#{*throws shade at my own muse*}

[ihatedtoadmit]

Art study

pairing: Bang Chan x gn! reader

genre: ...suggestive

warnings: nothing actually happens, so none besides teasing

word count: ~1.3k

summary: You're doing an art study on muscles, and who's a better candidate for reference than your wonderful boyfriend who keeps feeding his delulu fanbase with half-naked pictures?

a/n: Well well well, Nat, you don't have to pay to see me write something like this after all (if you will ever see this, because no chance am I tagging you or anyone, dear). Here, have fun, this is the most spice anyone can get out of my asexual ass.

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All rights reserved. Please do not steal, repost or feed my work into AI. Thank you!

You were a very reserved person, something your partner knew all too well. Every touch the two of you shared throughout the entirety of your relationship had no heat behind it, each one only fueled by pure adoration and love. Never once did a kiss turn hungry, hell, there had barely been any kisses the two of you had shared due to your lack of need for the action. Chan knew it all too well, and while he craved more, he also respected it. The last thing he wanted to do was to make you uncomfortable, and so he’d never stepped over that line.

That was the exact reason for his current shyness, the confusion that wanted to sit onto his face hard to mask. There he stood in your doorway, the desk before your hunched form cluttered with pencils and little crumbs of dirty erasers. You were entirely too focused on the task at hand to notice your boyfriend's presence, the song that flowed through your headphones much too loud to hear any footsteps or even words. And so you continued drawing, clueless about anything as your lover watched you work, eyes flitting between your sketch and the endless reference pictures on your screen.

Pictures about him, his back fully on display and unclothed.

A touch broke you out of your concentration as you erased a line for the fourth time, scaring you into throwing away the pencil in your clutches just so you could tear the headphones off your head.

“Interesting art you have there, love.” - Chan mused, yet his skin was as flushed as ever.

You joined him as you could feel your own skin heating up, ashamed that you’d been caught like this. Eyes looked at everything besides your boyfriend, yet you found comfort in that warm touch of his.

“I was just… doing a study, on muscles.” - the words were but a mere whisper, hand quickly reaching to minimise your browser and just hide it from a certain pair of prying eyes.

Still, there was a feeling clawing at the cage of your soul, ripping at the flesh to be let out and rampage freely. It was feral and vicious, planting a thought into your head that seemed impossible to get out, no matter how alien it felt. You could feel your breath hitch at the image that popped into your head, memories of the images you had been staring at for a while now overlapping.

The hand on your shoulder gently squeezed, breaking you out of your derailing thoughts.

“I don't mind, baby, it just… caught me off guard? Glad you enjoyed my performances though.” - Chan’s voice was light, mixing well with the shyness he was trying to hide.

It only urged that fierceness inside to break free, granting you a surge of confidence you would have never had otherwise.

Without any words you finally glanced up at the man you loved, finding him utterly handsome; you would hone your artistic skills for the rest of your life just to capture a fragment of that beauty. His skin was dusted with a faint red, ears painted by the deepest of shades. Those eyes you loved to get lost in were alight with an emotion you had seen them only hold whenever he looked at the boys, and it took your breath away within a heartbeat.

Your body moved on its own, towering over him as you now stood. His hair was still slightly wet from the shower he must have just taken, and you just knew he had been originally on his way to his room to swap his bathrobe for those comfy, black clothes he loved to don in his free time.

He searched your gaze, unsure, yet trusting. His hands comfortably placed themselves onto your hips; their touch was warm, the man before you always running hot. It was something you loved as he balanced out your always cold hands wonderfully, reaching the perfect temperature you both enjoyed.

“Hey, love. How was work today?” - you asked, leaning closer than usual as you swiped those dark curls out of Chan’s face. He leaned into your touch, eyes closing for a second as he thought about his answer.

“The usual, although Hyunjin managed to piss off Minho again. It was a shoe this time that was the weapon, by the way.” - there was an airiness of joy to his words, yet no laugh accompanied it.

No, Chan was entirely too enamoured with the look you were giving him, as if you were worshipping him with your eyes alone. And maybe you were. With each look you studied the way your lover's skin moved, the shadows conforming accordingly. It lured you in, as if Chan was the siren and you were his prey, fated to be drowned in the vast oceans and seas.

He didn't move as you took him all in, hands eventually unable to keep themselves away. Your fingers were cold against the warmth of his fair skin, and you could hear his breath hitch, the muscles inside his neck moving beautifully.

There was something different in your touch, that much he knew, yet he wouldn't have it any other way.

As if you had never seen anything like it before, your hands glided over any free expanse of skin you could reach, memorising how the muscles hidden beneath curved and jumped at your touch. Never once did your eyes stray, wanting to remember every little detail. You wanted your art to be perfect, after all, to represent the real thing as closely as possible and that meant every little detail in their complete glory.

Your eyebrows furrowed as the white robe blocked you off, and so you slightly slid it off from one of Chan's shoulders. His hold on you tightened and you glanced at him briefly, seeing an intensity burning in those dark eyes, one you had never seen before.

You were playing with fire, and you could feel the heat of the danger.

Despite the clear wanting signs, you ignored them much like Icarus, hands now gliding down your lover's arm. Each touch held meaning, praising him in silence, singing odes about this man’s beauty. There was something so intriguing about watching the muscles connect to skin and bone, oh so perfectly toned and reacting to every touch of yours.

You stepped even closer, breaths mingling together as you reached into his robe, mapping out the vast skin of your partner's back. Every dip, every rise and imperfection was noted inside your head, the scorching star in Chan's eyes only growing in intensity as time passed. Your eyes flitted between those deadly stars and his neck, seeing it strain, muscles so tight that they jumped out of the skin in that lovely V-shape you could never grow bored of.

Then, as if something snapped, he gripped your waist with incredible force, not giving you a chance to escape. Despite that, no fear took residence inside you, your now warm fingers still laid peacefully on his shoulders.

“And what do I owe this extremely special moment to, baby?” - his words were a deep rumble, eyes begging for an answer with desperation.

“For being the most beautiful human to grace this planet, my wonderful love. Be my muse, please. Let me draw you, let me study you.” - you answered, one hand now cupping Chan's cheek tenderly, despite the uniquely heated situation.

As if that was the magic word to undo his binding, your lover moved, hauling your taller form easily onto the bed with him. There you were now, sat on his lap as he looked up at you expectantly, the intensity and love never diminishing in those bright eyes of his. Your sketchbook was still sitting beside you on the bed where you had originally thrown it at, hands itching to take it and immortalise what you had engraved into your mind in the past few minutes.

“I'll be your muse whenever, baby. All you needed to do was ask.”

[hunterthecharmer]

Unexpected - Part 2

Sorry for the delay everyone. Here's part 2! Hope you all like it :)

Summary: You work for an events company and end up being assigned as a talent handler for a 2 week long convention. Your co-worker ends up assigned to Glen Powell, but you catch his eye. Can you remain professional and keep him from knowing you're actually a pretty big fan of his?

This is my inspiration for the outfit he’s wearing :)

Part 2

It’s the middle of the week, and every day has been spent coordinating with Dylan O’Brien’s team to get every piece of his schedule nailed down. He only had one assistant in the office currently which made your job a bit easier. Savannah, on the other hand was sipping her lattes with her feet kicked up in the corner of your office while you took your meetings each day as Glen’s assistant sent everything over via email or text, to not fill her day up with Zoom meetings.

“This probably means he’s a control freak.” Savannah muses, chewing on the end of her pen as she notates an email from his team. “Look, we both have our work cut out for us. Have you opened your package yet from his team?” You ask, waving your mailer in front of her with a grin. You already knew she was going to want to swap one of the items.

“Wait, what? No! What did they send?” She grins, tearing open the envelope to pull out a large autographed headshot of Glen. Some pens, a lanyard and a handwritten note from his assistant come tumbling out with it. Savannah pouts, immediately shifting her eyes to the one you’re holding. “C’mon, don’t make me beg! Let me see it!” She’s giddy as she shakes your arm, and you giggle as you dramatically remove it from its sleeve. “Trade ya?” You wink at her, before you both search the hall for some empty frames and get Jim from IT to help the two of you hang them up in your offices.

As soon as he’s finished, Savannah comes tapping on your door. “Thanks for trading. Dylan is my man! I hope he’s nice, I don’t know how I’ll feel if he’s rude..” her voice trails off, and you pat her on the shoulder. “He’ll be great. Don’t stress it! You’ll do a great job keeping him on track.” She smiles at your reassurance. “Sooo, are you going to pack your Longhorn hat?”

You gasp at her, crumpling a nearby scrap of paper and throwing it at her. “Listen, that hat is my only one that’s black, it goes with everything, and…yes, it may or may not have only been bought because of Glen. BUT, of course it’s coming. You never know what Tennessee weather will bring!” You smirk at her before flipping off the lights in your office, following Savannah down the hallway to the parking deck.

----

“Wow, it really is beautiful here.” You mutter to yourself as you climb into the shuttle taking you from the airport to the event location. The sky seemed a richer hue of blue, and the large trees shaded the vehicles the entire trip. You allowed yourself to breathe as you stepped into the large auditorium building. All the months of hard work and planning had finally paid off. Seeing it with your own eyes was a real treat that you rarely got to enjoy with this job. Hundreds of staff members were busily setting up chairs, tables and last minute details together before the talent would arrive that evening. The welcome party was going to be a blast - glow sticks, a DJ, boujee appetizers and twinkling lights. It would be the perfect way to welcome the talent and allow everyone on location to get ready for the weeks ahead.

After doing your makeup and spraying some texture spray in your hair, you take one last look in the mirror of your little cabin and smile. You felt confident in your all black outfit. Black levi jeans, an off the shoulder black long sleeve with some gold jewelry and some hoops. Your hair was curled, and the leather boots were keeping your feet warm from the winter chill outside. You plop down on the edge of your bed and take in your home away from home. Everyone had their own little log cabin, it was basically a studio set up with a queen sized bed in the middle of the room, chandelier above it and of course a bathroom and lounger with a big window. It was charming and cozy, and you couldn’t imagine how much nicer the talent’s must be if this was how lovely yours was.

One last spritz of texture spray to your hair and you were out the door, jumping on your personal golf cart to ride down to the warehouse.

“Over here! Over here!” You hear a high pitched squeal from across the gravel as you put the golf cart in park. You swivel your head to the left to find Savannah fastly approaching, one hand waving you down, the other holding her skirt from dragging across the ground. “Finally, you’re here!” She wraps an arm around you in a tight hug. You giggle as you steady your balance, hugging her back. You knew she had to be so nervous to meet the talent, because you weren’t the type to get starstruck and your own heart was hammering in your chest.

“We’ve got this! We aren’t the only ones meeting them for the first time tonight. Just remember that! I’m sure Glen will be lovely. I promise I will try to nonchalantly get Dylan to meet you tonight too. Deal?” You both pinky promise before heading inside towards the loud music.

You squint your eyes at the glowing white orbs on each high top table, not a single chair in sight other than at the bar. The DJ had many of the guests up and dancing while others socialized amongst themselves. Everyone was dressed casually, probably changing minimally after their plane rides. You and the other workers were definitely dressed up a little more, which instantly put you at ease. Feeling more put together and confident, you lead Savannah to the sign in table. Glancing around as you wait in line, you watch the other girls and guys check over their packets, taking in who their responsibility will be for the next two weeks. Reading what their pick up and drop off schedule will be like, and all the other fast facts about their assigned celebrity; allergies, preferences, etc. As soon as your packet about Dylan is in your hands, you find an empty table and start reading over it. You nonchalantly do a sweep of the room, the different colored lights illuminating everyone’s faces. Some of your favorite actors are in this room, and you couldn’t believe it. After a few moments you spot Dylan at the bar, the lavender backdrop and blue lights behind the stools accentuating his all white outfit. He runs a hand through his shaggy brown hair, mid conversation with another actor you didn’t recognize. You quickly glance down at your paper, making notes with your pen. You get through about three pages before Savannah appears in front of you, slamming her lanyard down on the table. “Did you introduce yourself yet?” She whispers, rummaging around in her bag for her lipgloss. “No, I’m letting him finish his conversation first. How’s Glen?” You ask, smirking at her. “He’s a dream. He literally made a beeline for me through the crowd to introduce himself! I have to bring him his schedule, apparently no one had it in their rooms when they got here so that’s awkward. Strike one on us.” She bites her bottom lip. You feel your eyes widen. “What?! That was supposed to have been done days ago! The girls from scheduling said they had it under control..oh well. I guess it’s a nice ice breaker for us to approach them. Wait, did you say Glen came up to you? How’d he know you were his handler?” Savannah raises a hand to cover her mouth before moving around the table top to grasp your forearm. “Girl! You know how they sent us head shots of the talent? Apparently they received one of us too! Isn’t that wild?” She giggles, taking in your reaction. “So, that means Dylan already knows I’m here probably. Great..” You let your voice trail off before closing your folder and grabbing your lanyard to place around your neck.

“Let me go say hello, then!” You flash Savannah a nervous smile before heading to the bar, Dylan’s eyes immediately drifting from the man he’s talking to over to you. He places a hand on his shoulder and says what you assume to be a quick goodbye before turning on his heel toward you. “You’re the lucky lady who's stuck with me, yeah?” He grins, extending a hand to you. His brown eyes are friendly, twinkling beneath the lights dancing around the room. “I’m Dylan, so nice to meet you!” His handshake is firm, and you take note of how strong his cologne is. “I promise to get you everywhere on time these next few weeks. It’s great to meet you!” You return his smile, moving closer to him as a crowd of people brush past the two of you toward the buffet, the DJ announcing to everyone that dinner has been set out. Dylan leans down to your ear so you can hear him better. “I’m so stoked to be here, did you have a hand in all this?” He shouts above the music, gesturing around him to all the decor in the warehouse, fake pink and magenta flowers are strung up through the rafters, flameless candles were dispersed throughout the room, you were proud of the vibe in here for sure. It was kind of like a club but classier. “It took a village for sure, but I’m really happy with how it turned out! Oh, here’s your schedule by the way-” You continue to babble on to him about the whole event and the planning that went into it, and start going through Dylan’s schedule with him. He listens intently to you, his focus a hundred percent on what you’re showing him. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Savannah pointing you out to Glen, his eyes peering at you from beneath his black Texas Longhorns ballcap before he looks away. You feel heat rush to your cheeks as you tear your gaze away from him. You and Dylan exchange some more info, and decide to meet out front by the golf carts in another hour or so. You meander towards the back of the space, your stomach growling at the sight of all the warm food placed ahead of you. Before you can grab a plate, you hear Savannah call your name, “Hey, wait up!” You spin around, her arm locking with yours to pull you away from the buffet line. “Where are we going?” You whine, turning your head back towards the food. “The food is that way! I’m starving.” Savannah shoots you a sympathetic smile as she continues to drag you through the crowd until she sits you down at a round table in the corner of the room. “Unfortunately, that food’s not for us.” She frowns, before leaving you to disappear behind a door and reappear moments later with two foil covered plates, two large water bottles under her arm. “Savannah…what’s on those plates.” You wearily question, grabbing it from her. You both count to three together before ripping the foil cover off, revealing a hamburger, bag of chips and the tiniest cup of fruit you’d ever seen. “Guess they had to cut corners to save money somehow.” You pout, pushing the plate away from you as you grab the bag of Lays.

“Here we chose the best menus each night for them, thinking we too would get to enjoy them, but no. We have to eat like kids.” Savannah complains as she bites into her burger. “What, lost your appetite?” She frowns at your plate. “I don’t eat burgers. Actually, I can’t eat red meat at all.” You reply, shrugging your shoulders. You slump back into your chair, disappointed that you’re missing out on the all you can eat sushi bar the talent is currently enjoying right now.

Savannah inhales her food as the two of you chat about your schedules for tomorrow, trying to find overlaps. Your conversation is cut short at the sound of a male voice in front of you. “Excuse me, sorry to interrupt but, do you ladies happen to know where the restrooms are?” You both snap your gaze upward to see Glen standing in front of your table, the only celebrity in a 300 foot distance. You take in his outfit- his cap you noticed earlier, his dark black jeans, crisp white t-shirt and grey cardigan that fits him perfectly. He’s extremely handsome in person, even more so than on screen. You open your mouth to speak, but you realize nothing is coming out of your mouth. You quickly wet your lips with your tongue, eyes deferring to Savannah, since he probably came over here to ask her. She is his handler for the weekend, after all. Savannah’s mid chew on the last piece of her burger, looking at you expectantly. “Oh, uh, they’re behind the DJ’s set up, there’s a little hallway back there with the bathrooms.” You meet his gaze again, his green eyes locked onto yours before they drop to the plate in front of you. The sides of his mouth tugs up into a smirk. “Not hungry?” He points to your untouched hamburger, his watch catching the light. You take a mental note of your stomach doing backflips over this accessory, as watches have always been kind of a thing for you. A turn on, if you will. You shake your head and laugh, admitting that you can’t eat it. “I’ll be out of commission if I eat that.” Glen’s playful expression turns to one of confusion, pointing over his shoulder to the extensive spread of food behind you. “You want to trade? I didn’t see that as an option. Where’d you find that?” Savannah giggles, waving her hands in front of her as she finally speaks. “No, no, the burgers are just for us little people. You guys get to enjoy the good stuff.” She winks at him, and you nudge her beneath the table. Not exactly the best way to put it…

Glen’s eyebrows furrow slightly, head tilting to the side. “That doesn’t seem fair. Tell you what, I’ll bring you back a plate of whatever you want if I can devour that burger on your plate.” He flashes you a grin, and you’re enthusiastically nodding before you can think twice about it. “Yes, please! I’ll literally take anything you can gr-” you begin, but Savannah cuts you off. “She loves sushi, Glen.” They exchange a smile as he points to her before wading through the crowd. You turn to your coworker, mouth open in disbelief. “Umm, is Glen Powell bringing me a plate of food right now?!” You let out a tiny squeal, hitting her on the knee. She props a hand on her cheek, “I know right? Isn’t he so nice? Where the heck is Dylan?” She responds, squeezing your shoulder. “It sucks we have to act like we don’t know them. Like, at all.” She huffs, crossing her arms across her chest. “He’s over by the dessert bar, why don’t you take a quick walk by? He won’t even notice! He’s quite the social butterfly tonight.” You wink at her encouragingly, and she actually stands from her chair. “You know what, you’re right. Be right back!” She’s giddy as she weaves through the crowd, and in her wake you see Glen reappear, a plate full of sushi in tow. He sticks out his tongue, clearly proud of his selection. “Here we go, I got a little bit of everything for ya.” He presents the plate to you dramatically, flicking his wrist to emulate a waiter as he drops it on the table. “You’ve outdone yourself.” You grin, placing a hand over your heart to match his energy. “And in return…” You reach for the plate, lifting the burger to his hands. He shakes his head, instantly grabbing the burger out of its sleeve and taking a huge bite out of it. “I’m Glen, by the way.” He mumbles, his mouth full. You swallow thickly, Savannah’s reminder echoing in your head as you introduce yourself, acting as casual as possible. You lift your chopsticks and dig into your food, not having realized that Glen’s attention is on you. The two of you continue to eat in silence, hunger clearly winning here. “Guess we were hungry.” You laugh, pushing your now empty plate away from you. Glen throws his head back with a chuckle, nodding in agreement. “Guess so. It was a long travel day.”

Suddenly, you remember why he approached your table in the first place - the bathroom. “Wait, did you ever find the restrooms?” Your tone has a hint of worry in it; what were you thinking, sending him off to get you a plate of food? You were sup[posed to be serving the talent, not the other way around. You suddenly felt embarrassed, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Glen’s mouth turns into a soft smile, his expression playful again. “Oh, I knew where the bathrooms were.” His words hang in the air as you process his tone, taking in his facial expression. Was he..flirting with you? There was no way. You were delusional. Before you can respond, he stacks his empty plate on top of yours and slides them back toward him, leaning over the table a bit to make sure you can hear him. “Nice doin’ business with you.” He shoots you a quick wink before he tosses the plates into the trash can and disappears into the crowd. You’re aware of the cheesy grin on your face that you can’t wipe off, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you fidget with your bracelets. Savannah soon returns, waving you toward her. “C’mon, let’s get to our carts and wait for the boys! We have an early morning tomorrow.” ANd with that, you grab both of your bags and follow her to the gravel lot outside, the exchange with Glen replaying over and over in your mind.

Dylan strides up to your golf cart right on time, his eyes glazed over. “Man, that was fun! You guys killed that. I’m dead tired though.” He raises his hand for a high five, and you happily oblige before driving him to his personal cabin. Agreeing on a wakeup time, you wait for him to get inside before driving off.

You snuggle into bed that night replaying how amazing the event space looked, relieved that Dylan was kind and, so far, not a diva. You were looking forward to getting to know him a little better and look out for him the next few weeks. And then there was Glen…you had to try and downplay tonight’s interaction. He was just being nice, his parents clearly raised him right. That’s all it was. Did he seriously wink at you? Maybe you dreamed that part. Maybe he isn’t as nice as he seems, and just a charmer. He could have a girlfriend for all you know!

“I need help.” You mutter to yourself.

You shake your head and sigh; you were here to work. You needed to be professional and short with all of the guests here. End of story. You let yourself fall asleep to the sound of the wind blowing outside your cabin window.

[sunkendreams]

asking for some ethan landry smut ,,, I don’t care what you write but I need it! 🧎‍♀️

when the party’s over.

➾ pairing ; ethan landry x fem!reader.

in which you meet a cute boy at a college party and decide to have a little bit of fun behind closed doors.

FORMAT: drabble — requested.

WORD COUNT: 4K.

WARNINGS: SMUT! (mdni), alcohol/drinking, typical college party antics, hooking up, semi-public sex, risk of getting caught, virgin!ethan, making out, hair-pulling, groping, cunnilingus, oral sex (f!receiving), extreme horny antics, handjob (m!receiving), fingering, cumming together ;)), ethan has some dark/weird thoughts, cumplay, begging, dirty talk, ambiguous ending

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I’m suffering from chronic ethan landry brainrot :’) he’s so cute but unhinged/deranged and I love that !!! I love my men sexy and out for blood !! I am absolutely planning on writing a part two and/or more of him, this was so fun & horny (my favorite). I hope you all enjoy! ❤️

A homemade concoction of various alcohol stung your nose as you strolled past the kitchen, surrounded by a swarm of neon lights — vibrant shades of violet, green, and hot pink. The music blared all around you, bass booming hard enough to make your bones rattle.

Blackmore University was infamous for its chaotic parties and mixers that involved too much to drink and too many people — tonight was no exception. Halloween was right around the corner, and the party was lively with plenty of buzzed college students dressed in costumes.

The rest of your entourage had decided to be the fairies from Pixie Hollow. You hadn’t decided on a particular fairy, but you’d gotten a cute dress and trinkets to look the part. Your wings — cheap gossamer stretched over wire frames — were serviceable at best.

You came along with a group of your friends, but they scattered as soon as they walked through the door. You were left to your own devices, sipping on a hard lemonade with a sour expression. The alcohol tasted decent enough, but you were wary of getting intoxicated in unfamiliar locations.

Some radio-popular hip-hop song provided a steady ambiance as you traipsed through another hallway, narrowly avoiding a collision with a sashaying junior.

The thick, heady scent of marijuana drifted throughout the frat house, accompanied by clouds of hazy smoke. As you passed by the staircase, there was a boy slumped to one side, puffing on a bong that seemed comically large. Typical college party antics, you assumed.

As you rounded the doorway, you slammed right into a boy who seemed just as startled as you were. The drink in your hand smashed into the cardboard chest piece he was wearing, exploding onto your silvery evening dress.

“S—Shit! I’m so sorry,” He stammered, fumbling over his words as he clamored to grab a towel or a rag — anything, really. He hastily decided on a throw blanket draped over the back of a leather couch, tossing it over the puddle of spilled alcohol. “I didn’t see you.”

Before you decided to admonish him for his carelessness, you realized that it wasn’t his fault — more of a joint mistake, really. “No, it’s fine! I should’ve been looking.” You replied, crouching down to help him clean up the mess.

The front of your pretty dress was now coated in a layer of sticky booze, clinging to your chest with an uncomfortable dampness. Unfortunately, you’d left your jacket back at your dormitory, riddled with a stain that would likely stay for the duration of the party.

When you finally got a look at your obstacle, you were delighted to find that he was cute — arguably the most attractive boy in the room. “I’m really sorry about your dress. I ruined your costume.” He frowned, brows furrowing together.

You realized that he was dressed as a Knight, armor meticulously crafted of intricate cardboard cutouts and patterns. “I think we ruined each other’s costumes.” You mused, gesturing toward the splotch of alcohol all over the front of his chest.

“This is going to the dumpster once the party ends, anyway.” He confessed, letting out a soft chuckle. Admittedly, it made you laugh, nose crinkling in amusement as you cleared your throat.

“Really? I think it looks great! You put a lot of effort into it.” That was true — it was a neat costume. You found it amusing that the knight and the fairy had run into one another, as if it were ripped from the pages of some gaudy romance novel.

“Thanks,” The boy chewed at the inside of his cheek, reaching to rub at the back of his neck. “You’re supposed to be a fairy, right? I noticed the wings, and the … Dress. Before I collided with you.” He was in awe of you, truly — you were absolutely gorgeous.

Part of him thought about staking out your dorm for later, but now wasn’t the time.

A familiar wave of heat washed over you, creeping into your features as you playfully spun around. Your glittering dress and cosmetics glistened in the lower light. “The rest of my friends came as the Pixie Hollow fairies. I couldn’t really decide on one, so I made my own.”

“Yeah, well you — You look really pretty.” He swallowed the growing lump within his throat, attempting to kick away that twinge of social anxiety. It was something he struggled with — he wasn’t nearly as outgoing or charismatic as his older brother.

“Thank you, that’s really sweet of you.” Bristling from his innocuous compliment, you stepped closer, attempting to close some of the distance between the both of you. “What’s your name? I didn’t catch it.” You piped up, leaning against the doorframe.

Unable to keep from smiling, he stayed static, watching as you bridged the gap. “I’m Ethan, Ethan Landry. It’s nice to meet you.” His chest shook with a brief chuckle when you stuck out your hand for an exaggerated handshake.

“Ethan Landry,” You beamed, shaking his hand with excitable energy. After you gave him your name, the conversation only seemed to blossom from there. “It’s nice to meet you, too! What are you studying here at Blakemore?”

Ethan never had the best luck with women, especially ones as pretty as you. Not only that, but you had a whirlwind of charm to you, too. “Uh … I’m still deciding. Leaning toward film, though! What about you?” He asked, unable to keep his eyes off of you.

“I’m also in the process of deciding. I’m trying to get my basic courses out of the way before I commit to something.” You chimed, sidestepping away from the swarm of rancorous students that began to pile into the living room.

With a constant grin, you peered toward the growing crowd of students dancing in the middle of the room. A fast-paced hip-hop song began to thrum over the speakers, filling the frat house with music.

“Do you want to dance?” You asked, motioning toward the gathering in the center of the room. This was the one college party where you’d met a cute boy who seemed to take an interest — you weren’t about to squander it.

He seemed visibly hesitant, making a face that screamed ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea’. Ethan relented, deciding that taking a risk and spending more time with you would be worthwhile. “Just one. It’s getting pretty crazy in here.” He wasn’t much of a dancer, either.

“Just one!” You reaffirmed, snatching ahold of his hand as the two of you joined the mosh pit of students. Somewhere through the chaos, you ended up right against him, chest to chest, swaying and bouncing to the music. It was loud, so loud that it shook the very foundations of the building.

Ethan didn’t want to make a fool out of himself. He simply mimicked some of your movements, entranced by the way you involuntarily pressed against him, a smile on your face, drifting off to the music. You grabbed one of his hands, prompting him to twirl you around.

“So what are you doing at this party? Did you come with friends?” You asked, practically yelling at Ethan as the two of you continued to dance. It was a little awkward, but he seemed engrossed, stooping down to give you an answer.

“Yeah! I came with some friends, and my roommate. They’re around here somewhere.” Ethan replied, grabbing you and pushing you aside to avoid being smacked by flying arms and stray bodies.

As Ethan briefly looked through the crowd, he noticed Chad somewhere on the other side, cheering him on with a toothy grin. It gave him a bit of a confidence boost, no matter how small it seemed to be. You were so beautiful, jubilant and vibrant, moving with the music.

The way he looked at you was mesmerizing, the stare of a charmed, smitten boy. You were the center of gravity, the sun — bright and shining just for him. Admittedly, you weren’t oblivious, and if it weren’t for the sea of people, you might’ve been emboldened enough to kiss him.

The music began to dissipate, song trailing off into the next track. “Do you want to go somewhere else to talk?” Ethan asked, surprising you by being the first to make a move. You wondered if he really meant talking, but either way, you were happy.

“Yeah.” You nodded, reaching for his hand as he escorted you out of the dance room and toward the staircase. The two of you carefully avoided any stragglers slumped on the stairs, slipping past a gaggle of girls stumbling down from the bathroom.

Once you were upstairs, things became more hushed altogether. Even just standing on the balcony provided some relief as he ran a hand through his mop of curly hair, glancing down at you with a smile. “Is this better?” He asked, leaning against the bannister,

An amused chuckle escaped you as you nodded, tilting back against the wooden post at the top of the staircase. “Much better,” You mused, absentmindedly biting at your lower lip. “You know, if you wanted to be alone, all you had to do was ask.”

Ethan’s countenance flushed from ivory to scarlet within the blink of an eye, throat becoming dry as he attempted to come up with some viable excuse. “It’s not that, I just — Shit. This isn’t what it looks like.” He groaned, feeling your hand slip around his.

“Ethan,” You murmured, canting your head to one side. “You need to stop psyching yourself out.” Another giggle left you, enough to reassure him, put his nerves to rest as you coaxed him closer. You tugged on his hand, leading him toward a room somewhere in the back hallway.

Wordlessly, you slipped inside, realizing that this was likely someone else’s room — one that was clearly unoccupied. It was all nondescript and outfitted with the bare essentials of a dorm, lights dimmed as you shut the door behind the both of you.

Your back gently pressed against the uncomfortable wood of the door as you latched it, ensuring that no one would be barging in anytime soon. Ethan appeared both excited and bewildered, chomping at the bit to finally touch a girl. He’d been lonely for so long — and now, fantasy was becoming reality.

“Are you sure? I — What if somebody hears us or comes knocking?” Ethan asked. In all actuality, he didn’t care whatsoever. He was aching, desperate to feel you and be inside of you, if you let him. The idea of losing his virginity to a beautiful girl at a party was enticing.

Neglecting to offer an answer to his constant string of worrying, you decided to change course. “Kiss me.” You whispered, feeling a pang of molten heat hit your stomach when Ethan practically pounced on you, lips messy and inexperienced as he kissed you.

The stiff cardboard of his helmet bumped into your face, causing you to giggle. Ethan became crimson-faced, swiftly tossing it behind him onto the gray carpet. Without hesitation, he grabbed your face, kissing you again with a low groan.

Music blared from downstairs, bass able to eclipse all of the noise emerging from the guest room. Your hands moved toward his shoulders, lips tangling with his as he readjusted his grip. Ethan’s palms sank into your soft curves, clutching at your hips above the dress.

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Ethan mumbled, peering at you through his lashes. “I want to learn, though.” He wasn’t clueless — he’d watched things online before and indulged in the company of his right hand on multiple occasions.

Gentle laughter escaped you, accompanied by a twinge of understanding. “I don’t know if I wanna go all the way in the guest room of a frat house,” You mused, fingers shifting to rake through his hair. “It’s okay, Ethan. I’m not worried about it.”

Ethan relaxed, visibly reassured by your words before you tapped a nail against the cardboard cutout framing his chest. He got the hint, happy to be rid of the ridiculous costume. He didn’t care very much for it — you, on the other hand, looked ethereal.

Instead of you steering him around, he took ahold of your hands, coaxing you toward the unmade mattress. He had a vivid idea of what he wanted to do to you. Ethan watched with wide, desirous eyes as you sat down, flesh crawling with heat when he stood between your legs.

To your complete delight, Ethan sank down onto his knees, all six feet and two inches of him, hands gently caressing your legs. “You’ll tell me if I’m not doing something right, yeah?” He prompted, sucking in a sharp breath when you kissed him.

He was tall, and you didn’t have to stoop very much at all to reach him, feeling his fingertips tease the hem of your dress. Your fingers scraped against the nape of his neck, pushing themselves throughout his mop of curly hair. The soft groan that escaped him made your heart flutter.

“I’ll tell you.” You murmured, watching as he sheepishly tilted inward for another kiss. Ethan’s hands began to creep underneath your dress at a snail’s pace, exploring every inch of you. You felt velveteen beneath his fingertips, like a fine silk.

“Can I take your dress off?” Ethan murmured, peering at you through thick eyelashes. His breath hitched within his throat as you reached toward your back, unzipping the shimmering garment.

You neglected to shimmy out of the snug fabric, letting it pool around your chest, instead. “All yours.” Your hand dipped toward the silvery straps around your ankles as you stepped out of your heels.

Ethan swallowed the lump of excitement that coalesced within the back of his throat, hands curling into the hem of your dress. Sluggishly, he began to coax the fabric down, mesmerized by the way you lifted your hips, wordlessly assisting him.

The thin straps of your lace brassiere clung to your chest, accompanied by a matching pair of panties. Ethan’s sigh was shaky, quivering with a tremor of delight as he grabbed your thighs, body pushing them apart.

“You’re so beautiful.” A low, throaty groan escaped him, lips agape as he pressed a kiss against your thigh. Even your smell was intoxicating, swarming his senses like a heady tidal wave. He didn’t know where to start, but he had an idea of what he wanted.

Swallowing his bout of nervousness, Ethan continued to kiss along your leg, feeling your fingers curl into his hair. The little tugs and motions you made only served to make his heart beat faster, goosebumps coalescing along his spine. His hands curled into the waistband of your panties, inching them down your legs.

You squirmed, chest fluttering with warmth as he looked to you for consent, skin flush with scarlet. “Please, Ethan.” Your hips jolted forward, aching for his mouth, fingers — anything that he was willing to give you. “Please keep going.”

Ethan loved that — he loved hearing you beg.

He wondered what it’d be like to make you cry, perhaps toy with you, knife in-hand, make you writhe. Some sinister part of him wanted to hear you say it again, and without thinking, his mouth moved before he could comprehend anything else.

“Say it again,” Ethan urged, chest rising and falling with soft pants as he clutched at your legs. The doe-eyed expression on your countenance only added fuel to the now-raging fire, and he watched with silent glee as you let out a soft whine. “Please.”

“Ethan, please,” Without hesitation, you pleaded with him, desperate for friction — for any shred of it. Your voice rose an octave, bleeding heat from between your legs. “Please, please,” You moaned, watching the way his pupils expanded with lust. “I want you — want your mouth.”

Despite his inexperience, Ethan was prepared to follow basic instinct, palms smoothing themselves along your thighs until he held your hips. His head dipped between your thighs, tongue sluggishly swiping along your cunt, familiarizing himself with your taste.

Your back arched, stomach swirling with an excitable heat as he took his time. There was something exploratory in-nature, a desire to savor you. His cock strained against the front of his jeans when your nails gently raked themselves over his dark curls.

He shuddered with delight, ministrations lacking any haste. Ethan went slow, almost painfully so, tongue dutifully lapping at your cunt as he kneaded into your hips. The sounds that escaped you were divine — intoxicating, really.

The bass of the music thundered underneath the both of you, and any footsteps that reverberated close by were met with indifference. He was buried between your legs, lips caressing your core as he traced along your slit. Your hips jolted forward, desperate for any scrap of friction he provided.

“Ethan,” You moaned, pleasantly surprised by how eager he was. A surge of molten heat coalesced within the pit of your stomach, churning with excitement and desire. You gingerly tugged at his curls, feeling his tongue sweep over your clit. “A—Ah! Right there!”

He paused, mouth clamoring to find that sweet spot of yours, feeling you steer him in the right direction. He lapped at your clit, cock throbbing with an urgency when you whimpered. Ethan hunched forward, gently placing one of your legs on his shoulder.

Ethan felt a newfound rush of confidence, skin hot and visage flushed as he ate you out, increasing his pace and intensity. It became somewhat sloppy, a mess of tongue and desperation, aroused by the noises that escaped you and the constant pressure of your hand in his hair.

What he wouldn’t give to watch you by yourself — a picture for later, or touching you while you slept. The thought of you beneath him, begging for more, tears in your eyes — he groaned, cock straining against the front of his jeans.

His heart hammered erratically, mirroring your own galloping heartbeat as he kissed your clit, tongue messily lapping wherever he could. You squirmed again whenever he touched that sensitive clutch of nerves, slumping backwards onto the mattress.

“Fuck, you’re addicting,” Ethan groaned, and that was enough to get you to whimper. You’d never been called that before, and the way he half-whined the words himself made your hips buck forward. “So pretty.” He whispered, nearly in disbelief as he lapped at your clit.

Your stomach sloshed with molten heat, lips agape as another moan tore past your mouth. He was working wonders, nails digging into your haunch, causing goosebumps to prickle along your thighs. “I want you to use your hand.” You sighed.

Ethan knew that he wouldn’t last long himself watching you, and when you sat up, he was scarlet-faced and visibly pained. “I—I’m sorry.” It was as if his confidence had shattered completely. He was a little embarrassed about how hard he’d gotten from this, but you seemed understanding.

“Come here,” You gestured toward the empty spot next to you, and Ethan quickly sat down. Without hesitation, your hands flew to his belt, unzipping his jeans as you reached into his boxers. “Together.”

His breath hitched within his throat as he ushered you into his lap, hovering above one of his thighs. Ethan kissed you, swallowing your needy moan in the process — you could taste yourself, the lewdness of it all. He didn’t need any guidance as he slid two fingers against your slick cunt.

It was instantaneous — the both of you were catching fire, succumbing to basic instinct and desire. You began to steadily stroke along his cock, thumb caressing the tip of his erection, oozing with precum. Ethan gasped, hips stuttering as he bucked into your palm.

Your body rolled into his hand, digits sluggishly seeking your entrance. You guided him there, noticing the way his gaze had flickered from your face to your body. You whimpered when he sank his fingers into your tight heat, pistoning in and out.

A string of saliva connected your swollen lips to his, but Ethan didn’t stop kissing you. They turned from gentle and exploratory to rough and wanton, tongue briefly tangling with yours.

Between the dimly-lit, sienna glow of the room and the thrum of the bass downstairs, you were lost in his touch, floating away into the blissful taste of his mouth. He was all around you and in your blood, like the surging of the music.

You didn’t stop whatsoever, palm slick with his precum as you pumped along the length of his cock, mesmerized by that glazed, lovestruck look in his eyes. You were wonderfully naive, oblivious to the hungering darkness and obsession that rested within Ethan’s pretty stare.

“I want you.” Ethan’s voice reverberated in between strings of heated kisses, sending a wave of heat all throughout your body. There was a stark juxtaposition between the meek, inexperienced boy and the darker, deeper tone he had just now.

You felt his desire seep into your very bones, rocking atop his thigh as his digits continued to piston in and out. Ethan was content to finger-fuck you into your orgasm, thumb seeking to toy with your clit. It caused you to gasp and shiver with delight, feeling his teeth momentarily catch your lower lip.

A soft, simpering whine left you, one hand digging into the nape of his neck as the other stroked along his cock. The intensity only continued to mount, rising like the swell of a tide. Ethan’s hips began to stutter as he let out a groan of his own, cumming into your palm.

It was messy, hot and sticky in glistening tendrils across your thigh, and you were right behind him. As you sank forward, he curled his fingers just slightly, sending you into the white-hot explosion of your release. There was a newfound spot on his jeans from where you’d been moments prior.

“Shit,” He huffed, somewhat abashed about making such a mess. His curls were disheveled, flesh shimmering with perspiration, face noticeably flushed. “Ah … Sorry.” Admittedly, Ethan loved the sight of you like this, stained with his seed, but he didn’t want to scare you off.

As you recuperated, you reached for your dress, unable to bite back the smitten smile on your features. “It’s okay,” You giggled. “I thought it was hot.” You confessed, using the spare t-shirt in your purse to clean yourself up. Something to throw in the washer, later.

Ethan blushed, clamoring to zip his jeans up as you shimmied back into your panties and dress. He noticed you struggling with the zipper towards the small of your back. “You need some help?” He asked, voice unusually soft as he stepped closer.

“Thank you,” The gesture was sweet, something that you didn’t expect. Regardless, you let him zip you back up, noticing the way he’d simply lingered close by as you buckled your heels around your ankles. “I should get going. I’m sure my friends are wondering where I am.”

“Wait,” Ethan’s hands involuntarily flew toward your hips, gently pulling you close. “I want to see you again.” Even if he had duplicitous methods of getting your phone number, he wanted this to be organic.

“Okay,” Despite having a hookup in the empty room of a frat house, you did want to see him again, too. He was painfully sweet — and that was hard to come by. “I want to see you again, too. Here.”

You wrote your number down on the cardboard chest-plate of his knight costume. He said he left his phone back at the dormitory — and you came prepared with the half-dried ink pen wasting away in the bottom of your purse.

By the time you and Ethan made it back out to the party, he was being hauled away by his friends, and you had found your group again.

If he had it his way, the next time you’d see him, you’d be at the end of his knife.

[harmonysanreads]

It is 2am in the morning where I'm at, and ideas for Corrupted!Alhaitham and darling just won't stop coming into my head. I haven't had this sort of massive brainrot in a while.

So have this stewed (and possibly half baked one), where Darling still isn't comfortable with Corrupted!Alhaitham's antics. And Corrupted!Alhaitham takes things into his own hands, much to Darling's dismay and horror.

Darling knows something's off, but can't quite put their finger on it until they see the consistent red on the Akasha Terminals he uses, and his eyes. Darling wasn't particularly comfortable with Alhaitham's green pupils, but at least they reminded them of the outside. But Darling is even less comfortable looking at Corrupted!Alhaitham now with those wild and pure ruby red eyes, akin to looking into the eyes of a demon.

But this demon, of a person, is a demon onsessed with Darling.

Once Corrupted!Alhaitham catches wind that Darling's figured out the truth, there's no need to pretend anymore. With Darling's repeated advances, a carnal and blunt solution seems to occur to him. Perhaps, he would get along better with a Corrupted!Darling. A malleable one he could control and manipulate to his heart's content without any averse consequences (to him, of course. I can't say the same for Darling.)

And thus begins Corrupted!Alhaitham series of experimentation to corrupt his Darling. Ranging from utilizing techniques in forbidden texts and rituals, to dodgy knowledge capsules.

Little by little, each agonizing experiment chips away at Darling's mental fortitude.

But under Corrupted!Alhaitham's relentless experiments, Darling ends up slowly becoming corrupted as well. First, it starts slowly. Unexplained gaps start to form in Darling's memory. Darling finds themselves quicker to react to their base impulses. It's harder for them to think rationally.

One day, it starts to click for Darling. They start understanding Corrupted!Alhaitham's actions. They're horrified and conflicted. Their rational brain continues to fight and is angry and appalled, by Corrupted!Alhaitham actions. But the corrpution in their brain and all the noise Corrupted!Alhaitham has thrown into their brain via information and knowledge capsules start to overtake their rationality - to the point where Darling starts to come around on Corrupted!Alhaitham.

Darling's thoughts turn as the Corruption grows. Once Corrupted!Alhaitham realizes the Corruption has taken root and is growing in them, that's when he puts the rest of his plan into action. He puts on a facade for Darling, in their slowly corrupted state, to see him as a safe place. That he's someone Darling can go to for help regarding what their going through. He is the only one who understands Darling as their rationality slips further and further away.

And then in the end, Corrupted!Darling is just that. Corrupted. Their personality warped and twisted into a facsimilie of who they used to be. Someone who acts more on instinct then rationality, with a more flexibly ethical outlook. Someone who trusts Corrupted!Alhaitham with their life and will willingly join him in his plans. Someone who completely and utterly loves him, to the point where he no longer needs to throw on a facade anymore.

Darling is completely and utterly his. Both their mind, body, and soul.

And Corrupted!Alhaitham wouldn't have it any other way.

oh... oh my.

Red is a lovely colour, ‘Alhaitham’ thinks.

Red is the colour of passion and love. Dyed in the silks of the brides of Sumeru, on the scarfs of the persevering eremites.

Red coats the skin of ripe sunsettias and zaytun peaches. It is the colour of the flames upon which steaming pots of curry sits, the pigment that smears the knife should your mind drift away in musings and he can reprimand you playfully.

On occasions does it peak from the wicks of scented candles, the hue of the petals you scatter across ivory sheets. The shade that dusts your skin when his hands wander, purposefully. Red is the colour of heat, he realizes when he feels you ears warm up in response to the lies he whispers, sickeningly sweet.

Red is the pigment that reflects from the surfaces of priceless rubies, tightened around the neck, wrists and ears of an equally priceless you. Red is in the frills of the collar that digs in your skin, which, if he should generously tug you'll voice no complaint to. Red are the ribbons that bound you to your place, coated around the chains emitting metallic stench, ones which you will no longer struggle against.

Red is scattered around the penitentiary of your life, drenching the path he treaded to reach this bliss. Red is the colour of his eyes and your eyes, bearing a love unchained by worldly schemes.

[rdng1230]

Buck takes Tommy shopping (because he wants to add some color to his wardrobe) and he picks an outfit that Tommy thinks is hideous. What is it and how does Tommy react?

hmmmm this entirely depends on whether you mean adding color to Tommys wardrobe or his own. So I’m writing two 🥰

Tommy’s:

Evan picks up a pink silk shirt and holds it against Tommy’s chest, grinning way too wide.

“Honey, you know I cried at the Barbie movie as hard as anybody but that’s not gonna do anything for me.”

Evan pulls out the full pouty lips, looking downright offended. God he’s so adorable.

Tommy lets out a long suffering sigh and takes the hanger, heading into the fitting room. He unbuttons his shirt and slips the monstrosity over his shoulders, audibly snorting at his reflection.

”Just remember, you asked for this.”

Tommy moves the curtain to see Evan sitting on one of the sofas, smiling expectantly. Neither of them speak as Evan’s face tries to hide the pain that eyesore of a shirt inspires.

”So what have we learned?” Tommy finally says.

Evan’s shoulders sag, a blush forming on his cheeks.

“that you’re kenough without any pink?” He says sheepishly.

Tommy laughs and plants a kiss to his boyfriend’s birthmark. “Uh huh.”

Evan melts into it for a second, his hand coming up to Tommy’s chest. “Ok please get this off though.”

“Roger that.”

——

Buck’s:

I’m too old for this shit. Tommy thinks to himself as Buck comes out of the changing room in some godawful puffer jacket, cross body bag, cargo pants combo.

“So?” Buck gives a little twirl. “What do you think?”

“I think that there should be an official delineation between younger millenials and elder millenials.” Tommy states decisively.

Buck swats him affectionately on the arm. “I keep you young old man, remember that.”

Tommy holds up his hands. “If being old saves me from that shade of orange I will happily take my AARP card right now.”

Buck’s jaw drops “I look good in every color thank you very much.” Tommy bites down another snarky comment. The bright side of the ridiculous speed at which fashion trends occur these days is that any trendy outfit Evan buys will be out of style in no more than 4 wears. He could suffer this 90’s baby foolishness for 4 days without (much) complaint. He does love the man after all.

“I’m not debating that sweetheart. You do look good in every color but don’t you want to use such power for good and not evil?”

Buck sticks his tongue out at him. “Keep that up and I’ll buy three of them in equally loud colors.”

Tommy mimes zipping his lips and throwing away the key, slipping his other hand into Evan’s back pocket. I’ll just look forward to getting all this off of him extra hard, he muses internally as he gives his boyfriend’s ass an affectionate squeeze.

[theostrophywife]

in case you’re still doing the smut prompts, i’d be very stoked to read something with nr. 8!! hope you’re having a wonderful day.☺️🌟

into it.

author's note: as you all know by now, i rely heavily on music for inspiration so here's my muse for this request. consider this my present to all of you. happy holidays besties. warning: smut under the cut.

The walls of the Summer Palace shook as you slammed the door with so much force that the entire thing threatened to come off the steel hinges. You were fuming, chest heaving and eyes blazing as you whirled around to face the source of your anger.

“How dare you interfere with my mission?” you huff with indignation, staring up at the cold, stoic expression of the shadowsinger.

Azriel was entirely unmoved by the outburst and it only served to infuriate you further. You’d both been assigned by Rhysand to repair the tenuous alliance between the Night Court and the Summer Court and you were doing a damned good job of charming Tarquin back to your side before Azriel rudely interrupted your lunch with the High Lord.

“It’s our mission. Not yours.” Azriel says coolly, his golden gaze sweeping over you with indifference.

“Funny because it seems like I’m the only one doing the work,” you bite back.

A flash of anger marred Azriel’s otherwise neutral expression, but it was gone as quickly as it came. He straightened to his full height causing the Illyrian warrior to tower a good foot over you as his large, dark wings flared across his back.

“I’d hardly call throwing yourself at Tarquin work.”

You scoffed at the utter hypocrisy of his accusation. “Oh please, like you weren’t out there shamelessly flirting with Cresseida. Are you so unaware of the irony of such a statement or are you truly so blinded by your arrogant misogyny that you fail to see that we are doing the exact same thing?”

Azriel seethed, stalking towards you in three smooth strides. The shadowsinger stepped directly into a beam of sunlight streaming through the open window, his tall, muscled form completely overshadowing your own. You supposed you should've felt intimidated, but as you looked up at his cruel, handsome face, all you felt was pure adrenaline.

In a way that you knew infuriated him, your gaze flickered down to the soles of Azriel’s boots, dragging your eyes to the breezy riding pants that hugged his powerful thighs and toned ass, all the way up to the white, billowing shirt that was left unbuttoned, revealing the sprawling tattoos inked upon his golden brown skin. The fabric did nothing to hide the toned physique hiding underneath and the sculpted planes of his abs peeked through the thin material. He held your stare as you slowly made the ascent to his irritatingly handsome face, never balking as you took in the razor sharp jawline, the full, sensual lips, the strong brows and the fluttering eyelashes that kissed the tops of his perfectly sculpted cheekbones.

Azriel released a frustrated sigh, his breath disturbing the inky dark locks falling over the brightest shade of hazel eyes you’ve ever seen.

“It’s not the same.” He gritted out, taking a step closer towards you. “I didn’t smile at Cresseida.”

You paused, blinking up at the shadowsinger. He clenched his jaw and glowered down at you. The most expressive you’ve ever seen him in all your years of knowing one another.

“Are you honestly that much of an asshole that any display of happiness I exhibit would infuriate you this much?”

Azriel’s laugh was mirthless and devoid of humor. “Are you honestly that clueless as to why that would bother me?”

The words barely registered as your temper got the best of you. Lifting a defiant chin up at the shadowsinger, you dared to poke his chest.

“I’m not fucking clueless.”

Azriel wrapped his fingers around your wrist. Something dangerous and lethal flashed through his eyes. “Yell at me again and I’ll give you a reason to scream.”

There wasn’t a single coherent thought in your mind as your gaze flickered to the grim line of his mouth. Azriel snarled as you inhaled a sharp breath.

Perhaps you’d truly lost your sanity because against all sense and logic, you found yourself baiting the shadowsinger.

“What are you going to do, Azriel? Punish me?”

Azriel backed you up against the wall, his hands coming down on either side of your head as he caged you in. Your heart was beating so loudly that you could practically hear its erratic rhythm echoing in your ears.

“Is that what you want? For me to fuck the brat right out of you?”

Cauldron fucking fry you. The tension was palpable between you and Azriel, permeating in the air and practically suffocating you with the heady sense of lust and desire.

You’ve never been more aroused in your life.

Azriel could sense it in the flush spreading through your chest, the color tinging your cheeks with a rosy flush. You looked so fucking irresistible, but he wasn’t done toying with you. He knew you wanted this, wanted him, but he needed to hear it come out of your pretty little mouth.

His fingers curved around your jaw, tilting your chin up to meet his burning gaze. “It is, isn’t it? Does the thought of me keep you up at night?”

Your eyes fluttered close as his other hand fisted the hem of your dress. His rough, calloused fingers skittered over your leg as he pressed his erection against your midsection. You hissed in response as he hoisted you up, pressing your back against the cold cement.

“I bet you’ve thought about this exact moment with your hands between your legs. Tell me sweetheart, do you touch yourself and wish it were my fingers getting you off instead?”

Despite how accurate he was, you weren’t about to give Azriel the satisfaction. “Don’t flatter yourself, shadowsinger. If the thought of you ever crosses my mind, it’s because you infuriate me like no other. Never in my immortal life have I ever met such a stubborn, hard headed male."

“But you want me just as badly as I want you.”

You huff in indignation, but there was no denying your arousal. It was so potent you were sure Azriel could scent it.

With your pride on the line, you pivoted back to the anger you’d felt only moments ago. “Where do you get off making these assumptions? The absolute fucking audacity—“

Azriel chuckles darkly. “Oh?” His lips skate over the hollow of your throat as you swallow thickly. “So if I were to touch you right now, I wouldn’t find your panties absolutely soaked?”

“No,” you breathed. “Because I’m not wearing any.”

“Fuck,” was all Azriel managed to say before his lips collided with yours.

There was nothing sweet about the kiss. It was rough and punishing, full of need and desperation as his lips melded against yours. Azriel hoisted you up, wrapping your legs around his trim waist as he deepened the kiss. Your fingers twine in his hair, tilting his head up towards you while he nipped at your bottom lip. His tongue begged for entrance and you gladly obliged him, moaning into his mouth as he explored every inch of you. Azriel absolutely fucking lost it.

The shadowsinger squeezed your backside and hoisted you up, his kisses skirting over your neck, down to your throat, and into the little crevice of your collarbone. His name fell from your lips like a prayer.

Azriel was a full and complete sentence.

“Keep moaning my name like that and I won’t be able to resist the temptation to fuck you right against this wall.”

You nipped at his earlobe, eliciting a string of curses out of the shadowsinger. “So do it.”

Perhaps it was foolish to challenge Azriel, but you couldn’t fucking help it. You wanted him so badly that every second that he wasn’t inside of you felt excruciating.

“I want to hear you say it.”

Azriel’s silky voice caressed your ears and sent a wave of pleasure through your body.

“You were right. I do think about you. All the fucking time. I get off on the thought of you touching me, but it’s nothing compared to the real thing.” Azriel growls into your neck, sucking harshly at the base of your throat and marking his claim on your skin. “I want you, Azriel. So fucking badly that it hurts.”

“Then take me, sweetheart.”

With those four words, your pride completely disintegrated. You tugged at the front of his trousers, pulling them down hastily while Azriel groaned into your mouth. His cock sprang free from the constraints of the fabric and you licked your lips at the sheer size of him. He was long and thick, so much so that your brain couldn’t quite calculate how you’d take all of him.

But you’d damn well try.

A growl ripped through the shadowsinger’s chest as you gripped his shaft, flicking your thumb over his tip and spreading the bead of precum over his sensitive head. Azriel rested his head on the crook of your shoulder, his hot pants sweeping through your skin.

“Save the teasing for later, baby. I need to be inside of you. Now.”

You whimper in anticipation, watching as the shadowsinger hoisted you over his cock. You braced your hands on his shoulders as he eased the tip in, gasping as you felt his length stretch your walls. Azriel cupped your cheek, brushing the tears from the corner of your eye as he allowed you to acclimate yourself to the pain and pleasure.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” he whispers softly. The tone of his voice soothes the sting as his golden gaze locks onto your face. Azriel presses his forehead against yours, kissing you so gently as though he were afraid of hurting you. “That’s it, baby. You’re doing so good, taking me so well. Such a good fucking girl for me.”

Holy gods. You were so overcome with pleasure that you couldn’t even feel the pain anymore. You took every inch of Azriel’s cock, your pussy hugging around him so tightly that it was a wonder how he didn’t come right then and there.

“Gods, you’re so fucking tight. Feels like fucking heaven, baby.”

You groaned in response, greedily latching your lips onto his collarbone. “Az, please. Wanna feel you.”

“Use your words, angel. What is it that you want?”

There wasn’t a single ounce of shame left within you as you faced the shadowsinger and traced his bottom lip with your thumb. “I want you to fuck me, Azriel. Rough. Hard. Show me how badly you want me.”

“You fucking kill me when you say things like that.”

Azriel doesn’t give you a chance to respond before his mouth is on yours again. He grips the tops of your thighs, pulling his cock out of your pussy before slamming it in all the way. You cried out in ecstasy, clawing at his back to keep you steady, careful not to disturb the beautiful wings at his back.

The shadowsinger thrusts at a steady, relentless pace, drawing out your pleasure, making you writhe and cry and moan all at once. You couldn’t tell where you ended and where Azriel began. The two of you were fused together and the entire thing felt like an out of body experience. At one point you could’ve sworn you were watching yourself getting absolutely railed against the wall while clinging onto Azriel for dear life.

You were entirely shameless as you licked, nipped, and sucked at the expanse of golden brown skin that your lips had access to. Azriel fucked into you and you rolled your hips in tandem as that wicked tongue of his slipped past the seam of your lips and flicked against yours. You sucked hard, fighting for dominance as the shadowsinger moaned into your mouth.

When your fingers grazed the sensitive membrane of his wings, Azriel bucked against you and released a string of curses that would’ve made a sailor blush.

“Fucking hell,” Azriel choked. “I can’t—gods, you feel too fucking good.”

“Don’t stop, Az.” You plead, rolling your hips to take more of him. “I’m so close.” Azriel responds by rutting into you, hitting that sweet spot that had you seeing stars. “Gods, right there. So perfect. You’re so fucking perfect.”

Azriel could feel you clenching around him. It felt divine, the ironclad grip you had on his cock, hugging snugly around him until he was practically melting into your hands was nothing like he’s ever felt before. He squeezed your ass, angling his hips just right so that his tip touched that sweet spot within your walls over and over again.

“Be a good girl and cum for me, sweetheart.”

When his thumb flicked over your clit, you completely lost it. The orgasm was mind-shattering, rocking through your entire body like an earthquake as you buried your head in Azriel’s shoulder. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room as he thrust hard and fast, moaning your name repeatedly as you felt a wave of euphoria wash over you.

“Holy gods,” Azriel breathed. “Fuck me—”

Those dark, powerful wings of his flared behind him as he came, hard and fast, the orgasm barreling through him like the rushing wind when he took flight. He crumpled to the floor, taking you with him as you both collapsed from the effort. Azriel’s chest rose and fell as you held him against you, the both of you feeling absolutely fucked out and blissful. You toyed with his soft, raven hair, cradling him in your arms as his eyes fluttered open. His cheeks were flushed and his lips were swollen and you decided that it was the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen.

Azriel blinked up at you, his hazel eyes shimmering like honey in the light. He appraised you in silence, gently tucking a stray dark lock behind your ear. The intensity of his gaze awakened butterflies in your stomach.

“What?” you asked softly, much to the shadowsinger’s pleasure.

“Nothing,” he says with a slight grin. “You’re just so beautiful.”

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of your lips. Azriel felt like someone had taken a fist to his stomach. You were so fucking breathtaking that it was almost unfair.

He traced your lips, his mind committing the sight of your genuine smile into his memory. “Gods, do that again.”

You grinned. An actual, genuine grin. “I’m just smiling.”

“I know,” Azriel says. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Despite the fact that he’d given you the best orgasm of your life just moments ago, the compliment makes you blush. “And to think, all you had to do to see it was to piss me off beyond belief.”

The shadowsinger beamed. He took your hand in his, brushing his lips over the tops of your knuckles. “It was worth it.”

“Because I finally admitted that I’ve wanted you all along?”

“Because you smiled for me.”

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 1 - Ulfric I: Unbound

Sundas, 17th of Last Seed. 4E201 Early Morning

Ulfric Stormcloak

I am Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm. Student of the Greybeards of High Hrothgar. Leader of the Revolution of the Sons of Skyrim.

And this is the day of my death.

Today, I leave the mortal plane behind, to join my brothers and sisters in Sovngarde. I can only hope the gods forgive the transgressions I have committed in pursuit of justice. But then the timing of the Imperial ambush that leads us now to our deaths was so perfect... Perhaps the gods have abandoned us. Although I find treachery a far more likely explanation.

Our carriage jumps around as we pass over a pothole, pulling me away from my thoughts. I look around, curiosity getting the better of me. From the multitude of pine trees around me, I know we're somewhere in the Hold of Falkreath. Nature flourishes in the south of Skyrim - mountain flowers, nightshade, and thistle abundant, deer grazing at the edge of the deep shade of the woods - but I confess it holds less grandeur for myself compared to some of my brethren. My childhood was filled with grand stone walls, surrounded by frozen tundras and volcanic fields. The Throat of the World towers above us, throwing dark shadows for miles, making the morning seem darker than it should. An ominous sign. No doubt the Greybeards still harbor resentment toward me for abandoning my studies at its peak. But no amount of meditation would cool the fire in my veins, could never satisfy my need to protect my homeland, when the call to battle came so long ago. I often wonder how the world would be had I remained a disciple of The Way of the Voice.

Another jolt. Poorly maintained roads. No doubt a result of Jarl Siddgeir diverting funds to the Empire, against me. A groan draws my attention in close to my fellow cart mates - and prisoners. Across from me, a man in rags. A thief by the look of him, and a coward. He's done naught but complain the last hour. Next to him sits a man in my own colors. Ralof, if I remember correctly. Yes... A passionate young man, though somewhat unremarkable. I want to speak, reassure him. But the cloth in my mouth prevents me from doing anything but breathe, and even that takes effort. Beside me is another man in rags. Unlike the thief, though, he has an aura of culture about him. Beneath the recent bruising and dirt, his face is angular, his hair groomed; even after being tossed unconscious into the cart with us. In the wrong place at the wrong time, and now the Empire will surely punish him for it. Bastards.

The three have been bickering while I mused. I hadn't noticed until Ralof mentioned my name, startling the others. "Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion!" I'm not sure to be flattered or insulted that the thief didn't recognize my face. Panic enters the man's voice as he realizes the severity of his situation; I doubt he will make it anywhere near the headsman's block. "But if they've captured you... Oh gods, where are they taking us?"

Ralof's words echo my thoughts. "I don't know where we're going. But Sovngarde awaits."

I lose interest as the soldier begins comforting the distraught thief. The other prisoner - a Breton by the name of Talao, I learn as Ralof asks - is handling the situation far better than I would have assumed, though he keeps glancing at me questioningly. Though something about his quiet confidence interests me, I ignore him in favor of watching the road ahead. All too soon, I see our destination. Helgen. Of course; there's an Imperial bastion here. I can hear the sounds of a bustling town slowly waning as our procession enters. Imperial archers line the walls, obviously dying to loose their arrows into any foolish enough to take off.

"Look at him," I hear Ralof spit, "General Tullius, the military governor." The military fop; he interests me not. "And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn Elves." Though his words are heated, they turn the blood in my veins to ice. I turn, and sure enough, next to Tullius sits an Altmer in pitch black clothes. Elenwen, of all people.

Shor save us. What is that Thalmor bitch doing here?... Her presence can't possibly be coincidence. Have the Thalmor finally decided to clean up loose ends? Is she here to ensure my death, or are her machinations more devious? Through it all, I refuse to back down from her damned condescending sneer. I return her smug stare with venom. You don't own me, elf. You never have.

Finally, the carts come to a stop. The horse thief is hyperventilating now, and rambling in terror. I honestly want to punt the coward out of the cart, but it's beneath my dignity. My men look to me for composure. I must be above such pettiness. I notice the other prisoner tumble out of the cart with a cry of pain after me. I notice, as Ralof helps him up, that his leg seems oddly twisted, as if deformed. An old wound, then. Still, there is no time to reflect as the Imperials have already begun to open their lists. The names of every known dissident of the Empire are written on those lists. Surprisingly, I find the Imperial standing in front of me, condemning my soldiers, is a fellow Nord. Another traitor to his people. It disgusts me that one could renounce their ideals so freely, for mere politics.

"Ulfric Stormcloak!"

First to go, then. I shrug off the Imperial hand upon my shoulder, as he leads me away from my compatriots. Ralof calls to me, but I can barely hear him over the blood rushing through my ears as I survey the scene. The headsman stands before us, his axe well-sharpened and gleaming, the chopping block lying at the ready. I should have known better; as if the Empire would bother with a trial. Seems they've given up even the pretense of justice now. All the better. If nothing else, more and more people will soon realize the justness of our cause and fly to our banner as the Empire slowly destroys everything it stands for. Even if the leader of that banner is not myself.

A scuffle reaches my ears behind me, and glance to see the horse thief burst through the line of Imperials. His flight is short-lived, though, and he nearly instantly drops to the ground in a flurry of limbs, numerous arrows buried in his back. I knew he'd never make it to the block. A coward to the end. To Oblivion with him; I've my own date to keep.

By the time all the names had been read, a sizable crowd had formed around the yard, clearly anticipating a spectacle. Nary a friendly face to be found. Tullius walks into the yard, and faces me directly. The esteemed general had obviously been dying to make a speech. "Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne."

A pitiful start. And false on several counts. A retort passes my tongue, but no further, as the gag restrains me. The coward refuses me any last words as he rambles on, addressing the crowd as much as myself, clearly wanting to make some kind of example of the situation. "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos. And now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace!" The crowd murmurs in assent, my Stormcloaks in disgust. Personally, I find the man's little speech dull beyond compare. He has no sense of eloquence, his words sounding rehearsed and flat. Even at half his age - perhaps even a third, given his graying hair - I could captivate a crowd with a few sentences, drive them into the heights of passion. I understand the souls of my fellow men, and how to inspire them.

Suddenly, a shriek pierces the mid-morning air. Everyone stirs uneasily, and I admit somewhere in the back of my mind, a twinge of primal fear appears. But it is gone as quickly as it came, and I dismiss the noise; the howl of the wind carving through the mountain pass, perhaps. The crowd swiftly settled as well; a Priestess of Arkay stepped forward to deliver our last rites. More Imperial custom than Nord, but decent of them. Or at least, it would be if their priests did not bow the whims of the Elves.

"As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon..."

"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with."

The Priestess sounds surprised and affronted as Bjarke - whose heart burns with a passion so great, I sometimes think it burned out his mind - interrupts her and steps fearlessly toward the headsman. I don't know why she reacted as such; one should expect vitriol when you slight a man's god, even a "heretic's." My heart fills with pride as Baldor taunts the Imperials even as they force him down upon the block. Such bravery. Bravery all my Stormcloaks possess. To die for their beliefs, fighting an unjust Empire, whether by sword or axe.

I don't look away or flinch as the axe finishes its deadly arc. I have seen far worse in my life than a body and head separated from each other. The crowd cries out as the body is unceremoniously shoved aside.

"Justice!"

"You Imperial bastards!"

"Death to the Stormcloaks!"

I lock eyes with Tullius as the captain calls out, "Next, the Breton!" Of course. He wants me to go last. To watch as my men lay down their lives, knowing that I will share their fate. I would feel guilt for their deaths, but for the fact that they are not here following my banner; they are here because they followed their ideals.

Another shriek cuts through the air. Much louder than before. And much, much closer. My blood chills. There is no mistaking it for the wind this time. That howl was undeniably the call of an apex predator. Some creature that sits atop the pecking order, and knows it. But what? I've never heard anything like it in my life, though I feel an ancient part of me quail in fear before it. The crowd is visibly agitated now, but the Imperials push on. The Breton is walked to the block. Remarkably, he seems almost uninterested in his impending death, gazing around, as if curious about the sound. In my mind, I honor him. I remember Ralof's earlier words: A Nord's last thoughts should be of home. And so my own thoughts turn to Windhelm. The majesty of the Palace of Kings, where I spent my childhood, and it's storied history. The strength of its walls and its peoples, with whom I strove to make our world a better place.

As the Breton is brought painfully to his knees... I am not a man given to excessive prayer. I have always preferred to proclaim my faith through the truth of actions than through words that have no substance behind them. And yet for this man, whether fearless or foolhardy, I find myself speaking within me. Mighty Talos. I have sought in my life to honour you through battle and glory. I have fought to save your divine name from enemies who would have you struck from the annals of history, and defile all that for which you stand. Should this be my time to die, I embrace it willingly, knowing I have striven my best to achieve my goals, and knowing others will take up your banner in my absence. But I implore you; spare this innocent life before me, whose only guilt lies in poor fortune. He does not deserve to die a meaningless death by the treachery of this false Empire.

So engrossed am I, it is not until someone forces me to the ground that I notice anything wrong. The ground shakes beneath me, and all of Helgen is in an uproar. I look up and freeze from disbelief. Shock and awe bind my feet, but for a moment. Has Talos answered my prayer? Is this a blessing I have brought upon us, or a curse? Someone unties my hands, and I rip the gag from my mouth. I run from the great black beast without a second thought. I never understood the phrase "Discretion is the better part of valor" better than I have this very moment.

"DRAGON!"

Chapter 2 - Ralof I: Unbound

[tinydeskwriter]

CINEMA {Chapter I}

A/n: Someone wrote a lovely comment describing y/n and harry as “ ex lovers with unconditional love that never truly go out of style trope” which is now my very favorite way to describe it, unfortunately, my careless self deleted the comment while trying to delete my own reply—because I post it without being finished (tumblr doing me dirty)— so I dedicate this to her/him/they (?), thank you for the amazing comment.

Thank you to everyone that replied to my desperate need of help to choose Y/n ‘s ex-boyfriend…

I honestly hope not to disappoint you guys with this first chapter, I just wanted to give a first glimpse of Harry and Y/n’s ‘friendship’ dynamic. Also, it’s almost Harry’s birthday!!

Cinema | Previous Part 1.Boyfriends

Harry holds the door open with one hand, as he hold a cup carrier with four coffee drinks in the other—Luis is arriving soon, and Rebekah must already be somewhere in the house with Y/n—, he doesn’t know most of the people passing by him, from the group of fifteen+ he recognizes Chrystal, Y/n lawyer—who in more than one occasion back when they’re dating, managed to get out of circulation invasive paparazzi shots of the young couple—and Monica, her publicist since 2012, Rebekah was right behind them, escorting them all to the door.

Rebekah is their age, pixie hair, New York accent, always in flowy blouses and high waist jeans, Y/n’s PA, friend and confidante.

“Good morning H, I am going to take this, thank you.” The woman took her usual order and went back inside, turning back a few steps in, “She’s in the music room.”

“Thank you Bekah.” He said closing the door behind himself and taking the opposite direction from the PA.

The music room was one of Y/n favorite places in her house, a large space with two walls made of glass overlooking the pool, with a view of the city and the park. It’s where she keeps her prized Concert Grand Piano in custom Sycamore wood adorned with a gold leaf mural of London’s skyline around the entire case of the piano, a twenty-first birthday gift by Harry—which her boyfriend at the time saw as competition and got her a 61’ Rolls Royce Silver Cloud II in an auction. 

Y/n’s enviable guitar and vinyl collections occupied the two inner walls, the only sitting furniture in the room—other than the piano bench—was the Bellini U-shaped couch from the 70’s in burnt orange velvet and Gucci throw pillows. The piece de resistance was the Brionvega RR126 Y/n inherited from her grandfather.

He found her laying in the couch reading what seemed to be a script.

She looked completely fine for someone who just sold 50% of what she called ‘her first born’, Harry was honestly expected a little bit of nostalgia or melancholia from his little love.

“Got you coffee.” He put the cup in her hand and kissed the top of her head as a greeting before sitting down next to her, his own coffee in hand.

Y/n hadn’t even took her eyes out of the pages.  

“How are you feeling?”The question finally made her put the script down on her lap, and sip her coffee before looking at him.

“I feel like I just sold half of my soul to the devil for $500million dollars.” She said deadpanned. 

Harry looked at her with furrowed brows. 

“So why sell?” He asked slightly confused.

Y/n had started Muse unpretentiously, her goal was simply to offer to the costumers something that lacked in the market: an all-inclusive, vegan, high quality and affordable priced make-up and skincare line. Muse became a beauty empire that included even daily/basic lingerie and loungewear in 69 sizes and 15 nude colors—going by Y/n’s philosophy that basic doesn’t need to be ugly, ‘nude tones’ meant different shades from beige and pretty stuff should fit everyone. 

It was her passion project. 

“I don’t have the hours in a day for everything I need to do, and I want to have a life, I want to be able to dedicate myself to relationships.” She said honestly. “LVMH is the same parent company that owns half of Fenty Beauty, they are the only ones that agreed to my terms, I get creative control and veto vote, the company philosophy stays the same, I am getting a female CEO of my choice, and Muse gets global distribution, we’re going to be available at Sephora, Harvey Nichols, Boots, Ulta at a even more affordable price.”

Harry nodded. She has handing over some control of her company to have more control of her life. It was almost poetic in a sense.

“And what is this about?”the 'Adore You' crooner points to the script on the youngest's lap, he knew her well enough to know when he need to change the subject.

“Robert Eggers’ new project...but first...”She stops, looking seriously at Harry, “how was it with Olivia?”

Harry and Olivia had agreed to meet that morning to discuss their relationship.

Olivia apparently felt that tempers had run out, and that everything had been left very much up in the air.  

Y/n didn't even know what was going on between the two until her former director called Harry the night before while they were getting ready for dinner, and even then she had only managed to get Harry out of the fact that they had had a fight before he came to her aid.

She had a suspicion there was trouble in paradise after Harry spent the third night in a row sharing a bed with her without his girlfriend's interference.

The man sigh, close his eyes and rest his head against the back of the couch.

“Was it that bad?” Y/n watches Harry closely.

Y/n honestly didn't like Olivia, and it wasn't even because the older one was dating Harry—which she personally found unethical and unprofessional, the kind of thing that causes a stain in someone’s career, specially with the whole scandal surrounding it.

The former Angel could write an entire essay about all her reasons to dislike Olivia Wilde, but in short it would resume to Olivia was simply an amalgamation of the kind of person Y/n looked down on in the industry: ambitious personality, fake character, and acting according to convenience.

She would never mistreat the woman or say a word against her in front of Harry, but that didn't mean she approved of their romance. 

And Y/n knew Olivia didn't like her either, she could see it in the older woman's catlike eyes, her years in the fashion industry made her perceptive of those kind of things. 

Olivia tolerated her for Harry, and had unwillingly offered the role of Violet to her under pressure from Warner Executives who saw Y/n as yet another money grab for the film—like Harry, she had a fanbase and more Instagram followers than the entire cast put together—and which she only accepted at Florence and Harry's request.

“We talked, we agreed that after our fight it's best to take some time off from each other, I have the tour, she still has to sort it out with Jason regarding the kids, we'll keep in touch, but we'll have a more definitive conversation when this leg of the tour is over to know where we stand.” He told her everything in one breath.

“And how do you feel about that?” The woman take a sip of her coffee.

Harry sighs again, running his hands through his hair in an anxious gesture

“I honestly don't know.” He confess. “I care about Olivia…”

“But you don’t love her…”Y/n completed. “That’s tough.” She nodded. “Do you think it’s a matter of time? Like, you can come to love her?”

“Yeah, sure…”He don’t look so sure. “Olivia is cool, she’s so intelligent and eloquent…” Y/n wide her eyes a little, condescending and pretentious fit Olivia better in her opinion. “If I am honest, our relationship hasn’t been a thought in my head for three days, this kinda of says something…”

“This actually screams something.” She said against her coffee, only to get a disapproving look from Harry. “H, you mistook the excitement of the honeymoon phase for something else and you stepped heavy footed into the relationship, I mean you moved her in three months after you guys started to date, we all told you it was too soon…”

“She needed a place to stay, things with Jason were though.” Harry defended his actions.

“And why is that?” The question was rhetorical, followed by a humorless laugh. “H, I love you, but you’re too good for this world.”

Harry looks at her with his brow frown. “Why?”

“My Love, everyone knows she broke up with Jason after you guys blurred the line, Florence told me that Jason and her acted pretty couple-ish the times he took the kids to visit, and that only changed after you started to spend too much time in her trailer.” Y/n told him what her and the girls had debated so many times before in their slumber parties over copious amounts of tequila. “Even Gemma agrees, and she’s like completely against talking about peoples life.”

The man stayed silent for a moment, absorbing what he had heard.

There was only one thing he wanted to know after hearing her thoughts.

“You never said anything against the relationship before.” It wasn’t even a question

“Because I want you happy, and you seemed happy with Olivia, that’s all I care about, it doesn’t matter if I don’t like the woman,” she answers with honesty. “I would never criticize your taste in women, the same way you never criticized my bad choices in men.” She jokes to lighten the mood.

Harry chuckles, eyes closing and dimples showing. 

The musician stopped criticizing Y/n’s boyfriends after the second time she got back with Abel after he got together with Selena while they’re on a break—he did wrote her na album as na apology. He kept quiet about Charlie—needy, jealous Charlie—, and bit his tongue with Jack—flirting, handsome Jack, even Harry would have to admit the younger man knew how to be charming—.

He liked Jack less than he liked Abel.

And he had despised Abel because they got together not long after their break up, and Harry was still hung up on her, regretting his decision to end their relationship. But it was too late, Abel swapped her off her foot the minute their break-up was announced, taking her on a first date in Dubai just months later, the beginning of their whirlwind, world wide romance that just ended for good in 2019.   

Jack, Harry hated him because he seemed less invested in the relationship than Y/n. He showered her with flowers and gifts and pretty words, but he was always away and it was always Y/n traveling to him. His Little Lovie was a woman in love with love, she always invested herself in the relationships, and was always heartbroken when things didn’t worked out in the end.

They were interrupted by Rebekah holding a lovely flower arrangement in her hands and an apologetic expression on her face. “Y/n…” 

The actress turned to where her PA stood in the doorway, the young woman rolled her expressive eyes at the peonies, ranunculus and carnations bouquet. 

“Beks…” Y/n sigh. “Just put it in the guest house, will you? Please.” She asked, and the held up her hand, stopping Bekah from leaving the room. “On second thought, it would be sad to let all those beautiful flowers go to waste, see if you can get a van to transport them all to the nearest nursing home.”

The assistant nodded and was already turning to leave the room and start to making calls when this time it was Harry who stopped her.

“Call Jeff, we have a van to transport instruments that you guys can use.”The musician offers.

“Thank you, H.”The young woman said honestly, with a bit of relief showing in her face.

The former couple turned best friends watch her leave the room before going back to their conversation. 

“Is he still sending you flowers?” He points to where Bekah disappeared with the flowers. 

Y/n just rolls her eyes. “I feel like I can open my own flower shop.” She takes another sip of her coffee. “He’s still blowing my phone.”

“Are you going to talk to him?” Harry takes a sip of his coffee, watching her closely.

“NO!”She says categorically. “I played this back and forth game with Abel, I am not doing it again with Jack.” She sighs. “But I still have to see him at least at the VMA’s, I can’t pull back at the last minute.”

“Shit, I had completely forgot about that.” Sometimes he forgot that she was what the industry called a triple threat: she acts, she dances and she sings, she had already used her voice in three movies. 

With her always dating musicians, it was actually an impressive feat that none before Jack had put her vocals on a track—Harry did, but they aren’t dating at the time he recorded her for TPWK. 

No one ever thought that ‘Into Your Arms’ would blow up the way it did, it was a romantic—that in some ways reflected Y/n and Jack’s relationship at the time—song, and Tik-Tok and Instagram Reels made it a huge sensation.

“Yeah, we have to perform it on the 11th.” She honestly wished there was a shot of vodka in her coffee. “Let’s talk about nice things now, My Love.” She lifts the nearly forgotten script from her lap pushing it towards him. “I need you to do this with me."

{next part}

Taglist: @slutforcoffein ; @lilsiz ; @pandxthings ;

@ameerakane20 ; @angywritesstuff

[petruchio]

PLEASE share your midnights Matty softlaunch theory, it’s such an odd and (to me at least lol) fascinating album

ok so. im going to go into insane detail track by track, but i think midnights makes sense (almost) if we read it as a journey through deciding to leave joe and we read mastermind as being a matty song — so the album is mostly her wondering if this thing she feels with matty is real or in her head, and then wondering, if it is real, if it’s worth it to make the jump. and i think she was ready to do it, and midnights would’ve been basically the matty “announcement,” but then she and joe made up and the 3am tracks are kind of damage control to confuse the narrative and make it less obvious. but we have to do a bit of digging. so let’s dive in.

(obvi we don’t know what happened for real. but it’s just fun to speculate!!!)

we open with lavender haze. and here we see taylor desperate to stay in the happy, peaceful relationship she’s in — she doesn’t WANT to get married, she doesn’t WANT to be talked about, she doesn’t WANT anything more. she just wants this. it’s enough for her. …or is it?

because immediately, we move to maroon. we go from a pastel purple color to various shades of red, changing the image and flipping back through memories. and these memories call back to a lot of 1989 era imagery — we get the wine stain from clean, the rosy cheeks from wildest dreams, new york… that’s a real fucking legacy to leave. something triggered this little trip down memory lane. maybe they hung out, or someone said something, who knows. but i think this is where the cracks in the lavender haze begin.

and so after all that she takes us to anti-hero. it’s me, hi, i’m the problem. i think this is probably the precursor to guilty as sin? — it’s saying, oh no. i’m the problem, fantasizing about my ex again (i dream of cracking locks, throwing my life to the wolves/i wake up screaming from dreaming) and acknowledges that joe is going to leave her when he finds out (one day i‘ll watch as you’re leaving)

but she can’t stop. the fantasy continues to grow in snow on the beach. this song is filled a bunch of space/sky imagery — “a few moons ago,” “stars by the pocketful,” “your eyes are flying saucers from another planet.” let’s keep track of that imagery. (we’ll return to the all space stuff in a big way in down bad, but don’t worry, it’ll reappear on midnights.)

and then there’s the realization of you’re on your own kid. that’s right — you’re on your own, and you always have been. i think this is her deciding to separate her sense of identity from joe. and the first verse brings up a lot of images we see come back on ttpd: “summer went away, still the yearning stays” -> “another summer/rolling thunder/he don’t understand me” and “it’s okay we’re the best of friends” -> “but tell me who else is gonna know you?” and “you’re smoking with your boys” -> “you needed drugs more.” it’s tempting to interpret the first verse as a retrospective on her teenage years, but it could just as easily be about falling for matty while they were “just friends” and she was still with joe. but i think in yoyok she’s still trying to convince herself it’s not real: “just to learn that you never cared.” matty doesn’t want her, she thinks. but she has her songs. maybe that’s all she ever needed?

this triggers an even larger dive into the past: midnight rain. now she’s wondering if the reason she’s so resistant to marry joe is just a repeat of old patterns, so she dives into the past looking for answers. i maintain that midnight rain is about the muse of debut and i think it’s her looking over her own past and trying to make sense of what’s happening now. am i the problem? was i always the problem? am i incapable of marriage or is it just with this guy?

so now she has to know. she has to get answers. is this fantasy about matty her just replaying old patterns of leaving when things get serious? or is this thing she feels with matty something real? basically, can i ask you a question…? we don’t even need to dive any deeper into the 1989 era of it all. this song is pretty obvious. note that we return to the space imagery though: “does it feel like everything is just like second best after that meteor strike?”

i don’t feel like talking about vigilante shit because it’s a bad song but suffice to say i think it’s just her being admitting she’s okay sometimes being the villain. other than that it’s not really relevant to the matty narrative.

so then we get bejeweled. which was strange when it came out and hasn’t gotten less strange, but it’s kind of another step in deciding to leave joe behind. she can’t marry him, because she’s not sure matty isn’t actually the one for her. “when i meet the band, they ask do you have a man, i can still say i don’t.” is the band… perhaps… the 1975? and this is when she leaves. “what’s a girl gonna do? a diamond’s gotta shine.” she sets herself free. you can try to change her mind, but you can’t. she polished up real nice.

and then we get labyrinth. which to me only makes sense as a post-joe song. “it only hurts this much right now.” “i’ll be getting over you my whole life.” “break up break free break through break down.” but what saves her? the person who comes in right at the last second: matty. he turns the plane around. remember all the space imagery? my flight was awful thanks for asking? well, here he is. uh oh, i’m falling in love again.

and actually… she loves it. it feels like karma. (or maybe destiny.) for all her work, all her struggle, all her pain, she gets the guy in the end: the years of pining and coded songs all add up to this.

but she can’t hate joe. she could never hate him. she might have wanted to leave, but it wasn’t because he treated her badly. he never wanted anything from her. just sweet nothing. i don’t think sweet nothing is a breakup song; it was probably even written as a love song. but its placement on the tracklist makes it feel like a goodbye. “they said the end is coming,” she says. but she needed someone who saw her that way. it’s an i will always love you song. it’s a thank you.

and so we close: mastermind. the planets and all the stars aligned from snow on the beach and question. we’re up in space now. she’s been planting these seeds since back in 2014… and now she has him. matty. she did it. all the wisest women had to do it this way. doesn’t that sound like fucking politics and gender roles? the liquor in the cocktails that she’s always drunk on when she’s around him? but he knew the entire time. she’s a mastermind.

okay so that’s the standard edition. the bonus track being hits different makes sense if it’s the joe breakup — “it hits different this time.” she’s left people before, but never like this. she’s SAD! she’s waiting for his key in the door but it never comes. she might have been the one that left, but it still hurt like never before.

but the 3am tracks are the last bit of the puzzle. and here’s where i think we can take taylor’s word for them as sort of “vault tracks” because they don’t fit in the narrative of midnights, but they tell a story in themselves. and that story is of her and joe getting back together after all this.

the first one she tacks on is the great war, a song about making up after a fight. so she puts that one to first, to reassure that they actually made it through. then i think we get the “cutting room floor” tracks — that is, they’re out of order but all part of the larger story. we get another heartwrenching goodbye in bigger than the whole sky, a return to the delusional lavender haze and staring at the ceiling in paris, a song about cheating in high infidelity. all thematically relevant, but not perfectly fitting into the narrative of the original record.

then we get glitch, which imo is also a matty song. “depending on what kind of situationship im in” read: if joe and i are off or on. “2190 days of our love blackout” read: six years since the 1989 era where they dated originally. “nights are so starry” brings us back to the space imagery, the glitch video on spotify glitching to the 1989 tv of wildest dreams… “it must be counterfeit” will come back too, in loml when she says “something counterfeit is dead.” but here… it’s only getting started.

would’ve could’ve should’ve again sees her examining her patterns with toxic men, and begins a lot of the religious theming we’ll see return on ttpd. and then we close with dear reader, a song about self-loathing, and begging the listener not to take her advice because she’s not really a good person. she admits it: she cheats, she lies, joe has left her alone in the house (not a home, cause nobody’s there.) “you should find another guiding light,” she tells us. but she shines so bright…

anyway yeah. that’s my extended theory. i think it was supposed to be the goodbye to joe and mastermind was introducing matty, but then when they patched it up, the narrative changed and 3am tracks got added on and changed the direction. (it makes sense if those tracks were added on late, since they weren’t available physically for a long time after the record was released. hits different, the song about breaking up with a long term partner… was.) we could deep dive into every song and analyze the lyrical parallels with 1989, folkmore, and ttpd too (don’t get me started on the 1 and cardigan) but we’ll save that for another time.

and of course, we all know what happened next. but we wouldn’t be here without the chaos that was midnights. without it, we might never have gotten an answer to that one, burning question…?

now we have the answer. the only thing that’s left… is the manuscript.

[milky-fixx]

quality time

hitoshi shinsou x reader // bnha // vday snippet // fluff mildly suggestive

You scrutinized your disheveled appearance in the mirror–the tufts of hair sticking out in every direction, bloodshot eyes, and your nose, a shade of red rivaling Kirishima’s hair. 

You were not looking cute right now.

You sighed.

Why did you have the misfortune of getting sick on Valentine’s Day? When you had a hot, pro-hero boyfriend to spend the day with who finally got time off from his hero agency? 

You had the worst luck. 

Shinsou snorted when you plopped down onto the couch beside him with a huff. When he recognized that it was his shirt that rode up your thighs from the action (you’d probably been too lazy to find your own clothes), his fingers twitched. His lips curled upwards in a lazy smile.

“You know…” he mused. “Seeing you look so cute in my clothes… reminds me why I fell for you.” You yelped at the feeling of his hand creeping up your inner thigh, swatting it away. 

“Shinsou,” you whined into the couch pillow, your voice muffled. “Not now.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m sick? And I feel gross?”

He sighed, reaching over to ruffle your hair. “Come on, if you get up, I’ll share my blanket with you,” he offered.

“I’m gonna cough all over that blanket,” you threatened, shifting into comfortable sitting position next to him. You leaned against his shoulder and he wrapped his arm around you, throwing a corner of the blanket over your legs. 

He smirked. “I think I can handle your germs. Not the scariest thing I’ve faced,” he quipped.

You rolled your eyes at him, shrugging his arm off. Shinsou paused at your long-heaved sigh, about to ask you what was wrong when you mumbled, 

“Damn… I wanted to go to the cute crepe place today, you know?”

He shrugged. “We can stay home and watch things here. That’s pretty romantic if you ask me.”

“Shin-sou,” you groaned. “That’s not the point. Today–today was supposed to be special.” You looked up at him, frowning lightly.

He had to bite the inside of his cheek to stifle a laugh–you didn’t realize just how cute you looked when you were pouting. He cleared his throat once he realized how upset you looked. 

“We can do that some other time. We haven’t had the chance to stay at home and spend time together lately.” He eyed you fondly, urging you towards him. You complied, settling between his legs as he rested his chin atop your head, his fingers carding through your hair.

Your eyes slipped shut as you leaned backwards into his touch. Shinsou gave the best head rubs. “Y-You have a point,” you murmured, feeling yourself beeing lulled to sleep. All your worries seemed to dissipate whenever he was near; if you didn’t know any better, you’d assume he was brainwashing you.

But you knew his effect on you had less to do with his quirk, and more of the hold he had over your heart. 

That was, until the hand that had been rubbing your head inched down slowly. At first you thought it was just a massage, feeling his fingers trail down your tense muscles, but by the time they ghosted the curve of your lower back, before cupping your rear, you realized his intentions. 

Your eyes snapped open. 

“Shinsou, you pervert!”

Attempt to seduce girlfriend: failed.

[bearlytolerant]

BLINDSIDED

~glimpse of the past~

:>

send BLINDSIDED for a scene from my muse's past in which they were betrayed or shocked by what someone did

prompt list

Fandom: DD2, Rating: G, Word Count: 493

a goat

Goblins cleared, Iris wanders over to an apple tree and finds a low hanging branch. With a slight jump, she pulls herself up onto the branch and climbs higher to reach the ripened fruit. She’s been traveling all day, getting side tracked by various people who ask her for help and healing and against her gut instinct, she had assisted them. But up here in the tree, she finds some peace and solace. That is until she hears the frantic bleating of goats and the whisper of magic. Crawling toward the edge of the branches, pushing aside leaves to peer out at the sound, Iris spots the pawn who refuses to leave her side. Killing a goat.

Scrambling down from the tree, Iris sprints and tackles the pawn, yanking the staff out of her hand and tossing it. The pawn writhes and struggles against her grasp before Iris backs off, chest heaving and staring daggers at it.

The pawn rises to her feet. “Arisen, have I done something to upset you?” The goat’s blood is splattered up the arms of her billowy sleeves.

Iris balls her fists. “You just killed a goat! It wasn’t doing anything! Mo—” Iris stops herself from speaking it to the pawn.

Mother would have never killed a goat.

This pawn is not her mother though, just a pale imitation. A look-alike and nothing more. Sure the hair is the same shade of purple and her eyes match Iris’ own but this pawn doesn’t look at her with love. She looks at her with expectation. Grief made manifest and she only has herself to blame when she can’t stand to look at it. Iris snatches up the pack meant for supplies and throws it at the pawn.

She catches it without flinching. “If you wish for me to refrain from killing goats, Arisen, I will do as you say.”

The voice is all wrong too. Meek and obedient and too soft. Gwyn thrived off of being called a wastrel, a cur, any name that spoke to her ability to question and defy any demand placed on her. She carved paths where others thought it impossible. Loved wider and deeper than the oceans of this world. Burned bright and hot, yet was so warm when Iris would curl up in her arms. Her mother was home. And this pawn—this pawn—

If she has to hear, “yes master”, or “as you command, arisen”, one more time without rebuttal, she might actually implode.

“I want you to go! Fetch some herbs or something! Just get away from me!”

There is hurt in the pawn’s eyes as they flick from Iris to the ground. Softy she says, “as you wish, Arisen.” She turns away and shuffles up the mountainous path and Iris wanders over to the slain goat. Kneeling, she stretches her fingers out, brushing her index against the dead animal’s white coat but freezes, withdrawing her hand to cover her face.

[lixenn]

I have some questions for Dave this time hehe

What was his first meeting with Chief like?

What was his original hair color?

I wonder if he gets along with Bel?

*crawls out of trenches, bloodied and covered in mud*

"I-" *huff* "I have fought in war and it was close but! I HAVE WON! The evil snippet has not defeated me!"

So now, I can finally answer this!! I'm sorry that it took so long Ein 🫠🥺🥺please forgive my tardiness 😣

Let me satisfy your curiosity!

Original hair color

Dave's hair used to be this really mousy brown and it just wouldn't do! No! He refuses! It was boring and common and absolutly clashed with his vibe so it needed to be adressed immediately. He bleached his hair the first time when he was 14 and it turned out horrible but he was still happy with his shitty dyejob because at least it was unique!

Dave and Bel

Do they get along? Ohhh boy, honey they get along like a house on fire! Dave and Bel often team up for pranks and mischief (Levi is one of their regular victims lol). Surprisingly Chief doesn't actually mind this relationship mostly because Dave tends to curb Bel's more ... homicidal tendencies. Dave prefers leaving his victims alive (though there's no guarentee for their sanity) mostly because killing them would limit his options for pranks. So when Dave and Bel plan mischief Dave puts his foot down about murder.

First meeting

As for that question....

Have a snippet!

The world is undoubtedly cruel. Criminally unjust. Life is filled with hurdles and hardships, with unimaginable challenges and dreadful chores.

Dan has been kicked out of his own office by an overly worried Lussuria.

(Honestly, the audacity of his doctor, the inhumanity. He is seriously considering a lawsuit.)

Apparently working for ten months straight without a break is “unhealthy” and “terrible for the skin, just look at those wrinkles Dani-boy”. Which is ridiculous in his humble opinion, he doesn’t have wrinkles. His skin simply has more character, more definition, that’s all. No wrinkles here, just a well-developed background story edged into his outer shell.

Nevertheless, Dan is left with no other choice than take the day off since he doesn’t want to deal with Lussuria drugging his tea again. One time was more than enough.

Well, at least he can use this opportunity to finally get some shopping done. His sister Is going to skin him alive if he shows up empty handed to her birthday again. Finding the perfect jewellery set to make up for his blunder took him some time but now he can at least cross that off his list.

He is slandering down the empty streets, enjoying the sunshine on his face, when his peaceful musings are interrupted by a body landing right in his path.

…

What?

Dan must have committed war crimes in his past life, it’s the only explanation. His former self probably kicked puppies for fun and slaughtered babies in their sleep because he can’t even take a stroll in the city without someone throwing bodies at his feet.

Puzzled and slightly annoyed Dan takes a closer look at the young man sprawled in front of him.

The first thing that catches his eye is the absolutely garish shade of neon green decorating the top of his head. Whoever did that dye job needs to be fired. His hair isn't the only thing that needed fixing though. He’s covered in bruises and dirt, blood is dripping from his nose and - Dan squints - is that a tooth on the pavement? Yes, it is. … Gross. Hopefully the guy knows a good a dentist.

The sound of footsteps alerts him to the arrival of even more people. Dan inspects the newcomers in irritation. There are three of them, all clad in ill-fitted suits, hair slicked back and fake gold rings on their fingers, making them look like stereotypical comic mafia goons brought to life. It would have been funny and something to laugh over with Squalo over coffee if said goons hadn’t interrupted his quiet afternoon with their petty disputes.

What a drag.

“You have five seconds.”

“Hah?” Goon #1 sneers at him, somehow turning even uglier in the process. “What do ya want, shrimp? Don’t ya see we’re a little busy here.”

Only sheer willpower prevents Dan from inspecting his nails in disinterest. Instead, he crooks an eyebrow, giving the idiotic trio his best deadpan fish stare.

“Three seconds.”

Goon #2 spots the Varia emblem on his hoodie and the Cloud clocks the moment he recognises what it stands for. He shakily points at Dan’s chest. “U-uhm… boss?”

“What?” Goon #1 snaps, but his gaze follows his friend’s finger and all colour leaves his face. “V-v-varia?”

Dan puts his hands in his hoodie pocket and smiles. “You rang?”

The way they freeze like a deer in the headlights. How they start quaking in their knock off designer shoes when realisations dawns upon them. The fear in their eyes.

Ah… making grown men piss their pants with a single look never gets old.

“By the way,” Dan drops his smile, his voice turning ice cold. “Your time is up. Better start running, boys.”

One would think that the Vendice are on their heels with how fast they scrammed.

Now, with that sorted.

Dan looks back the stranger who’s still lazing on the street. “You okay?”

“U-uhm yes…” he stutters with wide eyes that are filled with something uncomfortably close to awe. “Thank you so much.”

Feeling slightly awkward now, Dan avoids his shining gaze. “Don't mention it.”

“But-”

“Seriously don’t,” Dan interrupts him, combing a hand through his hair. He wishes this interaction was over already. He’s no good with shows of gratitude. “You should let a doctor check you over.” That should be enough polite concern, right? “I will be on my way then.”

Dan tries to speedwalk away to avoid further socialising but is hindered by a surprisingly strong grip on his hoodie.

Only his ingrained manners (thanks Mom) prevent him from breaking a hand and escaping anyways, which is probably for the best, the poor guy has enough injuries, no need to add broken bones to the list.

Dan turns around and sighs. “What is it?”

The young man gives him a solid try at puppy eyes. “What’s your name? I’m Dave by the way! You can’t just rescue me like a knight in shining armour and then disappear off into the sunset. That’s not fair at all.” He adds a pout to his pleading expression, which – in Dan’s humble opinion – just makes him look even more pathetic.

“Have you suffered head trauma recently?”

Dave cocks his head, confused. “I mean, one of them kicked my face for a bit but that was nothing, I’m good! They mostly focused on my upper body and limbs.” He lets go of Dan’s hoodie and lifts his shirt up to point at his battered torso in demonstration. “See?”

“Then, why are you spouting nonsense?” Dan takes a step back after he is freed from Dave’s clutches. “Run along and try to avoid getting beat up by shady men in the future.”

The puppy eyes start to fill with fake tears. “But they keep on finding me.”

Dan is suddenly overcome with a desperate need for coffee.

“And that’s my problem, how exactly?”

The responding grin sends shivers down his spine. It reminds him of Bel’s smug smile after he caught another one of his employees in his wire traps.

“Well, all your hard work would go to waste if they came back, wouldn’t it? So, how about you help a buddy out?” Dave winks and it would have been charming if his face wasn’t covered in dried blood. “You can start with your name and we will go from there.”

Dan barely lifted a finger, is this guy on crack? In fact… Is he trying to con him? This feels like a con.

Why did I even bother leaving my room today?

“Look, Dave,” he begins trying to salvage the situation, “if I tell you that Varia Housekeeping is always looking for new members, will you go away and let me enjoy the rest of my day off in peace?”

The other man’s jaw drops like Dan got on his knees and proposed instead of throwing in a job offer as distraction tactic.

Dan takes his surprise as an opportunity to exit the premises once again. This time he isn’t stopped physically but a broken “W-wait” still gives him pause and he reluctantly glimpses back. Dave has dropped his cocky façade leaving behind only shattered pieces and a tiny fragment of hope.

“Please. Tell me your name?”

His voice sounds fragile compared his confident tone before.

…

Dan has always been a sucker for the broken ones, hasn’t he?

Fuck it, in for a penny, in for a pound.

“You can call me Chief.”

---

Hope you liked the little sneak peak into Dave's mysterious past 😊! Honestly the delay was mostly because that meeting was fighting me with tooth and nail but I managed to get it done!

I feel like I wanted to add something else but I forgot because goldfish brain lol

Anyways keep being awesome like the legend you are Ein!! Hopefully I could brighten your dim days in study hell 💕✨😊

[psalacanthea]

WiP Wednesday

Since Durge and Gortash won the Friday poll, I'll pull something out of the other BG3 fic for WiP day. My pace with the new chapter is a little slow, between taking a week off and now dealing with Pain, but hopefully tomorrow I'll be able to focus enough to make some real progress.

From the Astarion x Tav longfic, a little bit of WiP for your amusement. (if you would like to be tagged to do your own in the future, pls let me know)

...

“Well, if you used that sensible mind you keep claiming to have, you’d know that obviously I’m her patron,” Astarion sneered at Shadowheart.  His voice relaxed, going lazy and dismissive once more.  “And muse, naturally.”

Zyn considered drawing a gigantic curly moustache on her sketch of him.  It was rude to interrupt.  “My peerage or lack thereof has not yet been shared– please avoid making assumptions about me.”  No, this wasn’t right.  He looked too…neat and tidy.  She grimaced at her sketch, and then glanced back up at her subject.  “Could I see a little more collarbone on the left side?”

“I’m not giving it away,” Astarion scoffed.

“Darling it’s for aesthetics, not expression of base lechery,” she begged.  “Your neckline is too symmetrical, it doesn’t give me ‘careless dandy’.”

Astarion scowled at her, lifting her stolen goblet as he demanded, “regal!  Make me look regal!”

How dare he not trust her artistic acumen.

“Even if your life depended on you appearing ‘regal’, I doubt I could oblige,” she snapped. "You egregious twink."

Shadowheart laughed faintly.

Astarion gasped, lifting a hand to his chest. His not nearly bared-enough chest.  “How dare you!  I am your patron! I could have you thrown out on the street!”

“Oh please, if there’s one thing upstart would-be nobles need, it’s portrait painters.  There’ll be another dozen of you by teatime.  You can dictate when you pay me, you contrary piss-puddle”  Zyn added shading to his neck, pausing as she glanced up to find his eyes on her.  He didn’t look angry, despite the insult.  He was smiling.  Ugh, that was the wrong expression entirely!  “Tilt your chin to the side!  Again. I told you to stop moving.”

Astarion sighed in annoyance and rolled his head to the left, hair swaying.

“I have no idea what’s going on, and yet I can’t look away,” Shadowheart said.

She settled down abruptly, pausing with one hand on the ground to snag one of Astarion’s pillows.  He made an irritated noise, but didn’t bother retaliating.  Zyn’s briefly riled mood flared up again.  Why could she have a pillow, but Zyn hadn’t been allowed one?

Traitor!

Zyn glared at Astarion until he glanced away from the goblet of wine he was staring into contemplatively. Her nose wrinkled as their eyes met. The pasty reprobate sighed heavily, eyes rolling skyward.

"What now?"

“You’ll not be welcome in my bed any longer if I catch you giving someone preferential treatment over me,” she threatened him.

“You–"  Astarion stared at her in shock, and then laughed, lifting a hand to his mouth. "Aha. Ha!" He dissolved into laughter as he sprawled back onto his pillows, ignoring her scowl.

Zyn slapped her stub of twine-wrapped pencil down on the paper, leaving a crumbled line as the tip snapped. "Stop it."

“Hah! I can’t believe you actually thought that would work!”

“I mean it, this is serious!” she whined as he started laughing over her again, throwing his head back. “You blaggard! That's it. It's moustache time.”

[ryosei-hime]

The Dionysian Aspects of Queen Bee

Looking at Bee through the lens of a devotee of Dionysus is very interesting. So, I thought I’d make a post about it.

Dionysus is often mischaracterized as a drunk, but in reality he’s all about consumption within reason. He encourages drinking to excess so far as it brings you pleasure and joy, but the moment your over-indulgence brings you or others pain or shame, you’ve gone too far. He doesn’t approve of making an ass of yourself.

Which is exactly what you see with Queen Bee and Blitz. The moment Blitz is no longer enjoying himself, but drinking to forget and avoid his problems, she speaks up. If he’s not enjoying himself, she can’t enjoy the energy coming off of him. He’s tainting the punch, killing the vibe.

Dionysus also encourages (especially women and the disenfranchised) to free themselves from the bonds of social restrictions and norms. He influenced women to throw down their weaving, uncover their hair, and run wild in the woods during a time when they rarely got to leave their homes.

We see this with Bee’s party. The guests are all Imps and Hellhounds - those of the lower classes. She chooses to socialize and consort with these classes. While you could say this is because they’re her people, and she’s the progenitor of Hellhounds, she doesn’t have to party with them. She still has a higher position than they do. And while having an affinity for Hellhounds makes sense, she also seems to prefer imps which I personally think points towards simply enjoying the company of lower class demons.

Bee strikes me as someone who would willingly lower herself to their level to an extent for the fun of it. And she may potentially have a preference for those who are more downtrodden in society.

Note I say “to an extent” because she still has power and shows no signs of not wanting it. And she can be a bit rough with her encouragements to party. Her reasons for doing so aren’t entirely altruistic either. She wants others to feel good because she wants to feel good, too.

Dionysus can also be harsh and forceful with his liberation and freedom. It is not always something he allows his followers to choose to engage in. Sometimes, he also throws you into the punch bowl lol.

He’s a powerful God and he has no desire to be anything else. He uses that power and status to get things he wants, fuck with people for fun, and have his own good time. Bee is no more equal to the Hellhounds at her party than Dionysus to the bacchanates of his thiasos. So, in my interpretation, neither wish to actually be equal to the downtrodden they seek to uplift.

I do like to imagine Bee could incite her Hellhounds into a Dionysian frenzy and it would fit with her bee influence fairly well. That is of course just a head canon. But I think it would be a fun power.

Dionysus was also about sexual liberation, and I think she showed a bit of that with her musings over Satan lol.

But, I think, much like Dionysus, Bee is likely an extremely morally complex person. I don’t think she’s as purely good and benevolent as I’ve seen some speculate. Who in Hell is? She’s likely got her darker shades even if on the whole, she’s much more interested in others having fun than some Sins probably are.

Disclaimer: this is just a ramble because I really liked drawing the parallel. It is not an attempt to say that Bee is a terrible, horrible, evil bitch since I know someone will misconstrue it that way somehow, this being the internet and all. But she has notes of a God I worship so it should be obvious that I like her and this is not an attempt at slander.

[bellafragolina]

Wanderer!Reader

Hisui is a vast place, and it can’t only be occupied by the two clans and the village, yes? There aren’t many travellers, the only ones of notice being the Gingko Guild.

You, however, just like to wander. You travel by yourself, the only companions being Pokémon you’ve befriended along the way. People are exhausting, so you prefer it that way.

You don’t own any pokéballs because the knowledge of them hasn’t been passed around yet.

So one day you’re just hiking up the mountains when you come across a tall, yet slouching, figure ahead of you shouting. Upon closer look, you see that it’s a male wearing very torn and ragged clothes that look foreign to you, specifically the cap and coat.

- yui.anon

I’m rereading this and I’m starting to think you were just chatting about it instead of requesting a drabble. If that’s so then sorry! Have a drabble as an apology!!

🍓🍓🍓

The man notices you the moment you notice him. The cap he wears shades his eyes, but their still bright, if tired. Sharp silver pierces your skin, so you stop, a hand atop the Arcanine at your side. Your hiking companion growls at the new person, not soothed by your gentle pets.

“Good morning!”

The greeting bellows through the quiet mountains. You jerk back, ready to flee or fight, whatever the situation calls for. Arcanine barks again, smoke billowing from his mouth at the threat the man poses.

To his credit, the man backs away too, eyes wide beneath that brim. His hands are up, showing you his scarred palms as a sign of surrender, of having no arms or weapons. You relax a little, but not Arcanine. It steps forward to protect you, still spewing smoke crackling with embers.

“My apologies!” The man says, voice quieter now. He glances away, then pulls his brim down to hide his eyes. You relax further. “I didn’t mean to frighten you! I don’t often meet travelers out here.”

You cock your head. The man straightens, and does a strange pose. Both arms fire out, one pointing at you while the other points down.

“None the matter!” He says, his eyes bright again. “I will conduct you to your destination, dear traveler!”

“I’m a wanderer.” You correct gently, stroking Arcanine again. The lack of attack has it slowly easing off of its haunches. “So I don’t have a destination.” You rake your gaze down his attire, unashamed of your stare. The man squirms in place, but you’re able to see his tattered coat and clan uniform, as well as. . . “What’s that on your belt?”

The man pauses, glancing at his belt. There’s a wooden object sitting there, one he pulls off with ease. You creep a bit closer as he holds it out. The wood is two different shades, and there’s a clasp on it in the center seam.

“A Poké Ball.” The man tells you.

“A Poké Ball.” You repeat. You creep closer still. Arcanine makes gruff noises, voicing its obvious displeasure, but follows. “And what is it for?”

“To catch Pokémon.” The man says. Your silence has him squirming again. “Er, you throw one at a Pokémon, and it. . . catches them. And then you have it for your team. To battle.”

“Why would you need one?” You ask. “Do your Pokémon not follow you like mine?”

The man opens his mouth, then closes it again. His eyes are on your shoulder. Based on the sharp tingling you can feel, your Magnemite is peeking out of your bag at the new person.

“Er, well. . .” The man seems unsure of what to say. You smile at him. “I suppose they do. . .”

“Strange what the future holds.” You muse to yourself, turning to head down the cliff face. Arcanine and Magnemite are at your heels, or shoulders, in Magnemite’s case. “Goodbye.”

“Wait!” The shout makes you pause. To your surprise, the man follows you. Arcanine’s growling has no effect on him, for soon he’s at your side. “I will accompany you down the mountain. Safety checks are needed to ensure your safe passage!”

You cock a brow. “I will be fine. I’m a wanderer.”

“I will accompany you!” The man says, finality in his voice. You watch him start in the direction you were headed in a moment again. “Mind the rails. All aboard!”

Of course, you think to yourself, he lives here all alone. You’ve discovered the mountain madman.

Well, at least the trip will be interesting.

🍓🍓🍓

We love a slow build up. Ingo, alone in the mountains, immediately crushing on the wanderer he finds. The wanderer, thinking he’s insane and humoring him to not get bitten.

True love <3

~Renee

[shdwtouch]

Do you have favourite ships?

munday questions || accepting

okay. this is probably gonna sound kinda salty, but I really don't mean it that way... I do have a favorite ship, but like. it's not like I have many ships to begin with, so. really, I have one (1) ship with Kaey, and thats his relationship with Sarah, written by my best friend Mel who has been writing with me for 5+ years. I really don't have any other developed ships beyond that, so of course its my favorite ship !

not for a lack of trying though. I would seriously love to develop more ships for both Kaey and Shade, its just. I never seem to get much interest when I bring it up, and in my own efforts to talk to folks about a potential ship I don't want to be like. forceful, or press, because I know I can get excited. so things kinda just... fall off ? and I don't really feel or see any reciprocation, which is like... ok. but also disappointing. I honestly think both of my muses being ace and my own refusal to write smut is a big turn off for a lot of people. which is like, you do you but. I still have perfectly viable and valuable muses to ship with here, smut or no.

idk just. I want my partners to put effort into our ships. and maybe I was spoiled on that with Mel so nothing quite compares. maybe I have too high of standards ? but. I do try. I do want more ships. it just seems difficult to get people interested and invested in developing one.

and its like, out of all the things I could poke people about... it will never be discussing a ship. I'm not gonna chase folks to ship with me unless they confirm its something they want. I'm not gonna force it. but I wish folks would at least give me a chance, ya know ? would at least try to ship with me, or at the very least be like. we're gonna ship or die tryin. so I know I can be like. hey. lets discuss our potential ship. and not feel weird about it, or like I'm forcing it on someone who doesn't want it / care.

so like. if you wanna ship you gotta let me know, and you gotta give me permission to pursue it. and if we have brought up / discussed potentially shipping, but it jut fell off and it had nothing to do with your interest level... feel free to poke me about it again.

again, I'm not trying to be salty or throw shade or guilt trip, truly. I'm just talking from how it feels / seems to me. I know people are busy, I know people are forgetful. I promise I'm not gonna be mad at anyone for that.