#Black is the name of my Narrator by the way

[marioposssa]

There's a joke I've heard a few times, that Laurence is so formal that even his lover calls him by his last name. And there's certainly something to that idea so I wanted to do some fun statistics on the question: Who get's called by their first name in Temeraire, how often (and by whom)?

For anybody who only wants the numbers here's the overall highscore:

Total mentions by first name only (638 total)

1st "Jane" Roland: 243 2nd "Emily" Roland: 154 3rd "Catherine" Harcourt: 100 4th "Edith" Galman/Woolvey: 55 5th "John" Granby: 25 6th "Tom" Riley: 23 7th "George" Allendale: 8 (all in Victory of Eagles) 8th "Tenzing" Tharkay: 6 9th "Henry" Ferris: 5 (all by his family in Empire of Ivory) 10th "Jean-Paul" Choiseul, "Augustine" Little, "Bertram" Woolvey, "Gerry" Stuart: 1

The more in-depth answer got way longer than expected, so I decided to split this post up a bit. For a more thorough look at first four places, keep on reading after the cut. The in-depth look at place 5-10 will follow soon.

The place for most first name mentions over all goes to Jane Roland, who is mentioned a staggering 243 times out of 638 total. Laurence starts both thinking of her and addressing her as Jane after their first night together and even Temeraire uses Admiral Rolands first name in conversation (in Black Powder War).

What is interesting to me is that, after Laurence starts he does not really stop thinking of her as 'Jane' or addressing her as such in conversation, even after their break at the end of Empire of Ivory and through Laurence's general feelings of guilt in the later books. To me this goes a long way of showing that Laurence still considers them close, even if he can not get over the harm he has caused with his actions after taking the dragons cure to Napoleon.

Beyond Laurence narration, we also get two other moments in League of Dragon where Excidium talks of her as 'Jane' and 'my Jane' <3.

Looking beyond Jane Roland, one of the most consistent topics in her conversations with Laurence beyond the war seems to be her daughter. As soon as Jane first mentions Emily by her first name in His Majesty's Dragon, Laurence picks it up and Emily Roland becomes Emily more often than not from then on. This seems to happen especially often in more familial or interpersonal scenes, such as when Laurence takes her and Demane to task about their relationship in Crucible of Gold or when she is meeting Laurence father at Wilberforce's subscription-rally early in Empire of Ivory.

Emily is also called by her first name by both Temeraire and Mrs. Pemberton, who in their own way might both count her as part of their family or as in their care. We may also guess that, since Emily is friendly with a number of characters especially other minors over the course of the book, she may also go by Emily in a lot of other occasions that are simply not part of the narrative.

Interestingly, while Laurence is shy of calling any of the other aviators by their first name, he starts calling Catherine Harcourt 'Catherine' in his head by Empire of Ivory. Specifically he starts using the name after seeing Tom Riley greeting her on the 'Allegiance'. This moment seems to signify a shift in Laurence perceiving her as different from just her status as an aviator friend or acquaintance. While to our knowledge he never uses the name to her face, he also starts calling her Catherine when talking to Tom Riley. The usage of 'Catherine' continues through Laurence narration in Victory of Eagles, though he is back to using 'Captain Harcourt' in the later books.

Overall there are 100 times when Harcourt is called Catherine. In conversation it is mostly Lily (11) who uses her first name, but there's also Jane Roland who calls Harcourt Catherine in non-formal settings (2).

And then there's Choiseul in His Majesty's Dragon of course. His use of 'Catherine' is a pretty good indicator of their intimacy, even before Laurence picks up on their relationship. I think it works so well, since at that point in the books, the mention of any first names has been pretty rare. In response she calls him Jean-Paul. This stops immediately after Choiseul's betrayal though, and indeed he never mentions her by name from this point on until his execution.

I also want to mention Rankin, who certainly has not earned the informality, but calls Harcourt almost dismissively by her first name at her first introduction to Laurence. Possibly being condescending both about her age, as well as her being a women.

Overall I think the use of Harcourts first name in the books is the most varied and it can almost always tell us as much, if not more, about the people using it in their different forms than about Catherine Harcourt herself.

Forth in place of intimate mentions is Edith 'Woolvey' née Galman. As Laurence former promised childhood friend he is consistently on a first name basis with her. She is mentioned as just 'Edith' 55 times in the course of four of the books: His Majesty's Dragon, Victory of Eagles, Blood of Tyrants - where Laurence thinks of her exactly once during his amnesiac arc and finally League of Dragons.

As you may have guessed from the numbers, the women make up the staggering majority of all first name mentions with a staggering 552 of 638, or 86% of all moments.

-----

Notes on the gathered data: I looked at all instances of known first names of main or supporting characters, but excluded the following:

Any mention where the first name was part of the full name or was prefixed by a title (such as Captain Catherine Harcourt, Lady Emily)

Any dragons, since dragons (with exceptions) only have single name

Any character mentioned exclusively by their first name (I'm sorry Demane, Sipho, little Gerry the Orphan and various babes)

[blackkatdraws]

OMG IT'S THE LITTLE MAN 🫵 THE SKRUNKLE‼️

Only Black's allowed to do that💗 @raptor-lucid

This comic is referencing this post

[employee052]

this is your reminder to make ur cringy n self indulgent art bc cringe is dead and you gotta live life (I say, despite the fact i still feel a bit cringe but im being so brave abt it)

lettin myself post n do more art for myself so apologies for the more selfshippy art than usual

[neverenoughmarauders]

I can’t help but feel so much when I see @sorenphelps art and read @goldenlionprince’s stories. Seeing James and Sirius like this inspired my spinning head to write a follow up to my previous snippet. This one ended up being surprisingly tender , but who can blame me when you see them cuddle like that?!. The bodyguard AU is entirely @sorenphelps creation.

The unexpected danger

'Up you get,' says Sirius brightly, having secured the brace around James' knee. When James gets dressed later - that is, when Sirius helps James get dressed later - they're going to have to take it off again temporarily. If James gets dressed later, Sirius amends studying the man's drawn features. The meds, the pain, the lack of sleep... It might be another stay-in-bed day. Not that Sirius is complaining exactly. But, and he is loath to admit this, he misses James: the too energetic, too chatty, too full of life tech nerd that hired Sirius to keep him safe. So far, he has mostly succeeded - but one failure is one too many.

Sirius helps James sit up. In turn, James gently and with deliberation swings his good leg over the edge of the bed. That's another thing that has changed. He has never seen James move with care before. It's not something Sirius wants to get used to.

It's Sirius' turn to be gentle as he takes James' injured leg and helps shift it so that James sits at the edge of his bed. One step closer to standing. The small things have become great projects.

They sit for a few minutes, James leaning forward, eyes closed, catching his breath. Sirius next to him, an arm across his back, partly for comfort, partly for support.

James is just in his boxers, and Sirius can't decide whether this is a blessing or a curse. It certainly can be a distraction. But he's got a job to do. Sirius removes his arm, mourning the loss of heat from James' back, and leans across James to get his crutch.

James takes it with his left hand, as Sirius places James' right across his own shoulder, before putting his own arm around James' waist. Together they stand up.

'Fu-,' James groans, swaying and leaning heavily against Sirius.

'I've got you,' Sirius mutters, tightening his grip on James. Sirius misses James; hates to see him suffer like this. Still, a small, selfish, part of him can't help but relish James warm body pressed up against his own. There are small rays of sunlight, even now.

​/

'Well, at least you've achieved making it to the bathroom and back. That's more than nothing,' Sirius offers as words of wisdom as he helps James back into his bed.

'Sod off,' James mutters.

Sirius should probably leave him to rest. He has long since secured James' room so that the only way in and out is through the bedroom door, which Sirius could guard as effectively from the outside. That's what Sirius would have done if it had been anyone else. Instead, he takes a seat at the edge of James' bed.

'You need anything?' he asks. He imagines running his fingers down James' face. He desperately wants to touch him; to comfort him.

James looks up, his eyes foggy, the way they've been since they got from the hospital two days ago. They're still beautiful.

'I'm pathetic,' James says. Sirius feels himself startle a little. This too is new. James is as arrogant as he is full of life. Self-loathing is not part of who James is.

'And when did you reach this conclusion?' Sirius asks, arching an eyebrow, but desperately unsure if he's saying the right thing.

'I can't even get to the fucking bathroom alone.'

'What did you expect?' It wasn't meant to come out angry. Sirius wants nothing more than to be supportive. James stupidly took a bullet for him - his own bodyguard. It was mental, but it was also exactly the James he had come to know.

'That I'd be stronger than this,' James admits, looking away now.

'That I could take a bullet, like you do.'

James' voice is so quiet, Sirius nearly misses that last bit.

Sirius laughs. He can't help it.

'I am going to have to stop calling you a genius.'

​James looks affronted.

'Do you think I go around taking bullets in the knees all the time?'

​It's clear from James' stubborn expression that James really does seem to think that.

'Jim, I don't think you've grasped how seriously injured you are. You're doing good.’

Great, even. Sirius is more than a little surprised, but he doesn't tell James that. Sirius has fed James' usually too large ego enough already. A thought does occur to him though: 'If you thought I could handle it, why get in the way?'

James blinks. It's clear that his otherwise quite brilliant mind hadn't thought this one through. Finally, James smiles, his lips curving upwards in a deliciously familiar way. His eyes are not as bright as they usually are, his grin a little more weary still, but it's James alright.

''S'ppose I both think you've got bones of steel, and that you can somehow break at any moment,' he muses.

'Bones of steel, huh?' Sirius grins back.

Although, maybe it's very much the same way Sirius feels. Not physically. Sirius lets his eyes travel down James' bare torso. James' body, while... not bad - not bad at all... does appear very breakable. James' spirits, however, seem to be a force beyond any he has encountered. Yet, in the last two days, it has also felt frail - as in need of Sirius' protection as James' body.

​'Well, I have seen you take more than your fair share of beatings,' James says, 'not to mention an actual gunshot.'

It's James turn to eye Sirius up and down. There is a hunger there, veiled by exhaustion, pain and drugs, but not gone. It does strange things to Sirius, feeling James' eyes on him.

'You could join me,' James says suddenly and surprisingly energetically, patting the bed. 'Show me your scars. I bet there are some I've not seen yet.'

Sirius wants to do more than show James some old scars. He lets his lips curve upwards, climb over James - as gently as he can - and then once he has propped himself next to him, he makes his first move. He leans forward so that his face hovers just above James, their lips almost touching.

'You'd like that, wouldn't you?' Sirius asks, the movement of his lips making them brush against James'. It takes more than a little self-control not to let his mouth get another taste, not to help himself greedily to what he desires so fucking badly.

There is nothing his mind and body have been in more agreement about than how desperately he needs James - to feel him, to be closer to him, to have him feel Sirius. He wants to be inside James and to have James be inside him. Sirius has never desired anyone the way he has James Potter. At times, Sirius can't even remember what he thought life was about before, because it should always have evolved around James.

A whimper escapes James, and Sirius can feel James' body as charged as his, can sense James' readiness to meet Sirius' lips, and Sirius pulls away before he loses the little control he has.

After a few moments, Sirius can feel James shift carefully so that his hand can travel down Sirius' back and come to land on Sirius' arse. It's only by some bloody miracle that Sirius does not let out a similarly needy sound to what James recently did.

'I know about this one,' James says, his voice still a little husky, as he draws a circle around Sirius' latest addition.

​Sirius feels betrayed by his own voice as he manages to grunt out: 'I think you know about a few more. Why don't you point them out to me.'

James obliges, and Sirius feels more, far more than he ought to, as James' fingers travel up and down his body. But the euphoria does not last too long. James' fingers get clumsier, not from lust but from his body drawing a line that neither Sirius nor James can do anything about.

'There are a few you missed,' Sirius murmurs into James' ear. James has already sunk back into the pillows, eyes closed, but the way he tenses - and the way his lips curve upwards - when Sirius' nose brushes against James' skin, tells Sirius that James is still awake.

Sirius lets his nose travel from James' ear, down his cheek to near his mouth. Pulling away he studies James, his eyelashes, his messy hair, his soft lips. Something breaks inside him. James' eyes are still closed as Sirius leans in to kiss him gently, wanting, for once, to inspire something different than desire. The tender gestures are unfamiliar to Sirius, who has plenty of experience otherwise. New, perhaps, but also instinctive.

'You'll have to show me those scars another time, Soldier Boy,' James mutters.

'Sirius,' Sirius admits a little later. He's not sure James is still awake. ‘My name is Sirius.’

Sirius had known he desired James from the moment he met him. He had always suspected James was going to be a handful to keep safe. He had not, in a million years, predicted the real danger.

His name is Sirius Black, and he is utterly and desperately in love with James Potter.

“So, are you a big spoon or a little spoon?”

“I’m a knife.”

“… sure.”

He’s having them both on chokehold tho.🤗 I wanted to draw something nice and tender after yesterday’s emotionally loaded shower scene… more cuddling sketches are in the queue, so stay tuned

[physalian]

How To Make Your Writing Less Stiff 5

Movement

Dredging this back up from way back.

Make sure your characters move, but not too much during heavy dialogue scenes. E.g. two characters sitting and talking—do humans just stare at each other with their arms lifeless and bodies utterly motionless during conversation? No? Then neither should your characters. Make them…

Gesture

Wave

Frown

Laugh

Cross their legs/their arms

Shift around to get comfortable

Pound the table

Roll their eyes

Point

Shrug

Touch their face/their hair

Wring their hands

Pick at their nails

Yawn

Stretch

Sniff/sniffle

Tap their fingers/drum

Bounce their feet

Doodle

Fiddle with buttons or jewelry

Scratch an itch

Touch their weapons/gadgets/phones

Check the time

Get up and sit back down

Move from chair to tabletop

The list goes on.

Bonus points if these are tics that serve to develop your character, like a nervous fiddler, or if one moves a lot and the other doesn’t—what does that say about the both of them? This is where “show don’t tell” really comes into play.

As in, you could say “he’s nervous” or you could show, “He fidgets, constantly glancing at the clock as sweat beads at his temples.”

This site is full of discourse on telling vs showing so I’ll leave it at that.

Epithets

In the Sci-fi WIP that shall never see the light of day, I had a flashback arc for one male character and his relationship with another male character. On top of that, the flashback character was a nameless narrator for Reasons.

Enter the problem: How would you keep track of two male characters, one who you can't name, and the other who does have a name, but you can’t oversaturate the narrative with it? I did a few things.

Nameless Narrator (written in 3rd person limited POV) was the only narrator for the flashback arc. I never switched to the boyfriend’s POV.

Boyfriend had only a couple epithets that could only apply to him, and halfway through their relationship, NN went from describing him as “the other prisoner” to “his cellmate” to “his partner” (which was also a double entendre). NN also switched from using BF’s full name to a nickname both in narration and dialogue.

BF had a title for NN that he used exclusively in dialogue, since BF couldn’t use his given name and NN hadn’t picked a new one for himself.

Every time the subject of the narrative switched, I started a new paragraph so “he” never described either character ambiguously mid-paragraph.

Is this an extreme example? Absolutely, but I pulled it off according to my betas.

The point of all this is this: Epithets shouldn’t just exist to substitute an overused name. Epithets de-personalize the subject if you use them incorrectly. If your narrator is thinking of their lover and describing that person without their name, then the trait they pick to focus on should be something equally important to them. In contrast, if you want to drive home how little a narrator thinks of somebody, using depersonalizing epithets helps sell that disrespect.

Fanfic tends to be the most egregious with soulless epithets like "the black-haired boy" that tell the reader absolutely nothing about how the narrator feels about that black-haired boy, espeically if they're doing so during a highly-emotional moment.

As in, NN and BF had one implied sex scene. Had I said “the other prisoner” that would have completely ruined the mood. He’s so much more than “the other prisoner” at that point in the story. “His partner,” since they were both a combat team and romantically involved, encompassed their entire relationship.

The epithet also changed depending on what mood or how hopeless NN saw their situation. He’d wax and wane over how close he believed them to be for Reasons. NN was a very reserved character who kept BF at a distance, afraid to go “all in” because he knew there was a high chance of BF not surviving this campaign. So NN never used “his lover”.

All to say, epithets carried the subtext of that flashback arc, when I had a character who would not talk about his feelings. I could show you the progression of their relationship through how the epithets changed.

I could show you whenever NN was being a big fat liar about his feelings when he said he's not in love, but his narration gave him away. I could show you the exact moment their relationship shifted from comrades to something more when NN switched mid-paragraph from "his cellmate" to "his partner" and when he took up BF's nickame exclusively in the same scene.

I do the same thing in Eternal Night when Elias, my protagonist, stops referring to Dorian as "it" and "the vampire" instead of his name the moment they collide with a much more dangerous vampire, so jarringly that Elias notices in his own narration—the point of it being so explicit is that this degredation isn't automatic, it's something he has to conciously do, when everyone else in his clan wouldn't think twice about dehumanizing them.

—

Any literary device should be used with intent if you want those layers in your work. The curtains are rarely just blue. Whether it’s a simile with a deliberate comparison or an epithet with deliberate connotations, your readers will pick up on the subtext, I promise.

[minisugakoobies]

Match My Freak | JWW

Pairing: Voyeur!Wonwoo x Reader

Genre: smut, non-idol!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: non-consensual voyeurism, dirty talk, non-consensual use of camera/recording, masturbation (f), use of sex toy (vibrator), mentions of masturbation (m), mentions of oral sex (f receiving), cumming in pants, unreliable narrator, Wonwoo is not a good guy here (ymmv)

Word Count: 1.8k

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own SVT - they just inspire me

Summary: Your neighbor loves it when you put on a show for him.

A/N: Yeah so... I just like the thought of a Wonwoo who likes to watch. ����‍♀️

🚨 IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE WITH NON-CONSENSUAL VOYEURISM, DO NOT READ! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. DO NOT COMPLAIN TO ME - YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU CHOOSE TO READ. 🚨

Unbeta’d as usual. If you like this, please let me know! I’d love to hear what you think (but please be kind I’m fragile 🥺) 💕

SVT Masterlist 💜 Main Masterlist

The sun’s beginning to set when Wonwoo takes his seat in the ratty old armchair by the open window. He removes his glasses, carefully wiping them clean with a cloth he pulls from his pocket before placing them back on his nose. He’s a little early tonight, but it’s fine. He’ll wait. He’s a patient man. 

The minutes fall away like dominoes, each one ticking into the next. The sun dips lower, casting dark shadows over the alley that separates his apartment building from the one next door. A flicker catches the corner of his eye and turns to look, gazing into the window directly across from his bedroom. As he sits quietly, patiently drumming his fingers on the soft cushioning of the chair, a figure enters the room.

Wonwoo has loved you from the moment he first saw you. It’s been a little over six months since you moved in across the way. In all that time, he hasn’t learned what you do or where you’re from or even what your full name is. But it’s fine. None of that matters. 

He’s sure you were made for him.

You walk around your bedroom, following the same well-worn path that you do every evening. Disappearing into your bathroom and emerging a few minutes later in a silky bathrobe. Sitting at the vanity to attend to your skincare routine, gently massaging your beautiful skin with rich creams and moisturizers. Wonwoo appreciates the way you care for yourself. He likes that you have your nightly rituals. He has his own, too.

He reaches for his camera.

It’s late summer, the time of year when there’s no relief to be found at night, the air just as warm and suffocating as it is during the day. Sweat prickles on Wonwoo’s forehead, but he ignores it. He’s glad your landlord is as cheap as his. Air conditioning units would only make this difficult for him. He’d figure it out, of course, but it wouldn’t be as easy as it is now. 

Sometimes he thinks it’s a sign from the universe, how easy this is. Proof that the two of you are meant to be.

He brings his camera to his eye, playing with the focus, until the pretty face reflected in the vanity mirror is perfectly clear. Click-click-click goes the shutter, the only sound that can be heard in Wonwoo’s bedroom, other than his heavy breathing. 

His room is pitch black around him. Wonwoo’s always been comfortable with darkness. It hides all manner of sins. It hides him from your view on nights like this, even when you walk over to your window to lift the sash. A light breeze ruffles the bottom of your bathrobe, exposing more of your thighs to Wonwoo’s hungry eyes. His finger strokes the shutter button again. 

You undo the belt of your bathrobe, letting it fall open, and Wonwoo captures the reveal of the sheer babydoll chemise beneath. It skims the tops of your thighs, not quite covering the matching pair of panties you wear with it. Wonwoo’s gaze roams over your body, admiring the way the clingy material highlights your skin. He loves when you dress up for him. You never bring anyone home. Who else are you wearing these things for, if not him?

Of course, you’ve never acknowledged his presence. That’s part of your game, isn’t it? To display yourself for him but never look at or talk to him. Put on a show but never react to him taking your photo or touching himself. 

He’s very good at playing your game. After all, he wants to win. 

You’re a worthy prize.

You recline on your bed, propped up against a stack of pillows, and start scrolling on your phone. As he watches, shutter clicking, your free hand slides down your torso. Your fingers curl, pressing into your covered pussy, rubbing in slow circles. Oh. Wonwoo swallows thickly. 

It’s one of those nights. 

Silently, he puts his camera down again. Locates the button that switches from photo to video. And clicks it. 

The red light flickers on. 

Wonwoo quickly brings the camera back to his eye, practically cracking his glasses in the process. He fixes the focus, aiming the lens at the hand between your legs. As you start to caress harder, your legs part slightly, giving him a clearer view of your panties. The tiniest swirls of lace are visible to his eye, as is a growing wet spot. He silently thanks the universe that he splurged on an expensive camera model. 

Your nightgown is rumpled up around your waist as you press your hand more firmly against your cunt. It isn’t enough, judging by how you dip your fingers beneath your panties to glide over your slit.

“Come on, baby.” Wonwoo wasn’t planning on adding narration to this recording, but the words slip out anyway, in a low, urgent tone. “Slide them in.” He zooms in again, on the wetness gleaming on your fingertips. 

He’s disappointed when you pull your hand away, but that feeling is short-lived when he sees what you’ve reached for - the bright red toy that you keep under your pillow. It’s long and thick and Wonwoo feels his cock jump at the thought of it spreading you open. 

He could use it to help stretch you for him. 

Swiftly, rather desperately, you shimmy your panties down your legs, and Wonwoo’s mouth floods with saliva, nearly choking him as he stares entranced at your bare pussy. He wants to put his lips on it, kiss it until you’re squirming, pleading for him to slide his tongue inside. You’d make such a beautiful mess of his face. 

His earlier impatience is forgotten now as you work yourself up, dipping the tip of the vibrator in and out of your soaking folds, the quickening rise and fall of your chest letting Wonwoo know how much you’re enjoying teasing yourself. By the time the toy disappears into your cunt, Wonwoo’s just as breathless himself, and hard as a rock. 

“Yeah, just like that,” he murmurs, adjusting his lens again to capture the deft movement of your hand. “Fuck yourself for me.” For him, just him, and no one else. 

As if obeying his very command, your hand moves faster, and your mouth drops open in a pleasured gasp. Wonwoo groans. If only he could record the sounds you’re making, too. But you’re not loud enough for his camera to pick them up from here. 

He clucks his tongue. There’s no way he’ll accept such weak noises when he’s the one fucking you. He’ll coax loud cries from you any way he can. 

Your body undulates like a wave, hips canting as you plunge the toy deeper, and something inside Wonwoo snaps. There’s too much distance between you right now. With an aggravated huff, he slips off the chair, kneeling in front of his window. He lets his camera rest on the window sill as he lines up his shot. It’s better. But it’s not enough.

He needs to be closer.

As quietly as he can, he clambers out onto the fire escape. 

He’s taking a risk by being out here. There are no lights in the alley, but the glow of the moon is bright. That doesn’t stop him. He moves silently, crouching against the chipped metal railing, camera peeking through the slots, closing the distance between you as much as he can. 

For now, anyway.

His grip on the camera turns to iron. He’d rather fall off this fire escape than drop it. He glances around the alley, double checking that there’s no one else around. Once he’s reassured that it’s just you, him, and the moonlight, he refocuses - first his mind, then the lens. 

His breathing quickens as the toy slides into your folds again and again. He’s never envied an inanimate object more. He licks his lips, imagining the taste of you on his tongue. You’re not sweet, he’s sure of that. There’s nothing sweet about you, the way you tease him, leaving your curtains open like this. Inviting him to watch. 

Tempting him to do more.

His cock strains against the fly of his jeans, and he drops a hand to his crotch to squeeze himself, biting back a moan. Desire overwhelms him, but he can’t risk jerking off out here. The absolute last thing in the fucking world that he needs right now is to get caught. That would fuck up his plans. That would destroy him.  

Your other hand plays with your breasts, pushing your babydoll up until one is exposed, thumb rolling over and around the nipple. Wonwoo pictures himself there, lying beside you, head bent to take your other nipple in his mouth. He’s not sure he’d be able to hold himself back and allow you to finish yourself off. His fingers twitch at the thought of taking the toy from you and fucking you with it, through orgasm after orgasm, until you’re both drenched in sweat and exhausted.

He shoves the fantasy aside for later and retrains his steady gaze on your motions. He grips himself again when you start to pump the toy in and out faster. Your hips rise to meet each thrust, and Wonwoo might ruin his boxers at the sight. Fuck, he can see through the zoom how soaked the insides of your thighs are. He palms his erection slowly, trying to give himself just the slightest bit of pleasure, not enough to tip it over, only enough to feel good, and that’s when you start to come. 

As he gawks open-mouthed into the lens, your pretty pussy swallows the tip of the toy one last time. Then your hand suddenly lets go, grabbing a fistful of sheets instead. You shudder and writhe, and Wonwoo nearly drops his camera as he loses control too, the wet warmth of his cum spreading in his pants. 

Doubled over on the fire escape and breathing hard, it takes him a moment to regain his composure. Once he’s recovered, he stops the recording, and lifts the camera to his eye again to take another look. You haven’t moved from your bed, but you did remove the toy, and now have one hand tracing lazy circles around your clit. He wonders if you’re going to go again. Some nights you seem insatiable, seeking your high with a fervor that gives him chills to recall.

He’ll make sure you get your fill, when it’s time. 

For now, he’ll keep on watching. 

He’s always been a patient man. 

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

© 2024 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.

[velarisdusk]

Beneath the Vines

Lucien Vanserra x Reader

word count: 6.7k content: [ explicit sexual content, sex pollen (so, dub-con), unprotected PIV, public sex (forest setting), language, rough sex, biting/marking ] summary: Seeking refuge from court politics in a secluded part of the forest, Lucien meets a female from the Summer Court searching for a hidden spring. He offers to guide her, but their journey takes an unexpected turn when he comes into contact with a mysterious pollen... author's note: this idea has been cooking in the back of my mind since i finished the first book back in december, so i'm happy to finally share it :) writing some of his lines and the narration had me swooning i love him your honor ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

Lucien let out a long breath as the sounds of the court faded behind him. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling the forest floor with warm patches that shifted in the gentle breeze. He closed his eyes, focusing on the soft rustling of branches and distant birdsong. It was rare to find such quiet moments, free from the constant dance of court politics and expectations. As the tension in his shoulders slowly eased, Lucien allowed his thoughts to wander, no longer needing to guard every expression and word. 

His brow furrowed as he mulled over the latest reports from their border scouts. Hybern was growing bolder, their movements more frequent and less concealed. He’d tried to discuss it with Tamlin, but the High Lord seemed more concerned with maintaining the illusion of peace, instead focusing his people and efforts on the upcoming Calanmai festivities. 

A twig snapped beneath Lucien’s boot as he began to pace. Rumors were swirling through the courts. Whispers of Hybern’s king sending one of his most cunning generals to Prythian. Amarantha, they called her. The name tasted like ash on his tongue. 

He paused, leaning against a tree trunk, its rough bark grounding him. How long could the Spring Court afford to turn a blind eye? How long before the fragile peace between the courts shattered under the weight of this looming threat? Lucien’s gaze swept across the peaceful forest, so at odds with the turmoil in his mind. He’d seen firsthand how quickly alliances could shift, how devastating the fallout could be. This time, he vowed silently, he’d be prepared. Whatever storm was coming, he’d do everything in his power to ensure Spring weathered it. 

His ears pricked at the sound of rustling leaves, followed by the snap of a twig. In an instant, his posture changed from relaxed to alert. His hand flew to the dagger at his hip, drawing it in one fluid motion as he spun towards the source of the noise, russet eyes scanning the brush.

A figure emerged from behind a large oak, and Lucien found himself face to face with a female High Fae. She froze, eyes wide, clearly not expecting to encounter anyone else in this secluded part of the forest. Lucien’s grip on his dagger loosened slightly as he took in the unexpected sight before him. The female stood there, clearly startled, holding a woven tote bag over one shoulder. Her hair flowed slightly in the wind, and she wore a sheer, cream-colored crochet cover-up that did little to conceal the black swimsuit underneath. The ensemble was revealing for a trek through the forest. 

“Sorry to interrupt, kind sir,” she said sarcastically. “Just passing through.”

Lucien raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at his lips. “You’re going the wrong way.”

“How could you possibly know that? You don’t even—”

“You’re looking for the spring, right? It’s not that way.” He gestured to his left, far ahead. “It’s hidden, and not in the direction you were headed.”

She crossed her arms, clearly skeptical. “And you know this because…?”

Lucien chuckled softly. “Because I’ve spent more time exploring these woods than I’d like to admit.”

She started walking off in the direction he signaled, and he jogged a bit to keep pace with her. “I can show you the way, if you’d like.”

After a moment’s hesitation, came a shrug and a nonchalant response. “Alright, lead the way then.”

He didn’t try to hide his smirk at her casual demeanor. 

As they fell into step together, he couldn’t help but notice the graceful way she moved across the uneven forest floor. He broke the silence after a moment.

“You’re not from the Spring Court, are you?” he asked, his tone light and teasing. 

Her lips formed a small smile. “Is it that obvious? I’m visiting from the Summer Court. I heard tales of the hidden natural springs here and couldn’t resist seeking them out,” she replied. “And the heat wave made the idea of a cool spring irresistible.”

Summer, he mused. She had a brightness about her, a warmth that seemed out of place in the cool shade of the forest.

He chuckled. “Well, you’re in for a treat. Just beyond those trees over there, through the vines. I must admit, Summer, you certainly know how to find the most intriguing places.”

She glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “‘Summer’?”

He grinned, a playful glint in his eyes. “Seems fitting for a female as radiant as yourself.”

An eye roll failed to hide the smile tugging at the corners of her soft lips. 

“I’m Lucien,” he said, extending his hand with his palm up. 

She hesitated for a moment before placing her hand gently in his. “(Y/N),” she replied, her eyes meeting his with a spark of curiosity and amusement. 

“A pleasure, Summer,” Lucien said, his voice low and smooth. He lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a soft kiss across the back of it.

She laughed, a melodic sound that seemed to blend with the sounds of spring around them. “Nice to meet you too, Lucien.”

He lingered for a moment, their hands still lightly clasped, before finally releasing her. “Shall we?” he asked, a smile playing on his lips, his eyes twinkling with intent. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Their conversation flowed easily as they walked, with Lucien pointing out various plants and sharing tidbits about them.

“What’s this one?” she asked, pointing to a vibrant blue flower.

“That’s moonbloom. It only opens at night, used in sleeping draughts,” Lucien explained, pleased by her interest.

“And that? The tree with the silver bark?”

“Whisperwood. The Court’s best instruments are carved from it.”

Their exchange continued, with Lucien sharing more about the flora they passed. Eventually, he turned the conversation to her.

“Tell me about the Summer Court. I’ve spent some time there, though I suspect there’s always more to learn.”

“It’s vibrant and full of life. There are endless festivities, stunning beaches, and exquisite food. I may be biased but of all the courts I’ve visited, Summer definitely has the best cuisine. People are already preparing for the solstice even though it’s barely March.” A soft sigh. “But… the constant activity, the heat… it can be a bit overwhelming.”

Time seemed to slip away as they walked, the forest around them a lush backdrop to their discussion. Eventually, they reached a curtain of vines hanging between two ancient trees. 

Lucien stepped forward gently parting the greenery. A fine, glittering pollen dusted his hand as he brushed against the vines. He blinked, momentarily disoriented by a sudden rush of warmth through his body, but he attributed it to the day’s heat. 

"After you," he said, holding the vines open with a slight bow, trying to shake off the lightheadedness.

Amusement and appreciation danced in her eyes, accompanied by a warm smile as she stepped through the vines. Lucien followed, letting the vines fall back into place behind them. As they walked, a sweet scent filled his senses — warm vanilla mingled with honey and a hint of sea salt. He found himself inhaling deeply, drawn to the aroma.

As they rounded a large boulder, the spring came into view, its serene beauty unfolding before them. The sight before them was breathtaking. A lush, verdant oasis spread out in a natural amphitheater, encircled by towering trees draped with cascading vines. The milky white pool at the center was fed by a small, delicate waterfall, its gentle cascade a soothing murmur that filled the air. Vibrant moss cloaked the surrounding rocks and tree roots, forming an ethereal green expanse that stretched to the water’s edge. Exotic flowers in vibrant hues dotted the landscape, their colors a stark contrast to the predominantly green surroundings. Above, the canopy formed a natural dome, with sunlight filtering through the intricate patterns of leaves, casting a magical glow over the alcove. 

"It's beautiful," her words were hardly more than a breath, eyes widening in genuine awe as she tentatively stepped deeper into the sanctuary.

Lucien nodded, his gaze drawn between the spring and his companion. "The minerals in the water give it that color," he explained, his voice taking on a rich, velvety quality that surprised even him. He cleared his throat and leaned against a tree, arms crossed. He watched as she  set her woven tote bag onto a nearby rock. Reaching over her shoulder to unfasten the tie of her cover-up, the delicate fabric slipped off her shoulders, revealing soft, smooth skin. The way the bikini she wore fit every dip and curve deliciously. His breath hitched as his russet eyes lingered on her, watching her with an intensity that surprised him. 

Flip flops discarded, she dipped a toe into the water, a shiver running up her spine as the coolness contrasted with the warm air. “Oh, that’s refreshing,” she murmured, taking a tentative step into the spring.

The water was unlike any she had ever felt, a soothing mixture of cool and silky, enveloping her in a comforting embrace. She fully submerged herself, the refreshing sensation washing over her as she disappeared beneath the surface. When she emerged, droplets of water clung to her skin, shimmering in the sunlight. 

A warmth spread through Lucien’s veins, his pulse quickening as he watched her. The way the sunlight played on her skin, highlighting the gentle curves and the elegance of her movements, captivated him. His thoughts grew hazy, his usually sharp focus dulled by the inexplicable urge to be closer to her. His gaze traced the line of her neck, watching as the breeze gently lifted strands of her hair. Every subtle shift, every graceful motion seemed to draw him in further. The serene pool and vibrant surroundings had practically faded, leaving only the mesmerizing vision of his Summer Court visitor before him. 

His…?

Lucien shook his head a bit, a useless attempt to rid himself of the growing intensity of his thoughts. It had to be the heat, it was getting to him. 

“You look hot,” she said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Lucien blinked, momentarily flustered as he took in the way her wet hair clung to her, the bathing suit now a shade darker and clinging to her curves. She looked exquisite, the milky white water droplets glistening on her skin like tiny jewels. “So do you, Summer,” he replied, a playful smirk forming on his lips.

She laughed, the sound like a light, bubbling brook. “I meant you’re dressed too warmly for this weather. Why don’t you join me and cool off?”

Lucien felt a rush of heat that had nothing to do with the weather. He forced himself to move slowly, deliberately, as he began to undress. His fingers deftly unfastened his tunic, revealing a chiseled chest and toned muscles beneath. The sunlight filtering through the leaves cast tantalizing shadows across his skin, highlighting every ridge and contour. 

As he shrugged off his tunic, he noticed the sticky pollen coating his hand. He tried to rub it off onto the fabric, but it clung stubbornly to his skin. He frowned slightly. No matter, it would come off in the water. 

He continued undressing, kicking off his boots and undoing his belt, letting it fall to the forest floor. As he slipped out of his trousers, now standing in just his boxers, he couldn’t help but notice her eyes following his every move.

Lucien caught her gaze and held it, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face. He had been watching her watch him the entire time, a fact she only realized when she tore her eyes away from his body and looked up to meet his gaze.

With deliberate grace, he stepped into the water, the coolness a stark contrast to the heat bubbling beneath his skin. The spring’s translucent white waters swirled around his calves as he waded deeper, his eyes never leaving hers. 

He finally submerged himself, the water rippling around him as he moved closer to her. “Better?” he asked, his voice low and intimate, the playful smirk returning to his lips.

She felt her pulse quicken, the sight of him, all muscle and smooth confidence, stirring something deep within her. “Much,” she replied, a smile playing at her lips. 

They floated together in the cool water, the soothing embrace of the spring relaxing their muscles. Lucien watched as she dipped her head back, letting her hair float around her like a halo. She closed her eyes, a look of pure bliss on her face.

“This place is incredible,” she said softly, her eyes still closed. “I can’t believe it’s real.”

Lucien smiled, his own tension easing in the tranquil atmosphere. “It’s one of the Spring Court’s hidden gems. Not many know about it.”

Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his with a flicker of curiosity. “How did you find it?”

He shrugged, moving closer. “I stumbled upon it years ago, during a particularly stressful time. This general area of the forest has been my escape ever since.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, simply enjoying the peaceful surroundings and the coolness of the water. Lucien felt a tingling heat spreading through his body, no longer the gentle warmth of before. His thoughts kept drifting back to the female in front of him, the way her skin glistened with water droplets, to the curve of her lips when she smiled. He wanted to feel those lips.

He tried to push the thoughts aside, but the more he tried to ignore it, the more intense it became, his desire for her was becoming harder to control, the need to touch her, to feel her against him, was almost overwhelming. 

“This spring is said to have unique properties,” he continued, his eyes lingering on her face, her eyes, her lips. “Some say that bathing in its waters can bring good fortune, or help with one’s artistic talents.” He chuckled softly. “But others speak of it being enchanted in a more intimate way.”

This provoked a turn of the head and a raised eyebrow, curiosity peaked. "Well, I never cared much for fortune, and I’m a sorry excuse for an artist,” she laughed softly. “So what have you heard? About the intimacies of the spring?” An almost knowing smile graced her lips. 

He swallowed, trying to cover it up with a nonchalant shrug. “They say,” he began, slowly, “that the waters can awaken one’s deepest desires. Enhance one’s… physical urges.”

She smirked at that. “Sounds to me like whoever came up with that got to this spring already horny,” she laughed. At the shit-eating grin on his face, her laughter grew infectious. “Oh, shut the fuck up,” she said, playfully shoving his shoulder.

But the touch was searing. He hissed, a jolt of electricity shot through Lucien’s body, his skin burning where her fingers made contact. His pulse quickened, and he felt a raw, primal need flare up inside him. The laughter faded, replaced by a charged silence. Every muscle in his body tensed as he struggled to keep composed. 

“Lucien?” Concern laced her voice. She reached out for him, but he flinched away from her touch, bringing his hands up to stop her. Hurt flashed across her face until she noticed… “What’s that on your hand?”

She reached out again, but he pulled his hand back, glancing at the sticky pollen coating his skin. Suddenly, it clicked. He knew what this was, had heard tales of its effects but had never encountered it personally.

“It’s… it’s this pollen,” he said, his voice tinged with embarrassment. “It must’ve been on the vines at the entrance. I can’t believe I didn’t put two and two together…”

A mix of curiosity and concern filled her eyes. “What does it do?”

Lucien took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He could hear his heart thrumming in his ears and wanted nothing more in that moment than to throw himself at the female mere feet across from him. “The pollen is known to,” he pauses with a sigh, choosing his words carefully. “It causes arousal, an intense arousal, making it almost impossible to think about anything else. It heightens every sensation, makes my skin feel like it’s on fire whenever you touch me.” She could see his chest rising and falling more shallowly, could hear his breaths coming more rapidly, could see his pupils dilate each time he looked at her. He hesitantly added, “The only way to get rid of its effects is through… physical intimacy.”

Her eyes widened slightly, understanding dawning on her. “You mean…?”

He nodded, though his regretful expression barely concealed his longing. “Yes, but don’t concern yourself. This isn’t your problem to solve,” he said, his voice strained yet resolute. “I’ll return home and find a way to… handle this. You’re under no obligation here.”

Lucien’s jaw clenched, clearly struggling with the pollen’s effects, but his eyes remained steady. “I apologize, it was careless of me not to recognize the signs sooner.”

With that, he turned, moving to exit the spring and retrieve his clothes. The cool water swirled around him as he took a step, but he felt a hand grasp his bicep, halting his retreat. The contact sent a shockwave of heat through his body, as if her hold would be permanently marked on the flesh there. His muscles coiled tightly beneath her touch, and he had to force himself to contain a whimper that threatened to escape his throat. Every sensation was amplified, transforming the simple gesture into an exquisite torment. He glanced back, his eyes darkening, surprise giving way to raw, unadulterated need. 

“It’s not such an inconvenience,” she said softly, her gaze meeting his with an intensity that made his skin prickle with anticipation.

His eyes widened in surprise, but she rolled hers, a playful smirk forming on her lips. “Don’t act so surprised, Lucien.” His name on her tongue sent a jolt of arousal through him, and he only realized now how painfully constricted his cock was. “It’s obvious I want you, and I think you wanted me even before the pollen?”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “I did. I do.”

Her smirk turned into a gentle smile as she reached out again, tracing a finger down his chest. “So let me help you.”

Lucien’s body tensed, caught between desire and restraint. “Wait,” he said, his voice husky. As he spoke, his hand dipped beneath the water, fingers flexing unconsciously. “You should know… I’ve managed to control myself thus far, but if we continue…” He paused, swallowing hard, his voice dropping to a low, strained growl. “Once I feel you, I won’t be able to stop.”

His fingers curled into a fist underwater. Most of the visible pollen had washed away, leaving only faint traces on his skin, but its effects still coursed through his body. The cool water did nothing to dull the rush of his blood pumping in his ears. With a barely perceptible shake of his head, he refocused on her, his eyes full of want. 

“The pollen… it’s mostly gone now,” he managed, his breath nothing more than rhythmic, short pants. “But it’s like it’s under my skin, in my blood. I can feel it everywhere.” He unclenched his fist, watching as the last remnants of the pollen dissipated into the vast pool, now diluted and rendered harmless. “You won’t be affected, but I…” His eyes bore into hers, desperation in his voice as he spoke, “I’m burning for you, (Y/N).”

With a tender smile, she closed the distance between them. Her hands cupped his face, thumbs gently caressing his cheekbones. Lucien's breath caught in his throat, her touch igniting sparks beneath his skin. His hands remained steadfast on the large stone submerged beneath the water behind him, as though touching her might shatter what fragile self-control he had left.

"It's okay," she whispered, her breath ghosting over his lips. "I've got you."

She leaned in, pressing her lips to his with exquisite softness. The kiss was slow, deliberate, a stark contrast to the fire raging within him. Lucien's eyes fluttered closed, overwhelmed by the sensation. Even in the cool water, heat radiated from his skin, and where her lips met his, it felt as though he might combust.

She drew back slightly, placing feather-light kisses along his jaw, then down his neck. Each touch was like a brand, marking him, stoking the flames of his desire. Seeing his hesitation, she gently guided his trembling hands to her waist. The sensation of her bare skin beneath her fingertips sent a shiver through him, and he instinctively bucked his hips against her, a long, deep whine escaping his lips like a plea. The sound shot straight to her core. 

"(Y/N)," he breathed, her name a prayer on his lips. 

A mischievous glint sparked in her eyes. “Not ‘Summer’ anymore? I was starting to think you’d forgotten my name,” she spoke against his neck.

Lucien’s gaze was unfocused, looking at the vines on the other side of the spring, pupils dilated as he struggled to process her words. His breath came in short, ragged pants, and a fine tremor ran through his body. “Forget your name?” he murmured into her ear, his voice hoarse. Each word seemed to cost him great effort, as if speaking required immense concentration. “Darling, it’s the only word my mind can form right now.”

His fingers tightened on her waist, seeking an anchor as the world around him seemed to blur, leaving only her in sharp focus.

The gentleness of her actions was both a balm and a torment. His body screamed for more, for friction, for release from this exquisite agony. Yet he found himself surrendering to her pace, allowing her to lead him through this intoxicating haze. 

She returned to his lips, deepening the kiss ever so slightly. Lucien responded with a low moan, the sound vibrating through both of them. The gentle waves of the spring embraced them, their cool touch contrasting with the heat building between them, intensifying every sensation.

Without breaking the kiss, Lucien’s hands tightened on her waist, subtly guiding them towards a shallower part of the water. He felt the solid presence of a smooth, submerged stone beneath him and sank down onto it, pulling her closer. She straddled him, her legs on either side of his, pressing her body against his so deliciously that he couldn’t help it when his hips bucked up hard against hers. She gasped in surprise, the sound mingling with their shared breath.

“I’m sorry, I—” he began, but she silenced him by grinding down onto him, her movements deliberate and slow, a wordless reassurance that sent yet another pulse of need crashing through him. His mind spun, every point of contact between them sent his nerves into a frenzy. Her skin felt like silk under his fingers, warm and inviting. He let his hands roam, tracing the curve of her back, feeling the subtle shift of muscles beneath her skin. The way she moved against him, the soft gasps and moans escaping her lips, were a symphony that played directly into the hot coil within him. His hands wandered further, exploring every inch of her, committing the feel of her to memory. He caressed her sides, ran his fingers along the edges of her swimsuit. His touch was gently yet firm, reflecting his reverence for her as well as the uncontrollable hunger that coursed through him. 

But it wasn’t enough. The burning within him grew fiercer with each passing second. He needed more, craved more. The sensation of her grinding against him was driving him to the edge of sanity. It was sweet torture, the ache of unfulfilled need becoming almost unbearable. Lucien’s breaths came in ragged gasps, his body screaming for more, for release — demanding it. The longing was a physical pain, a fire that consumed him from the inside out. 

“Please,” he groaned, his voice rough and low, a powerful undercurrent of desperation threading through it. “I need more, (Y/N). I can’t take it… I need you.” His eyes locked onto hers, a fierce determination in their depths, even as his words pleaded for relief. His grip tightened on her waist, guiding her movements with urgency and restraint, his body trembling with the effort to hold back. “Please,” he repeated, his voice a pained rasp. 

“You need me?”

A single, tense nod.

She looked up at him, her eyes reflecting the same need. “Then take me,” she whispered back, her voice trembling with anticipation.

Lucien captured her lips once more, much more hungrily this time, their bodies moving together in the water. Her hands raked over the expanse of his back, nails lightly digging in. She relished the feel of his muscles tensing beneath her touch, the warmth of his skin under her fingertips. Every contour and ridge of his body seemed sculpted for her hands alone. The power in his frame, the way he responded to her every touch, sent a thrill through her. Her hands wandered, exploring the strong lines of his shoulders, the firm muscles of his chest, and the tautness of his abdomen. Each caress was deliberate, savoring the sensation of his body and the way it reacted to her. 

Lucien's breath hitched as her hands moved lower, feeling the hard planes of his stomach, tracing the edge of his waistband. Her touch was both curious and confident, a gentle exploration and bold possession. 

With a low groan and little thought, Lucien's hands moved to her bikini top, tugging it up just enough to expose her chest. He sucked in a sharp breath, only taking a moment to admire them before descending upon them, his mouth eagerly finding her exposed skin. He left a collection of red and purple marks across them, and she couldn't help but hum softly at the sensation.

Smiling, she pulled the bikini top the rest of the way off, tossing it to the shoreline. “Impatient, aren’t we?” she remarked, her voice breathless and not nearly as teasing as she’d hoped it’d be.

Lucien looked up at her, his eyes so different than when they’d first encountered each other not an hour prior, a smirk playing at his lips. “Only for you,” he murmured before his mouth returned to her skin, his kisses hungry and possessive, leaving a trail of marks across her chest. He shifted slightly, the water lapping at his chest. Her fingers traced idle patterns on his shoulder, not ceasing the movement of her hips. 

“You’re trembling,” she whispered, concern evident in her voice.

He straightened, catching her hand and bringing it to his lips. “It’s unbearable. Every touch, every breath…I feel like I’m burning from the inside out.” He swallowed hard and brought her hand to the nape of his neck, leaning into her touch as if it were a lifeline. 

“Are you sure this is helping…? Maybe we could try—”

“(Y/N),” Lucien interrupted, his eyes wild and craving. “Doing anything but this would destroy me. I’ve never felt anything like this before, but I know… I know that I need you. All of you. I need to feel every inch of you against me.” His gaze locked onto hers, pupils dilated. “Your touch,” he choked out, “is both torment and salvation. I crave it like I crave air to breathe.” Lucien’s hands trembled as they moved to her hips, urging her closer. His fingers splayed across her skin, desperate to eliminate any remaining space between them. “Please,” he whispered, the word barely audible over the soft lapping of the water.

She shivered against him, not from the water, but from the raw emotion in his voice. She brought her hand from the back of his neck to his face, her thumb stroking his cheek. 

“Lucien,” his name on her tongue was so pleasing to his ears. He couldn’t help but close his eyes, lean into her touch.

Her other hand trailed down his chest, his abdomen, finally reaching the waistband of the only thing keeping all of him from her. 

“Let me take care of you,” she murmured, her lips ghosting over his ear. Her hand traveled further yet, getting ahold of him, cupping him, squeezing him, feeling the size and weight of him.

He sucked a breath in through his teeth, muscles taut. A strangled moan escaped from his lips, closing his eyes and rolling his head back. He dug his fingers into her hips, only vaguely aware of the frustrating barrier of her swimsuit. “(Y/N)...” Her touch, her ministrations, it was all so intense. “You’re driving me insane,” he growled.

A low chuckle emanated from her. “Say my name like that again, let me hear it.”

He obliged, her name falling from his lips like a reverent prayer, drawing out each syllable like a sinful plea. 

Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Whether it was from his voice or the fact that he was tugging her bottoms off, he had no idea. But the sounds she let out were mouthwatering. He watched as she shuddered and moaned beneath his touch, letting out grunts and curses of his own. “Gods,” he rasped, his voice thick. “You sound so beautiful when you moan for me.”

She squeezed him sinfully at that bit of praise, moaning his name quietly. 

“Please touch me, (Y/N)... It hurts…”

In that moment she caved, both of them lifting up a bit to allow the other to rid them of their last bits of clothing. She tugged him a few times, grip tight and movements long. He rocked into her hand, a string of curses falling from his lips. Normally he wouldn’t unravel so quickly, but with every sensation magnified, he’d be surprised if he lasted another minute. 

“Sweetheart, you have to… Gods, please don’t stop,” he managed to gasp out, his hips rocking eagerly, his face scrunched in concentration. 

She met his gaze, her eyes darkening with desire. Nodding slightly, her breath coming out in puffs, she continued, increasing her pace while he maintained his movements into her hand. Lucien’s breath caught, his muscles tensed as waves of pleasure washed over him. He clung to her desperately, burying his face into the crook of her neck to muffle his increasingly vocal responses. His release coated her hand, but quickly washed away into the water as she continued stroking him through it. She murmured soft encouragements all the while. 

She felt his weight slumped against her, heard his breathing slow, found herself wondering if it had passed. She held him close, running a soothing hand along his back, through the hair and the nape of his neck.

When he finally lifted his head, she was ready to greet him with a warm smile, but where she expected either newfound calm or lingering distress, she found neither. On the contrary, it almost seemed as if their actions amplified his hunger. 

Lucien wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace and found himself rutting his hips up, thoughtlessly trying to find her entrance. She gained purchase on a stone behind him, her chest hovering over his face. With a groan, he released one of his arms from around her, using the hand to guide himself. But when his fingers brushed against her and she let out the softest, most helpless whimper he’d heard in his life, he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to hear more from her. He replaced the head of his cock with his fingers, shakily grazing over her folds. 

Her repeated mantra of “oh’s” and “yes’s” goaded him on, and as he dipped his fingers further through them, he slowly thrusted the still-hard length of himself along her cunt. The caress of both on her sensitive skin getting to be too much. “Lucien, why don’t you just—” What bordered on a wail interrupted her words when he let his tip brush against her clit, the first meaningful relief of pressure she’d gotten there all this time. 

“Wanna feel you, wanna make sure you’re alright,” she could hardly recognize his voice, it sounded pained, his words slurred. “Don’t want… to hurt you.” When he went to slip his fingers into her, she pulled them away, moving to seat herself on him.

“Don’t worry about me,” she assured him she was alright. “I’m helping you, just worry about yourself, okay?” But he shook his head, insisting that he wanted her to feel just as good as he did. “I will. I am.” With that, she lowered herself slowly, taking him inch by inch. Their faces were a mirror of shared ecstasy, expressions soft with contentment. They were entwined — she cradled in his embrace, he sheathed within her warmth. 

Lucien's world had narrowed to this single point in time and space. Any remaining semblance of coherent thought dissolved entirely. The feel of her skin, the sound of her breath, the scent of her hair — these were the only realities that existed for him now. Nothing else mattered — not the court, not his duties, not even his own name. There was only her, only this. 

A low growl rumbled in his chest as he tightened his hold, desperate to remove any open space from between them. His thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm, leaving only base instinct and overwhelming need.

“(Y/N),” he huffed, voice rough with emotion. “I can’t… I need…”

Words failed him, but his body spoke volumes. Trembling muscles, racing pulse, sharp breaths. He was a male consumed. Lucien heard her voice distantly. 

“It’s okay… Take what you need, Lucien.”

As she pulled herself up, something primal awakened in him. Lucien drove his hips up into her and moved with fervent intensity, his actions far beyond conscious control. Every fiber of his being sang with pleasure, drowning out all else. Nothing beyond this moment.

He was dimly aware of sounds escaping him — groans, gasps, fragmented words of reverence. There was only feeling, only her, only them. 

The spring water surged around them, disturbed by the frenzied movements of their bodies. Each trust was relentless, powerful, driven by an urgent need. Lucien’s hands guided her by the hips with a force that left no room for gentleness.

He groaned her name, told her he needed more of her. He didn’t know how it would be possible, in this moment she was his everything. 

Her responses were lost in a series of breathless moans and gasps, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she tried to match his relentless rhythm. “Lucien… don’t stop… please…”

The words spurred him on, his pace now frantic. His eyes bore into hers. Every thrust, every movement, was a raw expression of his need, amplified by the pollen’s effects coursing through his veins.

Her nails raked down his back, leaving red trails in their wake. She clung to him, feeling the intensity of his desire in each powerful motion. The friction and pressure were overwhelming, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. Her body responded to his instinctually, her moans and cries echoing through the trees around them.

“So… damn good… So tight,” he groaned into her.

She gasped, her head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut as she rode him, rode the pleasure coursing through her. “Lucien… oh gods… you’re so deep, I can’t,” she buried her face into the crook of his neck. All she saw was the tanned color of his skin, the golden red of his hair, and smelled the earthy scent of cedar and fresh rain, mingling with the faintest hint of smoke and spice.

He shook his head. “Don’t hold back… Let me hear you. Tell me—fuck—tell me how good it feels.”

Her voice came out in broken gasps, each word punctuated by a moan. “It’s… so good… you’re so good... I can't... I need…”

Lucien's lips found her neck, his teeth grazing her skin before he sucked hard, leaving a mark. "Need what, darling? I want to hear you say it."

"Need you... need you to make me come," she confessed, her voice trembling with need. "Please, Lucien... I’m so close."

He groaned in response, the sound vibrating against her skin. "Anything for you, love." His mouth trailed down to her chest, his lips closing around one of her nipples. He sucked hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, sending jolts of pleasure straight to her core.

She cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair, holding him close. "Lucien... yes, just like that... don't stop..."

His free hand snaked between their bodies, fingers seeking out her clit. He rubbed in firm, deliberate circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. The combined sensations of his mouth on her nipple, his fingers on her clit, and the relentless drive of his hips were too much.

Her body tensed, a strangled cry escaping her lips as she teetered on the edge of release. Lucien bit down gently on her nipple, the sudden spike of pain mingling with the overwhelming pleasure, pushing her over the edge. She shattered around him, her orgasm ripping through her with an intensity that left her breathless and trembling.

Lucien didn’t slow, riding out her climax, his own release following swiftly. With a final, powerful thrust, he let out a primal roar, spilling into her with a force that made stars dance behind his eyelids.

For a moment, they were locked together, their breaths harsh and mingled, hearts racing in unison. Slowly, as the intensity of their climaxes began to fade, they slumped into the water, still entwined, the spring's cool embrace a stark contrast to the heat of their encounter.

Lucien pressed his forehead against hers, his breath still coming in ragged gasps. "Are you... alright?" he managed to ask, his voice hoarse with lingering desire and concern.

She nodded weakly, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. "More than alright," she replied, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. "That was... incredible."

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through both of them. 

She lifted her head slightly, looking into his eyes. "How are you feeling now?"

Lucien took a deep breath, still holding her close. "I still feel it," he admitted, his voice softer now, more controlled. "But it's much more manageable.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. "I'm glad," she murmured, running her fingers through his hair. "I was worried for a moment there."

He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, his eyes softening. "You were amazing," he whispered. 

They lingered in the water for a few more moments, their breaths slowly returning to normal. But the connection between them, the raw need, was still there, simmering beneath the surface.

And then Lucien moved again, his hands sliding down to grip her hips. "But I think," he said, his voice taking on that rough, hungry edge once more, "that we have a bit more to take care of."

She shivered in anticipation, her own desire flaring up once again. "What do you have in mind?" she asked, a teasing lilt to her voice.

His answer was a low growl as he shifted their positions, lifting her up and guiding her onto a nearby rock. He took her again there, their bodies moving together with a renewed intensity. Then, he turned her around, bending her over it, her cries echoing through the spring as he thrust into her from behind.

They moved to the water's edge next, Lucien pulling her onto his lap as he sat on a submerged boulder. She rode him hard, the water splashing around them as their movements grew more frantic.

Later, he laid her down on a bed of soft moss, hovering over her as he entered her again. The rhythm of his thrusts was relentless, each one pushing them both closer to the edge once more.

And when they finally left the spring, sated but still hungry for each other, Lucien carried her back to his chambers. He laid her on his bed, driven by a deeper need, something more enduring. There, in the privacy of his room, he took her yet again, their bodies entwined in a dance of passion and connection, free from any enchantments, driven only by their desire for each other.

[iphigeniacomplex]

I have long been interested in the resonances between the Nakba and the Maafa – this is the Swahili word chosen for what is otherwise dubbed the “Middle Passage” in the history of African enslavement in the Americas, in North America specifically in this case. Both terms translate to the same thing: disaster or catastrophe. Both are used for enormous dislocating experiences that go on to define ongoing lives of struggle. Whenever I hear “Nakba,” I think immediately Maafa. There is a need to insist on these terms in these languages because, as the argument goes, there is no way that the language of the colonizer – the language of the criminal who criminalizes us – can adequately express the experience of this crime,  a crime against humanity, our humanity, and a crime against history. The Nakba was a presence in the overwhelming majority of my interviews with Palestinian former prisoners (who might become prisoners anew at any time, we must add). I would begin by asking where they were from to find out who they are and how they began their lives in the revolutionary struggle. They would often narrate their histories in terms of origin in a now “far” place, followed by displacement around 1948. Each micro-autobiography was also a Nakba story, about families scattered and how people came to end up in Ramallah or Hebron from Haifa or Jaffa. It may be helpful as well then to think of the ongoing Nakba as part of a regime of captivity, and not only as dispossession and expulsion, as it is commonly discussed by other academic perspectives in particular. This is no dichotomy. A focus on captivity could nonetheless highlight Zionism’s ongoing attempts at controlling Palestinians, not to mention others, “here and there.” In the context of apartheid in South Africa or Jim Crow in the US, people often think the term “segregation” accurately identified what was going on. But this is misleading – there was never really “segregation” by any name in those cases. There was always a line that the colonizer could cross when he saw fit for purposes of economic or sexual exploitation or any other reason and that the colonized couldn’t cross without facing murderous violence. The “separations” of “Apartheid” are breached in and out of colonial interests, as a rule. Similarly, when we think of the Nakba it is very much about removing Palestinians from land as well as controlling and containing them at whatever remove at the same time—in Gaza, in the West Bank, in the diaspora beyond. Look at the assassination of the escaped prisoner Omar Zayed, who was newly captive in seeking refuge in the Palestinian embassy in Sofia, Bulgaria. Also, one former prisoner whom I interviewed in Majd El Kurum described that village as “a West Bank-style refugee camp” in ’48 Palestine. We could talk about how gentrification operates like this in Palestine and the U.S. with all its attendant policing and state violence. Like Malcolm X said, a long time ago now, this is very much about the power of control and containment in the bloody occupation of land, wherever you are or end up – all limiting terminology aside.

—Professor Greg Thomas for the Nakba Files, “Palestine in the Sun of the Black Radical Tradition”

[markerofthemidnight]

When the Miss Holloway backstory musical comes out, I hope it contains plenty of fourth-wall breaking on Holloway’s part.

When I say that, I mean imagine if it’s framed as her having the opportunity to share her backstory with a large group of people who, for once in her life, won’t forget it, and that’s why the musical’s happening.

There are certain intervals where she personally addresses the audience, like the Narrator likely will in Cinderella’s Castle, and sometimes in the middle of an actual important lore scene she’ll like, turn to the audience and make some silly remark or something, and also similar fourth-wall breaking bits, such as:

Her referring to a character by their actor’s name before correcting herself in the middle of an interval (sarcastically with quotation marks on the character’s name, or in some other way that makes it clear to the audience that this is a bit and not a genuine slip up)

Refers to the audience as “The Watchers with 1000 Eyes” at some point, before adding, “Thankfully not the real Watcher with 1000 Eyes, but hey, even if it was, it certainly wouldn’t be my first time having to deal with him.”

If there’s a scene where she plays Run Away With Me, she turns to the audience beforehand and goes “Sing along if you know the words.” Once the music starts and they inevitably all start screaming upon realising what she’s about to play, she just smiles at them and winks before starting to sing.

Right before she summons the Lords in Black for the first time, she goes, “Now, I feel the need to add: please don’t sing along if you know the words. They’ll get enough attention tonight just with this scene alone, we don’t need about 350-or-so people summoning them all at once.”

To make that bit even better, the next time there’s an interval after she makes that deal, she’ll be in the middle of talking to the audience before being interrupted by one of the Lords for a few seconds (which one maybe being different each show, like it being Pokey on the digital ticket and Tinky on the one that eventually goes to YouTube), after which she turns back to them and goes, “You sung along, didn’t you, you bastards?”

[acrazyvictorianscientist]

Since my last one did so well, here’s more TF2 incorrect quotes!!

Scout, on the phone with Pauling: So no head?

Scout: *Throws phone and breaks skateboard*

Scout on Monday: *glues a dime to the sidewalk* Heh heh heh.

Scout on Wednesday: *walking down the street* Ooh hey! A dime!

Heavy, gently nudging Medic aside with his foot: Herbie, move out of way so Heavy doesn’t don’t trip on you.

Medic, his eyes enormous: You kick Doctor? You kick his body like the football? Oh! Oh! Jail for Misha! Jail for Misha for one thousand years!

Spy: New year, same me. Because I'm perfect.

Demoman & Soldier in the back of Sniper's car: MCDONALDS! MCDONALDS! MCDONALDS!

Spy: We have food at home.

Sniper: *pulls into the McDonald's drivethrough*

Demoman & Soldier: YAYYYYYY!

Sniper: *orders one black coffee and leaves*

Pyro, behind their mask: Well, needless to say. Uh-oh Spaghetti-os.

Heavy: Do you want to know your gay name?

Medic: My... my gay name?

Heavy: да. It is Doktor first name-

Medic: Haha. Very funny Misha-

Heavy: *gets down on one knee* And Heavy last name.

Medic: Oh- oh mein gott.

Pyro: Gender? Ha, yeah. I totally have one of those, definitely. There's some sort of gender around here, gimmie a second.

Pyro, throwing dirty laundry around: Shit. I know it was here... I saw it yesterday!

Pyro, crawling around on the floor, looking under things: Ugh... Sorry, gimmie a sec... I swear, I had it just the other day...

Engineer : Do you have any idea what you’re doing?

Soldier: Why start now?!

Sniper: Do you love me?

Spy: So much. Why?

Sniper: Just checking. It seems like you want me to die.

Spy: Where did you get that tomato soup?

Soldier: It’s actually a bowl of ketchup I just microwaved!

Demoman: I am 39 cheetos tall.

Medic: Why... are you measuring your height in cheetos?

Demoman: Because we're out of doritos.

Scout: Spy doesn’t look very happy.

Sniper: That's his happy. He’s just a bitch.

Medic: Christmas lights?

Sniper: Check.

Pyro: Thermos of hot cocoa?

Sniper: Check.

Scout: Santa suits?

Sniper: Check.

Engineer: Shovel?

Sniper: Check.

Spy: Alibi and bail money?

Sniper: Check- wait, WHAT?!

*The team’s reaction to being told they're the chosen one*

Soldier: I will not let you down.

Scout: Sounds fun.

Sniper: K.

Heavy: No, I'm fucking not.

Spy: Do I have to be?

Engineer : Please god, I am so tired.

Engineer: No problemo.

Narrator: But it was all problemo.

[marioposssa]

Time for some real fun statistics, so I wanted to go in hot with the promised questions 'Who's kissing the most and how is it not Napoleon?'

(Short answer: statistic fudging, dual cheek kisses are only counted as a single one, that's how).

So let's start with some numbers.

Across the book we have kisses coming in at 7 of the 9 main books, with the ultimate book 'League of Dragons' also coming in with the most amount of kisses at 7! total.

In second place there's 'His Majesty's Dragon' with a grand total of 5 platonic to steaming hot kisses.

Over all books a total number of 25 kisses are recorded, with Laurence winning the record at a staggering majority of 14 kisses taken part in. This actually surprised me, I expected a bit more even distribution.

The majority of Laurence kisses are shared with Jane Roland across the series, including all 4 recorded kisses on the mouth, one kiss on the cheek, one kiss blown on air and one steamy kiss on the throat, totalling 7 kisses overall.

This may not be so surprising since Laurence is for most of the series our narrator and pretty prudish when it comes to describing romantic activities outside his own and even there he is as always leaving a lot out.

But who else is Laurence kissing?

Well, his mother and Napoleon. Both tie in at 3 different kisses, all on the cheek. In the matter of his mother Laurence does the kissing, with Napoleon though he is unsurprisingly always the kissed.

Laurence also gets a mention for the only recorded kiss on an inanimate object, namely a 'family crucifix' in the house he is staying while recovering from a gunshot wound in 'League of Dragons', to show the terrified mistress of the house that he is not a 'devil'.

My initial contender Napoleon comes in second place with 8! instances of kisses being given, none received. 7 of these are the famous double cheek kisses given to various people in greeting and once he's seen kissing the women's hands of De Guignes entourage during his brief encounter in 'Crucible of Gold'.

Now one could argue, since all of these kisses are actually multiple kisses in disguise, Napoleon should actually come out on top count wise alone, which is true. I would also think we are properly not seeing a lot of the kisses happening, since Laurence does mention a matter of greetings happening during various negotiations.

Who does Napoleon like giving his kisses in the 'gallic manner' to? Well Laurence mainly as described further up. But Napoleon does not discriminate. He is described kissing both ally (De Guigne) and adversary (Russian Lord Tzvilenev). With Tsar Alexander he even shares kisses for greetings on two separate occasions.

Some special mentions:

The queen of Prussia shares two very emotional kisses, one with her husband on his cheek and the other one with her children saying goodbye while sending them away. I love these scenes in the book and they always feel so very dire because they come in directly during the horrors of the prussian battlefield in Black Powder War.

Dunne and Hackley, for being the libidinous guys in the first part of BPW. No direct kisses, but a lot of hot air, twice and the second time with dire consequences.

None of the dragons are being seen kissing or being kissed. While this may not be surprising given the dragons are actual dragons and show their affections in various other ways I still wanted to mention it. Do forehead touches count here instead?

Disclaimer: any kind of statistic analyses over a text that is based on numbers and instance counting alone, especially if it is a novel is most certainly worthless. Almost anything in these posts is for fun and does not hold up as value for thoroughly reading the actual books. I mainly do this because it's my thing and a nice brainstarter.

[calitears]

sessions

2. iconic duo

story masterlist

tw/notes: cursing, drinking/smoking, drug/alcohol mention, unserious itafushi (?), sexual jokes mentioned

“aren’t you gonna be cold though?” maki asked leaning back on your bed

“but the jacket ruins the point of the outfit, doesn’t it?”

she sighed and looked over her glasses at where you were standing in front of the mirror, “throw on a red one then, red and yellow were already a choice to begin with.”

fake pouting at her you just went ahead and laid down next to her. “it’s just having fun- it’s not even obnoxiously red and yellow! i made it cute,” you sighed dramatically, looking up at her, “don’t push it, i’m still mad you’re not coming with us, who’s gonna be the one degrading the nasty guys that approach us?”

she just rolled her eyes and flicked your forehead in response, “don’t sit here and act like you aren’t capable of being evil.” she stood up from the bed, tugging your arm, “c’mon, i’ve got this red jacket you can take, might even do the outfit a favor, red baby tee and those shorts aren’t enough even if you made cute, you’re still gonna get hypothermia when walking outside.”

you followed her sitting up, letting her take you to her room to dig for the jacket, “if you had decided to go we could’ve been needy and jennifer…”

“aw, well that’s too bad.”

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

you wandered through the crowded living space, bright colored lighting shading the walls and furnitures. you dragged toge to where yuji had texted you he was, panda following shortly behind you both, wearing some cheap dollar store blonde wig after you both decided to include him into the ‘duo’ by making him juno’s best friend leah. some people gave you weird looks when seeing the taped bowl under your friend’s shirt resembling a ‘stomach’, but most were caught up in there own worlds.

once you reached the dinning room it was hard to miss the guy’s pink hair, wearing some variation of a tyler durden fit. he was leaning against the table smiling, the round sunglasses sliding down his nose as he seemed to examine something on the table, only to look up when he felt your finger flick against his shoulder. his smile only getting brighter once he took in you and toge’s outfits.

“y/n! wait- you guys actually did it-!” he exclaimed.

“heyyyy- you look great! fight club-” you started only to be cut off by him bringing his finger up to his lips. “first rule, never talk about about fight club.”

you just rolled your eyes, watching him bring his attention to toge next. “hey, this is our friend panda,” he said, pointing to the obvious.

“awesome! i love panda’s!” he exclaimed, turning back to you for a moment before he forgot. “oh hey- remind me one of my friends wanted to meet you, she started listening to you and said she’s a fan!”

“always up for meeting a hot girl,” but as yuji moved out the way, you caught sight of the guy who had been standing behind him.

white button up with a ‘hello my name is’ sticker on it, black pants, loosened tie and fake busted lip and nose, the blood drawn on with what’d you guess was some kind of lipstick or colored makeup pencil. No doubt as the narrator and the other half of yuji’s pair, but holy shit was he hot.

“oh yeah- hey this is my no heart ex-roomate-” yuji started only to get slapped on the back of his head.

“Fushiguro, nice meeting you…”

outside the studio…

debated making megumi and yuji ennis and jack but i alr made a reference 1st chap had to limit myself

megumi stole nobara’s lipstick to draw the blood on in the car and was jumpscared when she got into the passenger seat

toge went around and kept rubbing his stomach and telling everyone y/n was the father

yuji was looking down at the table at a printed out minion meme someone that was a fan had given him

yuta and maki went to go watch nosferatu together, maki kept thinking ‘trench coat buttoned up to the TOP”

taglist (open)

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*feel free to ask in inbox, comment, or pm if you’d like to be added!!

*if your tag isn’t working pls change your settings or let me know!!

[rileyslibrary]

The hot seat.

Synopsis: You decide to attend a speed dating event in the city where you're deployed. Simon “Ghost” Riley, your lieutenant, is also there.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,595

Notes:

I got this idea after a friend told me she matched with one of her colleagues on Tinder.

Fluff.

Want more?

———————————————————————

“Why don’t you just give it a try?” One of your friends suggested, “It’s not like you’ll be committing to anything.”

And when you told them there are other ways to meet new people, such as dating apps, they laughed so hard that you felt offended. “You don’t trust your own shadow,” one of them said, “how could you possibly trust a couple of pictures and a few messages before meeting a stranger?”

They were right; not only had it been months since your last date, but your trust issues weren’t helping. So you listened to your friends and decided to give it a shot. This could be your opportunity to get “back on the horse.”

They wanted to come to your house a few hours before to advise you on what to wear—it seems like it wasn’t just you who had trust issues. “You have a thing with self-sabotage,” one of them admitted, “and we don’t want you to portray yourself as less than who you really are.” A bolt claim from Jessica, the master of self-sabotage, who kept bailing her partner out of jail because he was constantly breaking into people’s houses.

You politely declined, promising to do your best. You chose a little black dress, opaque tights, and black heels. You let your hair down for once, since the army wouldn’t let you, and applied some make-up—but not too much—to enhance your features.

The speed dating event is held in a trendy downtown bar. The room is crammed with small tables, each with two chairs facing each other. You take a deep breath and walk over to the registration desk. You sign up, fill out a form with your information, and they hand you a name tag.

“This Is What You Came For” plays over the speakers, and you can’t help but wonder what made the DJ choose that song. What did I come here for, Rihanna? You think to yourself. To tell a stranger in three minutes about my food preferences and favourite colour? Is that what will ensure compatibility?

Your nerves start to kick in, so you rush to the bar. Your options are limited to beer or wine, according to the bartender. When you ask why, he starts narrating the horrors he’s seen of people attempting to calm their nerves with shots before the speed date. You choose wine and turn to face the people you’re about to meet in three-minute rounds. A few catch your eye; some look intimidated, while others appear overconfident and exuberant. “Peacocks”, as you call them.

The event organiser announces the beginning of the event, and you make your way to your assigned table. Dread grips you. What if you don’t meet anyone interesting? What if everyone you talk to is dull or uninteresting? You take a seat and wait for the event to start.

The first guy who sits down is a health freak, to put it mildly. He gets up at 4 a.m., lifts “hard” for two hours, goes to work, and waits until his next workout at around 6 p.m. He says he likes chicken because of its high protein content and asks what your favourite food is, to which you respond, “Haribos,” to piss him off.

The next one is a cryptocurrency investor. Enough said.

The third guy is a motivational speaker. You’re unsure about the “motivational” part, but he’s undeniably a “speaker.” He doesn’t. Stop. Talking. He only asks for your name, which you don’t have to say because it’s written on your tag. He then starts mumbling about books he’s read and the importance of a proper and consistent morning routine. He and Mr Health Freak could have easily become soul mates, you think to yourself.

Three minutes pass like hours, and you lower your head to the table. This was a mistake. Coming here was, as you suspected, a bad idea.

“I see you’ve already given up.” The man in front of you comments with a smile.

You look up and meet his gaze. He is tall and well-built, with short blonde hair and dark brown eyes. But it’s his sleeve tattoo that draws your attention.

It’s familiar to you. You’ve seen it before, peeking through a military uniform and tactical gloves.

Simon “Ghost” Riley.

You’d never seen him without his mask, but his build, voice, and tattoos are distinct. Your heart is racing as you struggle to remain calm. He, too, appears surprised. Did he not recognise you at first because of your make-up and hair?

Well, it seems like he recognises you now. But you’re not supposed to acknowledge his true identity; doing so might destroy everything he’s worked so hard to keep hidden all these years. It may also jeopardise your professional relationship.

But, my God, he’s hot. He’s exactly as you imagined him, if not better. It’d be best to act as cool as possible. Ignorant, stupid, call it whatever you want—just don’t reveal his identity. There are tens of thousands of people named Simon, and you are not supposed to give your surname to the other person here. So all you know about him is his name. He could be any of the other “Simons” out there.

You immediately put on a happy-go-lucky face and smile, trying to muster the courage to date your lieutenant for three minutes.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” you reply, trying to play it cool.

He fidgets in his seat, still feeling uneasy. You need to act quickly.

“Yes, I’m about to give up,” you moan and pout, “so please, for the love of God, be a decent one.”

He lets out an awkward chuckle. “I’m not sure about that,” he says.

“Oh, really?” You exclaim, raising your eyebrows, “Unless you speak nonchalantly about yourself, chuck twelve egg yolks in the morning, or boast about imaginary coins, you’re good.”

“Ah,” he says hesitantly, “no, I prefer my eggs cooked.”

“Boiled, scrambled, or sunny side up?”

“I don’t mind as long as they’re cooked properly.” He responds, and you raise your fist to your mouth.

“I assume no runny egg whites?” You ask, making a disgusted face.

“Christ, no.” He smiles and shakes his head.

He appears more at ease now, thinking you haven’t identified him.

But then another problem arises. When dating, one of the first questions you usually ask is about the other person’s occupation.

“So, Simon,” you say, “what do you do for a living?”

“I, um, work as an operator,” he replies. “And you?”

That was a wise move on his part. He knows you’ll relate if he discloses his primary occupation, and you’ll start speculating. So he decided to reveal his side job. Although he is not completely honest with you, which could be interpreted as a red flag, there is a serious reason behind his answer.

“I’m a sergeant in the military,” you admit.

He nods and smirks but doesn’t ask a follow-up question.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m not very good at this.”

“Neither am I,” you chuckle, “but I can help you.”

“Thank you,” he says.

“Do you prefer cats or dogs, Simon?”

“I like both,” he says, “I can’t have a preference for animals; they aren’t eggs.”

“Phew!” You exclaim, theatrically placing the back of your hand on your forehead, “most of the men I met today hate cats!”

“Yeah,” Simon agrees. “I believe it’s because they don’t have control over them like dogs.”

“I feel bad for most of the women in here,” you say, looking around, “for settling for such controlling personalities.”

“How do you know I’m not controlling?” He asks, his brow furrowed.

“Men whose job is to order soldiers around, tend to live a more chilled lifestyle.” You elaborate.

“Order soldiers?” He asks, and you immediately stiffen up. “How do you know I order soldiers at my work?”

“I, um, assume you do because of your profession.” You stutter and look down at your lap.

“I said I’m an operator,” he smirks, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, “but I never said what kind of operator I am.”

Your chair has turned into a hot seat all of a sudden.

“From what you know, I could be a heavy machinery operator.” He adds, his smile widening.

You blush and turn to look at the clock; time’s almost up.

He leans forward to the table. “Why such eagerness to end our date, sergeant?” he whispers, “I thought we were doing so well.”

You raise your head to look at him. “I’m sorry, Lt.,” you admit, “I just didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“I appreciate that,” he says, “but knowing that you know who I am is already uncomfortable, don’t you think?”

You look down again, and he continues.

“Perhaps it would have been better to acknowledge the elephant in the room from the beginning.” He explains.

You let out a sigh. “You’re right,” you say, “I should have been more honest.”

He nods, and the bell rings for your next date. Simon gets up from his chair and smiles at you.

“Normally, I’d end this with a nice to meet you,” he says, “but in this case, it’s more of a nice getting to know you better,” he adds, extending his hand for a handshake.

You stand up and take his hand in yours. “Likewise, Lt.,” you say, smiling.

“See you tomorrow,” he says.

“For another date?” You joke, “You move too fast, Simon.”

“For the best military drill of your life,” he corrects you with a smirk, “for thinking you could fool me so easily.”

———————————————————————

Part 2 ->

[godhandler]

Rent A BF!

#5 | young toji fushiguro x reader | fluff, mentions of prostitution, aged and sometimes offensive terminology, gun violence | 540 words

previous next series masterlist

Round hollow goes the barrel of the gun right between your eyes. The world has stopped turning, the cherry blossoms frozen mid-fall, the Sumida silent, songbirds choked. There is nothing but a gun held to your face. 

“Your watch and purse. Don’t try any dirty tricks and no one gets hurt,” comes a voice. You can’t move a finger or reply. You can’t.

“Watch and purse, lady. C’mon, be a good girl.” 

You can’t. Move. Even less when the voice shoves the gun further into your forehead. Hard metal, nuzzle ominously warm.

“Easy, big guy. Don’t make any sudden movements.” The gun swings off you, and you can finally breathe air into your burning lungs, and onto Toji. 

No. Not Toji. Fucking not, not if I have any say in it. 

“Say what, miss?” Everyone, the robber, Toji and you yourself are shocked by your words. Your audacity. “The hell are you gonna do?”

Without thinking (clearly), you throw yourself in front of Toji, falling against his chest with your arms spread. “He’s my employee!” You shout so loud you’re sure to be heard halfway across the park. “You can’t harass my employee!” 

“The fuck are you on about–”

“I pay him to spend time with me so he’s my employee and you can’t kill him.” You’re babbling out of fear, tears streaming down your face. It’s almost comical, frankly. “You can’t kill Toji he’s a good guy you can’t kill people no you go ahead and kill me instead.”

“Lady, I just want your purse, I’m not killing anyo–”

“Lay it off, Yuzu.” Toji, hands in pockets, calmly looks down at you. “She’s gonna faint.”

“Yuzu?” You question, watching Toji and the robber bump fists. You’re suddenly aware that the robber is a young guy about Toji’s age, a black fur coat wrapped over his shoulders. In spring. 

“Lives near my place.” Toji cocks his head. “Practicing to get into the Yakuza.”

“Sorry about the fright, ma’am.” Gun tucked back into the pocket of his jeans, Yuzu flashes a bright smile at you. As if he wasn’t robbing you in broad daylight 20 seconds ago. “I didn’t think Toji would mind if I robbed you, my bad! See, I’m still a novice.” He bonked himself on the head lightly, sticking his tongue out in mock pain. “I’ll treat you to some skewers, how about that?”

Yuzu wouldn’t take no for an answer. Shiori Park is a 10 minute walk from Minami-Sinju, Yuzu explains as he leads both you and Toji towards their local skewer spot. You’re still a bit wary of him, the feverish shock of the encounter making you wobbly in the knees. I mean, what the God fucking hell just happened? 

Without a word, Toji squats down in front of you when you knock into him for the 7th time, unable to walk, think, or talk straight, motioning for you to get on.

Yuzu wants to ask why Toji is carrying his employer on his back. But the way your head falls on his nape, breath warming his collar, the careful positioning of his arms hooked under your knees, and the way Toji refuses to look at anyone but the waves of the Sumida as they walk, Yuzu thinks that he knows the answer. 

previous next series masterlist

a/n: ooooh

also, last time i went to tokyo was before the pandemic and till then there was no flea market in minami-sinju, as far as i know. i lied. i made it all up. i thought of making it a book fair (reader gets surprised by toji's unexpected knowledge of classical literature) or a food festival (giving me a chance to info dump on different types of dumplings across the world), but i went with this at the end.

i was reading no longer human by dazai osamu and yuzu is a bastardised pronunciation of the narrator's name lol. it's a great book tho, so raw and heart-wrenching, please do read it once!

[call-sign-shark]

Summary: Somewhere in Westeros, an unnamed Maester warns youngsters about the danger of love by telling the old legend of the Feral Lovers — a cautionary tale for hearts that burn too fiercely.

Words: 1.5k

TW: !MDNI! Please read the Masterlist's warning! They are twisted and mutually abusive. Blabla I don't condone nor excuse Amos' revenge or Hev's violence but they are dark coded so, what did you expect?

Lucilla Targaryen belongs to @mischievouslittlecreature. The Rose of Highgarden and the Wolf belong to @justrainandcoffee.

Next Part

"Gather close, young lords and ladies, and you shall listen well, for I will tell a tale of dizzying love, but not the kind sung by minstrels in courtly halls! "

The old Maester croaked, his rasping voice echoing through the castle's walls as he closed the heavy wooden door of the room to keep the cold of the corridors from entering. Then, he sat on a chair in the middle of a tiny crowd of baby-faced nobilities. The way dancing candlelights hit his face when he lowered his head to look at his audience made his wrinkles strike out— he looked as old as the parchment he spent days with. All around him, young lords and ladies, ranging from 10 to 15 years of age, were gathered, waiting impatiently for one of his many stories.

"Are you going to tell the tale of The Rose of Highgarden and the Wolf?! This is my favorite one, it's so romantic." A little lady with blonde hair and amber eyes said, beaming.

"I've heard it countless times. Can we talk about Princess Lucilla and Thomaryon Targaryen? The good ending always makes my heart melt. Lucilla was such a strong woman, I hope I could be like her and partake in ruling!" Another one exclaimed, holding a book about politics pressed on her chest.

"Not today, children! Today is not the day for those heartwarming tales but rather something I want you to keep in mind in the future now that some of you will soon know the joy of marriage. The story I'm about to tell is not a love story wrapped in silk and crowned in gold. No, this is love in its most primal form. This is love sharp as a dagger, love that scars and flays. And no tale speaks more of the danger of love than of Queen Heavenerys Targaryen and Amos Bolton."

The Maester moistened his chapped lips, his old grey eyes flickering over the young faces in front of him. All eager and wary, hanging to his words. "As many tragedies, it all began with a wedding."

"She was a Targaryen princess, young and bright as dawn's first light, with her white hair as pure as freshly fallen snow and her eyes burning with an ice-scorching fire. Heavenerys was a delicate jewel, even though the fire of dragons obviously burnt in her veins." He recounted with a soft expression on his face before his traits turned colder.

"And he was Amos Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort — a cruel man carved in blood and shadow, feared across the North and beyond. " The master smirked at the audience's reaction, shivering at the sole mention of the name. It has been more than a century, and yet Amos' greatness and savagery still haunted the North. Some families still used him as a boogeyman — don't stay outside too late or Amos Bolton will come back and feed you to his hounds. "She was seventeen, warm as the blazing sun of the South and untouched by the horrors of the world. He was thirty, a cold man who had bathed in them. A man who had inflected them. Amos was a terrific mix of danger and irresistible charm."

The Maester then narrated how the Lord had always refused to be involved in marriage, rather seeking the extension of his power and influence in order to raise his family to the top of the food chain. Legacy and love were supposed to rest on Orion's shoulders and the rest of the family's members. However, when he was offered the future Queen's hand, he accepted for purely selfish motivation.

"And yet, when he laid his ink-black eyes upon her for the very first time, something inside him twisted into madness. Something he had never felt nor expected to feel one day: Love."

" It was Instant, cataclysmic, brutal. Blissful love washed over him like a tidal wave, leaving him shaken to the core. He didn't fall in love like most men who love their wives. No, he loved her much more intensely. So intensely, that it could be described as obsession and hunger — A hunger that no feast could ever sate."

"I say 'love' because there was no truer word for it. Feral, perhaps, but love nonetheless." The Maester's sentence lingered in the air when he caught his breath, as though the intensity of what Lord Bolton had was tremendously taxing to talk about.

"She tamed him like no one had ever dared, bending the monstrous Lord to her will. And while Amos was a monster, the beast softened around her. You might not believe me considering how scarce it is for a Bolton to have a heart, but he truly worshipped her, to the point of devoting all his affection and life to his Queen. But as many Bolton, that darker side of him tainted his genuine affection and chained her. Keeping her caged in his possessive grasp. He was always nearby, looming. His hand on the small of her back, guiding her movements. Surprisingly, Heavenerys didn't really fight it and allowed this controlling aspect of him. Though it stirred some fights, she didn't mind most of the time as long as she could be with him."

"My grandmother said they could not be apart!" A teen lady exclaimed with a little smirk, nudging her best friend, "Never had Dreadfort's halls been so filled with giggles and moans."

"You're impossible." Her friend replied, trying to suppress her laugh at the lascivious comment.

"It's true! He would chase her through the castle, playing cat and mouse, until he'd catch her, then throw her onto his shoulders and bring her back to the bedroom while she laughed herself to tears."

"They could not be parted, indeed." The Maester acknowledged, but his firm tone put a stop to the lewd whispers, "But it went far beyond the affairs of the bedroom. When he rode to war, she followed. When he bled, she was the one who stitched him back together. When he fell to darkness, she plunged in after him and when the world tore them apart, they clawed their way back to each other. But mark my words: love, when turned into obsession and addiction, is cruel."

The air in the room shifted as the Maester's voice lowered, hushed like a whisper, as though he was terrified the lovers might hear him from beyond the grave.

"Amos, jealous and afraid of losing her, unfortunately, caught his beloved little dragon sharing a kiss with her cousin Aerthurys, her childhood lover. In a moment of pure madness, the Dread lord sought to break her, rendered mad with sorrow and betrayal."

"They fought. A terrible, so terrible fight. One said that their screams were so loud that even the dogs outside stopped barking, terrified. Then, for the very first and last time, Amos took what he wanted with force for the sole purpose of showing her whom she belonged to, not minding her cries and pleas. He was blinded with rage. And even though regret clawed at him afterward, it was too late. His and his men's touch had left scars. "

All smirks and flushed cheeks had vanished. The only thing that remained was eyes gawking in both sadness and horror.

"But she didn't cower in reply. No, my young ones, Heavenerys Targaryen would have never retreated into tears no matter the suffering she had been through. He had maimed her heart, so she decided to maim his in return."

"The Queen knew that what her husband loved the most after her was control and power so she stripped him of them. She turned to punishment in the dark of their bedroom, vengeance disguised as pleasure. She wounded him in ways that only she could. And just like that, pain, pleasure, vengeance, love and devotion all blurred together."

A pause. A sigh. The Maester glanced at the crackling fire that burnt low in the hearth, his mind resting briefly after struggling to find elegant words to mention the depravity of the Lovers.

"Why didn't she leave if he had hurt her?" A young boy asked with a quivering voice.

"Because their relationship was mostlyloving despite that awful slip. They lived for each other, hopelessly in love. And if Amos was sick in the head, Heavenerys was too, she just hid it better, and thrived in this unhealthy bond."

"So, because they couldn't do it themselves, it was the world that rip them apart."

"Aerthurys came back from war ten years later, thinking himself a savior. He took her from Amos after bloodbath, declaring her freed from the monster who had ensnared her. And to keep her safe, he married the beauty himself and offered her tenderness. He offered her a love that did not bruise nor burn."

With a tilt of the head, the Maester's gaze slowly surveyed his listeners. The two giggling ladies were now silent, clutching at each other with tears-filled eyes.

"But tell me, my sweet children, do you think Heavenerys was truly saved? That she might finally find peace?"

No one spoke. Only the wind outside howled in reply, as though the Lost Queen screamed at such question.

The old man let out a humorless chuckle, dry and full of dread.

"Alas, what is peace to a woman who had blossomed in chaos? Heavenerys withered without Amos, even showered with kindness and care. Despite having affection for Aerthurys, her heart turned into a hollow thing, untouched by his gentleness. She ate little, spoke less, and her burning eyes turned empty like a starless sky. No matter how gently Aerthurys touched her, she did not feel anything. No matter how lovingly he spoke her name, she did not answer. Heavenerys was already lost to another."

The silence that suddenly hovered above the room sent shivers down his aching spine. Far too caught in his tale, the Maesther didn't notice that the fire that kept them warm had died in the hearth long ago.

"And so, one night she was gone. No guards saw her, no horses were taken, only her mighty dragon Kairaxès wasn't there anymore. Soon after, Amos Bolton was never to be seen again."

He leaned in a bit, his fingers steepled.

"Did they find each other?" The same boy wondered, nervously chewing on the side of his thumb.

"The question is not if they did, but rather what happened after."

The youngest among them trembled in fear, staring at the old man as if he were speaking of grim ghosts rather than lovers.

"Some say their bodies were found in the snow, locked in an embrace with their flesh long frozen but bodies still entwined. Others claim they vanished beyond the Wall, into the lands where the dead walk. But there are whispers, children, whispers from the North's darkest tales..."

The skeleton-like branches of a gigantic oak tree outside scratched at the window, making all of them jump in fear except for the Maester.

"Their love —" He spat the word like a curse, " was so deep, so sick, that even the Stranger couldn't defeat them. If you listen to those tales whispered in dark taverns, you'd learn that the cold had transformed them. Not into mindless wraiths though but something else. It is said that Beyond the Wall, two figures still walk hand in hand, their eyes burning like frozen embers, a gigantic dragon looming in the shadows behind them."

He exhaled through his nose loudly before shaking his head in disbelief.

"But you might believe what you want. Perhaps they perished, the echo of their tragic tale still buried in the howling winds of the most frozen winters. Or perhaps, their ghosts still roam far away in the North, enamored even in death."

When the Maester clapped his hands to signal the end of the tale, someone let out a little squeal.

"But let this be a warning to you all. Love is often depicted as a gentle thing, and it can be. Yes, it can be warm, it can give life. But love... Love is not weak. In fact, love is the very thing that can consume, burn and destroy. Even the mightiest can be brought to their knees by it. And even the cruelest can be undone. It's one true power, sharper than any sword and greater than any crown. So beware the hearts that burn too fiercely and recklessly, for they always meet the tragic fate of Amos Bolton and Heavenerys Targaryen, the Feral Lovers of Westeros."

With that, the Maester rose from his chair. The room was still bathed in a religious silence but somewhere outside, the wind howled one last time and a dragon-shaped black cloud flew above the castle.

The GoT Team: @darklydeliciousdesires @justrainandcoffee @peakyswritings @cillmequick @evita-shelby @lunarubra @shelbydelrey

Some Aleksander fans who might be interested in this AU: @elizabethblood9 @lightinbug

[petrichal]

One Piece 1132 talk, my heart is full (and I'm freaking out again)

Can I just take a moment to comment on how this reminds me of, firstly, the first episode of Vicky the Viking, and simultaneously also, Luffy in Fuschia with Shanks?

It almost feels like an homage, it's super cute.

But BOY was this chapter so damn whimsical and exciting. It feels like a long time since the Strawhats have entered an island where there's no enemy (aware to them) that they're about to defeat; They're planning for a feast and it's a good time, it feels like a breather from all the chaos happening to the rest of the world lol

This spread is crazy btw

Elbaf feels like the fantasy land for me. A rainbow bridge where you can ride on (which, you can ride on rainbows this entire time and only the giants knew?? wild), island clouds in between levels, a whole village built on a tree with medieval architecture, waterfalls flowing down into the Underworld, just the sheer scale of it; It's SO good. I'm always in awe whenever they just pan over to an island's first look, and it was the whole island first with Yggdrasil and now this??? If you count Legoland then we have like 3 showings of Elbaf so far, and they just don't miss, they're so stunning.

Also this

This can make a grown man cry.

Usopp and Luffy, as they look on Elbaf, are thinking of the same thing. They both remember making this declaration, of someday going to Elbaf, a dream made by two boys just fresh out of East Blue and only on their second island in the Grand Line. And they made it. Usopp's dream is realized in this moment, and it's heartwarming that Luffy understands how important this was to Usopp as well.

(In a way, we as readers made it too. and yeah I cried a little lmao what of it)

And as if that's not enough, the narration starts, and halfway in the last page, as the narrator says "my account" that made me wonder "?? Is this someone actually talking?", in the last panel, with a ドン!！as it introduces a familiar name:

LOUIS ARNOT. LOUIS ARNOT, THE GUY WHO WROTE THE BOOK ABOUT LITTLE GARDEN, THE BOOK THAT NAMI OWNED THAT WAS ON THE MERRY BEFORE???? HUH????

I fully freaked out LMFAO because I've always been fascinated with the fact that explorers exist in the world of One Piece and they just have books annotating their experiences of the islands they go to and Louis Arnot is the only explorer we know of ever that's published a book about his expeditions, and the name drop just caught me off guard it's RIDICULOUS

The way we got introduced with Louis Arnot in Little Garden was with Nami remembering that she had read a book mentioning the island's name, and it was natural that we then got an excerpt from the book in the style of the usual One Piece narration, but here, this was so sudden (no segue, just appeared on a spread) that it makes the last panel with the all black background mentioning 'Louis Arnot' stand out.

I'm not saying that he's gonna appear as a character but hmMMMaybe??? (not likely lol) It's either that or I'm spouting nonsense and this is just a call back to when we first heard of Louis Arnot in Little Garden (which was on the last panel as well!). I still really like the idea of this faceless storyteller warning people of the islands he'd visited.

It also got me curious about Elbaf as an island?? What do you mean "Do not overstay your welcome"??? "Lost time"??? Do people lose track of time on Elbaf, and that's why giants experience time differently??? (👀 I like this theory I'm locking it in)

All in all, I feel like a kid again with this chapter, it truly feels nostalgic in the most magical way TvT

(edit: cause I totally missed this silhouette the first time ive read it, and he has been appearing (assuming this is the same person who was drinking sake when the Strawhats were approaching Elbaf just a few chapters back), but I believe this is. probably Shiki?? the kasa hat is totally hiding his dumb wheel chicken head???? maybe???

Like I know that's the common theory on this guy but the thing that makes me hesitate is idk what Shiki can bring story-wise, unless he's been disillusioned from being in Elbaf due to this thing Louis Arnot mentioned, or maybe there's just more to unpack from him than what we already know 🤔 curious)