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rose-tinted-kalopsia · 1 month ago

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≡;-꒰ 𝐒𝐄𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐎 𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐈 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I 𝑳𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔

╰┈➤ ❝ seishiro nagi x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni | kinktober '24 day 7

tags : pwp (without plot), lazy sex, vaginal sex (unprotected), creampie, cum eating, unintentional teasing, oral (f.), praise, dirty talk, use of pet name “pretty”, all characters are aged up, lmk if i missed any tags!

wc : 842 (somehow finally got something below 1k for once)

an : happy blue lock season 2 !!! extra love for nagi <3

taglist : @interstellar-inn @pixelcafe-network (SIGN UP HERE)

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST / KO-FI JAR / COMMISSIONS

He was merciless.

Choked sobs fell from your lips with every thrust, the head of his cock driving deep into your walls as you gripped the sheets beneath you. You could barely take it, you didn’t know how much longer you could keep this up.

It wasn’t that he was being rough with you… In fact, it was the exact opposite.

His cock would slide so deliciously in and out, the roll of his hips a languid pace that you were familiar with when it came to him, yet one that would never fail to have you whining. It was dark out, barely the light from the stars seeping in to illuminate the way he would slowly fuck you into his mattress… and he had been like this for far too long. You were sopping wet. Leaking onto the sheets, your cheeks were wet with tears as the only thing you could do was beg him.

Because this wasn’t enough.

“Pl-plea—hic—please! Sei, please, stop teasi—hnn-!”

You could barely tell if your words had any affect on him at all, but as your walls fluttered around his length, he nuzzled into your shoulder and let out a low moan.

“Nnngh… But no fair… y’can’t squeeze me like thatttt… Pussy’s all warm n’ wet…”

He grinded down against you with a click of his tongue, tip kissing your sweet spot just the slightest. It was almost comical how needy the both of you were, yet he wouldn’t bother to chase that pleasure for your own. Despite the way your hips would buck, despite the way you would claw at the sheets and moan his name over, and over, and over again…

“M’not teasing…” he protested against your whines, keeping up the pace. “S’just too much… Don’t wanna move…”

“Seiiiii, but pretty please! Wanna cum, baby, pleaseeeee?”

His head lifted with a huff, half-lidded eyes locking with yours as you writhed around.

You were just as hard to resist—that much was clear to you the moment you took in his expression. His cock twitched, and you barely had any chance to react. His hips stuttered. He choked out a moan, eyes widening ever-so slightly…

“N-ngh—haa—”

Pretty.

He mouthed out the words, though no sound left his lips. And one last thrust had him groaning into your neck, plugging you full with his cum.

Your eyes widened as hot splurts of his release filled you to the brim, milking his cock as if desperate to take all that he had to give. The long, drawn-out moans he made into your skin didn’t go unnoticed, proof of how badly he’d needed you just as much as you needed him.

It made your heart flutter.

“Haa… haah… m’sorry, pretty, you’re jus’ too good… Mmh, fuck…”

He groaned when he pulled out, head lifting and eyes immediately drawing downwards to the sticky mess of his cum leaking out of your puffy lips.

“Pretty…” he whispered. “Pretty, pretty, pretty…”

You could only watch, elbows at your sides to lift you up slightly, as he trailed kisses down your body. Hot, and wet, and needy, still—his lips dragged across your skin to have you shudder, that same word repeated softly into you like a little mantra.

And before you knew it, his head was between your legs, gladly lifting them to wrap around him and draw him impossibly closer to your pussy.

“H-hu—h?! S-Seishi—Seishi-rou—ngh!”

Nagi tended to do things without pattern.

This was something you knew well.

Often acting on his whims, there was little he did that you could truly predict, and this was one of such cases.

His nose bumped against your clit as his mouth was on you, licking you up and sucking on arousal, scooping up every remnant of his own release and shamelessly, shamelessly making a point to swallow.

From between your legs, his gaze found yours, and he smiled.

Within seconds, his tongue was thrust into you, all these slimy, wet, impossibly lewd noises filling the room as he ate, and ate, and ate. You hadn’t orgasmed yet, and perhaps this was his way of making it up to you—because it didn’t take long.

“Mmf… mmhph…”

You nearly squealed as he hummed his approval into you, your hips bucking, grinding against his face as if you couldn’t get enough.

And there was a sense of desperation.

His eyes rolled back into his head at the taste, a mix of you and him, an obscene picture of all the dirty things he would do to you all because he loved you so much.

“Sei!” you cried out as your thighs shook, locking him in place, forcing him to taste your release. “Sei, Sei, Sei, Sei—!”

He wouldn’t stop.

Even as you came onto his mouth, he hungrily lapped up every last drop, eyes falling closed, hands moving to massage lazy circles into your thighs. His mouth remained on you, languid movements of his tongue against your swollen, sensitive folds—

And you knew that he wasn’t done.

“S’all mine…” he mumbled. “Wanna feel you cum again, pretty…”

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

#roxie; rtkkinktober24 #kinktober 2024 #kinktober #blue lock smut #blue lock x reader #blue lock nagi #nagi seishiro #nagi seishirou #nagi smut #nagi seishirou smut #nagi seishiro smut #nagi x reader #nagi x you #nagi seishirou x reader #nagi seishiro x reader

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bachibabe · 4 months ago

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📂 ‧ ₊ ˚ — Lucky

hajime umemiya x f.reader

✰ ݁ ˖┊: wc: 1.2k

✰ ݁ ˖┊: content: nsfw, soft dom!umemiya, established relationship, pwp, breeding kink, soft sex!!!!!!, edging/teasing, ume has a big dick ://, pussy drunk!umemiya, praise, i just needed to talk about his breeding kink okay leave me alone, smut directly under cut, all chars are aged up.

18+ → minors / blank blogs dni

I just. I need a moment to talk about Umemiya’s breeding kink. I know it's just. It’s crazy man. Walk with me please

Umemiya is the type of guy to get so lost inside your pussy when he’s fucking himself into you. His brain can only focus on the way your walls are fluttering around him, the way they grip him so tight. Drawing him back in on every thrust. Practically pulling him deeper and deeper into your core. Until you’re all stretched out, taking his cock completely.

A feat in itself, honestly. Because it’s safe to say Umemiya… he’s big. Upsettingly so, really. So big you really didn’t think he was going to fit inside of your cute little pussy. He didn’t think so either– lying between your legs. Inspecting your lips. Almost making you feel embarrassed by his stare as he would lick at your entrance. Pout on his pretty lips.

“Ah baby~” He used to whine, “Do you really think she can take me? I mean… pretty girl already looks so stretched around just one of my fingers… I don’t want to hurt you, you know?”

It’s a good thing he’s broken you in now. So many hours prepping your puffy little cunt until it’s a little sore, tears beading up on your waterline. So many nights he teases you with just the head of his cock– bullying it into your entrance, not going further than just the tip even when you beg. Beg for him to fill you up, to stretch you just for him in a way you know only he can.

All because he knows what's best for you.

Or, maybe that’s just what he tells himself. Maybe he knows the second he’s finally able to bury his cock fully inside your warmth, knows that when he finally gets to feel your wet heat wrapped around him that he’s going to become entirely addicted.

And trust, when he finally does give in, he’s pussy drunk instantly. His mind drifting far off, stars floating in his vision. Only able to see your face. Only able to feel your body.

Stare you right in the eyes as his thrusts turn a bit sloppy, almost lazy. Savouring the feeling of you in any way he can. Your hips wrapped around his waist, his arms on either side of your head, propping his body up as he gives you that lazy smile. The smile he always gives when he’s about to drive you insane.

Because Umemiya, you see, he likes to play the long game. He likes to draw out pleasure, holding you just on the cusp of epiphany without ever letting you slip over the edge. Loves to bask in the glow of intimacy, creating a whole new genre of music to enjoy. Preens at the way you cling to his shoulder, holding him close.

Smiles because he knows you’ll never let him go.

Even when his thrusts are languid like this– each one slow, almost messy, but deliberate at the same time. His cock brushing against the spot inside of you that sees stars, so deep inside of you that he’s practically pressing against your cervix. Balls pressing against your ass as he pushes himself all the way inside, grinding slow circles into your whiny entrance. Just begging for him to get serious, begging for him to let you find your release.

Ah~ he wishes moments like this could just last forever~ Pretty girl on his bed, creaming around his cock. Looking so lost– but it’s okay. You don’t have to be. He’s right there to take care of you. He’ll always be right there to take care of you.

Fill you up over and over again to make you feel right. Make you feel loved, cared for.

Mmmm… and then his brain starts to drift off again. Too pussy drunk to really think about how dangerous his thoughts really may be. Too high to forget all about the birth control you take religiously.

How can he stop himself from dreaming of a future with you? Of a nice house in the same neighbourhood as his friends. Maybe by the beach so you can have Barbeques every night. Go swimming whenever you want. A family built between the two of you. How much he would love you every single day of his life.

Right, because with Umemiya, his need to breed you. His desires that start from deep in the root of his brain, spread all the way down to his fingertips, they don’t come from the need to claim. No, he already knows you're his. Knows you would never betray him.

No, those desires, the ones that have him burying his face in your neck. Have him finally giving in, picking up the speed of his hips. His thrusts melting you into a puddle of moans– your sanity so far out of reach you don’t even know if you want it back.

Those desires come from his love for you. His desire to be with you utterly and completely. To show the rest of the world the evidence of your love, the evidence of your devotion to one another.

Okay, and maybe they come from his inherent need to dote on you. To take care of you the same way you have him. Maybe just a little.

But that doesn’t matter anyway, nah, all that matters right now is you underneath him. Taking everything he has to give and more. Your neglected clit twitching as you come apart under him. Your back arching, nails digging into his shoulder blades. Coming undone from his cock alone.

Being so good– just so perfect for him.

It only drives him further, only giving you a second of reprise before he leans back from your form, pulling your hips onto his thighs. Takinging one of your legs and raising it high– placing it just right on his shoulder. Giving him the perfect angle to drive into you. The perfect angle to fill you up, breed you so full and pretty.

Imagining the way your walls will flutter once he finally pulls out, watching as his cum leaks from your fluttering hole. Knowing the second it does he’ll just take two fingers and push it back inside.

His good girl would never waste a drop, would she?

No, she wouldn’t. Not ever. Never for him. So why keep denying you of what he knows he you really want?

It only takes one look into your dazed eyes to have him falling apart after you. How can he not when you look at him like he’s hung the stars? Fucked out eyes half-lidded, pretty smile on your face that just looks so, so tired.

His hips fuck themselves as deep inside of you as he can go, his head rolling back, mouth parting in a silent ‘o’ as white fills up your walls. His lips find your ankle, kissing it gently as he thrusts into you slowly once more. Milking every last bit of cum from his cock. Making sure every last bit stays inside of you. The picture of love, of happiness right below him.

He doesn’t know how he got so lucky.

Anyway. Yeah. Umemiya breeding kink. Yeah.

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gatorbites-imagines · 1 year ago

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Kinktober day 16

Jason Todd + leather or Latex

I had like, no ideas what to do with this prompt ngl, so I just kinda went with whatever came to me when writing.

Crime lord Red Hood has always had a special place in my heart

Kinktober 2023 masterlist.

Working for The Red Hood wasn’t too bad, especially compared to the other rogues you’d had to work for in the past. With Hood you didn’t have to fear suddenly being shot because Two-face suddenly felt like it, or being eaten by whatever plants Ivy had conjured up, or answering whatever riddles the Riddler came up with that day.

Best part was probably the uniform though. All rogues put their people in specific clothes. For the joker it was clown masks and all that junk, Riddler wanted you in stuff with question mark print, penguin wanted you well dressed in suit and tie, the list went on. For Hood just wearing red seemed to be enough. Most seemed to just resort to wearing a red hoodie under their jacket, and that was enough.

Interestingly enough, working for Hood also came with some benefits, like being allowed to keep stuff from different conflicts as long as it didn’t cause issues for Hood. That was where you found your first leather, some rich guy from Metropolis tried to set up in Gotham and was quickly dealt with. If Gotham hated anyone more than each other, it was outsiders trying to barge in and make a name for themselves.

The guy had been wearing a sturdy but not too flashy leather jacket, so after checking the pockets and for bullet holes and seeing it in one piece, you tucked it over your arm and brought it home. You had to cut the tags out and changed the inner fabric to something cheaper, and most importantly, into something red, but the quality was no lie.

You realized you might have had a thing for Leather one night when you had needed to go out for some small run for Hood, and you’d been too tired and lazy to put on a shirt. You ended up going out in a pair of low waisted denim pants, some well worn boots, and your jacket. No one batted an eye, at all, seeing a shirtless guy was far from the weirdest shit in Gotham, but the feel of leather on your skin seemed to have lit something inside you.

After that you might have subconsciously started looking for the stuff whenever you went on raids or into fights for Hood and his territory. Who cared if you stole some hotshot from star cities leather west and hat, or that guy from Texas whose black leather boots you stole right off his feet. You didn’t touch the pants though, even though you really really wanted too, you just didn’t trust them not to be contaminated by all kinds of junk.

You honestly thought you hid it pretty well, your draw to leather that is. Everyone had their thing, and you always wearing your jacket and boots was just something you did. If you went home to get dressed all the way down to just your jacket and boots though to jerk off was another thing entirely.

But it seemed your draw to the last targets pants hadn’t gone fully unnoticed by your boss. Imagine your surprise when he shoved a package into your arms one night and told you to only check it when you got home, the modulator of his helmet making him seem way more serious than he probably was.

You wouldn’t say you were outright friends with Hood, no one could really be friends with their boss in the criminal world, but you cracked jokes with the guy and even got him to laugh on the regular. You patched him up when he needed it, and he dragged you to Leslie’s clinic when you got knocked around a bit too hard, which happened more than you liked to admit.

When you got home you had almost assumed that the package would hold weapons or maybe even drugs, even though Hood didn’t personally deal the stuff. But instead, you found what you immediately noticed was leather, a card placed on top of the neatly folded leather. The letter was in Hoods writing, and you felt your face heat up a tad at the words on the page.

“Next time just let me buy it for you instead of stealing it off bodies” it said, and when you unfolded the leather, you felt your insides flutter. It was pants, they seemed even better quality than the ones you had been eying the night before. But it wasn’t just pants, there was a newer jacket, it was brown and heavy and was very well worn, and when you held it out in front of you, you could see it was one of Hoods own jackets.

You could feel blood running downwards, leaving you fumbling with your clothes as you got undressed, feeling almost desperate to pull the pants up your legs and hips. They were tight, but not too tight, and there was no question about the quality. Your original jacket fell to the ground with a heavy thud, your fingers quickly grabbing the heavy well-loved leather of the brown jacket and pulling it on, a shaky breath leaving you as the smell that was so clearly Hood filled your senses.

It smelled like leather, gun oil, the cigarettes he smoked when he was annoyed or on edge, and something undeniably Hood, and it had you tenting your new pants. Or tenting as well as one could in leather, which meant it was more a visible bulge running down the inside of your thigh. It had felt so good on your skin that you had found yourself grinding against your hand on your couch like some inexperienced fool. Your back had arched off the couch as you stained the inside of your pants, the leather growing slick against you as you groaned.

It was only later when cleaning the leather that you noticed the writing in the waistband, near the back so it would sit near the bottom of your spine. “Red Hood” it said, like some kind of statement of ownership, and you had shivered and exhaled shakily, rubbing a hand over your face to dispel the thoughts it awoke in your body.

Next time you saw Hood you had worn the pants, but the jacket was left at home. The worn jacket didn’t go well with the newer shinier leather of the pants, so it was your normal jacket and boots, which had some of your friends joke a bit about you being some kind of leather daddy because of your interest in the stuff. You had let the jokes run off your back, joking along every now and then.

You hadn’t even noticed Hood being there until he had appeared behind you, his gloved hand grabbing your ass and giving it a squeeze. Youd almost snapped around and decked him, assuming it was someone else, that was until you heard his modulated voice. “You’re wearing my gift. You like it?” he purred obviously enough that you could hear it even through the voice changer.

You could feel your skin growing clammy as you gave a small nod, not even daring to look at hood as he pressed his crotch against your back, his erection obvious even through all your shared layers. “Good, you look so hot in it” he rumbled, giving your thighs an extra squeeze before he stepped back and wandered off, leaving you unsteady on your feet as you tried to force the obvious hard shape in your pants away, for once cursing how tight they were.

It continued on this way for a while, Hood leaving you presents, and you would wear them around his headquarters. It was never expensive or high quality enough for anyone to target you, but Hood seemed to enjoy it very much. It felt almost like having a sugar daddy or some kind, but he had never demanded much sugar, only grabbing your ass at times, or rubbing his hands up and down your torso that time you’d worn a leather shirt under your jacket.

He was a tease, and you could hear the shit eating grin through his helmet as you ground against his thick thigh one day. You felt so wound up from his lingering touches that you had found yourself in his office one day, or what you guys called his office anyways. Maybe you wanted a fight of some kind, you weren’t sure, but one thing led to another, and you pinned up against the wall, his thigh between your own.

And now you were grinding against his thigh like some kind of pervert, your fingers digging into the worn leather of his jacket as you gasped into his shoulder. You didn’t even notice as he pulled off his gloves or spat on his fingers, it was only when one of his hands was shoved down the back of your leather pants and between your cheeks that you realised. A groan left you as he rubbed the pad of his finger against your pucker, his voice cocky as he asked if this was what you wanted.

You tried to glare at him, but it only seemed to fuel him more as Hood pushed his finger inside, letting you adjust before he started moving to the best of his ability, your tight pants not leaving much room to move his wrist. The stimulation was driving you crazy, the tight leather of your pants doing nothing to lessen the experience as you ground forwards into his thigh, before you pushed back onto his hand.

Running your hands down his torso and up his shirt, you could keep the moan from leaving you as you felt something too smooth and slick to be leather. It was Latex, he was wearing a latex shirt under everything else, maybe it was even a full body thing as it continued as you thumbed at the waistband of his pants.

Your exploring just seemed to fuel him more as Hood added not just a second but a third finger at the same time, letting you just barely adjust to the stretch before he started moving his hand once more, causing you to grind harder against his thigh.

It was impossible to fight back the orgasm that rocked through you, thoroughly slicking up the crotch area of your leather pants as there was no fabric to soak it up, letting it splatter against your thighs and lower body. You could feel yourself twitch a bit as Hood removed his fingers, instead grabbing onto your hips and lifting you up, making your legs wrap around his waist.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to ask what he was up too as he walked backwards, plopping down on his chair with you in his lap, sighing softly as he started rubbing his hands up your torso, flicking your chest through the leather shirt you had chosen to wear. “You alright baby?” he asked, voice warm and caring, leaving you feeling all types of mushy.

You just scoffed and leaned forwards, resting against his broad shoulders and coiling your arms around him. Hood rubbed your back for a while before rolling his chair close to his desk, the taping of keys letting you know he was working on one thing or the other. In the end you found yourself with both your hands up his shirt, rubbing at his latex covered torso as you rocked lazily against his thigh, no hurry in your movements as you knew you had all night, and it would happen soon if the twitching bulge between Hoods thighs meant anything.

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rinneverse · 2 years ago

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꒰⚘݄꒱₊ BITE MY LIP, AND I'LL BITE YOURS · · · ♡

— pairing: seishiro nagi x fem!reader

— warnings: adult pro player!nagi, lovesick nagi, he’s a little into dacryphilia methinks, overstimulation, sleepy morning sex into slow sensual sex.

— synopsis: kiss my neck, and i’ll make sure you’re mine.

— wc: 0.8k

— notes: little to no editing on this so forgive any mistakes. i love nagi so much it makes me sick

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ !! 18+ CONTENT — MINORS DNI !!

There weren’t many things Seishiro Nagi loved enough to put any effort forth into it.

In fact, he thinks he could count on one hand the amount of things he can say he loves in his life.

Video games—in any downtime he had, he could be found fiddling with his phone, playing whatever mobile game that happened to strike his fancy for the day. Soccer was a given; he was a pro player, he had to have some sort of passion for it in him to have gotten this far.

But right now, in this moment, Nagi realizes a crucial fact: he loves you, his darling girlfriend, more than enough to want to give you the world.

He realizes as you roll your hips down against him, riding him slowly in the comfort of your shared bed as the early sunrise filters in through the curtains. He realizes as he watches the rays of light shine down upon your nude form, basking the room and yourself in an ethereal glow. He realizes as you lean down to mouth sloppy, wet kisses along his neck, his large hands making themselves at home upon the curve of your hips in response.

Nagi realizes, in his sleepy haze, that he wants to give you his all. He lets out a soft groan as you grind down against him, your eyelashes fluttering against the skin of his cheek as you nuzzle yourself into the crook of his neck.

“Baby,” he mumbles, his grip on your hips tightening, “I love you.”

He can feel your lips curve up into a gentle smile. Your eyes are half lidded as you lazily raise your head to look him in the eyes, your fingers drawing gentle circles along his shoulder blades as you murmur back to him, “I love you too.”

His hips rut up a little in response, drawing out a surprised gasp from you. It makes Nagi smile in amusement and he decides, in this moment, he wants to show it to you. Show you every inch of affection he held for you, every ounce of his adoration for you and only you.

He knows he’s not the most energetic lover. He knows he’s a little bit lazy, more the type to sit back and relax, but he also knows that this is where he shines: slow, sensual loving, the kind where you savor each and every stroke, every kiss, every moment.

You make a confused noise when Nagi flips you around, laying you back in the plush material of your mattress as he hovers over you. He punctuates his movement with a single thrust that has you light-headed, your legs spreading wider to accommodate your boyfriend’s size.

The way you babble spurs him on, your voice sweet like honey and sugar to his ears, his hands roaming your body as he nearly devours you whole. His hips roll sensually into yours, slow and heavy, pulling out until just the fat tip is left and then he pushes back in with a grunt, feeling your walls clench around every inch of his cock until you’re left a sobbing mess underneath him.

“More, more!” You cry, feeling the drag of each thrust, every movement by Nagi calculated to keep you just on the edge. You’re squirming now, your hips mindlessly rutting against his, pleading for more. He sighs gently.

“Patience, angel," Nagi drawls playfully. "Let me show you how much I love you.” He takes your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand, the other dragging down your waist to grab your leg and throw it over his shoulder. The new angle draws stars in your vision and brings tears to your eyes.

“Sei, baby, please,” you keen, a pitiful whine drawn from your chest as he ghosts his fingers over your clit. You’re so close, you think, the coil in your tummy being drawn tighter and tighter until finally he gives in, his thumb drawing tight circles on your sensitive bud.

He kisses your tears away as you’re sent over the edge, back arching as he fucks you through your high. He hasn’t let up on your clit yet, and his tongue swipes over his lips as he savors the salty taste left behind.

He feels a spark of gratification as he watches you fall apart, letting a smug little smile ghost along his lips as you squirm from the overstimulation—he still has your wrists pinned as he chases his own high then, hips rutting into yours.

You whimper his name suddenly, and the sound sends a shiver rippling down his spine, and he’s pulling out of you, his cum splattering over your bare stomach and thighs. He pants softly, wide brown eyes staring down at you as he takes in the mess he made.

More. More. He wants to make a mess out of you.

And you know that look in his eyes—it tells you that you’re in for a long morning.

But you wouldn’t have it any other way, even with tears streaming down your eyes and drool staining the pillow beneath you.

please don't repost on other platforms. rbs and comments are super appreciated ♡ !!

#seishiro nagi x reader #nagi x reader #blue lock x reader #seishiro nagi smut #nagi smut #blue lock smut #seishiro nagi x you #nagi x you #blue lock x you #☆ oakie writes #☆ c.nagi

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skylermadness · 11 months ago

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Whatever. (Lucas Lee TF/MC)

(Original Date of Upload: December 6, 2023)

I continue to be too lazy to fill my queue.

Original Description:

Make this Lucas Lee TF #3, now in the written medium! My boyfriend got me to watch through both the Scott Pilgrim movie and anime and it was pretty obvious that I was going to fall in love with Lucas. A bit of a jerkish man with a large physique and attractive face, pretty much the perfect bait for someone like me. This also meant that inevitably I was going to have to write a TF story on this guy! I wanted to go for something a bit simplistic here in terms of tone and plot, mainly because I wanted to jump straight into the transformation segment, but I think in general I'm rather proud of how this story turned out! I really wanted to give this man justice, especially since in the end he'll probably be memorialized in the hall of underrated TF figures. Also going to give some credit to my friend moltingscales on FurAffinity for a few description additions that I would not have been able to come with on my own! Rated Mature for vague bulge growth description.

Truth be told, self-confidence was not something that Mike had an ample amount of. Especially in regards to how he viewed his physicality. That was always something he thought when he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. And for this evening that sense of low self-esteem was at an all-time high. The reason? Date night.

He had always attempted to tell himself that these dates were just meant to be casual. There was nothing to really worry about since it wasn't like he and his boyfriend were going to some bougie five star restaurant or something. Unfortunately however, Mike’s mind never truly functioned that way and he had a tendency to spiral down a mental staircase of overcomplications. That coupled with the past two weeks he's had in regards to his job had sort of left his mind in a state of disarray. It wasn't fragile persé, but neither was it solid.

That mental state is why he was in the bathroom mirror at 7PM in the evening staring at a sheet of temporary tattoos in his hand. Said sheet was just some three dollar cheapo set that he bought online a few days ago. Mainly because he was too much of a coward to get a real tattoo- that's beside the point!

Although the cheapness of the purchase was definitely pungent as he stared down at the sheet. He didn't go for the more expensive and extravagant purchase, mainly because he didn't really want to draw too much attention to himself. In general he had just wanted something simple that also looked aesthetically appealing. However the more he stared down at the sheet he began to realize that he really went too far on the simple notion. Although that was primarily because the only selections on this fake tattoo sheet were simplistically stylized letters and numbers.

Mike sighed. “What do they expect me to do? Spell out my name or something?” It hasn't even been five minutes and he was already regretting this purchase. It was fine though, it was fine, he might be able to settle on something at least.

He had already crossed out putting in his own name, and he felt it would be weird to put in the name of his boyfriend. Would it be weirder to put in the names of everyone in his polycule? If anything that'd just look like a hit-list. Also he was pretty sure he didn't have enough letters for all of that anyway. For a second he also considered putting the name of a game or something he liked, but that option fell flat since the letters provided to him would look weird when tattoos of game logos legitimately exist.

These mental gymnastics lasted for a good twenty or so seconds before Mike’s gaze wandered down to the number section of the sheet. There weren't a lot of numbers he'd say represented literally anything about him. Except…

“...two?”

Just two. He was the second person in his polycule with his boyfriend after all, and in general he had been the second to do a lot of things like finish college and move out. Although considering he was just doing this to boost his self confidence for a date with his boyfriend the former thought process was a much healthier one.

Seeming to have come to a decision, the next couple minutes were a fairly standard order of events. Making sure his skin was dry, removing the film and isolating the singular number from the sheet. Mike did spend a good minute trying to choose a spot to place this temporary tattoo, but eventually settled on the side of neck solely so he could hide the thing if need be. He removed the choker that he typically wore, put it onto the sink’s counter, and placed the numerical icon onto the skin of the left side of his neck, then promptly wet up a sponge with some warm water before holding it onto where he was placing the tattoo.

The moment the water met the backing paper that region of Mike’s neck had suddenly been given a slight burning sensation. It was only miniscule, but it was noticeable. “Eesh, I hope I'm not allergic to whatever is in these things…”

He tried to hold out for the recommended thirty seconds, but that feeling of burning forced him to remove the sponge from his neck after twenty. He swiftly removed the backing paper from his neck, but found that there wasn't any kind of redness of the skin that would be the cause of any kind of burning. If anything the strange sensation had subsided, and now Mike had been granted a simplistic tattoo of the number two with a line going through it.

He stared at his neck in the mirror for a few seconds and scrutinized the newly inked object on his neck. “...somewhat larger than I was expecting. Whatever I guess, it doesn't… look shoddy.”

It did already look a little faded though. Mike had hoped once it had some time to dry it would actually look dark enough to imitate the appearance of a tattoo even though he didn't fully care about it looking convincing. With a sigh he moved his hand to the edge of the sink to pick up his choker and slip it back around his neck again. Although this time he loosened it a bit so it wouldn't rub up against the temporary tattoo too much. He apparently wasn't patient enough to let it dry before putting the accessory back on-

With that whole routine dealt with, Mike made his way out of the bathroom. He was probably going to spend the next half hour sitting on the couch waiting for his boyfriend to arrive…

However as he walked down the hallway he already started to massage the area the tattoo’s ink had been placed on. The burning was returning already and it felt a bit more intense now. “What are in those things?”

He continued to gently massage the area of his neck with his hand, letting his palm gently squeeze the skin in an attempt to alleviate the sensation. Although it would seem as he continued in this act, a strange set of changes began to settle into his hand…

There was a certain level of thickness that had begun to generate in both of Mike’s hands. His usually thin fingers steadily got larger, thicker, chunkier. As their size was getting altered their length was extending as well in order to fit their new proportions. The ends of his fingers also seemed to blunt a bit with initial the roundness of his fingertips dulling to a more straight look. At the exact same time the body of his hands was getting changed as well, both of them growing with each squeeze his left one did to his neck. They stretched out larger and wider, palms thickening as the entirety of his hands gained a significant level of meatiness to them that was already causing them to exude a level of strength that they had not possessed just moments prior.

From there it was a quick transition for the changes to jump past his wrists and onto his forearms. A small amount of heat began to arise in the lower area of his arms. With that heat came another swath of growths, the thinner physique of them steadily being lost under a swelling, bulking size. This was mostly because of the sudden increase in muscle mass he was getting. At an anatomical level, each usage of his extensor muscles by his hands was causing a practically impossible rate of growth. Like years of working out was being piled in the area in just seconds and giving his forearms a sizable muscularity. So much so that ridges were already forming, dividing muscle groups and accentuating the new size even further. A budding pressure had also started forming in his bones. Newly grown muscles practically massaging them, extending and hardening them further to better handle this larger size. It also wouldn't take very long for the exact same thing to begin to occur in his upper arms as well.

It started with a squeezing sensation in his elbows, something that quickly intensified to yet another immense bout of pressure in the bones of the upper half of his arms. This was also accompanied by the same light amount of heat, which was then followed by even more muscle growth. The short sleeves of his button-up were quick to fill as the mass in his arms increased more and more. Biceps got bulkier and triceps matured tremendously, and it wasn't long until the diameter of his arms was practically doubled thanks to all of these changes. His shoulders ached as his deltoid muscles developed more, a certain roundness forming out from his once angular bodily shape. This roundness had also rapidly made itself visible from beneath the fabric of his shirt, his newly developed muscles firmly pressing up against the sleeves as they already began to look rather undersized.

By the time this portion of the transformation had ended, Mike found himself at the threshold of the hallway and his living room. A few beads of sweat already began to form on his forehead as the heat was spreading from his arms to the rest of his body. “Uurgh, am I… having an allergic reaction to that thing…?”

For a moment he stands in the doorway and unhands his neck, deciding to hold onto the threshold with a hand in order to stabilize himself a bit. He could still feel the tattoo burn against his neck, although he couldn't see it was significantly darker than it was before. What he did see, however, was his hand.

“W-WHAT THE HELL-”

For just a moment his mind was taken off the feeling of intense heat entering his body, Mike’s focus instead being directed to his larger hands and beefier arms. Flipping a hand around in a panic his first statement was, “O-oh God, this can't be an allergic reaction-”

His eyes could only just trail down from his hands to his arms, the man only being able to behold the sight that was his recently obtained muscle mass. It felt so warm, and something about it was exuding pure strength, but despite that it all still felt uncanny. Bizarre felt like an understatement of a term, it was impossible!

“What is going on?? Why is this- a-ahh-”

His panicked statements were interrupted by what could only be described as the sudden feeling of a furnace igniting at the very core of his body. In just seconds his physical changes were transitioning from his arms to his torso, and Mike could instantly feel his chest push outwards and into his shirt with each breath the young man took.

The best way to usually describe Mike’s chest was undeveloped. Flat with only minimal amounts of flab and fairly unimpressive from a physical standpoint. However, as his core was heated a fire entered his torso that caused a cascade of changes that practically tempered and sculpted his form. His chest pushed forward, his pectorals steadily swelling in size with each second that passed. It was small at first however, seemingly starting off as a slight growth that looked more like that of a novice who just started working out. But that appearance was temporary, one that lasted only a few seconds before they got larger and larger. With each ragged breath the man took his pectoral muscles only grew more, that novice feeling being lost into the size of someone more adept in gym-going. And that didn't last long as they grew even more into two thick and meaty slabs belonging to someone dedicated to refining their physicality.

All the while his chest was pushing up against the front of his shirt. The size of his swelling pecs constantly indenting into the button-up more and more, their appearance getting more prominent beneath the fabric. But the only thing that held the halves of the shirt were buttons, and as the size of his chest increased it pushed his shirt’s placket to limits it just couldn't hold. Already buttons began to scatter, unleashing his chest more and unveiling the deep chasm that became his cleavage. A few more buttons were lost as his frame was prompted to extend as well. His collarbone and ribs pushed sideways, broadening and widening his form even more. Something that was causing even his back muscles to ache, a mighty need starting to form in them as well.

“Urgh-” Mike grunted at the sensations, everything just feeling overwhelming. “M-my shirt- my chest it's so… it's so…”

His cheeks flushed as all of a sudden Mike lost control of an arm. The free one that wasn't supporting him on the door got lifted up and, in just one quick moment, squeezed his right pectoral. He was given the sensation of just how soft yet firm they felt underneath his grip. Something that gave him just a single thought.

Heh, you've got the best chest in the business~

That very thought felt so foreign to Mike, already setting off mental alarm bells in the young man’s man. Yet despite that he couldn't swat it away, he couldn't stop his hand from giving his chest another squeeze and filling his brain with an almost erotic level of self-confidence (and perhaps self-absorption) that he didn't have prior. It was like his brain chemistry was beginning to get altered as well.

The changes didn't stop at his chest though. His abdomen already began to ripple, skin and muscle bubbling and churning as yet more muscles were ready to sculpt themselves into existence. The fat around his stomach melted off, and rising from that were a set of abdominal muscles. They slotted forwards like drawers, just rows of abs sequentially unveiling themselves and hardening into yet more firm muscles to displace his once twinkish demeanor. Two, then four, then a six-pack set of abs, all finely built in a way that showed years of dedication. Although those were years that Mike had not toiled through. But as his sides burned, his abdominal muscles firmed up, and the front of his shirt continued to tear open even more, the sight of his more muscled form was causing more conflicting thoughts to form in his brain.

His back continued to ache as the muscles in that region grew out. Yet again his shirt was filling up, and beneath that was a substantial formulation of mass that was forming in his trapezius muscles. Evidently that wasn't the only portion of his back that changed however as his spine was another major group of bones that got hit with the transformative pressure. A sensation that caused the discs in his spine to decompress and grow, elongating itself and granting Mike inches of height that would better work for his new proportions. This has caused the hem of his shirt to rise a bit and untuck itself from his jeans in the process.

This sudden growth of height further disoriented the man, Mike having already been immensely discombobulated thanks to the intensifying fog that was forming in his brain. At this point he was already getting lost in the inspection of his body, his arm moving from squeezing his chest to tracing a finger down his cleavage. It further moved down to his abs, all fingers splaying outwards to touch and feel the strong six-pack that he had gained just moments ago.

With all those years spent working out, it would be a waste not to feel those muscles you spent so long crafting~

“Wuh… huh…?” Mike vocalized, eyes blinking in a daze. “I've never… worked… out…”

For a second his brain registered his voice sounding different, sounding deeper, but his focus could only be on the statement said. How much of a contradiction it seemed to be. A fraction of him knew it was true, knew these muscles weren't here minutes ago or that he's never had the time or desire to gain such a form. Yet another growing part of him was telling him the opposite, that this is his body, his muscles, his everything.

Why deny such a form you've worked so hard on?

“Mmmph…” Mike hummed, voice continuing to deepen and making it sound like a low rumble. His eye twitched a bit as he felt a bead of sweat roll near it and down his face. His hand trailed back upwards, not sure if it's himself controlling it or the unknown force, but it slowly moved up his abs and back to his pecs. And while he entered what could only be classified as a hypnotized state, the transformation continued the move its way downwards. His jeans tightened around his form as the diameter of his waist got larger, the first sign that it wasn't very long until the lower half of his body was consumed by the changes.

The second sign was a stirring in his groin.

Mike’s cheeks flushed as he felt the front of his underwear begin to fill out. A sizable bulge was steadily forming, his endowment increasing in size much like the rest of his body had. Such an occurrence was also forcing the zipper of his jeans to start to split open against this new bulge. At the exact same time, the seat of his pants was filling out as well. Gluteus muscles getting larger, some fat accumulating in the area more, all of which was making his butt a bit more prominent and round beneath his jeans. It strained the back of his pants a bit more which put more pressure on his jeans. A good few seconds passed before finally the button holding them couldn't last any longer and ripped itself out the eyelet, the fly of his jeans now fully open.

That didn't end the torrent of pressure being put on his pants however. The transformation continued to cascade its way downwards, the man’s thighs being the next to thicken as heat surged in his leg muscles and forced his quads and hamstrings to grow in bulk and musculature. His calves practically burned as well as they practically ballooned out the back of the crus of his once skinny legs. Although at this point Mike’s lanky frame is now long gone, the last portion of it subsumed by muscle. The leg muscles of a man who knew how to train them, and who knew how to use them. This had also prompted another few inches to be added to Mike’s height as yet again the bones were shifted, strengthened, and extended beneath the muscle. The bottoms of the legs of his jeans steadily rode up his legs as a result, meanwhile the seams holding the sides together began ripping apart against his large muscularity.

The last portion of his lower body that was left to change were his feet, that region already beginning to shift as the space in his shoes quickly got filled out. In mere seconds his feet grew in size to fit the proportions of the rest of his body, lengthening and widening at a rapid pace. It wouldn't be long until the toe caps of his shoes bulged as all his toes pushed forward into them and continued to do so more. The back of his feet dug into the heels of his footwear, meanwhile the sides rubbed up against the shoe’s sides. This had predictably caused a major discomfort in the area, Mike disorientatedly stepping forward a bit in some weird attempt to shake off the pressure. But it didn't end and his footwear continued to bulge, the leathery cloth of it creaking and splitting as his feet continued to grow inside them. The front was already beginning to split off from the sole at this point thanks to his feet’s longer length. However, in one fell swoop, the front of his shoes burst open with a loud rip piercing the air. His toes were now out in the open, their chunkier and almost blockier appearance now visible. But at this point the changes in his feet had come to an end, the rest of his shoes just barely holding on against the width of his feet.

“Gghrrgh…” he groaned, his clothing feeling so uncomfortable against his larger body. “S-so small… unfitting… grragh…”

He swallowed a lump forming in his throat. The burning at the side of his neck had almost faded at this point, the tattoo he had given himself having inked itself into his skin to the point of it being a real tattoo. Furthermore his neck was wider, diameter larger and the size thicker. It made his vocal cords tingle, his breaths continuing to get deeper and deeper before settling on a tone that was more masculine than it used to be. Rougher, tougher, and rugged sounding. Although it seemed due to the size of his neck the choker he wore snapped off and slipped off him.

Show those strong muscles of yours, show that weak clothing of yours who's boss!

Mike’s groping came to a halt at this point. The man lifted up his arm, a dumb smile forming on his face as he gave it a good fleeeeex and watched as the sleeve of his shirt tore against his bicep. “Awesome!”

By this point the line of what was considered Mike and what was considered the strange force within him was blurring. The once foreign thoughts were becoming more proper, fitting for the person he was just about feeling he is. The new personality and mentality, one that felt more confident and stronger than he used to be. Although the concept of ‘used to be’ felt impossible. The more he stared at this strong form of his the more those earlier thoughts about this being his felt correct.

“Heheh, this feels good!” he stated, no longer supporting himself on the doorway and giving his other arm a good flex to watch the sleeve on it shatter over his muscles.

At this point the last set of physical changes were moving onto his face. As he smiled a pressure was wracking his skull, squeezing and sculpting his facial features into those of a completely different man. His skull structure got larger and wider, and with it his jawline reshaped and chiseled itself from the broadness. It almost protruded to the sides at this point. The way his jawline looked aided in shifting the way his skull physically appeared, the overall shape of his head looking boxy and rectangular.

With his jawline shifting, his once clean-shaven appearance got lost as black hairs poked out the skin of his chin. It started as a small amount rising from the tip of his chin, but that quickly spreaded across his lower jaw as a whole bunch more stubble dotted itself across the man’s jawline. Alongside that came more and more of his facial features getting shifted. The once rounded tip of his nose was getting pointier while the overall wideness of it narrowed a little bit. The brownish hairs of his eyebrows deepened to a dark black as they got thicker, bushier, and their appearance slanted until they gained an arched appearance. All of this had caused the previous appearance of Mike, the one that looked so worried and self-conscious, to be done away and morphed into the cocky visage of a new man that exuded raw confidence and self-assuredness!

His hair was the very last part that turned. The browns of the follicles deepened to a perfect black. The length of it shortened and caused the overall messy and fluffy appearance to disappear at a rapid pace. In its stead came a more well kept, spiky style as clumps of his hair slicked back and jutted backwards. However, the hair at the back of his head jutted upwards, and all this spiking met at a focal point at a specific point at the apex of his skull. It gave his hair an organized look that somehow still appeared laid-back. All of this ended off with his sideburns thickening and trailing down the sides of his face before ending an inch or two above where his jawline would start.

The same goofy yet confident smile on his face remained as he ran a hand through his hair and continued to admire a bicep. The man properly walked through the doorway and finally stepping into the living room. By now he didn't care about the discomfort in his clothing, and the questions of his identity were faded and buried beneath the knowledge that this is his identity. And for him he's always felt this way. So strong and assured of himself! He is talented skateboarder and actor, Lucas Lee!

With that mental declaration in his head there came one last, albeit minor, change: his clothing. The cottony feel of his shirt hardened as a deep black oozed across the once pristine white. Everywhere the darkness spread on his shirt a leather feel was formed, and that continued to occur for the next few moments. The shirt itself grew in size as this happened, and the very appearance of it was shifted. Metal lined the ends of the button-up’s split as the remaining buttons slipped off and dematerialized. As the metal continued to form a bit of the shirt folded into a lapel that the metal continued to line the end of before teaching the peak of the lapel’s tip.

The shirt’s collar flattened and extended to better meet the lapel, and by this point the leather appearance had spread across the entire torso section of what was once a shirt. Although as the leather extended itself onto the torn sleeves and repaired them, extending them over his arms and snaking the sleeves so long until they were an inch beneath his wrists, it was proven that this was no longer a shirt. Instead it was a leather jacket now. The rest of his clothing had a much less impressive change however. His pants repaired themselves and grew to better fit him, the denim shifting from its rich blue to a deep gray. His shoes did exactly the same as well by extending over his feet, covering his toes and growing airier, before properly sealing themselves shut and recoloring from black to blue.

With all of that finished the transformation had been solidified. All that was Mike was done away. His worries and concerns were cast, replaced with the confident persona of Lucas Lee. Although it was evident he got a lot more than just the persona.

“Eh?” Lucas raised a brow, stopping his self-admiration as he realized where he was. “The heck am I? Whose house is this?”

That question stayed important for about… two seconds before he decided he didn't care. “Whatever. Nobody’ll mind if I make myself comfortable for a bit!”

He takes a seat on the living room couch, completely ignores the fact his pants were unzipped, and perches his feet on the small table in front of it. He was about ready to fold his arms behind his head and lounge here for a bit, but was stopped when he felt his phone vibrate in a back pocket. With a grunt he shoved a hand into it and pulled it out, although he noticed that the thing looked a lot different than he remembered it being.

“Don't remember this having a gold case,” Lucas remarked as he pressed the power button to take it out of sleep mode. He would've realized the wallpaper was different from his usual as well, but his focus was on the singular message displayed on the screen.

Arti 💙 heading to your apartment now did you ever come up with someplace to actually go for our date??

Lucas tilted his head. Date? Who the heck was this guy?? Come to think of it, whose phone even is this?! There were a lot of questions crossing the man’s mind, but in the end he decided to do the most logical thing and answer the text as if it were his own phone.

You nope

With that Lucas put the phone back into sleep mode. He wasn't really sure who this Arti was or whose phone he was currently in possession of but truthfully he didn't really care all that much. He just felt like chilling out here for a bit before heading back out, probably for another late night skate session. Although after another few seconds a single thought crossed his mind.

…who's to say that Arti fellow wouldn't be a good time?

Lucas smiled. Perhaps he was going to be staying here for just a bit longer…

#character tf #tf #transformation #human tf #muscle growth tf #bara tf #male transformation

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revalition · 1 month ago

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OCT 5 - CONCEPTUALIZATION

Understand creativity. See Art in the world.

sorry so few drawings in today's (and the really lazy colouring job) I'm very tired and wanted to still get it out. I love love conceptualization!! I'll draw and colour you properly some day.

I drew him with legs in my banner (still a WIP, I need to colour it...) and I'm not sure what I like more... definitely don't ever expect tons of consistency from me haha

Alsoooo... I think I'm going to do mondays off instead of sundays so I don't split up the 4 groups across the break. and volition's realllly gonna need that extra day, I love that guy way too much

anyway! as usual tons of quotes and comments under the cut! conceptualization has sooo many amazing ones, it's too hard to limit it to 29 :(((

PALE PALE PALE

actually me the second I heard about the pale. I've spent a likely unhealthy amount of time contemplating it. I did a science project on the possible ways the Universe will eventually end when I was like 15 and only gotten worse since then, I live for this stuff. It fascinates me endlessly

ily conceptualization and volition. I had to suffer through the unbelievably embarrassing ordeal of the failed poetry the first time, when conceppy stopped it the second time I immediately fell in love.

NO why is turning him down an option??

this was so vivid and sad

the whole revacholian nationhood quest is so delusional... but conceptualization is going to embrace it anyway

art cop my beloved

of course he'd find it artistic... it's definitely a statement I suppose

much love for this, conceptualization comforted me into accepting the sorry cop, like... 30 minutes into my first run

don't be sorry honey I always want to hear your artsy thoughts

Yes this is the poetry fail again... this was actually incredibly painful. Also first day of my first run, walked out of the Whirling over to the lorries. So many moments of 'what did I doooo' over picking 1 INT...

Almost every fail ends up with the failing skill giving you really really bad advice, I love how this time conceptualization is just. desperately trying to stop you from continuing. and he can't!! it just gets *worse*!! I'm not including the rest of the poem, I don't want to even look at it. conceptualization ily for trying to stop the horrors...

hehe conceptualization hates improv

ough I love this one. referring to Le Retour.

un jour je serai de retour pres de toi...

actually me as soon as the hyperfixation stops

silver stars melted down...

ough I love the melancholy of a lot of conceptualization's comments.

this one especially. it's so simple, but deeply, deeply sad. the authors of this game were definitely no strangers to grief.

I love when the skills are silly

I love these, they just make my heart happy

mm... true

hehe

I gain a year of life every time anyone mentions harry's blue soul. ily conceptualization

that's it thanks to the evil screenshot limit :((( I hit it so fast too. I'm going to actually die on Volition day. Maybe I can just type the quotes instead of screenshotting them... there's no character limit hehe

running through conceptualization's other language names through google translate: unconventional, concept formation, abstraction

I like these. Most translate directly to conceptualization, but the ones that don't are always cool.

ough I love conceptualization a lot. I barely heard from him my first run, but maxed him out the second. Him and inland empire and shivers are my lovely poetic boys.

Volition trusting Conceptualization is also extremely!!! important to me. as far as I remember, conceptualization isn't identified as compromised either. He just wants art. Even tells you to "lay off that love stuff, if you can" at one point. I'm very fond of him.

#skilltober #de conceptualization #de skills #disco elysium #rev art

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blueparadis · 1 year ago

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꒰ IN MY HEAD ꒱ ⋮ KAVEH [ CONTENT & TAGS ] — » film au + non-human au, fluff, undertones of smut and fantasies, yandere themes, jealousy, hints of cannibalism ( sorry couldn't hold myself back. I had to. It's just one line. more like cannibalistic thoughts nothing explicit ); make-up artist!kaveh, actress!fem!reader, actor!al-haitham, undertones of smut // word count — 2k// blog navigation.// for angel's threeway collab by @angelltheninth //

“We’re ready, Al-haitham.” A staff member mentioned entering Al-haitham’s green room. With his eyes closed and Kaveh’s pristine hands doing their work he is growing more nervous by each passing moment. It is unusual because Kaveh has been with Al-haitham for years now yet has never seen Al-haitham so on edge in all these interviews, movie premieres, and shows. As Kaveh was busy doing his make-up throughout the session, Al-haitham could not stop jerking his leg. Kaveh had to either stop him by tapping on his knee or yell at him. “We’ll be too,” Kaveh responded with a neutral tone, keeping the Kohl pencil in his back pocket. “In a minute.”

Kaveh does not understand his friend’s actions. Either he is too happy or too tense. There is no in-between. Al-haitham won't even talk about it. A minute later, when he leaves the room for his show Kaveh decides to stay behind. He does not need to be there. He can hear everything from here. Backstage has always been a fascinating place for him. A moment ago, the room was full of light and laughter but now it is full of silence. He likes this kind of silence. He grabs his coffee and walks out of the place for a smoke break.

With his lit cigarette pressed in between his lips, and a warm coffee mug in hand he strolls along the artistically cemented route. He hums a tune to himself as he scans the place. The backyard of the backstage is really pretty. Probably it was used before but not now. Mosses and grasses are in abundance here. The crickets are singing, squirrels are too at par with them.

There is a fountain at the center of this place but it is not running. The sky is still blushing, illuminating the air. He walks towards the fountain to sit by it but he stops mid-way. He sees a girl sitting by the fountain wearing a dress the same color as Al-haitham. With her head bowed down looking at her reflection of herself in the pond around the statue of the fountain she looked like a fairy from those fantasy books.

If he had seen you somewhere else, some other place where there were a lot of people and noise he would not have remembered you. But he recognizes you. You are the co-star of Al-haiham’s latest movie which is also your debut film. He must have seen you at other movie premieres but never got an opportunity to speak. They just were times he was timid or lazy or did not bother enough to talk. Of course, he has seen you in the movie but he was far more intrigued by how you would be when there are no spotlights, no cameras — just him watching you. He was solely curious. These curiosities deviated into something else; fantasies in a steady manner. The moment he saw you on that big screen he felt like your body aroma would be like a forbidden fruit if he were to describe it. Now, he can practically inhale it. He discarded the remnant cigarette that was masking your scent. He had imagined seeing you, talking to you off-screen and this is not how it plays out in his head.

You outdid his imagination. He approached you slowly with silent footsteps so that he does not startle you. You seemed like you are in desperate need of this silence too. The one Kaveh is too comfortable in it. He can see your face through the reflection, barely but he can. He is so busy looking at the fall of your hair, your side face, the trail of moles from behind your ear onto your shoulder blades like a constellation that he totally forgets: that if he were to take another step, he would turn up in the reflection beside you.

He has thought of drawing moles in your intimate parts, counting your actual moles, kissing them, biting them, carving them out of your body, and eating them. The fewer the number of moles on your body, the higher the dopamine running in his veins since he hated the idea of any lover's mark on you when he saw you for the first time with Al-haitham. It is silly but he still feels edgy seeing a trail of moles along your shoulder. They say moles are the marks left by a kiss by your lover in past lives. It is silly to believe yet he does. It makes his stomach turn, the back of his throat churn, and tastes bitter when he swallows. He wants this feeling to go away. He wants to absorb you in himself so that he does not get devoured by your exquisite charms. The very existence of you is like a threat to his own.

“Oh! I’m sorry. I lost track of time. I should be going,” A sudden gust of wind created ripples in your reflection. You stood up blurting out in haste seeing a man's reflection beside you. Taking long strides walking past the man. “Is Al-haitham ready?” You asked but silence prevailed enough to make you turn on your heel.

If you are here, then it must mean everyone is looking for you inside the compound. Moreover, why are you here? You are not supposed to be here. You are supposed to be with Al-haitham, sitting beside him for the show.

“Huh?” Kaveh walks towards you exclaiming with his eyebrows congested, “No! No! stay.” He exhales nervously stunned by his own voice. “I mean he is ready but you can stay.” You cock your head in confusion smiling at his jumbled form.

“You’re Kaveh. is that right?”

“Yeah.” Kaveh tucks his palms inside his jeans. He sees you smile at him like you always smile at Al-haitham. Somehow, he is not nervous anymore. He flashes a grin. “So, you do know me.”

“What do you mean? Everyone knows you. And, I’ve seen you at every event since my movie came out.” You sat by the fountain on the cemented bench again and Kaveh’s carmine eyes followed you as if you were the sun and he was a sunflower. Well, technically he is, in a way. He is warm, cheerful and so full of beauty, just like a sunflower. You started to jerk your knee after checking the time. It has been almost thirty minutes since you have been here. The show is getting delayed.

Kaveh lets out a soft chuckle seeing you like that. He takes out the Kohl pencil from his back pocket and crouches in front of you. You are confused and nervous. So is he but he hides it better. He knows that but he does not need to know why. He just needs to calm you. He is suddenly overcome by this awful urge to soothe you. He looks at you before running the pencil on the supple skin of your thigh that was peeking through your distressed jeans. You laughed like a lyre as he was done. It was a smiley. Kaveh was looking at you, still seated in front of you at your feet.

“Ma’am it’s time.” Your secretary’s voice turned up from a distance from the dark. By the time your secretary was here, Kaveh was gone but the smiley he drew remained as you walked back to the building with your secretary. It was impressive how swiftly conscious Kaveh was of so many things— your reputation, his reputation, and the thread that binds both of you: al-haitham.

The moment you walk along with Al-haitham into the show arena Tighnari gives a smile. You all sit after you greet one another. There were many rounds of questions but you enjoyed rapid-fire the most. The movie was so far a huge success and with Al-haitham by your side it was getting easier. The last round had a set of frequently asked questions in Google search.

Tighnari pauses before the next question. He looks at you and then at Al-haitham. He smirks before shooting the next question. “Are al-haitham and y/n dating?” The room was full of silence again. Your eyes occasionally scanned the room in search of Kaveh but he was nowhere to be seen till now. Al-haitham's lips stretch from ear to ear as he rests his hands on yours.

“Yeah. we’re.” Al-haitham paused to look at you. “We’re dating.” For a brief moment, you thought you saw Kaveh at one door of this place. The curtains waved as a declaration of his departure. You realized that you spaced out for too long feeling the boring stares.

“Yeah. we’re,” you confirmed with a beam even though you were as surprised as any other person in this room. But you played along. You had to; you trust al-haitham. He has been good and kind to you so far, so he must have a reason for this. He must.

“Congratulations,” Tighnari exclaimed, the interviewer, with his ever-lasting warming broad smile that he has been flashing every now and then throughout the interview. The cameramen and the whole crew gave both of you a knowing smile. The only person who was not smiling was Kaveh. He is happy, he really is but he does not understand why it had to be you. It is not like Al-haitham ran out of options. He has plenty. He could have chosen someone who would open better prospects for him, anyone but not you. Why did he have to choose you?

Kaveh keeps his half-empty coffee mug on the coaster. He just came from the interview arena in the green room, in your green room. Maybe this is why Al-haitham was nervous all the time. But he could have told Kaveh or at least hinted to him about this matter in a way so that he would steer clear of both of your paths. Kaveh is not just his make-up artist. He is much more than that. Al-haitham knows that. Kaveh knows that he knows that. Nevertheless, he feels betrayed.

Kaveh takes the Kohl pencil from the back pocket of his jeans and grabs the handkerchief that you left at the desk. He scribbles on a piece of paper and tucks it carefully in between the folds of that handkerchief. He has been chasing so many butterflies all these times while his sun was waiting for him, so lonely and so bright. It would have been better if you were just another butterfly. But you invaded his head. There is no going back now. There is no use in fighting it back. Moreover, he likes the thrill of it. If he did, he might get uprooted, and turn into someone who he is not, a bare tree. Therefore, he must follow. He smiled to himself before exiting the room.

The piece of paper had a number and a note. It read: ‘I can wait. I'm a patient hunter, my little sunshine.’ When you flipped the paper, it had another message, a smiley with his signature. But this time you did not smile.

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xcerizex · 1 month ago

Text

"inside the train is a lullaby to be sung"

We will always feel fear in the face of an unknown future, but this is exactly the reason why we hold on to those dear to us even tighter.

"A good meal, some dessert, and maybe some more of all of that; I hope these are enough to put you at ease, even if just for a moment."

(alpheratz, alpheratz x summoner, fem! summoner, fluff I think, 1.9k words, mild spoilers for Floor 11, the bg setting is that one train bg they used once and then never again, magic stuff idk exists but now it does)

It's quiet and peaceful, as always.

Back in Mid Earthiem, absolute silence was neigh impossible when riding on any vehicle, especially a train. The Summoner closes her eyes, and reminisces the time where the sound of chattering crowds and clattering train tracks would fill her ears, as if it were the day's attempt at giving her music even during the mundane moments of her life.

She misses that–maybe–even if she's lost her memories.

In contrast, the trains in Bound Arlyn are much more silent. Mainly because the inside of the trains had been lined with sound-absorbing artifacts and magic, making it a quiet journey for every person going to or there.

"Have you fallen asleep?"

Opposite her, Alpheratz removes the puppy neck pillow from his shoulders and places it on the table between them while yawning loudly. She doesn't react to him just yet, opens her eyes, and looks out the train window.

From here, all she can see are plain fields of grassy green shooting past them.

"How long have you been staring at me?"

Alpheratz leans to his left and rests his head on his forearm.

"Hm, I would say about 5 minutes, give or take."

"..."

The Summoner draws her fingers over the mist across the window absentmindedly, does this for a minute until Alpheratz calls her out.

"C'mon, I look far more manlier than that."

On the window is a drawing of a mini chibi Alpheratz with a pouting expression.

"Really? I think it suits you just fine."

"No it does not."

She sticks her tongue out at him and raises her sleeved arm to wipe it off before he stops her, touching the back of her hand.

She feels her ears heat up.

"Just because I said it was innacurate doesn't mean you have to destroy it, keep it there."

She withdraws her hand slowly, but doesn't get the chance to formulate an answer as everyone in the cabin hears a bell.

"Please excuse me."

Spica rises up from the couch arranged horizontally from the table they sit at, and heads towards a small box placed by the doorway of their compartment to respond to the magic intermission.

He presses a button signaling confirmation and asks, "Is it lunchtime?"

"Yes. Here is the menu for today and let me know when all of you are ready to order."

A menu magically appears out of thin air and floats down gently into Spica's hands. Excited by the prospect of lunch, Pollux bounds over eagerly and the Summoner takes the chance to get out of her predicament by following suit.

"Oh wow, the lamb skewers look great! And they've got fried chicken too."

Eyes trailing down the list, Pollux marvels at the assortment of choices until Spica moves it away from him.

"Please refrain from hogging the menu to yourself, give us some room to decide too."

"Hey! I was not hogging the menu-!"

"Oi conductor, give me another copy of that will you," Alpheratz asks, interrupting Pollux.

Another menu pops out with a shimmer of stars and lands right in front of Alpheratz. Disapproving at his laziness, Spica clicks his tongue, "You could've just come over here to see it for yourself."

"It's too far."

"You're only three feet away."

"Yeah, that's far."

"Can I have some mushroom soup?"

The Summoner interrupts their bickering and points to the corner of the menu.

"Is that all you're having?" Pollux asks, and starts eyeing the dessert section. "You usually eat more than this."

"Yeah, I'm still full from breakfast."

"But that's too little." Spica gives the Summoner a worried look. "At least have some bread to go with it, you need to take care of yourself properly."

They hear Alpheratz mutter quietly out of the corner of his mouth, "That's rich coming from you."

"I heard that."

"You were meant to."

Aggravated, Pollux stamps his foot. "Can the both of you stop fighting for one minute?!"

The Summoner smiles, and pushes the menu in Spica's hands towards him, "I'll be fine."

The truth is, she just doesn't feel like eating, and what keeps her "full" are just negative thoughts and worries churning inside her like a bad sickness.

Spica stars at her for a few moments before nodding his head, "Alright, let me know if you're hungry later on."

The Summoner gives him a grateful look before going back to her seat, sitting right across Alpheratz. She hears Pollux and Spica talk into the crystal intercom relaying their orders to the chef.

"Oi Alpheratz, what do you want?"

"Oh that? First of all, cocoa milkshake, sirloin steak, apple tarts..."

He trails off–just for a moment–and continues.

"Some garlic bread, braised pork ribs, strawberry gelato with chocolate fudge, sparkling soda, and asparagus covered in bacon."

...Those are all of her favorite foods.

Pollux whistles loudly, "You sure you can eat all of that big guy?"

"Hey kid, did you just call me fat?"

"N-no I didn't!"

"I don't care how much you eat, but just know you're paying for all the extras with your own budget."

Alpheratz smiles and raises the menu. "That's won't be a problem."

"Damn these rich people..." the Summoner mutters under her breath, and Alpheratz's grin grows even wider as he laughs lightly.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Take you for applying for our services, and we wish you a nice afternoon."

A silver food cart pushed by nobody rolls itself into their compartment carrying their lunch. Pollux is the first to make his move and bounds over to grab his dish immediately.

"Woohoo! It looks great! Hey Summoner, do you want me to bring yours over for you?"

"It's alright."

She would rather not have to deal with him dropping her food to the floor on accident, again. In order to avoid a bleak future for her meal, she gets up from her seat ready to head over to the cart, but quickly stops as she sees dishes fly up to the air and over to her, landing infront of her without so much as spelling a drop.

This really is a lot of food.

"Instead of taking it yourself, isn't it easier to do this?" Alpheratz hasn't so much as moved an inch from where he stays, even as the food settles in front of him tempting and steaming hot.

Pollux scowls, swipes his fried chicken and pancakes away before heading back to his table. He nearly trips on the way there however, but is thankfully saved by Spica–both him and the food, and thus another disaster has been averted, for now.

The Summoner chortles.

She sits back down and pulls over her mushroom soup. Picking up her spoon, she can't help but glance over to Alpheratz, who has now finally bothered to lift himself off the table and face the abundance of food laid before him.

"If you need help finishing all of that I can help," she offers. No matter how powerful a sorcerer is, there's no way anyone would have the capable tenacity to withstand such a force of nature.

At least she thinks so, if there exists a spell which allows people to eat infinitely, she wouldn't know.

But her train of thought is dully interrupted as he pushes a few dishes towards her.

The ones she likes best.

"Well I'm glad you offered, because these are for you."

"I'm sorry?"

Just for a moment, she thinks her ears have malfunctioned and subconsciously raises her hands to check on them.

"You heard me."

He pushes the last of them to her, and she watches as light refracts off the sparkling soda–scattered, shining pieces of light bouncing off everywhere. She gets distracted, her eyes following a dot of white on the table and she catches her own reflection, looks at the image of her gaping in surprise.

"...Why?"

Why do this?

Alpheratz looks out the window beside them, as if trying to avoid her searching eyes.

"Because you've gone near radio silent throughout this whole trip after our encounter with Sirius."

The image of a red eye hanging over the crumbling tower flashes through her head.

"You barely drink, or eat, heck you barely even sleep. And don't lie to me and say you do."

Her hand stiffens, and she desperately tries to distract herself from this, reaches out to hold her drink but jolts at the icy feeling of glass pressing against her skin.

"And it's as they say, food always makes a person feel better. You say you don't feel as if you could eat, but maybe putting the best of what you like best would get you an appetite."

He still refuses to look at her.

"Everyone's been worried about you. But because everyone else is too busy beating around the bush, I thought I'd take the initiative myself."

She glances around her and when she sees Spica give her a look and a nod while Pollux pretends to stay engrossed with his meal, that's when she knows it's the truth.

"Hey."

Finally, he looks back at her, with some difficulty. Next stiff as he turns and face her with a serious look.

"You've been worried all this time, haven't you?"

Yes.

She hears the screams of civilians, the crumble of stone walls, and the loud sound of a gunshot ringing through the air in this very moment, as well as every other time she closes her eyes and things get too quiet.

She's afraid that the next time this peace is interrupted, it'll be the sound of another bullet cutting through the air.

"Yeah."

But it's not quiet anymore–not in her heart–and now she hears their worries, woes, and love all in her head like melody notes reciting themselves on a music sheet by memory in her mind. So she smiles back at him, a smile too worn out to be bright but too sincere to be faltering.

"Thank you."

She removes her hand from her glass and reaches out to squeeze his own palms, tries to convey her gratitude.

She thinks he understands.

He says nothing for a few moments in awkward silence before speaking up.

"Your hands are cold."

To that, she laughs.

"Hey, quit laughing. The both of us know that this isn't my style." He groans and lifts his free hand to rub the back of his neck.

He keeps his other hand in hers.

She tries to play along, and pulls down a serious look.

"Seriously though, I don't think I can eat all of this by myself."

"Fine, we can share it."

The both of them are awkward as they go about their lunch, eating almost everything with one hand, refusing to let the hold between them go. It's inconvenient, supposedly, but magic makes the inconvenient convenient as always, so there isn't too much trouble.

"A good meal, some dessert, and maybe some more of all of that; I hope these are enough to put you at ease, even if just for a moment."

And it worked.

"HMRMMMM!"

Pollux's mouth has been zipped tight, and only when he calms down and gives an affirmative nod of understanding does Spica release the Silence spell.

"...Have they fallen asleep yet?"

He's as quiet as he can be, and Spica sighs exasperatedly, which was basically his way of saying yes. He gestures Pollux to keep quiet with a shushing gesture and motions him to sit back down. Silently, Spica walks over to the table holding up nothing but two people and an empty cup of dessert while conjuring up warm, fluffy blankets meant to keep the cold out.

"Good grief."

Their hands are still intertwined even now, sound asleep beneath the evening sun, refusing to let each other go.

Spica deftly and gently wraps the both of them up, bundling them in warmth and praying that it would last, just for a little while longer.

#arcana twilight #arcana twilight alpheratz #writing this to get the angst out of my system #idk if it worked

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psychedelic-ink · 1 year ago

Text

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒.

DAY SEVEN OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

prompt: cosmic horror au + western au + "you're a fucking nightmare. kiss me."

pairing: jack daniels x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, soft enemies to lovers

summary: with celestial dancers ensnaring victims with entrancing performances that lead innocents away from their homes. Jack and you, cowboy sheriffs with a history of discord, leave town in search of the missing people.

word count: 3.5k

warnings: daddy kink, mirror sex (kinda there's a mist that imitates your desires and copies your movements so technically it's like a mirror but without a reflective surface), outdoor sex, piv, hint of horror imagery, dirty talk, size kink (jack is a big boy in every universe fight me)

a/n: sorry y'all this is unedited but hopefully i didn't make too many mistakes! enjoy xx

“I still don’t understand why we need to go together. I’m completely capable on my own.”

On cue, Starlight whinnies and shakes her head, her disagreement apparent. You frown at the horse, “You’re supposed to be on my side,” you quip, refusing to look at Jack whose laughter rings out.

The lanterns you have on each horse illuminate the road ahead but do little in actually illuminating your surroundings. Shadows linger in every corner. The sky, despite still having the sun up, is a dusty copper, dark clouds swirling and forming shape of all watching eyes. The world had become an odd place. Humans were mere ants now, easy to crush beneath the forces out of your control. Distance between towns had become wide, each town having deputies to protect the innocents within. Dangerous weapons had been forged to fight against the evil and given to every sherrif in town.

Lately people have been gone missing. In the dead of night celestial dancers would just stand at the edge of town, ensnaring victims with entrancing performances to take them far away from their homes. You didn’t ask what these dancers did to the ones they captured, you assumed it wasn’t anything pleasant.

You and Jack being the more talented sheriffs of the town had been picked to locate said missing people. The further you two traversed away from town, the more menacing and confusing the world around you became. The darkness moves. Creatures of all kinds snarling and drooling within the deep forests.

“I know you’re capable, sugar,” Jack remarks, he expertly guides his horse, bringing the two of you into closer proximity. The rhythmic sound of hooves fills the air as you draw near. “But you must admit, this is a dangerous job.”

You only shrug, “Beats being here with you.”

“You hate me that much that you’d be willin’ to die?” he says with a lazy grin. “That’s a bit extreme, even for you.”

“I doubt this is going to be that hard. You just like teasing me.”

“Hmmm maybe. . . but I blame you for that, sugar. You’re too fun to tease.”

A loud sigh parts your lips and you shake your head. Jack was and always will be insufferable. In all honesty, Jack wasn’t so bad. He just had a talent for getting under your skin. But you had to admit, your frustrations with him had been shifting into something else, something like desire, for a while now.

Your fingers tighten around the reins. You’ve been trying really hard to ignore the flutter in your stomach whenever he was around, you’d never hear the end of it if he figured it out.

“Shut up,” you grumble, lowering the front of your hat. “You’re incorrigible.” You glance over at Jack, who's trying to stifle his laughter but failing miserably. Your frown deepens.

“Incorrigible?” he snorts. “So sophisticated with your insults today, should I be flattered?”

“I’m just running out of words to insult you with.”

His smile falters slightly, annoyance creasing between his brows, “Funny.”

Jack’s annoyance brings a smile to your face. You’re about to say more, eager to get under his skin just like he does yours, but suddenly he lifts a hand and halts his horse. You do the same, tightening the reins until Starlight comes to a full stop.

He presses his forefinger slowly to his lips and points ahead with the other. Goosebumps raising across your skin, your gaze turns to the dirt road.

There’s nothing.

Until there’s something.

The first thing you notice is the eyes; they’re red dots, gleaming and staring into your soul.

Then you notice the antlers sprouting from behind the skull of the long figure. Two of them curling around its jaw. It's wearing a long cloak, the type similar to what you and Jack wear when the weather is turning cold. The light of your lanterns reflects on the figure,

Panic flaring in your gut, your eyes snap to Jack. He’s only staring. Calm and steady. “Look down,” he mouths without looking at you.

The silence is deafening. You look at the eerie figure again, its hand now stretched towards you both as if beckoning you to come closer. It’s a bony hand, a sickly grayish-green. You hold your breath and lower your gaze. Your lids flutter in surprise as you notice the sheep at the figure's feet. They have horns just like him, and have the same glowing red eyes. The animals stare at you, not a sound coming from them.

Shepard of the Voidborne, your mind whispers to you. You were told that he was once human and after being driven out of his mind, became one of the cosmic horrors that lurked all around. He had his sheep and that was pretty much it. He only came out during the night. The shepard was harmless for the most part but if you made a sound or attacked, your death was immediate.

The tricky part was that you had to sense him before he came. You had to catch the stillness of the wind, the sudden silence that befell, and the scent of the dead.

You didn’t notice any of that.

But Jack had.

The Shepard and his sheep stare at you long enough that it feels like forever. He never lowers his hand, the invite always there if you were stupid enough to take it.

You fight against letting out a breath of relief when he finally turns away, the sheep mimicking him. Fear coating your tongue, you close your eyes and focus on your heartbeat instead, willing it to become silent.

He doesn’t make a sound as he leaves and you only realize that when Jack gently touches your cheek, pulling you back to reality.

“He’s gone, darlin’,” he says surprisingly soft. “You’re safe.”

His fingers curl towards the back of your ear, palm cradling the side of your face, warmth spreads. Your breath hitches and you quickly avert your gaze, “I see that,” you say sharply. “Let’s go.”

“Lead the way, ma’am,” Jack muses as you do exactly that, his gaze glinting with mischief.

You try not to think about the lingering warmth left on your cheek.

The horses are tethered nearby, and the lanterns cast a warm glow around your small circle of safety. You set up a modest fire, its crackling flames pushing back the encroaching darkness.

Jack produces a bottle of whiskey from his saddlebag. He uncorks it and offers it to you with a grin. "Care for a drink, sugar? I figure we've earned."

You accept the offer, taking the bottle and taking a long, deep swig before passing it back. The warm burn of the whiskey helps chase away the lingering chill of fear from your encounter with the Shepard.

Jack settles down beside you, close enough that your shoulders brush. He gazes into the flames, lost in thought for a moment. Then, he turns his attention to you, his eyes softening with concern. "You okay, sugar?"

“I guess,” you mutter. “I didn’t notice him.”

“Who? The Shepard?”

You nod and he shrugs, “He’s a hard bastard to notice. It ain’t your fault.”

“That’s not an excuse. I should’ve sensed him. . . somehow.”

He chuckles softly, his fingers idly tracing patterns in the dirt. "Well, you know, I've got the devil's luck. Besides, I've got you to watch my back. When I’m with you I’m more alert, darlin’."

“So you really do think I’m incompetent?”

Sitting by the fire, you both share the bottle, taking turns. You can't help but notice how the flickering firelight plays across Jack's features, casting his rugged face in a warm, inviting glow. You feel slightly ashamed for how you’re acting. Deep down you know this has nothing to do with Jack thinking you’re not good enough, but with the growing knot in your stomach, you need to divert your emotions into something more violent.

“The only thing I know is that I wanna protect you more than I want to do myself.”

Your heart skips a beat, your breath suddenly coming in short and fast. You swallow around the knot quickly forming in your throat.

"Well, aren't you just a regular knight in shining armor?" you huff in mock annoyance, attempting to lighten the weight of his words.

But Jack doesn't take the bait this time. Instead, he surprises you with a genuine, soft smile. "You're strong, no doubt about it. But even the strongest folks deserve a bit of pampering now and then, don't they?"

You're momentarily taken aback by his sincerity, the hint of vulnerability. Jack reaches out and gently brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch feather-light.

"Jack, you don't have to treat me like I'm made of glass," you murmur, your irritation fading as you meet his warm gaze.

He leans in a little closer, his voice barely above a whisper. Your eyes drop to his lips and move back to meet his gaze again."I know you're tough as nails, but that doesn't mean I can't be here for you. We all need someone to lean on, sugar."

You find yourself lost in his eyes, the flickering firelight dancing in them, and for a moment, you let your guard down.

"You're a fucking nightmare,” you smile, heart rapid in your chest. “Kiss me."

The chaos, the darkness, the shadows—all of it stands still. Jack closes the distance, soft lips covering yours, his tongue traces the seam of your lips. He’s not at all how you imagined. He’s not rushing you. Instead, he’s taking his sweet time memorizing the curve of your lips with the tip of his tongue.

Only when you moan does he slip his tongue between your swollen lips, licking himself further into your mouth. He cradles your face with both hands, thumbs moving down as if tracing tear streaks down your cheeks.

Neither of you notices the thick fog starting to accumulate around you. A sinister whisper crackling within the gray. It settles around you. Listening to your needy whimpers and Jack’s groans—it observes, takes in the desire reflected in your features, and shapes begin to form.

The fire goes out with a loud sizzle.

“Fuck—” Jack hisses, pulling away, hand moving to grab his gun. He pulls you close. You’re still tasting him on your lips, dazed and confused as to what’s happening. There’s a moment of silence between you two, your surroundings illuminated only by the lanterns.

The fog is unnaturally thick. You hear sounds; breathy and intoxicating. The voices grow louder, a tingle spreads over the back of your neck, and you notice that they’re oddly familiar—

Your cheeks burn when you notice they’re the sound of your moans. Both Jack’s and yours. The shapes are still forming, only mere silhouettes of two people perched on top of a log, their poses the same as yours.

“Eidolon Veil,” you mumble, drawing Jack’s attention to you. “I heard of it, never actually saw it before.”

“What is it?” he grunts a response, hand still on your waist. “And why the hell is it moanin’?”

“It’s harmless,” you answer. “It’s a reflective fog that takes the shape of those within its circle and mimics their desires as well.”

Jack snorts, lowering his gun, “So what, you’re tellin’ me this mist is gonna show us fuckin’ like rabbits soon?”

You turn to him, a hint of mischief in your eyes, “If that’s what you desire, then yes,” you grin. “Though the image becomes vivid only if the people actually go through with it. If not it’ll only show a preview and move on to its next target,” you raise an eyebrow at him. “You really don’t know what it is?”

“I don’t research the creepy crawlies as much as you do,” he croaks. “Are you sure it’s harmless? In this world nothin’ is.”

“I think it has to do with substance,” you say. “Desire keeps it from dissolving entirely. So it’s basically looking for food.”

An especially sharp moan echoes from the mist and you involuntarily press your thighs together, arousal growing between your legs. Jack also shudders at the sound. He palms himself through his pants, your eyes dropping to where his cock strains against the thick fabric.

“Let's give it something to choke on then.”

Throwing all caution into the wind, you two strip down eagerly, your mouths always a breath away. The figures within the fog become more tangible, you can see yourself clearly now, your face painted with want and arousal. You get on all fours and the mirage does the same, Jack is on his knees right behind you, hand slipping between your legs. He traces his fingers up and down soaked folds, circling your clit, you feel the heft of him over the curve of your ass.

Your breath hitches as he pushes two fingers into you, electricity crackles over your skin, a moan parting your lips further. The mirage mimics every sound and movement, and watching it turns you on in a way you didn’t think was possible.

“Fuck, look at you,” Jack coos. “Such a sight—and so darn wet.”

He fucks his fingers deeper into you and pulls them out slowly. Jack leans over to kiss the skin between your shoulder blades, the movement of his fingers slow as he works you open. Your head falls and you arch your back, wanting more. He doesn’t stop until you’re a sopping, trembling mess. Slick drips down his fingers and all the way down to his wrists.

When you look at the mirage, the Jack within the fog makes you taste yourself on his fingers.

Your Jack hums pleasantly, pulling out, he traces the plush of your lips with wet fingers before slipping them into your mouth. You suck eagerly, your cunt fluttering at the lewdness of it.

He cups your neck and pulls you up so that you’re flush against his chest, your pulse quickens as he presses his lips against your ear, “You think you can take me, darlin’?” he asks and kisses your cheek.

“Y–Yeah,” you whimper, the fog echoing your answer.

You haven’t gotten a good look at him yet but you do feel him. He’s thick and hard, dragging his cock up and down your slit. You shudder as the head catches against your clit, making you gasp. “You’re drippin’ sweetheart,” he says with a grin, breath tickling your neck. “And you’re shakin’, worried I’m too big?”

His voice drips with sarcasm and glee, he teases your entrance with the head, smearing precome over the sensitive skin. You gasp and feel your nipples tighten, without thinking you spread your legs further.

“Yes!” your mirage echoes your thoughts. You let out a deep exhale, blood rushing to your cheeks. “You’re so big, Jack—It won’t fit. . .”

“Is that right now?” he murmurs, dragging the curve of his nose down your neck. “You say it. I want to hear your voice.”

You clear your throat. Beads of sweat gather at your tailbone, “Y–You’re big,” you whimper and as a reward he cups both your breasts, playing with your nipples. “I don’t know if it’ll fit. It’s been a while.”

He takes a sharp inhale, “I’ll make it fit,” he growls, exhaling his breath simultaneously.

With that, Jack sinks into you.

He sucks on your neck and continues to gently pinch your nipples, waiting for your to adjust to his size. “That’s it,” he purrs, licking the salt from your skin. “You feel so good around me, sugar. Look at how fucked out you look already.”

He holds your jaw and tilts your head up, you clench as you see yourself. He was right. You look utterly fucked out; kiss-swollen lips parted, chest heaving and glistening with sweat.

“Jack,” you whimper. “Move, please.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” he soothes you, lips pressing against your neck before letting you go. Your palms fall to the ground. “You’re made for me, pretty girl, don’t you forget it.”

Before you can say anything, he pulls back his hips and slams into you with force. Your fingers dig into the soil, your body going rigid before becoming loose again. Jack fucks you thoroughly, slowing down while pulling out only to snap forward. He’s loud. Growls and grunts bouncing off of his clenched teeth, he holds on to your waist and the mirage echoes it.

With every thrust, he knocks the air from your lungs. Pleasure swirls in your stomach, shirt circuits your brain. Your lips part wide with a series of moans, your breasts tingling. Your senses narrow on the way his cock fills you, how deep he is inside, and how you just want to scream—not his name necessarily, but something you can address him as.

With both your and your mirage's moans getting louder and louder, your mind whirls. You’re gushing with every thrust, your orgasm rapidly building.

Daddy, your mind suddenly shouts. Your body tenses, your cunt squeezing around him in away that it forces the slows of his thrust. Jack groans at the overwhelming tightness, his cock pulsing. You watch the mirrored reflection, see the veins popping in his neck, see the debauched look of his face.

Daddy.

“F-Fuck—” you rasp when Jack resumes his thrust, faster and harder than before. He smacks your ass, pain blossoming over the skin.

Then suddenly you hear it.

It’s your voice but not your lips that moves.

“Again—Daddy—” the voice is strained, as if your replica is equally as embarrassed as you are.

He stops and you see his confusion in the fog. “W-What?” he murmurs. You shake your head, your frustration growing as you press your lips tight together. Jack smoothes his palm over your back. “What did you just call me, sugar?”

You clear your throat, “Technically it wasn’t me,” you say weakly. Jack smiles as he drags blunt nails down your skin, your body reacts and arches towards him. You sigh. “It was a mistake.”

“Not it wasn’t,” he quips. “You said so remember? The thing about the veil mimicking our desires?” he doesn’t wait for your answer as he bends over, covering your body with his. He whispers, “You can call me, daddy, if you want to. I don’t mind, darlin’. In fact, I like it.”

You nod and he slowly drags himself out, and equally slowly pushes back in, “Use your words.”

“Yes, d-daddy,” you gasp, the word hits your tongue just right.

Jack draws back again, satisfaction pooling in his eyes. He grins and a part of you can’t help but feel flustered. “That’s what I want to hear,” he kisses the back of your shoulder and continue to move inside of you.

The sensation of his thick cock sliding in and out of you sends shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. You moan in pleasure as your orgasm builds with each thrust. He grips your hips, thrusting harder and faster as your orgasm nears its peak. You can barely keep your balance as the waves of pleasure wash over you in a glorious chorus of bliss.

“Oh—daddy—” you sigh, your tongue loose. The fog picks up your moan, echoing your words. You bite your lip as his hands move from your hips to your chest, massaging your breast with each thrust.

“Look at that face,” he says with a moan, forcing your gaze up. “Gonna come for me, pretty girl?” he teases. You nod helplessly, your body burning from the inside out. “Then ask for it, sugar.”

“P-Please, daddy, make me come,” you moan, you’re pleasantly helpless under him. “Pleasepleaseplease—”

With one final thrust, you tip over the edge; your orgasm rattles through your body accompanied by a series of groans and daddy’s. Adrenaline rushes through your system—your toes curl, your neck arches and your eyes roll back as pleasure washes through you.

The mirage echoes every sound as Jack pumps his cum into you. He lifts you by the shoulder, forcing your head towards him as he claims your lips in a heated kiss. He swallows your moans, your whimpers and sucks your tongue until you’re compeltly pliant against him.

Once he’s finished, the fog starts to dissipate until it’s only the two of you, lying in the dirt, panting, the fire alive once again. Jack kisses the top of your head before pulling out, and you look away, his spend drips from you, making a mess between your thighs, your face heats up.

He tenderly cradles the side of your. Jack smiles and you can’t help but smile as well, burying your face into his palm.

“That was—damn,” you manage to say. You blink and sit up, looking around you. There’s nothing but darkness and the sound of crickets.

“Seems like your daddy took care of you,” Jack purrs, pecking your lips before pulling you into an embrace. You glare at him as he nuzzles your neck.

“If you mention that to anyone else I’ll kill you.”

He laughs whole heatedly, “I don’t kiss and tell, sweetheart. Don’t you worry that pretty head of yours.”

“So the Eidolon Veil moved on,” you say, changing the subject. “I guess it was well fed.”

“It seems like it,” he responds, kissing your forehead. Your heart flutters. “C’mere, let’s get you dressed before you catch a cold. We still have a whole lot of investigatin’ to do tomorrow.”

“Can’t we just stay like this? A little longer?”

He kisses your temple this time, his warmth seeping into your back. “‘Course we can, darlin’.”

You lean into his embrace and he manages to pull one of the blankets from his pack, covering you. Your eyes trail the stars in the sky.

Little moments of peace like this are worth savoring just a bit longer.

#jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x female reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x female reader #kingsman the golden circle fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fic #hauntedhoedown

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seravphs · 1 year ago

Text

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — NAGI SEISHIRO x FEM READER

There’s nothing as annoying as a genius, especially one that’s better than you. When you break your ankle, being forced to train the newest member of the team brings out the worst side of you - but also possibly the best?

wc — 4.5k

tags — figure skating au, tutor au, hardworking star athlete reader x lazy genius Nagi, sports injury, self doubt, “I’m always the challenger, never the champion” quote is from Yuzuru Hanyu, title from FOB song

One more.

You’re so close to victory you can almost snap your jaws around it. The smell of it is familiar. It’s the tang of bloody split knees and the old penny copper of chewing through your lip.

Cold sweeps over your body, not from the icy air, but the proximity to greatness. This is the moment. You can feel the gold medal in your grasp already.

It’s the cleanest program you’ve ever skated by far. The cheers and gasps of the audience in response to each perfect rotation has your blood singing. You make a sharp turn on the very tip of your skate to prepare for the final jump, drawing your arms in close to your chest like a hug.

The music swells to a crescendo as you tip your head back, letting the blood rush to your brain. There’s a certain zone you hit when the moment is just right, a little like runner’s high. Like an elixir of liquid gold sparking through your veins, it’s addictive. It dances through you, making you feel light enough to attempt this last jump.

“Don’t go for it if you don’t feel ready,” you remember Coach Prince telling you.

You wouldn’t if you thought you couldn’t make it, but everything about this program has felt so right. This is the culmination of everything you’ve trained so hard for this entire year. Each breath crystallizes in your lungs, a beautiful ache in your rib cage as you feel yourself succumb to the lure of the ice.

You want it.

You’ve never desired anything this badly in your entire life, and you’re going to take it. You deserve it. There’s a violence to your thoughts, a sort of desperation. This is a moment you’ve dreamed of over and over, the seconds before you hit the peak, just like all of the skaters you’ve looked up to before.

You hear it before you feel it, a crunching noise. There was a hole on the ice just two centimeters in front of your foot. The jagged edge caught onto your skate when you lept, throwing off the angle of your entry point into the air. With that one mistake, your entire jump is wrong. Your momentum falters too fast, too much, and you’re falling, falling.

The sound of your body slamming into the ice is sickening. For a second, you’re dazed, left wondering what went wrong. There’s no more screams of joy or applause.

Your coach is on the ice, murmuring something into your ear that you can’t hear, but you try to push him away. If he’s here, that means something is seriously wrong. You try to pull yourself up, because even a failed jump doesn’t completely destroy your program. If you can at least finish-

You can’t get up.

Frozen, you look over your shoulder to where your legs are sprawled behind you. Your ankle is twisted in an ugly direction, your foot pointing the wrong way.

“Don’t look,” Coach Prince is saying, but it’s too late. You resist the urge to throw up.

It’s over.

Your dream of being the greatest has died, right here with your broken bones on the ice.

You were never a masochist before the accident. Something must’ve happened when you slammed into the ground to rewire your brain. Why else would you be here, putting yourself through the sweet torture of watching everyone else accomplish what you couldn’t?

“Man, there is something wrong with you.”

“Hi to you too, coach.”

“I hope you’re not here to skate.”

“I’m not that dumb,” you say. He doesn’t know that you’ve already decided to hang up your skates. This is the last tournament you’ll ever compete in.

“How’s the ankle? You should be resting at home, not here. Doesn’t it irritate you to watch people skate when you can’t?”

“Real sensitive of you,” you say sarcastically. Predictably, he ignores you.

“Listen, I got this kid-“

“No.”

“Come on! He’s new, he’s got to learn the ropes somehow. He’s a prospective! You were one, once.”

You wouldn’t be a good role model, anyway.

“Ask Barou.”

“They don’t like each other.”

“Ask Reo.”

His sudden silence reminds you what you already know. Reo’s too busy skating to introduce a newbie to the ice. Everyone is - the start of the season is always crammed full of training. You’re the only one who’s free, because you’re the only one who can’t train.

“Where is he?”

Coach Prince ignores the bitterness in your tone. He’s good at ignoring you - must be lots of practice.

Looking at Nagi Seishiro, you wonder why you even bothered. This boy is not going to be a skater. You’re surprised someone even got him to the rink - someone, because it clearly wasn’t him.

How is this boy even alive?

He stirs, dispelling your fears that perhaps a sloth had been mistaken for a human boy and deposited at the rink.

“Hello? Nagi?”

All you get is a groan in response. You’re starting to get annoyed.

“I’m here to show you the ropes.”

“Five minutes,” he whines.

You’re going to kill coach. Just who did he dump on you?

It’s with great effort that you get Nagi onto the ice, but at least he takes to it like a bird to water. Someone must’ve at least taught him the basics.

“Aren’t you going to get on the ice?”

“With this ankle?” You laugh. “This isn’t a class and I’m not your coach. I’m just here to walk you through some of the easy moves.”

Sometimes you help out with the beginner class. Coach likes to walk you or Reo out for demonstrations. Reo’s popular because he’s beautiful and well-known, so the students worship every move he makes.

As for you, your love for skating is infectious. It bleeds through in every lutz and axel, unbearably exposed. Every class with an appearance from you ends with students burning with the desire to extend their training into the next hour, and the next, and the next.

It makes it easy to get Nagi used to some easy jumps. To your surprise, no matter what variation you add, he nails all of them.

It’s just a little strange when he has no experience. Still, Nagi doesn’t seem like one of Prince’s pranks, if only because it looks like he’d have no energy to be involved in something like that. You decide to give him something a little harder.

“It’s okay if you can’t get it on the first try,” you tell him. “It took me a while and coach says I’m still one of the fastest students who ever got it.”

“Uh-huh,” Nagi says, and takes off across the ice.

He does a few laps to warm up. It’s a good call - most new skaters try to launch into a jump immediately, fearing they’ll lose their nerve if they don’t do it now. It’s a rookie mistake.

Nagi jumped like gravity was nothing more than a lightly amusing joke. He made it look effortless, even as you watched the muscles in his leg contract and release in an all too familiar way. You know that move. You’ve made it yours with hours of effort put into perfecting it.

Without trying, Nagi takes it for his own. The arc his skates carve through the ice and into the air steals your breath from your lungs. You’ve never seen anything like it. Even if you wanted to, you wouldn’t be able to tear your eyes away from the beauty of it, frost following him through the air.

He lands, his face impassive even as you replay that moment over and over in your mind. Your blood sings with the reminder of how good skating can feel. Nagi’s leap mesmerized you. Even when you blink, he’s there, silhouetted against the black of your eyelids.

He hangs in the air, a snapshot at the height of the perfect jump that caught you unaware. Beauty that hunted and trapped you when you hadn’t even realized you were being stalked.

There’s a longing in your heart that can’t be quelled. When Nagi skates back over, you turn away. You don’t want him to see the look on your face. It’s too vulnerable.

Letting him see the miserable awe for his jump, the love that still remains despite how badly this sport has hurt you, would be like opening up your chest so he can make a display of your heart and lungs. You can’t.

“Was that good?”

“Fine.”

He shrugs. “I’m taking a break then.”

You shoot back around. “What? No! Get back on the ice.”

He stops, hovering in the doorway, halfway between the ice and the outer world.

“Huh? Why? I did it.”

“But you can do it better. You have real talent, but talent is nothing without skill. You have to train.”

“I don’t wanna.”

Throwing up your hands in disgust, you walk away. You won’t train someone who’s not willing.

Even if you see his skating in your dreams that night.

It really isn’t healthy for you to be at the rink every day when there’s nothing for you to do, but you still attend religiously after your physical therapy sessions. Reo, kind soul that he is, holds the door open for you.

“My friend is here, by the way,” he says conversationally as he walks you to your usual room. He offered to carry your bags. “He’s on your usual rink because - you know. I hope you don’t mind.”

It’s a broken ankle, not cancer. You wish everyone would stop skating around it. Even if it’s ruined your dreams, you can recognize that you’re the problem. It wouldn’t be so serious if you weren’t so diehard about skating.

But then again, doesn’t it say something that everyone else is just as dedicated? They can share your feelings, if not your methods of dealing with it. You’re more no nonsense than they are, but these are still the people that trained with you for years. That culture has leaked into you as it has into them.

A love.

A fever.

A sickness.

The walk to your side of the facility is just long enough that you have time to wonder who Reo let tag along. Maybe it’s the German genius, Michael Kaiser, though you hadn’t heard they were close. Or his model friend, Yukimiya, who sometimes skated recreationally.

It’s neither.

On your ice, you find the sloth, skating in slow figure eights.

You’re stunned. “What are you doing here?”

“I signed up,” Nagi said, casual as anything.

“You? The same person who gave up on skating immediately?”

“I see you met your new teammate!”

“Coach?” You splutter in shock, trying to understand the situation.

“Nagi’s decided to join us! I have an open spot, so he’s on Team Prince now.”

Nagi tilts his head. “So I’ll be skating with her?”

“Nope! You’re in singles, I’m just coaching both of you. When she gets better, your training times might overlap. You could learn a thing or two from her, you know!”

“I might not skate again,” you say, but you know he won’t take you seriously.

“She’s just kidding,” he laughs predictably. “Come on, let me show you this combo I taught her. Let’s see if you can beat her time.”

Neither of them get it. Your training center is full of men - you’re technically not even supposed to be there. Anri’s supposed to be your coach, but she took a pregnancy leave. She texted you the day the news broke. You still haven’t responded. You don’t know what to say.

For you, it’s not like it is for them.

You know the story. Male athletes can come back from something like this, but all women do is fall further and further down a slippery slope. Every woman who’s made it the top of the podium crashes soon enough. Two years is counted as a long run.

They push your bodies to the limit and marvel as they break down. The first fracture is only the beginning of a long and drawn out medical history.

The crowd begins to wane. They hear that you’re skating on glass. Another bad break hospitalized you for the second time. People are losing faith. Sponsors stop pouring money into you. Coach Prince has to stop training you because they won’t pay him. You go to someone else, someone worse.

They push you too hard. An almost-Olympic champion falling in their lap! They think this is their lucky break. They try to wring you dry, and in the process, your body collapses for the third time. A ligament or a tendon, it doesn’t matter. Something gives.

You keep trying, and trying, and trying, but all it does is make people pity you. Eventually, the pity turns to disgust. It’s never good to look desperate.

Your career fades out like a shooting star, the tail end a sad, messy streak that mars what could’ve been a sterling career.

You’d rather die than let that happen. It’s better to quit here, on your own terms. Better to let people remember you as the champion you were, rather than the has-been who didn’t know when to give up.

Even if it stings to know how close you could’ve gotten.

Recovery passes more quickly that you would’ve expected. It helps that you refuse to look at calendars. Counting the days would only make you strain against the chains of your cast. You don’t want to know until it’s here - it would be too painful.

“Hey, hey,” Coach says as soon as you walk through the doors. Nagi sets off a party popper. Confetti rains on you. They’re both wearing party hats. “It’s the returning champion!”

“What’s all this?” You set your gear on the ground, mindless to their little show. You’re still thinking about how you’re going to broach the topic of your retirement.

“I got the good news from the team doctor. Looks like you’re all ready to go, huh?”

This is a bad time, but will there ever really be a good one?

“Coach, I have something to tell you.”

“Come on,” he laughs, “no need to be dramatic. I don’t need the big speech - I know you’re going to work hard. We’ll get you back to number one in no time.”

“I’m quitting.”

“Huh?” Surprisingly, it’s Nagi that’s loudest, not Coach Prince.

“This is going to be my last championship.”

“Come on,” Coach Prince says, stunned. “You’re joking, right? After one injury?”

“I’m getting too old for this-“

“You’ve barely started!”

“I’ve hit my peak. You know how it is in this sport.”

He does know. The ice is fickle with her lovers. There’s always someone better and younger.

“But you’re good,” Nagi interrupts.

“You’ve never seen me,” you laugh. You’re a little pleased despite yourself that he cares.

“I’ve watched your videos. It’s why I came.”

That gives you pause.

“You make it look fun. You’re always smiling on the ice. I thought you liked it.”

“You hear that?” Coach says, his tone colored by desperation. “You can’t give up when you have a fan right here!”

“I’m not a fan,” Nagi argued. “I just thought, looking at her, that it might be fun too.”

“So basically you’re a fan.” At least coach ignores Nagi as much as he ignores you. He turns to you. “Isn’t that cute? He joined for you!”

“I didn’t say that,” Nagi says.

“You’re the reason he’s going to be in the competition next week. Give him something to look up to.”

Your blood runs cold. All of your warm feelings for Nagi disappear immediately. “What? He just got here.”

“This kind of talent is a once in a century thing,” coach continues, oblivious to your growing dismay. “We have to strike while the iron’s hot.”

You make your excuses and slip away. They taught you meditation in preparation for easing you off your pain meds. You didn’t think you’d be using it to calm yourself down enough to avoid a completely unreasonable tantrum.

It’s not Nagi’s fault he’s good.

It still sends you home from the rink until the next day.

It hurts.

But it doesn’t matter anymore. You’re giving your skating the bare minimum. Training just enough to keep you in the race. It’s not like you’ll win, anyway. You lace up your skates in the changing room, trying to convince yourself of that fact.

It’ll sting less if you kill the hope now, but you can’t help it. You’re still dreaming of gold. You can’t rid yourself of the want, even when you know it’s impossible.

Your phone buzzes.

Nagi won. Congratulate him. - P.

You stare at the text. Not only are you reminded that your coach is actually old, enough so that he actually signs off on his texts, you get to have Nagi’s talent shoved in your face.

It makes you mean. You’re itching to pick a fight.

Skating usually helps you burn off the excess energy, but you have to take it easy on your ankle. The few laps you allow yourself do nothing before Nagi, the person you wanted to see least, opens the door to the rink.

You can’t help yourself.

“Coach Prince tells me you won the competition,” you call.

Nagi skates closer. “Yeah.”

“Must be nice,” you sneer at him. “When have you ever tried for something you wanted? You’ll never know what it’s like.”

You’re always the challenger, never the champion. Even though you love skating, you can’t remember a time when you felt comfortable on the ice. There’s only ever been the desire to jump higher, land better combinations.

You can’t remember a time when you felt secure as the best. It’s a vicious competition. You only win if you stay hungry.

Nagi seems willing to starve. It irks you - all this talent going to waste. If anyone was going to have so much natural aptitude, it should’ve been you or Reo or even Kunigami - someone who would’ve used it.

Nagi shrugs. “At least I don’t give up when it gets hard.”

You bristle. “I never give up.”

“I dunno,” Nagi says, eyes closed like arguing with you is too much work for him. You want to wrench his hair for the disrespect. He could at least look at you if he’s going to talk back - you’re sure you never treated your coaches like this. Never mind that you’re not actually his coach. “This seems a lot like giving up to me.”

“What do you know?” You scoff.

“Nothing. Wanna show me?”

“Excuse me?”

“Like the first time. Show me the jump again.”

You know you’re rising to his provocation, but you can’t help yourself.

Even warming up doesn’t feel right anymore. The ice that once cradled you comes to you as an enemy. You were friends once, you remember. You knew the right place to touch so it would welcome you in, like a shared secret.

That knowledge is lost now, ruined with your mangled bone. It was fought for back then. You earned it with your blood, sweat, and tears.

It’ll have to be won back now.

You travel in slow rotations across the ice. Thankfully, Nagi adds no pressure. He just watches silently as you start to build speed and momentum, feeling out the right method. You can’t rely on muscle memory today. It’s too dangerous when you’ve just healed.

Even the slightest hint of wrongness in your ankle cracks your fragile psyche, but you keep moving. It’s been a long time since you had to pretend to be confident on the ice. You took the real thing for granted.

Finally, when you kick the speed just one notch higher, you feel it call. This is the tempo, and just two feet ahead is the perfect launch point.

The muscles in your legs tense as you pour all of your focus into the takeoff. You release like a spring, launching yourself off the ice with all the energy you’ve pushed against it. The air feels cold and crisp against your face, stinging your lungs as you gulp it down, but this is the pain you missed.

You land just a second too soon, but you avoid any real damage. The landing vibrates through your body, a fall too heavy to be professional. Once or twice doesn’t matter, but over and over will wear down your joints.

It’s a problem that you only had at the start of your career, but at least Nagi can’t tell. He’s looking at you with a spark in his usually disinterested eyes.

“Well?” You challenge.

“Looks like fun,” he says, and then he’s going for it.

You hate that Nagi’s jumps are a thing of beauty.

Every line of his body moves into the right place without his even having to think about it. You know it’s instinctual because there’s no way he learned all of the correct forms in days, but the tips of his fingers line up with his wrists and elbows to create the perfect arc.

Suspended in the air, he’s Michelangelo’s David, the peak of the human form.

It reminds you of the first time you saw him skate.

You’re breathless, watching, wanting. Hungry for that talent. The ease of it. The joy.

Nagi touches icy fingers to your cheek. You flinch away, but not before you catch the wetness on them. You feel impossibly brittle, like glass. If someone looked at you wrong, you’d shatter. Even your bones feel too fragile.

“Are you okay?”

“Get back to it,” you snap, then apologize. You roughly scrub your tears away and try to give him a shaky smile.

You don’t know why you’re being like this. It’s just a sport.

But it’s never been just a sport to you.

“Was it that bad?”

“Shut up,” you laugh. “You know you’re incredible. I heard Prince tried to teach you one of my signature moves. Show me.”

“Yes, coach.”

You smile despite yourself. “Prince is your coach. I’m just-“

You shut your mouth rather than think about it harder. You’re not willing to commit yourself to helping him, not when you know you won’t stay. “Give it a try,” you say instead.

Even hours after the session, you can’t stop thinking about Nagi’s jump. It was yours once, that effortless grace. All of that beauty in the palm of your hand.

You’re trying to be mature about it, but there’s a feeling that you can’t suppress. It’s normal to be replaced. That’s what this sport is about - seconds of glory.

It’s supposed to be enough, your fleeting fame. You knew it when you came into your career. You’ve had years to come to terms with it, and still, it’s hard.

You didn’t think it would be so soon.

And it’s not just Nagi, who’s only in a competition with you in your head. Soon, the next wave of girls will be nailing quads at younger and younger ages, doing things you would never be able to do even if you were their age. That’s just the way it is.

Nagi’s the only one who doesn’t seem to understand that.

“Are you really going to quit after this season? You’re too good to stop now. You should stay.”

“It’s not happening, Nagi. I told you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” You expected him to fight.

“Okay,” he says, snatching your beanie off your head and running.

You’re left standing in a moment of shell-shocked silence before you give chase. What a fucking brat. You’re just catching up when Nagi pushes himself through that doorway and launches onto the ice, leaving a crystal spray on his wake.

You freeze with your hand on the swinging plastic half-door. He’s gone where you can’t follow. Your ankle aches. You weren’t prepared to get on the ice today. It had taken you every hour of your entire commute yesterday to convince yourself to approach it.

“Come on,” Nagi goads, still in that lazy way of his. It irritates you like nothing else to see him so nonchalant when he can rile you up so easily. “Come and get it if you want it.”

The ice still scares you. Your ankle hurts a little, and you’re not sure if it’s a phantom pain or the cold leaching into your bones. You’re getting too old for this, after all. Figure skaters had early expiry dates.

Still, something ignites under your breast bone as you watch the little red flag of your beanie float further and further away from you. Nagi isn’t even really trying, making soft loops around the ice.

Come and get it if you want it.

You want it. There’s a fire burning in your gut. Even the old memory of ambition sears at your insides, kindling scraps of gold medal dreams into a roaring flame. Desire runs a steady drip through you, bleeding through every artery.

The first step onto the ice happens with brute force. You grit your teeth as you physically make yourself do it, breaking each step of the movement down.

Shift your weight to your left foot.

Lift your right leg.

Put it down on the ice.

Dig your skate in.

Lift your left leg.

Put it down on the ice.

One by one, each movement pulled out of you. You breathe through it, shaking with nerves. One after another, trying to think about it without thinking about it too hard until Nagi breaks your concentration.

“Too slow,” he says, zipping past you - still aggressively showing off how easy it is for him. How it takes no effort, while you’re straining to remember how to make this feel right.

It breaks something loose in your brain. All cognitive functions shut down. You go after him, not thinking, just acting.

Your fingers snag on the red fabric just as you remember to brake. Your body doesn’t. It’s going at a speed that would’ve been child’s play for you before you broke your ankle, but now you can’t control your skates. You slam into Nagi, knocking both of you down.

Terror flashes across your face at the memory of falling until you land not on hard ice, but an only incrementally softer chest. Nagi lies beneath you, cushioning your fall. You lift yourself up on your hands and knees, panting above him.

“You can still skate,” Nagi says, looking up at you with those quiet eyes. “You kept up with me.”

“Don’t get too full of yourself yet,” you scoff, hauling yourself off him. “I’ve got years of experience on you.”

“Then why stop now?”

Because it’s inevitable he’ll catch up. It took him days to learn what took you years.

He takes your hand when you offer it. “If you quit, I will to.”

“And?”

He blinks. “Shouldn’t I not quit? Coach said I was good.”

You stare at him in disbelief. It’s only more annoying that he’s being genuine about this.

“I don’t care whether you skate or not,” you say. “This is an individual sport.”

“But coach signed us up for doubles.”

“Excuse me?”

“He said it’s perfect. I’m new and you’re recovering.”

You’re going to be famous again. But this time, it’s going to be for a double homicide.

#sera writes #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year ago

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I am so in to König and the confident solder lady (btw we need a tag name or a callsign for her, maybe a poll?) but anyway I go insane for that dynamic!❤️‍🔥 I am on FIRE after I read your stories and it's NEVER enough 😭🤣

so I imagined this scenario about them

They are out on a mission to capture someone. When König finds the target the lady solder, still under the effect of how brutal and efficient König is with his hands disposing of the enemies, says to him:

L - Bag n tag me...I mean HIM

K - *looks at lady solder while filthy thoughts run through his mind*

now both of their minds are in the gutter...as well as mine, but mine never left😈

Confident soldier lady is so unhinged even König is at a loss sometimes 🤨 And our soldier babe? She gets off on those baffled, bewildered looks a little too much (shame on her).

One day when they're cuddling, sweaty and spent after another heated session that was supposed to put her in her place – how curious that it does actually work, even if only for like 5 minutes – she crosses another line.

"König… Could you kidnap me sometime? You know, in a roleplay fashion," she asks while drawing circles on that godly, muscled, sweaty chest.

The said godly muscled sweaty chest almost stops breathing.

"Kidnap you?" König repeats, appalled and with pure loathing in his voice. "I hate kidnappers... And I hate slavery."

She nearly rises to give him a pointed remark about how funny it is that he hates that shit when at the same time, doesn't have a problem with treating her like a possession. But calling a man like König out on his double standards would be futile, so she settles for seething with quiet resentment while curled up there in his arms.

Right.

Yeah… Of course this guy wouldn't know what roleplay even means.

..........

Next week she's walking back to the bus after visiting a sibling, a bit anxious about getting back to base and seeing König again. She still has over a week's worth of leave left, but she wants to go back to spend it with him.

It's sick... Everything about this relationship is sick, twisted, and crazy. She’s always running back to him like a cat who hears her owner has opened another canned tuna in oil. She's so in her thoughts about how to torture that jerk in return that she doesn't quite notice a white van pulling over right next to her.

He barely fits inside the cargo space with her, almost folds her in half while ducking and stepping inside. The car groans under the weight, slants slightly to the side, and she starts to panic and squirm from realizing this is actually happening.

Next thing she knows, she's being picked up from behind like she weighs nothing. A large palm lands over her mouth the minute she’s about to scream – she makes a tiny little noise through her nose but the palm moves to cover that as well.

The street is silent, it's a lazy afternoon in the suburbs, everyone is at work and children are at school, and no one can hear or see how some psycho hauls her inside that van.

"Shh. Stop fighting," a familiar voice bleeds into her ears, muffled and warm.

It can't be…

But then again, didn't she just make a wish upon a psycho star?

He notices she has stopped fighting, just like he ordered her to. He feels how she surrenders to a far stronger beast – just like she's supposed to. And then he purrs.

"Das ist eher so… Be good now. Be a good girl."

Yep...

No one speaks German like that. No one calls her a gut girl like that.

The palm leaves her mouth, and she's being lowered gently on the floor of the van. She turns to look at her captor with both hope and dread pounding inside her chest.

"König…?"

It's pointless to utter that name when the man before her is exactly his size and build, moves like him, has those same cold, blue eyes that gain a warmer tone every time they land on her. The only thing that makes her take a double check is that he's not wearing a hood this time but a black balaclava. Oddly enough, it makes him look a bit more human. She can see the shape of his jaw, the perch of his nose, usually disguised by the baggy sniper hood he's so fond of...

But what the new mask also does is that it makes him look even more menacing: he looks like some of those terrorists they've always fought against. He looks like the biggest bank robber ever put to this earth, he looks like he's about to shoot dozens of innocent citizens and then kidnap someone to take as his prize and drag them into his rape lair.

The notion should not make her squeal like she's looking forward to being that person…

"You're mine now," he looks down at her, lying at his feet like a stray cat about to be taken back home, then turns to walk out of the van. By the time he slams the doors shut, she's smiling – she might be in need of some serious help, but she can't deny König is at his best when he comes out to play.

….....

His house is surprisingly neat, albeit it is no doubt also a man cave for a soldier who rarely spends time at home.

She’s not carried into a cold lair or a secret dungeon underneath the house. No, she gets to stay in his bedroom, on a soft, king-sized bed. He "forces" her cook for him, and praises her meals like they’re some sort of gourmet dishes. It lights a little flame inside her chest, a fire that doesn’t burn but only feels warm. She starts to tidy his place on her own accord.

It's cute, and it's fun, their little kidnap game.

It’s also kind of entertaining to play house with König like this, especially when her "kidnapper" comes to her every night and takes her gently but intensely, with a passion that renders her silent.

It starts to resemble the most domestic little scene until after one week, she snaps out of it.

She doesn't fight back at all.

He calls her his, asks if she has everything she needs as they lay together on his ridiculously large and nice bed. She doesn’t miss her hard army bunk one bit.

She snaps out of it because he brings her a dress.

She fucking hates dresses.

Well, perhaps she doesn’t hate them... but she hates the particular dress he bought her. It's white and has flowers on it – yuck – is she supposed to cook him a nice, healthy meal while wearing that? Let him lift the hem and take her against a counter whenever he wants? Does he think she’s just going to open her legs for him every night after serving him like a docile, doting little wife?

That night, she fights like a wildcat when he comes to her. She enjoys the way he's panting by the time she finally surrenders to him. He sounds like a dog in heat, he's grunting like a man who has one job too many, trying to restrain his little alley cat so that he can push that heavenly cock inside her. She's dripping wet by the time he gets there, looking up at her captor with lightning and thunder in her eyes.

"What's gone into you now, meine Wildkatze?"

"That stupid dress, that's what's gone into me," she hisses as he tries to be gentle again – she suddenly hates it that he's gentle.

"You'd look good in it," he tries, and she almost spits on his face. Her heart hurts for some unfathomable reason, her lower lip juts out with a furious pout.

"Well you'd look good in rags…!"

And just when she thinks he couldn't make it worse… he makes it worse.

He just laughs. Gently, and heartily.

"Is that the best you can do, little one?"

"You'd make such a good wife..."

The only thing she can do is gasp for air as he makes love to her, as those eyes hold her captive gently, so gently – has he become so gentle just because she cooked him for a week and cleaned up his stupid man cave?

Did he kidnap her just because he realized that would be the perfect way to trick her and transform her into a good little housewife?

Good god...

"If you don't set me free tomorrow, I swear I'll… I'll run away!"

She’s the one panting now, and her threat has little effect save for the hauntingly familiar flash of dare that makes those blue eyes look brighter for a second.

"That's what cats do sooner or later," her King tilts his head – the cock inside her gives a demanding pulse, and she has to fight the urge to moan.

"…but they always return home."

#answered #kidnap roleplay #yandere könig #confident soldier lady gets more than she bargained for #lol she's falling in love and she hates it #könig is already in love ❤️#we do need a callsign for her though #any suggestions?#something kitty kat related perhaps lol

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ruumirmir · 10 months ago

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𝘈 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘗𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦'𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘛𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘛𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘴

Part I Part II

ੈ♡˳ Author's◇ note - Haha what if I pretended my shamelessly OCfied male reader was a character :))) Here's to me doing everything possible to build up my "reader" lore. Everything except actually drawing and naming him 😭 If you're curious about previous posts regarding my mans, you could skim over These!! Me when writing this: im gonna make up SO MUCH BULLSHIT about snezhnaya and the other harbingers.

𝘝𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 : ENG - Stephen Fu (Noe Archiviste from Vanitas no Carte) JP - Kento Ito (Dan Heng from Honkai Star Rail)

𝘉𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘥𝘢𝘺 : October 19 (Libra)

𝘈𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 : Northland Bank of the Fatui

𝘝𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 : Hydro

𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 : Cygnus Venatici (The Hunting Swan)

A senior branch manager of Snezhnaya’s Northland bank. As a fatuus, he is formally well-known as the Venator Dux, who mans the Snezhnayan Order of Gold and Exchange founded by the Ninth Harbinger. He hunts in pursuit of the Tsar's vision, but his loyalties are far removed from her.

𝘝𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦-𝘖𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴

𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘰 Ah, the renowned traveller, in the flesh. A visitor to each of the seven nations, while your reputation has run across the continent twice over. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. If you've heard of the Snezhnayan Order of Gold and Exchange, that'd be me who's in charge of it. I am one of the agents within Lord Regrator's primary circle of officials, so you may address me as Venator dux.

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘵: 𝘐𝘮𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 I've been in my respective position for over a decade now, and for the last four years, have come across choice tales surrounding your name. A big fan of your work, really! Lord Regrator has had his interest piqued for a while now... so for the sake of civilized peace and alliance, let's get along... shall we? Try not to cause any trouble and I might consider putting in a good word for you.

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘵: 𝘋𝘶𝘵𝘺 𝘉𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘬𝘴 A large bulk of my work is centered around days of scrawling pen over paper... but really, one can only digest hefty documents for so long. I've had my fill for many years on end-... now, I'd prefer to partake in more physical tasks.

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘵: 𝘛𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 I fear the new batch of rookies are growing too lax in their combat training… perhaps it was my uninspiring teaching method today. As a Venator, it simply won’t do to disappoint them. Traveller, would you help a man out and join the session today? The trainees could do with a fresh perspective on things.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐𝘵 𝘙𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴

No shelter to be seen... here's to praying that you don't catch a cold. Oh don't worry about me, I seldom get sick.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘛𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴 I've always wondered how the real clap of thunder would feel in comparison to a shock of electro. Unless you want to volunteer for that, watch your step.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐𝘵 𝘚𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 Eh... I've seen it once, I've seen it a thousand times. That being said, the nights that are covered in an impossibly slow curtain of snowfall are some of the rarer times I stop to admire it.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘶𝘯 𝘐𝘴 𝘖𝘶𝘵 Finally. Some real warmth to my face. I am but a simple man, languishing like a wilted flower in the absence of our sun's blazing gaze.

𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘵 Actually... I think I might just prefer the miserable winter cold over this.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘐𝘴 𝘉𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 What's with the aggressive breeze today? Does the Anemo archon have bills to pay?

𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 Good morning. I was about to stop by the city lake on my way to the bank and feed the local geese. You can come along if you'd like. Keep your distance from Tatiana though. She bites.

𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘰𝘰𝘯 On a slow lazy day, I'd be waking up around noon. Fortunately, the weekend is right around the corner, so I can do just that.

𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 Although the Northland "bank" closes to the public by evening, the building itself stays open till midnight for other classified affairs. So I may as well make the most of my break time before I'm needed again.

𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘕𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 Oh, I must've lost track of time. It's quite late into the night, so before I go, let me walk you back to whatever establishment you're staying at... Oh, uh- I'm... not sure I heard you correctly. You said you live... inside... a teapot...?

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘝𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳: 𝘚𝘯𝘦𝘻𝘩𝘯𝘢𝘺𝘢𝘯 𝘖𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘎𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘌𝘹𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 It was the very first decree of order at the hands of Lord Regrator when he came into power as a Harbinger many years ago; to inaugurate a faction dedicated to rearing the potential he painstakingly carved into the foundations of the Northland bank. It is just as the name implies. An executive body responsible for developing economic policies and providing regulation, consulting, and forecasting of socioeconomic and business development, ranging from simple roadside shops to production factories-Oh, have I lost you? Haha... don't apologize, I've seen that expression a couple times before. In simple terms: we help run the nation's cycle of mora, trade system, and citizen’s businesses.

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘝𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳: 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘏𝘶𝘯𝘵 [Unlocked at Friendship Lv. 4] The title bestowed upon me, Venator Dux, signifies not just leadership but mastery over a successful hunt- or in some cases, a successful business strategy. The master hunter requires a discerning eye, a mind that can decipher the intricate patterns woven by our adversaries. Information is our ammunition, and knowledge is the silent arrow that strikes before the prey even realizes the hunt has begun.

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘜𝘴: 𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘈𝘳𝘵𝘴 Various forms of dance and song are the lifeblood of Snezhnaya’s festivals. During fall, you’ll find multiple dance troupes and clowns passing each village, town, and city to perform. I personally look forward to the dancers.

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘜𝘴: 𝘓𝘰𝘺𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘺 [Unlocked at Friendship Lv. 6] Your little companion has stuck with you since day one? Truly? That is… a highly admirable trait, one that I will always stand by. Loyalty is not a mere pledge, it anticipates the unspoken desires of another; a commitment that transcends the superficial bonds of allegiance. I keep this ideal close to my heart... for only a single person.

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘝𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 I was hesitant to use a delusion in the first place, so frankly, I’m glad to have been gifted this for whatever reason I was found worthy of. However… Lord Regrator harbours an uncanny dislike for my vision. It’s not something that has been brought up, but I can read between the lines.

𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦 You didn’t hear it from me, but I encourage the employees at the bank to keep a list of all the infuriating and rude customers. It’s to spice up all the sparring and combat practice sessions by naming and dressing up the dummies as people they’d like to kick- Ha!

𝘐𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 This wintry climate is harsh and unsustainable for various flora and fauna. The Charmomila flower doesn’t care about any of that. They’ll grow in obnoxious places if they want to. The real deal comes from the summer butterflies that feast on its nectar. After a while their wings turn a beautiful honey-yellow, which are harvested and brewed into the sweetest and most expensive nonalcoholic beverage you’ll find around here. I enjoy a glass of one semi-regularly on work mornings.

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘙𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳: 𝘈𝘷𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦 [Unlocked at Friendship Lv. 6] He will have my sincere respect, always. Lord Regrator has built his empire up from a scratch in the dirt, something impossible to do were he a lesser man. His sacrifices of blood, sweat, and tears has bled into the policies that the bank stands on today. Money breeds imbalance and power, which in turn grants freedom and recognition if you are on the right side of the coin. Regrator is a utilizing man and he guards what’s his, zealously. He will take and take until his arms sag with the weight, and uphold his promise to give out the correct equivalents because he lets his value of fair exchange lead him like a vice. For as long as he stays true to his greed, I will be the hand that reaches forward to grasp what he desires.

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘙𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳: 𝘋𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘶𝘮 [Unlocked at Friendship Lv. 6] Lord Regrator expects a strict level of decorousness from everyone working under his name- from me to even the most forgotten grunts. It's nothing outrageous of course. You would only ever see the metaphorical boot-licking than a literal one. I find it a bit much sometimes but the public eye is nothing to scoff at. Especially to a man of his status. The Snezhnayan dvoryane make up more than a third of the Northland Bank's clientele- not to mention the stakes a couple of them have invested. And if there is anything that those feather-headed fools care about, it's posh theatrics. *Sigh* Still... I quite enjoy falling in step with Pantalone's politesse. He has a beautiful manner of speech that I've never been able to measure up to.

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘙𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳: 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘎𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 [Unlocked at Friendship Lv. 6] …Why do I feel like you’re trying to fish for critical information...? Fine- I'll concede. It's your head on the line anyways. Lord Regrator is a big player in the system of underground businesses that connect Nathan and Snezhnaya. Technically it could be called a black market, but it’s mainly run by a small council of social elites from both nations. There are occasional hosted auctions, that my lord targets to buy out priceless artifacts from. I’m talking about lost pieces of history and endangered caged beasts over items with resell value. Now… with that being said, as long as this secret remains safe… so do you. It’s always me who’s dispatched to make sure it stays that way.

#➳❥ Ooh Lover Boy #pantalone #genshin #genshin impact #fatui #fatui harbingers #pantalone genshin #genshin impact headcanons #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #pantalone x reader #pantalone x male reader #genshin impact fatui #➳❥ Rumour writes #➳❥ rumour says #genshin imagines

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