few seconds, you’re frozen. Just slightly, your mouth parts, but you can’t seem to find the right words. Did you even hear him right?

“What… What is that supposed to mean?”

He shakes his head, still scrolling. “Nothing.”

“No,” you rebut. “No, tell me what you meant by that.”

“It’s really nothing.” Straightening himself up, Mingyu fixes you with an uneasy look. You just stand there, cross your arms, and wait for him to cave. It only takes a few seconds. “It’s just, with you telling everyone…”

You let out an affronted sound. “I did not tell everyone. And for that matter, it wasn’t exactly my choice to tell anyone anything at all.”

“Look, forget it. Just pretend I never—”

“But what does any of that have to do with Orion being my son?”

Mingyu takes in a deep breath, his hand coming up to his tie like he wants to wrench it loose, but he only fidgets with it. He looks away, then meets your eyes again. “With this many people knowing he’s not your son—”

“But he is! He is my son, Mingyu. And I am good at taking care of my son.”

It’s too hot in this room. Mingyu’s shoulders rise and fall with another sigh, and for some reason, you can’t stand the look in his eyes.

“I need a breather.” By the time the words come out, you’re already turning and walking towards the door of his office. “Don’t follow me,” you tell him, only because you know your best friend would.

Jeonghan stands up when you shove the door open and storm past his desk, a mix of concern and shock on his face. You must look as upset as you feel.

“I just need a second,” you say, and so he just watches you as you walk off, his mouth opening and closing, but no words coming out.

You have no clue where you’re going, but you think you had the right idea when you made that excuse to leave Mingyu’s office, so you look around for some sort of outdoor exit. A balcony, or something similar. Eventually, you find a staircase, which leads to what looks like a small terrace of sorts.

Only, when you pull the door open and breath in the cool, fresh air, you turn to the right and see someone leaning against the railing. His distant silhouette isn’t the most familiar, and he’s facing away from you, but considering this place, and the only people you know in it…

“Mr Choi?”

He turns, a white stick poking from his lips.

“I’m sorry,” you say, apologizing for interrupting what must be his precious alone time. Still, you really don’t want to go back inside yet. “I…” Your feet pull you a couple hesitant steps toward him. “...didn’t know you smoked.”

While his eyes focus in recognition, Seungcheol’s hand rises to pull the stick from his mouth. The motion reveals the head of a bright red, spherical lollipop.

“Oh. That’s…” You want to say out of character, but you trail off. If you think about it, there isn’t much you know about Choi Seungcheol. “Sorry for assuming. I just wasn’t expecting…”

He says nothing for a little bit, just looking at you as you approach. His eyes seem to study you, and you resist the urge to squirm. When you settle next to him, resting your arms on the railing like he is and keeping your gaze on the cityscape, he finally looks away from you and peers at the lollipop instead.

“...I bought them for him,” he says.

You turn your head, squinting in the bright sunlight. “Who?”

“Your son.”

It’s a weird confession, to be sure, but he can’t know the way those two words affect you in that moment. That’s right. Orion is your son.

“But,” Seungcheol continues, unaware of the reason you needed the fresh air in the first place. He lets out a deprecating huff of a laugh, his head dropping for a second before he faces you again. The lollipop gets brought back up, and he taps it twice against his smiling teeth. “I might’ve gotten myself addicted.”

You can’t help it. You laugh.

Turning again to the skyline, your fold your arms on the railing and drop your chin to rest on them with a sigh. What a beautiful day.

Tap, tap.

You look at your elbow, where Seungcheol pokes a wrapped lollipop. Cherry. Your gaze rises to meet his.

“Something’s wrong,” he says simply, holding the candy out closer to you, silent but insistent.

Maybe he isn’t so unaware after all.

Wordlessly, you take the lollipop with a shy nod and a smile.

You don’t know why, but as soon as you close your mouth around the sweet, artificial cherry flavoured candy, the tears start to form. You hate that it’s now, with one of the very dangerous people to be vulnerable in front of, but you can’t seem to stop the blazing heat in the corners of your eyes. You don’t sob — don’t let yourself — but the tears fall despite your resolve.

It’s irrational, you understand, to be this upset. But it’s hard to believe yourself to be a good parent when you start doubting whether you’re a parent at all.

“Would you…” Seungcheol’s wary voice returns your attention to him. “...like to leave?”

You let out a laugh, embarrassed. He must be uncomfortable. “I probably should.”

As you push yourself off the railing, though, Seungcheol does the same. “Alright,” he says, then takes your hand, and you realize as he leads you back inside and through the building all the way to the ground floor: he’s not wary of you, but for you. “Let’s go, then. Somewhere nicer.”

For some unknown reason, you just swallow down all your trepidation, gently take your hand back, say, “Okay.”

And follow.

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