#But this is taking place during the first game.
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max verstappen x fem!reader
⢠summary. max wasnât doing a very good job at being an attentive boyfriend, always busy and not paying you any mind, so when you voice your dismay he gives you exactly what you want.
⢠contains. slight angst, nsfw, smut : unprotected sĂŠx, cĂ´ckwarming âĄ, softdom!max, crybaby!reader, heâs stubborn and mean asf (madmax hehe), you ride him in his gaming chair, dirty talk, creampie, begging, mention of alcohol consumption, usage of petnames (e.g. baby, sweetheart, love), wc : 6.4k
nora's â note. peek-a-boo! srry for being gone, this has been in my drafts since jan LMAO. itâs my first time writing something angsty, hopefully itâs up to par w the rest of my writing (o´ç˝`o) anyway love u all, iâm going through all my work thatâs been collecting dust <3
Your feet padded down the endless hallways of the penthouse you currently resided in, searching for Max with a glass of gin in hand. One of his favorites.
The boisterous district of Fontvieille Monaco has gone long quiet as the evening begins to fade in. It was the most treasured part of your dayâwhen the sunset casts over the ocean and how the crowds of people start to diminish slowly one by one. Loud voices and laughter simmering down, back into their homes or into fancy restaurants and bars to enjoy the rest of their night.
Each roll of the blue waves along with the golden disk already beginning to touch the surface ocean water is a view you could never get sick of. The sun slips quickly behind the line of the horizon as it spreads its last raysâstunning hues of oranges and yellows seeping through the windows of your living room, allowing to emit a shadow of your figure on the floor and walls with each step you take as you continue your hunt for your boyfriend.
It is where you feel the utmost of tranquilityâthe calmness of this environment is a way for you to wind down without having to care for anything else outside of the place you call home, to help wash away any troublesome thoughts. Usually these hours are spent with you and Max watching a movie or making a home cooked meal together. Usually your limbs would be tangled with one another in sacred and intimate ways.
Though this time around, your surroundings don't put you at ease, it doesnât shake away your worries. In fact, itâs worse than usual.
This current lifestyle by all means, was everything you could ever dream of. You were incredibly lucky to be the partner of someone like Max. The Dutchman who is portrayed and misunderstood as a villain half of the time is actually a gentleman.
Your lover was so genuine and kind, as sweet as the gleam of sun that is currently kissing your skinâthe warmth filling your whole body, bringing an overwhelming sense of comfort. Itâs the sole reason why you fell in love with him, and you fell hard.
His own love for you is like a gardenâblossoming into heavenly flowers within his fast beating heart.
He dotes on you, cares for you when you need it most, like tending to a single daisy amongst a field of grass. Nurturing and watering it with the most fondness, just like he does when kissing you, and god his kisses are to die for. His lips soft against yours like a warm embrace, so tender and delicate, melting into each other's souls. It always felt as if it were the last, as if the world was crumbling beneath the bottom of your feet. Nothing around you mattered, just the two of you in that space sealing in the gap.
Heâs a race car driver for crying out loudâbound to be blunt and direct. But the persona he shows to the crowds of people and millions behind a tv screen is only half of who he truly is. Sure he can have a nasty temper at times during the highlights of his career but those were all under heavy stressful circumstances. In no way shape or form has his impatience and anger on track reach you from behind closed doorsâŚuntil recently.
That familiarity of admiration for you has suddenly turned into rushed and quick pecks on the lips, hugs lasting only a fracture of a second. There wasnât any long lasting gentleness to those intimate actions anymore, no adoration laced behind them.
This switch in attitude has you dwelling on it in an unhealthy way. Concerns filling your brain as he hardly devoted any time to you recently. Perpetually blowing you off with an âIâm busy.â and other broken promises to make it up to you whenever youâd suggest going out together for the day.
You genuinely didn't mind it at first, you out of everyone understood how important his career was to him. But, heâs constantly conducting business calls, in emergency meetings, or practicing on the race simulator. You were aching for him, in more ways than one.
Itâs lonely enough with him having to travel all around the world 12 times a year with an extra addition of other flights for further business matters. And, with your own work you arenât usually there to accompany him more than youâd wish. So with the rare occasions of him actually having a break with you at home and to have him not pay any attention to you was, without any exaggerationâŚstarting to annoy you.
In contrast to the beautifully painted sky outside your windows showcasing its eternal beauty of lovely colors, your mood was somber and gloomy. Almost like the soon to be night sky beneath a cascade of iridescent stars on the sandy shores of Monacoâthe air thick with a cold breeze and scent of salt, the feeling melancholic.
With an intake of a breath through your nose, the tracks of your light footsteps halt when you finally reach the blackwood door that leads into his office you were positive he was in. You make sure to knock three timesâan order you mustn't forget, not wanting to walk in on him potentially streaming a game or being in a meeting with his camera on.
Upon hearing a faint, âCome in.â from the other side of the door, you enter the office with caution. Staring into the dreary space, anyone would be aware of how grim it was; pens and papers scattered across his work desk messily, the trophies resting on the display shelf held a sheer layer of dust, and the cold temperature didn't make it any better. The atmosphere alone coerced goosebumps to emerge onto your skin.
Max himself looked disarrayed, sat in the race simulator on the other side of the room. You walk over to stand beside the makeshift car seat to get a better look at him. All the noticeable tell-tale signs didn't go unnoticed by you, he was pushing himself too much. It was really displeasing to see him not taking care of himself. His light brown hair framed his forehead with eye bags digging into his skin, and there was a prominent little line in between his eyebrowsâindicating that heâs been focusing for too long.
âHey, everything okay?â Setting down the cup of gin on the wooden desk concernedly, you pull off his headset and brush your hand through his locksâpushing them back into place. Max doesnât tear his eyes off the screens of his multiple monitors, barely sparing you a glance or reacting to the contact of your touch like he normally would.
âHi baby, yeahâŚyeah âm alright,â he mumbles slowly, almost as if he didnât register what you said.
âI got you a drink.â A frown makes way onto your features when he doesnât say anything after that, not even acknowledging the alcohol in front of him. With a tilt of your head you wait expectedly, continuing to burn holes on the side of his faceâlike you were trying to read into his thoughts. âYou coming to bed soon? You should get some rest.â
âMhmâŚin a bit.â
You didnât know why you thought the outcome would be anything different. The monotone lack of response from him had you sneering as a combination of anguish and irritation consumed your body. Heâs still looking at the screens, an intense focus in his irisesâa need to complete the race laps of the simulator even with his headphones off.
You knew then that heâs not honest with his intentions, being dismissive as usual and leading you to the feeling of neglect yet again. Though this time youâve reached your limit, patience running thin.
Whilst huffing out an annoyed breath you toss the headset into his lap without a care, âLiar.â
That was a terrible mistake.
His reaction was just about immediate, bewildered at your sudden outburst. âWhat was that?â Max finally turns his head, eyes narrowing to look at you as you saunter off to the door. You intended to just retire into your shared bedroom alone, tears already pooling at your lash line from all the pent-up frustration with your back facing him.
âIf you knew what was good for you, you wouldnât dare to walk out that door.â
Halting your footsteps, a shiver bolted up your spine, the previous anger briskly replaced with unease. Youâd like to think it was from the cool air that was blowing from the vents instead of his bleak words.
âGet back over here,â he spoke assertively, voice low and ominousâlike he was disappointed in your unexpected change of mood, making your skin crawl with uncertainty.
It was a dangerous gamble between wanting to defy him or to finally have all of his attention after two weeks. But you knew better than to test his warnings and tolerance especially after hearing that irked tone. Blinking away the unshed tears, you steel yourself to shift your body and face him again.
âNow. Sweetheart, don't make me repeat myself.â
Your breath hitches, this was probably the first time in days where heâs held eye contact intently with you for longer than twenty seconds and it just about has you stumbling over your feet. The icy glare spoke for itself, already irritated with the way you lashed out at him, which is rare coming from you. Heâs got a pounding headache and the last thing he wants to deal with is your little attitude.
His mean demeanor nearly made your eyes water again by the time you returned to his side, following his order. Within a split second, Max chucks the headphones to the ground bitterly. The loud clank! it makes when it hits the wooden floor has you jolting out of your skin, his annoyance radiating off of the small scowl on his face and actions.
In swift movements he pulls you down to straddle his lap without a word, a squeak of surprise leaves your lips since you didnât have time to process what was happening.
The proximity has your heart skipping a beat, a rush of heat spreading throughout your entire body with nervousness. It was slightly cramped in the space between him and the pc steering wheelâleaving you little to no room to breathe, chest brushing against his to not have your back pressed into the metal material.
You felt that familiar ache in your stomach building up from how close he was and how he was holding your waist to keep you steady. It really didnât take much for you especially since youâve missed his warmthâhis big veiny hands on your body. Your mind begins to whirl already, making you desperate for more right away, it was easy to tell from your quickened breath.
He observes your small frame all but quivering atop of him, dressed solely in one of his t-shirts that was evidently larger on you and a pair of panties peeking from underneath.
âWhatâs gotten into you huh?â His eyes lingered a while longer on your bare thighs that were scantily covered. He strokes it with his hands lightly, the contact igniting a trail of fire in its wake on your supple skin before his sharp gaze snapped to return to your face, âalways interrupting me.â
You can practically hear the erratic rhythm of your heart beating in your ears because of his fierce scrutinizing eyes, and it doesn't benefit you in the slightest when the expensive cologne he knows drives you crazy wafts into your nostrilsâmaking it even harder to concentrate. The air gets thicker by the second around your heated bodies.
âWhatâs gotten into me?â Youâre muttering under your breath, looking everywhere but his burning stare to try and rein yourself, âMax youâŚyou hardly have time for me anymore.â
Heâs a busy man, engrossed and occupied in his job. You get it, you truly do, you understand the fear he must bear of not wanting to be last. Carrying that title of being number one is both a blessing and a curse. It doesn't help that he's his own worst critic, correcting what he thinks he could do better by practicing on the simulator as much as he possibly canâitâs the only thing that occupies his mind.
The amount of pressure he must feel has to be overbearingâall the more for a non-stressful winter break, heâs been losing too much sleep and he couldnât even bother to mind your concerns. All you wanted was to take care of him in different ways, youâve tried for days but those days turned into two weeks and youâve had enough.
One of his hands smooths over your back, humming gruffly while the other jerks your chin to force you to look at him with a firm grip so you don't pull away, âYâknow I have to be on top of my work right?â
âYes! Of course I do butââ
âIâm doing this for us.â He then takes both of his palms, dragging them down your sides tantalizingly to grasp your hips. Max kneads the flesh briefly before guiding you with a secure hold to have your clothed heat rub at his crotch that's already flinching, growing hard underneath you. He does so almost mockingly, knowing just what you want and eliciting a shocked choked gasp from you, âworking so I could get you the things you want.â
Your small hands went to hold onto his broad shoulders at the unexpected friction, it was getting tougher to keep yourself groundedâbody trembling with the effort to stay in check, to stop yourself from grinding down on him greedily like you so desperately wanted.
âMax,â your face is sullen as you speak just above a whisper, he was mere inches away, so close you can almost taste him. You could justâŚlean forward a bit, claim his lips and have him again, âI donât care about that, I just want to spendââ
âTime with me.â He interrupts again, stealing the rest of the sentence out of your mouth like heâs heard it a hundred times before and you can't seem to get snarky with him at the moment because of the way he was gradually rolling your groin against his. A rush of butterflies stirs in your tummy from the staggering sensation.
Max reaches under the hem of his baggy shirt that's draped over you with an exasperated exhale, his touch ticklish as his fingers dance along the soft skin near the band of your underwear. You can start to feel your body seeking more of his attention, so close to being obtainable you can taste it on the tip of your tongue.
âIs that it? Fine. If thatâs the case, then youâre going to sit still.â
His words pique your interest at once that you seem to ignore his condescending behaviorâcontent with just getting to be in his presence again.
He takes notice of your tongue peeking out to wet your lips in expectancy, earning a flicker of amusement on his features before quickly masking it back with a stoic expression. You can feel him trail lower and lower until the tips of his fingers reach your sensitive bud to circle it delicately over your panties, almost feather-light to tease you. The response from your body was instant, mewling and arching your back. Your clothed breasts were now flush against his chest, allowing more warmth to exchange between the two of you.
âAll you wanted was to get your little pussy wet huh?â He lets out a scoffing chuckle, making a wave of humiliation wash over you from the way he puts it. You shake your head in denial, not wanting to give him the satisfaction that you are in fact sexually frustrated.
âN-Ngh! No!â But he can see right through your miserable bluff, especially with your heavy puffs of breath and stammering.
You were utterly touch-starved that your underwear was already dampening under his touch with your growing arousal. All from just sitting on his lap and light traces of contact.
âNo? Then why are you soaking my fingers right now?â A sense of pride always filled his body knowing the affect he had on you, to have you heat up and slip into that sweet headspace with just a few ministrations. âAww my sweet baby, you just needed a bit of my attention? Is that it?â
Max continues to work you up with a lazy smirk on his lips, watching you closely for each little face twisting reaction, âanswer me sweetheart.â He lightly taps at your clit, another chuckle almost slipping from his throat when you sit up straighter because of it.
âYes Max, IâŚwant you.â Your voice comes out a bit whiny than you intended but you donât seem to care because of the way your brain is clouding, craving more without question.
âThereâs my good girl.â
With your lower lip sucked between your teeth you brace yourself for more, blood pumping with excitement. He was finally going to fuck you like youâve been wanting for days, right?
Wrong.
What you didnât expect was to be fully naked, straddling his cock whilst he ignored you.
Dumbfounded was an understatement.
As you watch the clock on the other side of the officeâperched on top of the door behind him, your sanity quickly dissolves with each passing tick. It took you about ten minutes to realize the vast amount of self-control he held. So while you were sitting on his lap, firm length sheathed deeply inside youâMax simply returned to the simulator, superbly content with this proposal. You on the other hand, couldnât stop the tremor of your thighs.
Breaking the tense silence with an unsatisfied grumble, you wrap your arms around his neck in hopes to get more direct contact of his skin on yours. Your frame was taut and rigid above him, trying your damn hardest to not make any sudden movements like he ordered.
Being able to finally feel him again like this but not allowed to do anything about it has you on edge, you eagerly wantedâno needed some sort of relief. So with much contemplation your movements get bolder with a grind of your hips, though it only makes him give you a stern look in exchange, enough for you to force into a stop at once.
He clicks his tongue in disapproval, giving a light smack on your plush ass as a warning. âStop fuckinâ moving,â he hisses through gritted teeth, still annoyed with you and it had your heart aching uncomfortably.
You should be the one that was upset but you felt so vulnerable and deprived, especially with him still being fully clothed, his shorts and briefs pushed down just enough to free his cock making you feel all the more exposed and in the mercy of his hands. You so miserably needed more of him, all of him.
âMax please,â you canât help but beg now, knowing that itâll usually weaken his resolve with that angelic voice of yours, âI canât.â
It doesn't seem to deter him though. A sense of disappointment engulfs you, he was so hellbent on teaching you a lesson that you know you don't even deserve.
âYou can and you will. What happened to being my good girl?â His hands never leave the steering wheel behind you and his voice, not even in the slightestâdoesnât waver whenever he speaks, practically like he was unaffected with your warm wet cunt wrapped around him, âbesides, isnât this what you wanted? Donât make me punish you.â
Heâs mocking you. You can almost see his lips quirking up into a smile as you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck with no retaliation afterward, so eager to please him.
The only thing you can possibly do was snuggle closer for the little bit of warmth his clothed body can radiate in the cold office and listen to the loud roar of V6 engines coming from the game. With tightly shut eyes, you try to think of something to distract you but nothing works as your mind parades itself from the feeling of his fat tip kissing your cervix, stuffed full.
This was already punishing enough, none of this was painful oh noâit was the complete opposite. But, the pleasure rising up and not having your desires fulfilled was tearing you apart. It was borderline torture.
The stretch makes slick from your pussy drool on his girth, a mess pooling straight down his balls and whenever he would move his feet on the pedals of the simulatorâhis thigh jumps, making you shift on his lap and bounce ever so slightly on his shaft. It has you whining against his ear like a bitch in heat.
Maxâs eyes burn into the screen of his pc after perceiving the sound of your soft whimper and whines against his ear, breath tickling his skin and making it prick up. He always loved any noises that he could pull from you, his possessiveness and ego feeds off it. He's transfixedâentranced by how sweet it sounds. He canât lie, he did miss you. Missed having you close like this, desperate and easily acquiescent for him, your soft voice all breathless and needy.
Just the feeling and connection of you.
He clenched his jaw when your velvet walls fluttered around him, his own self-control was close to snapping. But being an asshole just to spite you seemed more pleasing, he purposely moved his legs more forcefully on the pedals to elicit more of those pretty little cries of pleasure.
Though he completely freezes up the moment he hears you sniffling against his neck, hot tears hitting his shirt seconds after.
Max knows he's been a shit boyfriend but he's too prideful to admit it, so frustrated and harsh while his sole center of attention was on how to be better, better, better with his work that he seemed to forget your own needs. Heâs conflicted at the moment as he thinks about it, infuriated at himself for taking it out on you.
You were trying so hard for him, to be his good girl that you always were despite your own discontentment and bitterness to his treatment towards you. You didnât want to upset him any further even if this was his own doing, it made both his heart stammer and his cock twitch from how kind you are to him. He didn't deserve you.
When you feel that certain jerk inside of you, your one track mind really couldn't stop your lips from speaking once more through your small sniffles. âP-Please Max,â you attempt again with hesitation, lip bitten raw from your constant chewing, âI canât take this much longer.â
His self-restraint finally snaps.
Your ears perk and pick up the sound of him sipping, completely downing the glass of alcohol that was disregarded earlier in one go. He hisses harshly after the burn cascades down his throat with each gulp and then leans forward, muscles flexing slightly as he places the now empty cup on the desk with a soft clunk before turning off the gaming system.
The unexpected silence causes your stomach to twist in a knot, no longer capable of hearing the thunderous engines of formula one carsâjust his ragged breathing and ticking of the clock.
Anticipation nags in the back of your mind, a hundred things running all at once while you sit there pliantly and unmoving, silent tears cascading down your face.
You can't help but think that youâve surely done it this time, youâve pissed him off now havenât you?
âSo ungrateful for all the things I give you, hm?â He eventually speaks amidst the strained quietness. The words he utters out didnât hold any actual malice, voice softer now. His anger giving away to more vulnerability as his hands went to pry your face away from his neck, holding it in his palms gently.
It ached to see you hurt, the pain in your features mirrored in his own heart. His hands trembled subtly while he cradled your soft cheeks, thumbs brushing away the salty tears that fellâtrying to comfort and soothe you, âalways complaining.â
You lean further back slightly to get a better view of his features, seeing a mixture of emotions swirling in his irises.
Pity. Sadness. Longing.
You could feel it with the way he held you with care, you could feel it in the airâthrough his soft breath against your skin. Your own heart tugs a bit when you realize that he was feeling guilty. Guilty for doing this to you, for mistreating you.
âI miss you.â You hiccup whilst his thumbs continue their calming motions on the apple of your cheeks.
He focuses on your pretty face stained with wet tears before brushing some loose strands of hair framing your face, tucking it behind your ear and he couldnât help but marvel at how cute you looked. You were nuzzled into his hands like a kicked little puppyâdoe glassy eyes staring into his own.
Max lets out a shaky breath out his nose when a pout adorns your pretty pink lips, he wants to kiss it away, hear those moans youâd make against him. But first, he really needs to apologize for his negligence.
He coos at your broken voice, torn between his self pity and yearning for your presence even if he didn't deserve the slightest bit of your leniency, ââm right here baby.â His chest continues to sting as your tears increase, the weight of his words hitting you harder than he expected.
He knows that his reassurance has touched a nerve, that you've been longing to hear those words for days. That he was never really gone, he still cared for you the same, just too stubborn about his own emotions. While keeping his tender hold on your face, his gaze never leaves your watery eyes. He wants you to feel his unwavering love, a necessity to put your mind at ease, âlet me kiss you, can I?â
A soft hum coming from your throat and a small nod is enough confirmation for him to pull you into a fulfilling gentle kiss, one that you were familiar with, the kind that you yearned for so severely. The adoration was felt again as he put much effort and devotion behind it. It felt so good being cherished like this again.
With a pleased sigh passing through you, Max tilts his headâremoving one of his hands from your face to hold your nape, intending to deepen the kiss even further. He takes the opportunity to push his tongue past your lips when you part your mouth.
The taste buds on your own wet muscle begin to flood with the flavor of bitter alcohol as it dances and tangles along with his. It was all so, so intoxicating. And he revels at how your lips always manage to be plump and soft, as tasty as he remembered. He mutters against them gently yet firm as he speaks, trying to convey his conflicted feelings, âso sorry my love, âm so sorry.â
He places a few chaste kisses on you before pulling away slightly so he can stare up at you for a moment, his pupils tracing every inch of your naked body. He can't get over how beautiful you look with desire and need whirling in your eyes. His heart stutters again with so much regret when you sniffle and hug his shoulders, pressing closer like you were trying to meld into one.
A small glimmer of light breaks through the storm of emotions when the sound of a sheepish giggle comes from your mouth. The lighthearted noise that heâs grown to love over the years of knowing you filling the tense air. Your saccharine voice overflows his ears with words of forgiveness, too compassionate for your own good. He muses at the fact that even through the stressful and pressuring timesâthe neglect, you were always there to welcome him with open arms.
Max rids the confines of fabric still clinging to his body with a sense of urgency, like a man on a mission to make it up to you. He tosses them to join the pile of your clothes forgotten somewhere on the floor before returning his mouth on you, this time on the column of your neck, peppering it. Starved and parched for you, just as much as you were for him.
His kisses are hot and wet, tongue lapping at your skin while his hands wander over your chest. He can feel you responding to his touches once more, pulse quickening just beneath his fingertips, your breathing coming out in faint gasps.
Small âI love youâs.â tumble from him like a mantra without stopping his focus on your skin. The once pained expression on your face now changed into an alluring one within ticksâcheeks flushed, eyes blown wide, and mouth slightly parted from all the attention.
It only fueled his hunger even more, growing impossibly harder inside of your pussy. âSo fuckinâ pretty, I could stare at you like this forever.â His lips work their way up to your ear, licking the shell of it provokingly, the action has the hair on your arms standing stiffly. Maxâs voice was direct and rough as he whispers, âfuck yourself onto me, go on baby you can move for me now.â
It's like a fire switch has gone off in your brain. At last, you lift yourself up until his flushed pink tip peeks out to the point of almost slipping out and slowly sink back down. Both of your mouths fall open to let out a low satisfied moan in unison. Your eyelids flutter, half-lidded now, barely being kept open with furrowed brows as you gape back at him.
âHaah!ââ your breath gets caught in your throat as he braces his feet on the floor and plunges his hips up to meet yours when you lift yourself again, stuffing his fat cock into your soaking heat in one instantaneous push. Your small hands claw on his shoulders in surprise, leaving red scratch marks on his pale skin.
âBreathe for me babyâŚyeahhhhh just like that. I can see you dripping for me, my needy girl look at youâso fuckinâ wet,â he bites his lip to stifle the guttural moan that threatened to slip at the sight before his eyes, âMissed you so much tooâshit.â
He continues to run his filthy mouth with a vein protruding his neck and stills his hips so you can set your own pace, your walls shuddering around him in response to his all of his words. Whilst you repeat the same action again and again, youâre already not able to formulate a single thought from the mind numbing sensations. Just mentally saturated at being filled to the hilt over and over and over.
âF-fuuuuuck, so good Maxâfeels so good!â
âThatâs it, just focus on feeling good, âm here sâokay. You have me now.â He devours your mouth once more, this time with great fervorâhis tongue exploring every inch of the wet cavern more hastily, tasting every bit of what you can give.
He swallows each and every little sound coming from you, every whimper and whine because of each drag of his length, feeling it reverberating through his mouth down to his chestânow full of warmth and contentment.
Maxâs hands on your breasts continue to squeeze, fondling your mounds until his calloused fingers pinches and rolls your nipples between them to pebble up in the cool air, adding a jolt of pleasure in the mix. The feeling of you taking him inside, the sounds of your sweet gaspsâit drives him insane. He groans deeply, breaking the kiss to have his head fall back against the chair.
Youâre fucking him so good all of his tension and worries are melting away from each roll of your hips. Maybe a little too good that heâs biting the insides of his cheeks to stop himself from ramming into you like a madman.
"Keep using me however you want sweetheart, donât stop âtill you're satisfied,â he mutters, ragged and hoarse.
You can hardly focus, it was too much for you to endure. All you can make out is how good he feels, how his mushroom head hits that spongy spot with the way youâre taking him in so deep at this angle. This is everything you've ached for, so itâs no surprise how easily youâre falling apart so early on along with him. So overly sensitive and responsive to each stroke of his stiff cock, being able to feel every ridge and vein.
The observation of him splitting you open was incredibly arousing to gawk at. Strings of slick connects where the two of you continuously meet, hot and sticky with a translucent white painting the base of his length as you continue to cream around him.
He swears he feels like heâs floating, going absolutely delirious, and itâs obvious with the way he wouldnât shut his mouth. Max always gets this way from the taste and feel of you, itâs like his mind couldn't fathom anything else around him.
âYou're so good baby, so good for me," he praised, palms going to grip at your hips tightly. Heâs clutching you so securely as if he can't bear to let go, leaving crescent shaped indents on your hips from his blunt nails. "You love this, you love being filled up by me, don't you?"
âY-Yes, Max," you moan out needily, your own fingers digging into his shoulders, "I love it so much. Mnnhâso big.â
His grip on your hips tightens as he tries to hold back, to prolong the need to just pound into you, his breath coming in ragged, shallow pants. The sound of wet plaps! from skin slapping against each other fills the office walls when you move a little fasterâair thickening around you further with the smell of sex. His brain clouds, losing himself in the pleasure you bring upon him. He can feel his willpower slowly giving way to his desire and need for you, but he wants you to have this.
The view of you riding him and your sweet whimpers was making it harder for him to control himself. He shuts his eyes and clenches his jaw to focus on not coming so quickly, âYou're so tight, so perfect. Canât even fuckinââhah! Can hardly think straight.â
He makes it a point to hold out for you, so you can come at the same time just how he always likes. But you whine and suddenly stop, legs starting to strain. The vulgarity of his words, the sensations, it was all getting too overwhelming.
Max groans at the loss of pleasure, reopening his eyes to look at your flushed disheartened face, âWhat's wrong baby?â
âNeed you,â you whine frustratedly and press your forehead against his, swapping breaths as you both pant, âI canâtâŚâ
"Need my help?" He grabs your hands to place it behind you so you can grasp at the steering wheel, this allows you more leverage and support to slam down onto him, âLean back and hold onto this sweetheart, hold on tightly.â
For extra measure he snakes a strong arm around your back, holding your waist sturdily as he helps guide you to fucking him more harshly now.
âOh f-fuck! Youâre s-so deep!â You tip your head back, bearing your hickey covered neck to him. He almost came from the sight alone, a low groan bullying itâs way out of his mouth.
âYeah? Thatâs better isnât it baby?â He asks softly but thereâs a clear hint of teasing, a playful mocking in his tone. Though his voice is finally starting to waver, all of it sends him into overdrive as he draws close to bursting at the seams. His fingers from his free hand tease the skin of your inner thigh, making your hips stutter slightly. âOooh, s-shit just felt you squeeze around me, you like that?â
âNo teasing Max,â you whine and cinch your brows together, looking back at him with a small scowl but it looks more of a pout in his eyes, âtouch me please.â
âDemanding now are we?â Deciding to not be mean anymore than he already has been tonight because of how precious you lookedâhe licks the calloused pad of his thumb and presses it harshly against your clit, neglected and swollen. He circles it, spreading his spit and your wetness slowly. You shriek at the added stimulation and grip the steering wheel so hard your knuckles turn white.
âMy good girl, my everything, all I ever need.â Heâs babbling again when your pussy clamps down on him at the praise. Both of your brains seemingly go fuzzy yet in tune with one another, only thinking of one thing and itâs that sweet release.
With each moan from you, a sharp groan and grunt comes from him. His own hips begin to move with you again, no longer capable of keeping still, his thrusts matching each lift of your body. The pleasure builds and builds, becoming almost unbearable.
âSo. Fucking. Good.â He punctuated his words with each buck, becoming more sloppy as time goes onâhanging so dangerously close to the edge. And he knew that you were almost there too, he could feel it in the way you were moving against him desperately, clenching and shaking around him. "You're close, aren't you, baby?"
Incoherent babbles of yes's and pleas were all you can respond with. Each drive of his hips were now constricted because of how hard you squeezed around him, your walls pulsing like a vice as your body goes taut.
He didn't stop, couldn't stop, he needed you too badly, needed to feel you as you fell apart for him, all because of him. His thumb rubs more vigorously against your bundle of nerves to heighten the pressure in your core, ready to burst at any given moment.
âY-Yeah I know I'm right there with you, come on baby,â he urges and leans forward, licking and speaking against your ear, knowing that itâll drive you even closer to your peak, âI want you to come for meâcome with me.��
Your vision begins to blur, nerves on fire as you can only focus on the blissful pleasure. The moans coming out of you now louder and more high-pitched as you chase for your orgasm. He angles his hips and snaps up into you harder, now hitting your sweet spot more incessantly. You suddenly go quiet, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you come around him in a silent scream.
âHoly shit, gooooood fucking girl,â his concentration switches to pure ecstasy when he watches you shake atop of him, he can feel everythingâevery muscle and contraction around him, it was enough for the heat burning in his abdomen to explode along with you. The base of his cock throbs as spurts of cum shoots inside of you while a guttural moan rumbles deep within his throat.
His thrusts begin faltering as he tries to coax the most of your orgasm out of you, pushing his cum further into you as much as he can until the fat head of his tip burns in overstimulation.
You collapse onto his chest blissed out and limp when you finally come down from your high. Completely fulfilled again as he hugs you to his sticky body, not caring to pull out, keeping you plugged full of his cum. His chest heaves against your head, rising and falling almost like a soothing lullaby, sitting there and just listening to each others heavy breathing.
âIâm sorry again my love,â he speaks after a while of calming quiteness.
âShhh donât talk about it anymore,â you chide playfully, resting your chin on his chest to stare up at him, âjust donât ignore me like that again.â
âOh I donât plan on it.â
The familiarity of your bond re-emerges. The tension and hurt from earlier is entirely gone, replaced by a sense of comfort and ease with you lax in his arms. His eyes drinks in the sight of you with a content smile plastered on his face. Heâll have to book a getaway for the rest of his winter break and take you over and over to make up for lost time.
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TROUBLE âââ RAFE CAMERON
request for blurb night! : "ev, hear me outâreader is sarahâs best friend who used to babysit wheezie. she's always thought rafe was just some spoiled rich kid until one night he helps her out of a dangerous situation, and she see a different side of him"
The sound of cicadas swells in the sticky summer air as you maneuver your car into the Cameronsâ circular driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires. The house stands before you, grand and overbearing, like something pulled straight from a Southern Gothic novel. Even after all these years, it still has a way of making you feel out of place, like youâre trespassing on a life far removed from your own.
You killed the engine and take a deep breath, your hands lingering on the steering wheel. Coming here used to feel second natureâa daily part of your routine back when you were just Sarahâs friend who needed extra cash and Wheezie was a chatty eight-year-old who never seemed to run out of energy.
Now, it feels complicated. Itâs not like youâre unwelcome hereâRose is always polite in her distant, Stepford kind of way, and Wheezie practically lights up whenever she sees you. Sarah treats you like family, but thereâs always been one Cameron who makes you feel like youâre walking on eggshells.
Rafe.
Spoiled, sharp-tongued, entitled Rafe, whose condescending smirk had been a permanent fixture of your teenage years. The golden boy with a black hole of a temper, a trust fund, and an ego that stretched for miles. Youâd never understood him, and frankly, youâd never wanted to. He was a hurricane you learned to avoid at all costs, never lingering too long in his orbit.
But life has a funny way of pulling you into places you swore youâd never go.
You grab your bag from the passenger seat and step out into the muggy heat, your sandals crunching against the gravel. Somewhere inside the house, you hear the faint echo of laughterâWheezie, probably, shouting at Sarah over a card game or some other nonsense. The sound makes you smile despite yourself.
You werenât always someone the Cameronsâor anyone from Figure Eight, for that matterâgave the time of day. Growing up, you were just another Pogue, another kid from the Cut with hand-me-down clothes and a chip on your shoulder. The people from Sarahâs world werenât interested in you back then. Why would they be? You had nothing they wantedâno yacht, no country club membership, no sprawling waterfront property. You didnât mind much. You had your own circle, your own rhythm, and you learned to brush off the condescending stares whenever you ventured into their territory.
But everything changed when your dadâs business took off. What started as a small, bare-bones construction company turned into one of the most in-demand firms in the Outer Banks almost overnight. Suddenly, the same people who used to look through you like you were invisible started remembering your name. Invitations to parties youâd never have been considered for started showing up in your mailbox. They werenât just tolerating youâthey wanted you there.
Sarah was one of the first to genuinely befriend you during that whirlwind of change. She wasnât like the others, who only smiled at you because their parents said it was polite or because they wanted a favor from your dad. She liked you for youâyour sarcasm, your groundedness, your tendency to keep it real in a place where everyone else seemed to be faking something. And through Sarah, you met Wheezie.
Wheezie was eight at the time, still caught between childhood and whatever it is that happens when you grow up as a Cameron. She adored you from the start, trailing behind you whenever you came over like a little shadow. You didnât mind. She was funny, curious, and refreshingly unfilteredâa lot more like the kids from the Cut than anyone wanted to admit.
When Rose offhandedly mentioned they needed someone to look after Wheezie while she was busy managing the house (or hosting one of her endless charity luncheons), Sarah volunteered you without hesitation. âSheâs perfect,â Sarah had said with that trademark confidence of hers, as though your schedule had already been cleared.
To your surprise, it worked out. Wheezie loved you, probably because you didnât treat her like a chore or talk down to her like so many others did. You indulged her weird little interests, let her ramble on about books and whatever new drama she overheard in the house. You made her laugh.
And if the Camerons noticed you werenât exactly one of their own, they didnât seem to mind much anymore. After all, in their world, proximity to success was enough to erase just about anything.
Even after a couple years had passed, itâs a little funny how much has stayed the same. Every time you pull into the Cameronsâ driveway, you still get the same sinking feeling, like youâre stepping onto foreign soil without a passport. Except now, itâs become a routine. Cameron game nights.
It started as an extension of the babysitting gigâa casual invite from Sarah, insisting you stay for dinner one night after watching Wheezie. Dinner turned into a board game that Sarah claimed was âsuper quick,â which turned into three hours of family chaos. It was ridiculous, overly competitive, and a little awkward with Rose monitoring everything like a referee, but Wheezie loved having you there, and Sarah was relentless in making sure you felt included.
At some point, it just became normal. Even after Wheezie grew out of needing a babysitter, the tradition stuck. Every week or two, Sarah would text you about game night, and somehow, you always said yes.
âYouâre like an honorary Cameron,â Sarah had joked once, and youâd laughed because the idea of that felt ridiculous. But there were moments, like now, when you almost believed her.
Wheezieâs voice echoes from the living room the second you step through the door. âYouâre late!â
âIâm literally on time,â you call back, closing the door behind you. The smell of freshly baked something wafts through the air, probably cookies Wheezie convinced Rose to make under the guise of a family bonding activity.
âTechnically, Rafeâs late,â Sarah says, popping her head around the corner, already grinning. âYouâre just cutting it close. Come on, Wheezieâs already plotting your downfall.â
You laugh and follow her into the living room, where the familiar chaos is already brewing. Wheezieâs sprawled across the couch, a pile of board game pieces spread out in front of her, while Ward sits in his chair, sipping a scotch like itâs all beneath him but still keeping a hawkâs eye on the rules. Rose flits between the kitchen and the table, not-so-casually reminding everyone to keep the snacks on coasters.
And then thereâs Rafe.
Heâs leaning back in one of the armchairs, his legs stretched out like he owns the placeâwhich, technically, he does. A half-smirk tugs at his lips as he spins a stray game token between his fingers. He barely glances at you when you walk in, but you catch the faintest flicker of recognition.
Itâs been years, but Rafe is still Rafe: cocky, restless, and way too pretty for his own good. Heâs toned down some of the more obvious brattiness since the early days, but the edge is still there, sharp enough to cut if youâre not careful.
And, as always, you do your best to steer clear.
The quiet hum of the boutique fades behind you as you pull the glass door shut, twisting the key to lock it. The click echoes in the empty street, a sharp sound against the stillness of downtown this late at night. The once-bustling sidewalks are deserted now, the streetlights casting uneven pools of orange on the pavement. Most of the shops had closed hours ago, their dark windows reflecting the faint shimmer of the moon.
You adjust the strap of your bag over your shoulder and glance at your phone. 11:43 p.m. Later than youâd intended. It wasnât your shift to close, but your coworker had begged you to cover for her last minute, and you couldnât say no. Itâs fine, you tell yourself. Youâve done this before. Downtown isnât that bad, and your car is parked just a block away. Still, thereâs something unnerving about the silence, the way the shadows stretch a little too far when youâre alone.
Reaching your carâa trusty but aging sedan that you inherited from your dadâyou fumble with the keys before sliding into the driverâs seat. The interior smells faintly of the vanilla air freshener you keep on the rearview mirror, a comforting contrast to the chilly night air outside. You toss your bag onto the passenger seat, then grip the steering wheel as you turn the key in the ignition.
Nothing.
You pause, frowning. Thatâs⌠odd. Your carâs old, sure, but itâs never been completely unresponsive. You twist the key again, harder this time, willing it to come to life.
Still nothing.
A low groan escapes your throat as you lean back against the seat. This canât be happening. Not tonight. Not here.
You pull out your phone, half-tempted to call Sarah or even your dad, but you hesitate. Sarahâs probably asleep by now, and your dadâs a good thirty minutes awayânot to mention, heâd definitely give you a lecture about not keeping up with the carâs maintenance. Sighing, you pop the hood and step out into the cool night air, shivering slightly as a gust of wind cuts through your jacket.
The street around you is unnervingly quiet. A stray cat darts across the road, its shadow flickering under the streetlights. You glance around, trying to shake the uneasy feeling creeping up your spine. Itâs just your imagination, you tell yourself. No oneâs here.
With a deep breath, you lift the hood and stare down at the engine like it might magically fix itself. You know a grand total of nothing about cars, but you wiggle a few cables anyway, hoping for a miracle. When you try the ignition again, the result is the sameâsilence, save for the faint hum of a streetlamp overhead.
Panic starts to creep in now, slow and steady. Your phoneâs battery is hovering at 10%, and downtownânormally picturesque and charming by dayâfeels like a completely different place at night. The empty windows of the closed shops look less quaint and more sinister, their dark interiors like gaping mouths.
You lean back against the car, tapping your fingers against the metal as you weigh your options. Call someone? Walk to the gas station a few blocks down? Stay here and wait it out? None of them sound appealing, especially with the growing sensation that youâre being watched. You tell yourself itâs just nerves, but your skin prickles anyway, and you canât help but glance over your shoulder every few seconds.
âGreat,â you mutter under your breath. âThis is how horror movies start.â
You huff out a shaky breath and decide to at least look under the hood. Not that you know what youâre doing, but itâs better than standing here like a sitting duck. Popping the latch, you step out into the cool night air again, every sound amplified in the unsettling quiet. Your shoes scrape against the pavement as you walk to the front of the car, lifting the hood and leaning over the engine.
The faint metallic scent of oil hits your nose as you peer into the mess of cables and parts. It all looks like a foreign language to you, but you fiddle with a few wires anyway, hoping for some kind of miracle.
Thatâs when you hear itâfootsteps.
At first, you think maybe itâs nothing, just your imagination running wild, but then you hear them again, deliberate and getting closer. Your stomach clenches, and you straighten up, instinctively glancing over your shoulder.
Two figures are walking toward you from the opposite side of the street, their strides slow and unhurried. The dim streetlights reveal faces you vaguely recognizeâKooks, no doubt, probably from the same parties Sarah used to drag you to back in high school. Their names escape you, but the looks on their faces donâtâgrins too wide, eyes too sharp, the kind of predatory energy that sets every nerve in your body on edge.
âCar trouble?â the taller one calls out, his voice carrying an edge of amusement as they stop a few feet away.
You force a tight smile, trying to keep your voice steady. âYeah, Iâve got it handled. Thanks.â
The shorter one, stockier and wearing a backward baseball cap, steps closer, tilting his head like he doesnât believe you. âDoesnât look like it,â he says. His tone is casual, but the way his eyes flick over you makes your skin crawl.
âIâm fine,â you insist, taking a small step back toward the car. Your heart is pounding now, a sick thrum in your chest, but you keep your expression as neutral as possible.
âHey, weâre just trying to help,â the taller one says, holding up his hands like heâs harmless, but thereâs something almost mocking in his tone. âNo need to be rude.â
The stocky one smirks, moving to your other side, effectively boxing you in against the car. âYeah, weâre just being friendly.â
The air feels heavy, oppressive, and the space between you and them feels like itâs shrinking by the second. You can feel the tension in their postures, the way theyâre both leaning in slightly, testing how far they can push.
Your throat tightens as you glance around, desperate for someone, anyone to come walking down the street. But thereâs no oneâjust you and these two strangers who clearly donât care that youâre uncomfortable.
âLook,â you say, trying to sound firm but calm, âI appreciate it, but Iâm good. You donât need to stick around.â
The taller one laughs, a low, unpleasant sound that makes your stomach churn. âAw, come on. Youâre out here all alone. What kind of gentlemen would we be if we just left you like this?â
Your fingers tighten around the edge of the hood, your mind racing for a way out. You consider making a run for it, but theyâre too close now, their presence suffocating.
Just as the stockier one steps even closer, his grin widening, a voice cuts through the tension, sharp and commanding.
âWhatâs going on here?â
The relief is instant and overwhelming, like a lifeline being thrown to you in a raging sea. You turn toward the sound, and there he isâRafe Cameron, standing just a few feet away, his hands shoved casually into his pockets but his posture rigid, his eyes hard as they lock onto the two guys.
The taller one straightens up immediately, his smirk faltering. âRafe,â he says, a weak attempt at sounding friendly.
Rafe doesnât respond, his gaze shifting to you for the briefest moment before snapping back to them. âDidnât realize we were having a party,â he says, his voice calm but laced with something dangerous. âYou two invited?â
The stockier guy takes a step back, muttering something under his breath. âWe were just leaving,â he says quickly, his bravado crumbling under Rafeâs glare.
âYeah, you are,â Rafe says, his tone leaving no room for argument.
The two exchange uneasy glances before slinking away, their footsteps echoing down the street until they disappear around the corner.
For a moment, all you can hear is the pounding of your heartbeat and the faint hum of Rafeâs truck idling in the distance.
âYou good?â Rafe asks, his voice softer now but still steady, grounding.
You nod, your throat dry as you manage to croak out, âYeah⌠I am now.â
Rafe watches the shadows where the two guys disappeared, his expression unreadable, his jaw tight. You half expect him to say something cutting, maybe some sarcastic remark about how you canât take care of yourself, but when he finally looks at you, thereâs no smugness. Only something... softer, almost hesitant.
âYouâre lucky I saw you,â he says, his voice low. âThat couldâve gone bad. Fast.â
You nod, your throat still tight from the tension of the moment. Heâs right. You donât even want to think about how that couldâve ended if he hadnât shown up. âThanks,â you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.
Rafeâs brow furrows like heâs surprised you said it. He leans back slightly, glancing at the car hood still propped open. âWhatâs wrong with this thing?â
âWonât start,â you reply, gesturing vaguely at the engine. âNot that Iâd know what to look for.â
He huffs a quiet laugh, the corner of his mouth quirking up just slightly. âYeah, I wouldnât expect you to.â His tone lacks the usual edge, thoughâitâs not a dig, just a statement.
For a moment, the two of you just stand there in the quiet. The night air feels less suffocating now, the earlier tension replaced by a strange calm. Despite everything you knowâor think you knowâabout Rafe Cameron, thereâs something about his presence right now that makes you feel⌠safe. Itâs unsettling, in its own way.
âYou should be more careful,â Rafe says, breaking the silence. His gaze is steady, not mocking or judgmental, just serious. âDowntown this late? Alone? Thatâs asking for trouble.â
You bristle slightly, your instinct to defend yourself flaring up. âI didnât exactly plan for my car to break down.â
He raises an eyebrow, but instead of snapping back, he just nods. âFair.â
The quiet stretches between you again, but this time, itâs not uncomfortable. Rafe steps closer, peering under the hood with a practiced air, and youâre struck by how uncharacteristically gentle he seems. No biting remarks, no smug superiorityâjust calm focus.
He taps a cable lightly, muttering something under his breath, then steps back, closing the hood with a decisive thud. âBatteryâs probably dead,â he says, glancing at you. âYou need a jump.â
You nod, your nerves finally starting to settle. âI guess Iâll call someone.â
âDonât bother,â he says, already walking toward his truck. âIâve got cables.â
You blink, caught off guard by his matter-of-fact tone. Heâs not offeringâheâs telling you heâs going to help. And for some reason, you donât argue.
A few minutes later, Rafe has his truck pulled up nose-to-nose with your car, the cables stretched taut between them. He works in silence, his movements efficient, and you watch from the sidelines, unsure of what to do with yourself.
âYou should get in,â he says, nodding toward the driverâs seat.
You do as he says, sliding back into the familiar confines of your car. The moment feels oddly intimateâjust the two of you on this empty street, the hum of his truck filling the air.
âTry it now,â he calls out, stepping back.
You turn the key, but instead of the engine sputtering to life, it lets out a defeated whine and falls silent again. You try one more time, your chest tightening with frustration and dread, but itâs no use. The car isnât going anywhere tonight.
You let your forehead drop against the steering wheel with a groan. Of course. Just your luck.
Rafeâs voice cuts through the night air, low and steady. âItâs not gonna work. Batteryâs dead for real.â
You sit up, pressing your lips together as he leans against the open driverâs side door, his arms crossed. His expression is unreadable, somewhere between amusement and mild concern.
âGreat,â you mutter. âSo, what now? I call a tow truck and wait here till dawn?â
Rafe tilts his head, his gaze flicking over you briefly before landing on your car again. âOr,â he says, âI could just drive you home.â
The offer catches you off guard, and you hesitate, your immediate instinct to say no. Riding home with Rafe Cameron? Thatâs about as far outside your comfort zone as you can imagine.
But then you glance down at your nearly dead phone, the empty street around you, and the sheer impossibility of getting a tow out here tonight. What other choice do you have?
âSeriously?â you ask, your voice tinged with disbelief.
Rafe shrugs, the motion easy, like itâs no big deal. âYou got a better plan?â
You donât.
âFine,â you say finally, grabbing your bag from the passenger seat and climbing out of the car. The night air feels colder now, pressing against your skin as you walk toward his truck.
Rafe opens the passenger door for you without a word, and you slide in, the faint scent of leather and cologne filling the cab. Itâs clean but lived-inâpractical, not flashy, which surprises you.
He climbs in on the driverâs side, pulling the door shut and starting the engine with a smooth turn of the key. The sound is steady, reliable, and for a moment, you envy how effortlessly everything in his life seems to work.
The first few minutes of the drive are quiet, the only sound the low hum of the truck and the occasional creak of the suspension as it rolls over uneven pavement. You glance out the window, watching the darkened storefronts blur past, trying to ignore the strange tension sitting between you.
âYou gonna sit there and sulk the whole way?â Rafe asks, his voice breaking the silence.
âIâm not sulking,â you shoot back, turning to glare at him.
He smirks, his eyes still on the road. âSure youâre not.â
You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. âIâm just⌠processing the fact that my car officially hates me. And that I had to be rescued by you of all people.â
His smirk softens into something closer to a smile, and for once, it doesnât look mocking. âYeah, well, itâs your lucky night, I guess.â
You roll your eyes but donât respond, and the quiet settles over the truck again. Itâs not entirely uncomfortable this timeâjust strange, like youâre both trying to figure out how to navigate this unexpected moment.
After a while, Rafe glances over at you, his expression more serious now. âYou really shouldnât be out here alone like that,â he says quietly.
You shift in your seat, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his tone. âI didnât exactly plan for my car to break down,â you mumble.
âStill,â he says, his grip tightening slightly on the steering wheel. âThings couldâve gone bad. You know that, right?â
You do. The memory of those guys, their leering smiles and the way they cornered you, is still fresh in your mind. A shiver runs through you, and you glance at Rafe, his profile sharp in the dim light from the dashboard.
âThanks,â you say, softer this time. âFor stepping in.â
His jaw tenses for a moment before he nods. âYeah. Donât mention it.â
The rest of the drive passes in a blur of streetlights and quiet conversation. When he finally pulls up outside your house, you feel an odd sense of disappointment, like the night is ending too soon.
Rafe cuts the engine and looks over at you, his expression unreadable again. âYou good?â
You nod, your fingers curling around the strap of your bag. âYeah. Thanks for the ride.â
He hesitates, his eyes searching yours for a moment, and you swear you see something uncharacteristically soft in his gaze. âAnytime,â he says, his voice low.
You climb out of the truck, turning back as you reach your front door. Rafe is still there, leaning slightly out of the window, watching you with an intensity that sends a strange flutter through your chest.
âNight, Rafe,â you call out, your voice steadier than you feel.
He nods once, his smirk returning, but thereâs a warmth to it now that wasnât there before. âNight.â
You watch as he drives off, the tail lights disappearing down the street, and you canât shake the feeling that tonight, something shifted. Something you didnât see coming.
The living room is alive with laughter and the sugary smell of freshly microwaved popcorn. Wheezie is sprawled across the couch, her legs tangled in a blanket as she debates the finer points of the movie youâve just paused, while Sarah snorts beside her, throwing a handful of popcorn in her sisterâs direction.
You sit cross-legged on the floor, sipping from your drink and soaking in the warmth of the moment. It feels good to let your guard down like thisâto laugh and tease and forget for a little while.
âOkay, but how does she not realize heâs the bad guy?â Wheezie demands, gesturing dramatically at the screen.
âBecause sheâs blinded by love,â Sarah says, grinning. âOr maybe sheâs just as dumb as you are.â
âExcuse me?â Wheezie gasps, clutching her chest in mock offense.
You laugh, shaking your head. âI donât know. I feel like if someone was being that obvious about being evil, Iâd notice.â
âWould you, though?â Sarah teases, raising an eyebrow.
âHey!â you protest, chucking a stray pillow at her.
The playful banter continues, the night stretching on in a haze of easy conversation and snack-fueled chaos. Youâre halfway through arguing over which movie to watch next when the sound of the front door opening pulls your attention.
You glance toward the entryway just as Rafe steps inside, his hair slightly mussed, his keys jingling in his hand. He pauses when he sees you all, his expression flickering from mild surprise to something unreadable.
âWhatâs this?â he asks, his voice carrying that familiar mix of curiosity and amusement. âA girlsâ night?â
âYeah,â Sarah says, throwing a popcorn kernel at him. âAnd youâre not invited.â
âTragic,â Rafe deadpans, stepping fully into the room. His eyes flick to you for a split second, and your stomach does an unexpected flip.
You tell yourself itâs nothing. Just residual nerves from the other night. Nothing to do with the way his presence seems to fill the space or the way his gaze lingers just long enough to make your cheeks heat.
He smirks, leaning against the doorframe. âDonât worry, Iâm not staying.â
âGood,â Sarah says. âBye.â
He ignores her, pushing off the frame and heading toward the kitchen instead.
âIâm getting more popcorn,â you announce quickly, needing a reason to escape the sudden heat prickling at your skin. You grab the empty bowl and dart toward the kitchen before anyone can respond.
The kitchen is cooler, quieter, and you exhale a sigh of relief as you cross to the counter. Youâre halfway through scooping kernels into a bowl when you hear the low hum of Rafeâs voice behind you.
âDidnât know you were here tonight.â
You jump slightly, glancing over your shoulder to find him leaning casually against the counter, his arms crossed and that infuriating smirk playing on his lips.
âYeah, well,â you say, turning back to the task at hand, âIâm kind of a regular around here.â
âIâve noticed,â he says, his tone light but edged with something that makes your stomach flutter.
You keep your focus on the popcorn, refusing to let him get to you. âDo you always sneak up on people like that?â
âOnly when theyâre interesting,â he shoots back smoothly.
You roll your eyes, but the flush creeping up your neck betrays you. âInteresting? Thatâs a stretch.â
Rafe chuckles, the sound low and warm. âI donât think so.â
His voice is closer now, and you glance up to find him standing beside you, his gaze fixed on your face. You freeze, your fingers tightening slightly around the bowl as you try to think of somethingâanythingâto say.
âRelax,â he says, his lips quirking up into a grin. âYou look like youâre about to run out of here.â
âIâm not,â you insist, though your voice comes out shakier than youâd like.
He leans in slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. âGood,â he murmurs. âBecause I was starting to think I might scare you.â
âYou donât scare me,â you say quickly, your voice a touch too defensive.
âHmm.â His smirk deepens, and he leans back, giving you just enough space to breathe again. âIf you say so.â
With that, he grabs a water bottle from the fridge and steps away, throwing one last glance over his shoulder as he heads toward the stairs.
âGoodnight, trouble,â he calls out, his tone teasing but soft enough to send a shiver down your spine.
You stand there for a moment, staring after him, your heart racing and your face burning.
By the time you return to the living room with the popcorn, Wheezie and Sarah are too busy laughing at some inside joke to notice how flustered you are. You settle back into your spot on the floor, your mind still replaying the way Rafeâs voice sounded when he called you trouble.
âł make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !
âł thank you for reading all the way through, as always âĄ
#rafe cameron imagine#obx smut#rafe outer banks#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron fanfiction#outerbanks rafe#rafe obx#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x kook!reader#rafe cameron x female reader#obx season 4#outer banks 4#obx 4#outer banks#obx fanfiction#obx cast#obx fic#outer banks fanfiction#outer banks x reader#obx4#outer banks season 4
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You have poor eyesight
Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx, Ekko, Viktor, Jayce, Mel
A/n: Really rushed with this lol but it should be fine. Bon appetit!
Masterlist
Vi
Vi would tease you lightly, calling you "four-eyes" if you wear glasses or joking about how "the world looks better blurry anyway" if you donât. But itâs always said with a grin that lets you know she loves you just the way you are.
If you struggle to see something, Vi would be the first to step in and help. Sheâd guide your hand to what youâre looking for or describe things in vivid detail, making it fun so you donât feel self-conscious.
She loves holding your hand when you're navigating unfamiliar areas, making it feel less like a necessity and more like an excuse to stay close. âStick with me, short-stack. Iâve got your back.â
On lazy days, sheâd trace your face with her fingers while you lie together, her voice soft as she murmurs, âDoesnât matter what you seeâwhat matters is what I see, and thatâs someone amazing.â
During tender moments, sheâd lean down and say, âGuess itâs lucky for me you didnât see someone better,â before kissing you deeply.
Caitlyn:
Caitlyn would be the most practical about it, immediately asking if you need updated glasses, a new prescription, or anything to help. Sheâd even offer to bring you to Piltoverâs best optometrist.
If you ever feel embarrassed about squinting or losing your glasses, sheâd cup your chin and kiss you softly, whispering, âYouâre beautiful, no matter what you see.â
Sheâd make sure everything in your shared space is organized and accessible for you. If you have trouble finding something, Caitlyn would quietly place it in your hand with a soft, reassuring smile.
During late-night talks, sheâd lean in and kiss you gently, her voice soothing as she says, âYouâre all I see. Nothing else matters.â
Caitlyn would take pride in making sure you never feel limited. If thereâs something you canât do because of your eyesight, sheâd offer a solution or alternative with a warm smile and unwavering support.
Jinx:
Jinx would definitely make a big, dramatic show of it. Sheâd wave her hands in front of your face, asking, âCan you see this? What about this?!â just to make you laugh.
When youâre struggling to spot something, sheâd hop on your back and point things out like a pirateâs lookout, making it a game to cheer you up.
If you wear glasses, sheâd insist on decorating them with stickers or doodles, saying, âNow youâll be cool AND functional!â Sheâd giggle while planting a quick kiss on your lips.
Sheâd secretly learn what frustrates you most about your eyesight and try to fix it in her quirky, Jinx-like way. Canât see far? She might rig a telescope gadget for you, proudly presenting it with a kiss on your hand.
On days when youâre down, Jinx would surprise you with a flurry of kisses, peppering them all over your face until youâre laughing and feeling loved again.
Ekko:
Ekko would always notice when youâre struggling to see something, immediately stepping in to help with an encouraging smile and a cheeky, âI got you, babe.â
If you bump into something or get flustered, heâd grin and say, âYouâre cute when youâre clumsy,â before kissing you gently to soothe any embarrassment.
Heâd tease you lightly about your poor eyesight but would always make it clear he finds it endearing, pulling you in for a kiss and saying, âYou see just fine where it matters mostâright here with me.â
Ekko would love playing little games to cheer you up, like making a guessing game out of blurry objects or using his time manipulation to "rewind" your stumbles into something graceful.
Heâd keep his arm around you when you're out together, using it as both a guide and a silent way of keeping you close. âYouâre safe with me,â heâd whisper, leaning in to kiss your temple.
Viktor:
Viktor would carefully modify things in your environment to make them easier for you, like adding soft lights or adjusting your work tools. âA small improvement,â heâd say, his voice full of quiet pride.
If you wear glasses, Viktor would always take care of them for you, cleaning or fixing them without a second thought. âYour vision matters to me,â heâd say, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.
Heâd encourage you not to see your eyesight as a weakness, softly saying, âWe all have limitations. But you overcome yours beautifully,â before kissing your forehead.
Viktor would love moments where you rely on him to guide you, using it as an excuse to hold your hand or pull you close.
Heâd craft personalized solutions for any frustration you have, making sure you never feel like your eyesight limits your abilities or independence, always ending his gestures with a soft kiss of reassurance.
Jayce:
Jayce would constantly reassure you about your eyesight, saying, âIf anything, it just makes me want to take care of you more,â before sweeping you into a warm hug and a kiss.
Heâd invent practical yet adorable solutions, like a glasses case with your favorite design or a magnifying gadget you can wear around your neck for convenience.
If you ever bump into something or squint at something too long, Jayce would chuckle and ruffle your hair, saying, âYou know you can just ask me for help, right?â before guiding you.
Heâd love making you laugh when youâre frustrated about your vision, pulling you close and joking, âGood thing Iâm here to be your eyes AND your muscles.â
During quiet moments, Jayce would hold your hands and kiss each one, looking into your eyes and saying, âYou donât need perfect sight to see how much I love you.â
Mel:
Mel would handle it with quiet grace, always ensuring you feel comfortable. Sheâd notice the things you struggle with and adjust without making a big deal out of itâlike moving a book closer to you or pointing out details you might miss.
Sheâd gift you stylish, luxurious glasses or accessories, always making sure they feel like a part of your personality rather than a necessity.
When youâre squinting at something, Mel would smirk and lean in close, her breath brushing your skin as she whispers, âNeed a closer look?â before kissing you sweetly.
If you ever feel frustrated, sheâd sit beside you, gently holding your hand and saying, âLet me share my vision with you. Together, we can see the world clearly.â
Mel would use your eyesight as an excuse for more intimate momentsâholding your face in her hands, guiding your gaze to hers, and kissing you softly to remind you that youâre loved.
Requests may be sent through the ask box. SFW only.
@self-aes request: Good day. I want to write a headcanon about a reader with poor eyesight/wearing glasses. How characters from arcane will interact with him. I want to see Vi, Caitlin, Jinx, Ekko, Victor, Jace, Mel. Sorry if you see any mistakes (English is not my preferred language, I checked with a translator)
#arcane x reader#arcane headcannons#arcane x you#arcane league of legends#vi x reader#vi arcane#vi league of legends#violet x reader#jinx x reader#jinx x you#jinx league of legends#arcane#league of legends#ekko x reader#ekko arcane#caitlyn x reader#caitlyn kiramman#arcane season 2#arcane s2#viktor x reader#viktor arcane#jayce x reader#jayce x you#jayce arcane#mel medarda#mel arcane#mel x reader#mel x you
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In the Ender's Game short story, the original work, there is no mention at all of whether he was drafted or volunteered by his family. However we are told that he is unfamiliar with the outside world in general, that his earliest memories are of being in the military schools training at basic war games as apparently a toddler.
And against this the short story takes care to mention that most children aren't going to these schools, via the adults in the story discussing how the other kids get to hang out in the park.
for example this passage towards the middle:
Ender Wiggins was rushed from place to place so quickly he had no time to examine anything. But he did see trees for the first time. He saw men who were not in uniform. He saw women. He saw strange animals that didn't speak, but that followed docilely behind women and small children. He saw suitcases and conveyor belts and signs that said words he had never heard of. He would have asked someone what the words meant, except that purpose and authority surrounded him in the persons of four very high officers who never spoke to each other and never spoke to him. Ender Wiggins was a stranger to the world he was being trained to save. He did not remember ever leaving Battle School before. His earliest memories were of childish war games under the direction of a teacher, of meals with other boys in the gray and green uniforms of the armed forces of his world. He did not know that the gray represented the sky and the green represented the great forests of his planet. All he knew of the world was from vague references to "outside."
and really who gives a shit about what the old homophobe changed when he decided to spackle a bunch of other shit onto the short story to start a practically unrelated novel series with it as the hook? the short story is the essence of the point and in it the intentions are clear - recruiting for the military in this case starts so early that of course none of the participants made the choice knowingly. there doesn't even appear to be a way for the children who do poorly once in the military schooling to leave it, we can presume those who do poorly are simply going to be funneled into less important military roles but presuming is all we can do.
ender's unknowing victory immediately ends the purpose of the whole military program, and clearly there's going to need to be some kind of other thing to handle these children only raised for military shit being reintegrated to a civilian society, but we are very deliberately not shown this, it is outside the purpose of the story.
but also starship troopers the book takes a lot of care to say that there's a bunch of civilian citizenship service positions. this is for a very clear reason: heinlein himself had to be disabilitied out of the Navy before WWII, couldn't get back into military service for it, and so was very very proud of his civilian service to the government during WWII. and he also was way more interested in talking about the military side because he was desperate to get to go to war again in WWII but couldn't.
and that's part of why the movie version makes sure to mention the civilian path exists here, but that certain characters refused to do either method, and then jumps into the enthusiasm of following the military path, that's what the story in both forms is much more interested in!
anyone contrasted Starship Troopers (movie) with Ender's Game (movie) in the way that they both involve teenagers being drafted by a fascist state into genocidal war against aliens?
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𩵠dead poets society member!vernon x reader.
offshoot from the dead poets society!hhu x reader verse. (highly advise to read that first before delving into this!) part of my svt university milestone event.
I said / "I am afraid I will spend entire years / trying not to need you." / As if I wasn't certain. As if this wasn't my confession. â I swear, next time I see you I'll be funny by Clementine Von Radics
PREVIOUSLY âş
❠��� || ⡠⺠cool about it by boygenius. sa ngalan ng pag-ibig by december avenue. everything by the black skirts. buyer's remorse by daniel caesar & omar apollo. godspeed by frank ocean. someday i'll get it by alek olsen. everyone adores you (at least i do) by matt maltese. tie my shoes by beabadooobee. nothing can by niki.
on his first year away, vernon focuses on physical distance. a foolish part of him thinks that the more miles he puts in between the two of you, the easier it will be for him to get over this stupid, hopeless crush that lasted throughout his uni years. and so vernon goes backpacking, goes solo traveling. he lets the wind take him wherever. if anything, he only realizes just how deeply ingrained you are in his subconscious. he thinks of you when he passes a secondhand bookstore. he itches to text when he has a particularly good coffee. and when the sky is clear, when it's just the perfect shade of blue? he swears he can hear you in the back of his head, quoting mary oliver. (or: this is the year vernon learns all the different ways you can miss a person.)
vernon spends his second year on dating apps. it makes him a bit sick to his stomach, really. he doesn't think he's doing it right. he matches with people, sure. even manages to bag a handful of dates. each one ends with him giving them some variation of 'i don't think this is going to work out', and when they inevitably ask why, he lies through his teeth. too busy to be in a serious relationship. too emotionally out of it to commit. anything but the truth. (or: this is the year vernon realizes that no one measures up to you.)
by the time his third year away rolls around, vernon is beginning to feel a bit pathetic. here he is, after all that time, and he's still haunted by the shadow of a relationship that didn't even come to the light. sometimes, that seems to be worseâ saying goodbye and knowing the door is left open a crack. he distracts himself with literally everything else. he tries out improv. he finally opens up a letterboxd account. he signs up for marathons. (or: this is the year vernon runs, in more ways than one.)
there's less of an ache by the time that year four comes. vernon doesn't think of you as often as he used to. he's able to be with someone else without imagining you in their place. even as that relationship eventually ends, he's glad that it's because of reasons unrelated to you. he's finally gotten to a point where he can look at himself in the mirror and not think of all the ways he faltered or failed. despite everything, it's still him. (or: this is the year vernon accepts the version of himself in his reflection.)
five years. it takes five years before vernon can finally reach back out. not to everyone yet, no. he starts slow. mingyu gives him a whole load of shit for it. seungcheol asks a dozen questions. wonwoo understands. vernon is grateful for them, so much so that he finds himself watching the dead poets society on his plane ride home. it's all fun and games until the scene with robin williams, where the schoolboys are paying ode to him with cries of "o captain, my captain!" it's the very line that echoes in his head when he sees you some feet away from him during a chance encounter. suddenly, none of it matters. not the distance, not the blind dates, not the man that he's tried so hard to be. all he can think ofâ all he can seeâ is you. o captain, my captain. (or: this is the year vernon decides to be honest with himself.)
#vernon x reader#vernon smau#vernon imagines#hansol x reader#chwe vernon x reader#svt x reader#seventeen x reader#svt imagines#seventeen imagines#svt smau#seventeen smau#ââ áľáľ ⌠mine#ââ áľáľ ⌠milestone event: svt uni#[ thank you to everyone who voted! :) ]#[ i have a lot of feelings/thoughts about this. most of which are mixed. but i trust that it still suffices ]#[ lots of love <3 annotations on this will be warranted lmao ]
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bf!yeonjun headcanons
pairings: college bf!Yeonjun x fem!reader
genre: fluff headcanons, comfort, stablished relationship.
not proofread / check out my masterlist
thinking abtâŚ. Living with yeonjun, your college bf.
College bf!yeonjun who just moved into your apartment because itâs way closer to campus.
College bf!yeonjun whoâs never, ever, lived with a girl before so heâs not used to seeing such a clean, organized place. And youâve set your own rules and routine, which for him, someone who lives day to day, is something really new.
College bf!yeonjun who eventually falls into a comfortable routine with you; and postpones searching for a new place as it becomes easier to catch up with chores.
Mornings with College bf!Yeonjun are definitely a challenge. Heâs not a morning person, but he loves waking up early just to see your sleepy face, and maybe steal a kiss or two. He'll make you breakfastâsometimes itâs burnt toast and scrambled eggs, but itâs the thought that counts. On weekends, you both enjoy lazy mornings cuddling in bed, scrolling through your phones, and playfully fighting over who has to get up first.
College bf!yeonjun and you take turns trying out new recipes. Yeonjunâs specialty is instant ramen, while youâre the best at baking cookies. There are more than a few kitchen disasters, but laughter always follows. Sometimes, cooking together turns into an impromptu dance (or make out) session with Yeonjun twirling you around the kitchen while a song plays in the background.
When you both need a break from studying and donât wanna go out, you enjoy playing video games together. College bf!Yeonjun is super competitive but always lets you win at least one round.
College bf!yeonjun who refuses to go to bed until youâve talked about your day. Every nightâ skincare already done and tucked in bed, you always spend a few minutes sharing your thoughts and going through what you did when you werenât together during the day.
College bf!yeonjun doesnât know about personal space, and will absolutely find a way to be close to you in some way. Wether itâs his arms around your waist while youâre making dinner, laying on top of you when watching movies or resting his chin on your shoulder while you do your makeup in the bathroom mirror.
College bf!yeonjun who loves you with all his being. Doesnât care about you using his clothes (he adores it) or when you turn into a control freak when dividing chores. Who tries to the best roommate ever, buying cute furniture to bring life into your apartment or finishing your chores when youâre beyond exhausted. Isnât he the best?
a/n: I need this yj in my life đ
#txt oneshots#yeonjun thoughts#yeonjun x you#yeonjun post#yeonjun drabble#yeonjun fluff#yeonjun x reader#choi yeonjun#txt fluff#kpop fluff#kpop fanfic#kpop drabbles#idol x reader#beomgyu fluff#soobin fluff#taehyun fluff#hueningkai fluff#txt moa#txt#txt post#txt headcanons#fanfic#headcanons#aesthetic#yezzns â
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emmrich x rook: and i'll do anything you say (if you say it with your hands)
A/N: I definitely did not write an 8k word fic about Rook going crazy insane over Emmrich's hands. You definitely can't read it on ao3 here or below the cut.
TW for smoking, drinking, blood.
Itâs not something she notices when they first meet. Sheâs a little busy stopping the end of the world and her priorities are in other places at the moment. It takes a little while, a few weeks after he is officially a member of the team and settled in. After Weisshaupt and Minrathous and all of the other horrors they've experienced recently.Â
It happens during a game of Wicked Grace, of all things.Â
Rook isn't playing but is happy to sit, enjoying being surrounded by a few members of her team Varricâs team - you're just a placeholder baby. Harding brought the cards, Lucanis picked the wine, and Davrin and Emmrich were all too happy to join in on the game Harding proposed.Â
It's a good thing Rook didn't take a hand of cards for herself, as her concentration has wandered to one subject in particular. One person, completely oblivious to where Rookâs thoughts have ventured over the course of the evening. All heâs doing is holding a few cards, passing them back and forth and it's not special in any way - truly a perfectly ordinary moment during a perfectly ordinary evening. She barely even knows him, but all Rook can look at, all she can think about, are Emmrichâs hands.Â
All of him is pleasant to look at. He looks good, presents himself in a confident way that she noticed immediately upon their first meeting in the Necropolis, but what's taken her aback are his hands. The rings adorning his long thin fingers glisten just so in the candle light, the delicate way he holds the cards and the way he picks up his wine glass, the bangles on his wrists that make the most pleasing sounds. Rook is entranced. Hypnotized. She has never wanted anything more than she wants those hands on her, in her, anywhere near her as often as she can have them.Â
And he has no idea, is none the wiser to the turn of Rookâs thoughts. She knows this is completely inappropriate; he would absolutely never want to fraternize with a girl young enough to be his student would he? She tries to snap out of it, tries to pay attention to the game in front of her but her eyes keep catching the glint of his rings, keep noticing the way he fiddles with which card to place down, how he organizes them just so with fingers skimming the top until they land on the perfect card. She wants to know how those rings would feel caressing her face, her body. Would they be cold? Would they leave marks if he pressed down with a little force on her throat or hips? Would they sting if he slapped her across her ass? Would he keep them on even when-
She snaps out of it, drinks the rest of her wine, abruptly stands up and excuses herself while quickly mentioning that she needs to clean her knives, enjoy the rest of your game, goodnight everyone. Turns heel and all but sprints out of the dining room. It's rude, she knows, and will explain herself properly tomorrow if asked. I just can't have them getting rusted or dull - old crow habits, you know. It's a flimsy excuse but still perfectly reasonable if anyone were to pry.Â
When she's safe behind the closed door of the meditation chamber, she does not continue to think about her teammate. She does not sit on the green velvet chaise lounge and think about his hands on her, his voice so rich and smooth and gentlemanly. He's always ready with a compliment and oh, how she loves it when he tells her nicely done, Rook! Would he have such compliments ready if she got on her knees, ready to do as he said?Â
Rook tells herself she can do this once, get it out of her system, look him in the eyes tomorrow and claim she's never touched herself to thoughts of him. How improper. Where is her sense of decorum!
But tonight she uses her own hand and pretends it's his. She digs out the two rings she has in her pack, little trinkets sheâs picked up here and there, places them on her fingers and grips her throat just so and there, just faintly are two little indentations. Tonight she can pretend there's more and the hand who gave them to her isnât the one between her legs but the one that is currently across the courtyard and far away from where she wants it to be.Â
Tomorrow sheâll set her head straight. Tonight she comes with his name on her lips and knows immediately she's absolutely fucked.Â
-
Rookâs lounging on the couch in the library, comfortable as the day is long. There was no reason to leave today so she's taking time to relax - the fact that she protested for a long time when this was suggested by Varric even though her body was screaming for a break notwithstanding. She's not planning, she's not preparing, she's not strategizing like she knows she should be. Instead, she's laying on the couch, an apple in one hand and a knife in the other. She's cutting pieces and eating them, snapping the slices with audible crunch while her attention is on the scene in front of her.Â
Standing at the bookshelf are Lucanis and Emmrich. Sheâs fully staring at them, watching them pick books off the shelves and return others to their spots all nice and neat. What they're searching for, she hasn't a clue, and truly couldn't care less because that's not at all relevant to her train of thought.
No, she's staring at Emmrichâs hands again. Moving across spines, flipping through pages, tracing lines on the page and softly reading them out to Lucanis. Rook cuts the apple, puts the slice in her mouth, closes her lips but doesn't bite. No, that would be far too rational and her brain is not functioning at the moment. She gently pokes and prods it with her tongue, swirls around it a few times and pulls it out with a gentle pop, a small trail of saliva still connecting her to the fruit.
The men in front of her are none the wiser, still speaking in hushed tones about demons and spirits and gods. They have no idea that Rook is daydreaming not of an apple slice, but a certain necromancerâs finger in its place. She gently bites the apple, pulls the slice away from her mouth, thinking that instead maybe this is what it would be like to pull one of his rings off his fingers. He might hold his hand out, ready for her to spit it back into his palm. She would do that with each ring if he asked her to.
She'd do anything for his hands to be on her, his attention turned away from the book and his gentle voice, a little deeper and a little darker perhaps, could be teaching her instead of Lucanis.Â
She's completely lost in thought that when she goes to cut another slice from the fruit she misses completely. The knife, thankfully a slightly dull one from the kitchen and not one of her blades, goes directly across her palm and not right through it like it could have. Blood seeps out the cut, not deep enough to warrant any real worry but enough for Rook to gasp in pain loud enough to rouse the interest of her two friends.Â
âRook? Everything alright?â Lucanis asks, seemingly noticing her for the first time since she sat down over half an hour earlier. He and Emmrich walk over to her, see her bloody palm, and leap into action.Â
âIt's alright, please there's no need to worry. I just cut myself by accident. It's not even that deep,â Rook protests. She stands up, begins walking away to go clean and wrap her hand, when Emmrich steps in front of her.Â
âMind if I lend a hand?â he asks, and oh how Rook would have begged to hear those words in any other context but this. He gently takes her hand and examines her palm, says âCome upstairs with me, if you want. I can clean and wrap it for you,â.Â
âNo, it's alright, thank you, I don't want to interrupt-â she starts, fumbling her words as she looks at her hand in his. More blood is rushing out, threatening to drip down her arm and onto the floor, but she doesn't care. She needs to get out of this situation before she embarrasses herself even further.Â
âRook, please, I wouldn't have offered it if I didn't want to help. It'll only take a moment.â Emmrich says, and well, she might as well let this cut be worth something. She grumbles in agreement, allowing him to pull her along up to his rooms.Â
On the stairs, she glances down at Lucanis. Heâs regarding the two of them with squinted eyes and a smirk on his face, that bastard.Â
âCrows know better than to cut their hands while slicing apples, Rook.â he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.Â
âIf you tell Viago about this I'm sending you back to jail.â Rook deadpans.Â
At the top of the stairs she follows Emmrich into his study. He points at his desk and tells Rook to take a seat, it'll only take him a moment to gather supplies. She sits on top of it, not sure if that's what he meant but not wanting to be trapped behind the piece of furniture either. Oh how she's thought of this scenario many times since the Wicked Grace night. In none of them was she bleeding, however, but she's still slightly shocked to have even gotten to this point.Â
She makes a note to pull herself together when he emerges into view, sleeves rolled up and carrying a tray with bandages, cloths, and what she assumes is some form of antiseptic. His rings and bracelets, she notices, are still on.
âI apologize, but this might sting a little,â Emmrich says as he takes a piece of cloth and motions for her to place her hand in his. He gently starts wiping away the blood from her palm, careful not to put any pressure on the cut. Itâs a little messy, more blood seeping from her palm with every swipe of the cloth. Heâs gentle and diligent and so concentrated that she can't help it if her heart rate goes up. Being the object of his attention is too much. Her face is flushed, sheâs shaking a little, and worst of all she can feel the heat between her legs building all too vibrantly.Â
All because heâs touching her, and her blood is on his hands. There's a few smudges on his fingers, barely any at all really, as he holds her hand with her palm facing upwards. Rook didnât know she had a thing for blood until this moment, but sheâs so flustered by this sight that she wishes the cut was deeper, more bloody, covering his hands while he patches her back up. Heâs so gentle but still maintains perfect control over her, flipping her hand around and moving it this way and that. Emmrich could tell her to pick up a book and start reading it outloud right now and she would listen, do exactly as he said.Â
âPlease be more careful next time you decide to eat an apple. We wouldn't want our fearless leader to chop off a finger,â he says, his tone light and humorous and miles away from where her own thoughts have wandered.
Rook smiles, laughs a little, says she promises to save the injuries for the battlefield. He presses a different cloth, this one soaked in antiseptic, to her hand. He was right - it does sting a little, but her blood is still on his fingers and she wants to offer to clean them for him, bring them up to her mouth and indulge in her fantasy from earlier.
The hand holding hers moves up her wrist just a tad, but it's enough to clue him into her current state. He presses down gently, furrows his brows a little. âRook, your heart is racing. Are you sure you're feeling alright?â he asks.Â
No, she wants to say, I am feeling quite troubled and am in need of your assistance. It wouldn't take much to bring his hands up to her face, mouth, throat, or down to her chest, her hips, between her legs. He's staring at her with concern written clear as day across his face and not realizing the position they are in. Sheâs fully sat on his desk while he stands in front of her close enough that when they look at each other she has to tilt her head up a little. He's not quite between her legs but a little repositioning and that could be fixed. It's the perfect set up. It's all of her fantasies mixed into one.Â
âI'm just still a little distracted these days,â the rational part of her brain that is luckily still connected to her mouth supplies. âIt's been a difficult few weeks. I havenât been sleeping that well,â she adds, hopefully convincing him that that's truly the only thing in her mind.Â
He hums in agreement, now slowly and methodically wrapping up her hand. The blood is seeping through the bandage but only just so. Not enough to make a mess. Not enough to, say, get on any other surfaces, any other present parties who have no idea what theyâre doing to her. Rook sighs, closes her eyes a little, wills away these thoughts in favor of trying to have a normal conversation and not thinking about getting bent over this desk and fucked into next week.Â
Her eyes snap open and she prays that she didn't say that out loud.Â
âWell, Iâm no healer, but if you have trouble sleeping you are more than welcome to stop in for a chat and a nightcap,â Emmrich says while letting go of her hand and cleaning up the bloody rags. She isnât surprised by the invitation. She knows he enjoys a few vices in life, he knows his wines and sheâs smelled the smoke from a pipe he keeps stashed away on more than one occasion.Â
âThat's incredibly kind. Thank you, Emmrich.â she said, still looking up at him through her lashes. She knows exactly what she's doing when she bats her eyes, once, twice, lets her mouth rest into an easy smile and tries to look as innocent as possible. The eye contact theyâre making is full of tension. He looks down at her lips, only for a moment but it's enough for Rook to notice.
A-ha, she thinks, I got you.
He looks back up at her, his mouth slightly agape in what can only be the realization of their predicament hitting him all at once. Heâs again holding her bandaged hand between them, their eye contact unbreaking and it would be so easy to move her legs, spread them slightly so heâs properly standing between them. She could nudge him forward with her foot and wrap her legs around him, so simple then for him to take her face in his hands and kiss her until her brain is quiet. The desk behind her is clear of anything breakable and all she would have to do is lay back and-
Emmrich clears his throat, breaks their eye contact first, steps away from a position that seems to be closer to her than he was a moment ago. Was he as wrapped up in the moment as she was? Drifting into her space, compelled by the same force thatâs been driving her mad for weeks on end?Â
âWell!â he says, a little loudly and a little too forcefully, âLucanis and I were in the middle of some terribly interesting research and I should be getting back-âÂ
âOf course!â she interrupts, âIâd hate to take up any more of your time!â Rook states, sliding off of his desk and walking over to the door. She pauses, her hand gently pushing the door open. âThank you again, Emmrich. I just might take you up on that nightcap soon.âÂ
She leaves, doesnât look back, but doesnât hear him move to go downstairs either. She claims that as a win. One small step in the right direction.
-
Rook has upped her flirting significantly since she cut her hand. He has to have noticed, there canât be any way he hasnât. There have been some moments, none of them confirming or denying anything other than the fact that he likes to be around her as much as she likes to be around him.Â
Moments in his study, in the kitchen, in passing in hallways or on their long treks across the various areas of Thedas where their help is needed. He comes with her almost everywhere now. She's not sure when that started but now it's an unspoken rule that if she's heading off towards danger, Emmrich is by her side. If anyone has noticed they have kept it to themselves, bless them.Â
This night is one of those where she is reminded just how much she cherishes her crew. Theyâve all gathered for family dinner as Taash has started calling it. Dinner has since ended, Lucanis and Neve are in the kitchen under the guise of cleaning up but really just wanted an excuse to talk away from prying eyes and ears. The wine is flowing freely and quickly, smiles are on everyone's faces, conversations are loud and everything is perfect.Â
Rook is sitting with Bellara and Davrin, the three elves swapping silly stories from their previous lives. Davrin is telling a story from his childhood that has Rook and Bellara in absolute stitches. Davrin seems more calm and cool than other Wardenâs she's met before. Heâs serious when he needs to be, donât get her wrong, but he knows how to unwind and how to spin a tale so interesting that you canât help but give him your undivided attention.Â
Rook goes to take a sip of her wine and notices the glass is empty. She looks around for the current open bottle and spots it next to Emmrich. At that moment he catches her looking from her glass to the bottle and raises his eyebrows in a silent question, gesturing to the bottle and then to her. Rook nods and smiles, holds her glass towards him slightly to show him the poor, empty state of it. He smiles and gets up, grabs the bottle and wanders over to the group, first topping off Bellaraâs glass and filling up Rookâs.
âOh! Thank you Professor!â Bellara says with a smile that could light up even the darkest, dankest cavern in the Hossberg Wetlands. If anyone was the physical embodiment of the sun and all things nice, it was Bellara. Her happiness was infectious as always, and heightened by the alcohol, Rook found herself to be terribly happy as well.Â
Rook never addressed Emmrich by his title. Of course she recognized his profession outside of this team was a prestigious one, but she wasnât his student or colleague so it never felt right to say it. Not to say she hadnât thought about it. Sheâs definitely let her mind wander to a world where sheâs sitting in the audience at one of Professor Volkarinâs lectures. Sheâs seen him get heated in debates with Lucanis and Bellara before and knows how passionate he can be when talking about the subjects heâs devoted his life to. She knows that focus would only come across even more intensely in a classroom setting.Â
And so what if she gets a little turned on by that? He would be her authority figure in this situation. Maybe she could have studied under him, been his star pupil, the student he was most proud of. He would be ready to go with compliments, and she would get to watch him cast all day. The way he moves his hands while performing a ritual is exactly that, a performance. He takes on the role not of Professor or Necromancer but Conductor, his hands instructing a music unheard and unseen by Rook.
So, what if she sees a way to use this to her advantage.Â
Emmrich is already correcting Bellara, asking her to please drop the title in a setting like this, amongst friends and not in the halls of the Necropolis, when Rook pipes up from next to her,
âYeah, thank you Professor,â she says. Her cheeks are red from the wine, her lips slightly parted as she raises the glass and takes a sip. She doesnât let the moment linger any longer and turns her attention back to her companions, but she hears his sharp intake of breath next to her.Â
He recovers smoothly, leaving the bottle with them and returning to his previous spot. Rook glances at Emmrich out of the corner of her eye and sees him grabbing his glass and bidding his companions farewell for the evening. Harding and Taash quickly follow, and Rook knows now is her best shot.Â
After a few minutes she too picks up her still full glass, apologizes for interrupting the story but she simply canât sit up straight any longer and needs to go to her room before she passes out in the dining room. She leaves before anyone can respond and call out the fact that minutes ago she was wide awake and conversing just fine.Â
Rookâs not exactly sober, but sheâs sober enough to consider the possibility that he doesn't want her like that, sees her only as a friend, is repulsed by her even. She thinks it through, and by the time she's approaching the library she's made up her mind and decides there's no turning back now. She heads up the right staircase in the library and knocks at Emmrichâs door, and hears him yell a âCome in!â from the other side. Rook slips in and gently closes the door behind her. Emmrich is at his desk, striking a match and lighting up the contents of the pipe hanging from his mouth.Â
âI had a feeling that might be you at the door. Please, come in!â he says, smoke billowing from his mouth and nose. Itâs unreasonably attractive, seeing him like this. Itâs a perfectly normal activity and yet he makes it look so elegant that Rook canât help but find herself staring openly at him.Â
âThought Iâd drop in for that nightcap and conversation you promised me a while back,â she says, trying to make her voice as smooth and steady as possible. They've had countless late night conversations and drinks together since he gave her permission to seek him out on sleepless nights but she's hoping this reminder evokes the memory of their almost almost kiss. She approaches his desk and leans her hip up against it, taking a sip of her drink.Â
This is definitely one of the more relaxed states she's seen him in. His vest is off, his glove is missing, his shirt unbuttoned (only the top one, but sheâs never seen it unbuttoned at all before) and lacking the usual skull collar pins, but his hands and arms are still covered in his gold jewelry.
He takes another drag from his pipe, says âWell thereâs no better time than the present. Is there something on your mind?â on his exhale, not blowing the smoke directly at Rook but letting it waft around them, creating a haze in the room.Â
âNot particularly,â she says, carefully enunciating each syllable. She thinks for a moment and then backtracks, tapping thoughtfully against her temple like an idea just came to her. âActually, there might be one thing,â she says, letting the pause sit between them like the smoke in the room.Â
âYou see, Professor,â she says his title just to see if he would react. And he does, his eyes widening and his face going a little red, coughing slightly as he exhales more smoke.Â
âRook-â he starts, she tries to interrupt him but he talks over her, adding âRook please, I have to insist that you do not call me that.â he says, the mood shifting from flirty to serious in an instant. Rookâs smile fades and she moves to stand up, already spewing apologies that sheâs taken this too far, sheâll drop it instantly, let him get back to his evening when he reaches out and lays a hand on her leg to keep her still.Â
Instead of kicking her out like she expects, he stands up and circles the desk, coming around to face her. Itâs a familiar moment, exactly the one she wanted to recreate, just now with less blood and more heat and all Rook can do is look up at him, take a sip of wine and set her glass down next to her. Emmrich's pipe is burning away, seemingly forgotten about in favor of this moment between them. Heâs not quite leaning into her space, but his height compared to her causes her to lean back against the desk, bracing herself with her hands behind her.Â
âI apologize if Iâve gotten this all wrong, and Iâll stop calling youâŚthat. I promise it wonât happen again,â Rook is saying, her eyes following his hands as he moves the one from her thigh and presses them together in front of him as he often does. Breathing deeply, her fears start singing full force in her head. She swears what theyâve been doing is flirting, and she doesnât want to make him uncomfortable by her advances, especially using his title and their age difference as fuel.Â
Sheâs worrying, clearly it must be plain as day on her face, because what happens next is something straight from her imagination. Pinch her, she might be dreaming.Â
Sheâs about to apologize even further when she feels his finger under her chin, shutting her up more effectively than anything else ever has. He tilts her chin up just slightly, and she knows she looks like a mess right now. Rook feels her cheeks burning and knows her eyes are wide and glassy.Â
âIâm not asking you to stop it because I donât want you to leave me alone, and not even because I donât like it,â he elaborates. âI only mention it because Iâm finding that I do like it, maybe a little too much.âÂ
Rook is at a loss for words. Sheâs completely shocked, elated but caught way completely off guard.
âI have never had such aâŚrelationship with a student before and I donât intend on crossing those lines now. However, I have noticed the increasingly flirtatious way you act around me and I canât pretend I'm not equally as affected by your presence any longer.â Emmrich says, his finger moving from under her chin, gently caressing her face as it travels up to her cheek. The rest of his hand rests against the side of her jaw, his fingertips just brushing her cheekbone. His thumb swipes gently over her lip, and Rook has to stop the moan threatening to escape her throat with all of her might.Â
âThere is quite a distance in the years between us, my dear, so please tell me if Iâve overstepped and taken this too far.â he says, his voice soft and low and she doesnât feel real right now, doesnât know if this is just the most realistic dream sheâs ever had and sheâll wake up hot and flustered and aching with her need for him.Â
To answer him she does exactly what sheâs wanted to since that day she watched him play cards. She tilts her head down ever so slightly, opens her mouth and takes his thumb in her mouth. Looking up at him she gently sucks before releasing it, effectively rendering him absolutely stunned. Eyes blown wide, mouth hanging open, and she knows the walls between them are officially dust.Â
âNo, I donât think youâve misread the situation at all.â she says, her own hand coming up to grab at the one he has against her cheek. She takes it and brings it in front of her, and loses all sense of self control. Never breaking eye contact with him, she takes his pointer finger and licks a stripe up it, her tongue catching on the ring at the base (cold, she notes, just like she hoped).Â
And that's the end of any distance between them. The end of the what ifâs and the maybe, maybe notâs she cycles through daily. He gets his hand into her long, wavy hair, the other falls to her hip and he's pulling her head back, exposing her neck and trailing the gentlest series of kisses up to her jaw. He nips at the skin there, just a hint of teeth and tongue and Rookâs mouth is completely open now, the smallest exhale turning into a full on whine at the feeling of his lips against her skin.Â
âPlease,â is all she can manage and she's absolutely begging now, turning her head to chase his mouth with her own. His face is right there, a millimeter of distance between them. Emmrich laughs, not because this is funny but like he too can't believe whatâs happening, before finally pressing their lips together.
Rook wants to shout from the rooftops. She wants to set off fireworks and pop champagne and celebrate. She's finally got him exactly where she wants.Â
Instead she adjusts her position so that she's fully sitting atop his desk. Her legs are spread wide and he's standing between them, their bodies pressed together like they can't stand even being an inch apart any longer.Â
And the kiss is better than she ever could have imagined. He tastes faintly of wine, more so of smoke and something clean and sweet and oh how she's never going get enough of that. His hand at her hip is gripping her tightly, fingers roaming closer to her backside and she can feel the metal of his rings so clearly and it's so much better than she ever imagined.Â
Rook pulls away to get a breath of air and he's there immediately again, kissing her like he's a man starved and she's the sweetest thing he's tasted in so long. He pulls away and she's chasing him just as intensely, just as hungry as he is. It's filthy, all tongue and teeth and she needs him everywhere. His hands, his mouth, she'd make a million blood sacrifices just to stay in this place. On his desk with his hands holding her down with just enough force to keep her steady.Â
He's everywhere now, in her space, his tongue in her mouth and his hands, his hands!, finally grabbing at her in almost all of the places she's yearned for him to be. They're on her hips, her waist, slowly moving up and over her breasts and pausing briefly on her throat. He's studying her, mapping out her figure with the scholarly dedication he saves for the greater mysteries of the fade and the undead.
Sheâs never wanted anyone as badly as she wants him. This wonderful man whose path she never would have crossed were it not for their fight against the gods. How funny it is to find something so precious, perfect and passionate at what could very well be the end of their lives. Well, if I'm going to die anytime soon it might as well be after I learn what pleasure truly feels like, she thinks as his hands continue roaming her body. Nobody has ever made her feel like this nor has she felt such intense desire for any of her previous partners.Â
She moves to undo the buttons on her shirt, thanking the Maker she had the foresight to leave off the belt she usually wears for the evening, ready to grant him more access to her skin. He accepts this eagerly, pushing the shirt down her shoulders and taking a step back to look her over.Â
And look her over is exactly what he does. Emmrich takes his time, letting his eyes trail over her like she is his most prized possession, a piece of art he'd been looking for all his life. She knows she must look slightly crazed and disheveled, her breaths coming fast and hard as she tries to regain her composure. Her blonde hair is pushed behind her pointed ears, swept off her shoulders to give him a view of as much skin as she can with her pants and bandeau still on.Â
And it must all hit him at once, the reality of the path theyâre headed down, because suddenly his expression is sober, not shocked but curious as if he doesn't know how this could have possibly happened.Â
âMakerâs breath,â Emmrich whispers, turning away from her with one hand on his hip and the other rubbing the back of his neck. She is starting to get worried now, maybe this was too good to be true, maybe he changed his mind and doesn't want her after all.Â
âEmmrich?â Rook calls out, fear and worry taking over. âIs everything alright?âÂ
He spins back around to face her, stands with one arm crossed over his chest and the other propped against it, his hand at his mouth with a deeply serious expression on his face. Every trace of want is gone from his features, and if it weren't for the red in his cheeks and a single strand of hair out of place no one would ever have known that only a minute ago he was kissing her silly and stupid.Â
He breathes once, twice, opens and closes his mouth as he searches for the right words. All he ends up saying, however, is simple, cutting right to her nerves and her fears.
âWhy?â he asks. Rookâs heart drops, all color draining from her face.Â
âI'm sorry?â she asks. She's stunned. She thought he wanted her as much as she wanted him, but clearly that couldn't be any less true. He's looking at her like she's a lost child, a girl who doesn't know what she's doing.Â
âRook,â he starts, with such a softness in his voice and finally reaching out to touch her again. He steps in closer, not as close as they were earlier but close enough to cup his hand around her cheek. She leans into the touch, wanting to press her lips to his palm but holding back the urge.Â
âRook, please forgive me. I don't mean any insult - youâre absolutely marvelous, but I have to know. Why me? The gap between our years is almost as much as your own age. You wouldn't feel more comfortable with one of the others?â he's saying, and of course Rook should have expected this.Â
âI don't want any of the others. I want you.â is all she can say in return, her hand coming up to press softly against his which still rests against her cheek. âI don't care that youâre older than me. In fact, it's kind of a turn on.â she says, a smile slowly returning to her face. âI wouldn't be here right now if I didn't want you, Emmrich.â
She takes their intertwined hands and starts slowly moving them down her throat, down her chest until they reach her tits. She grabs his other hand and brings it to her hip, tugging him slightly closer in the process.Â
âYou don't even understand how much I want you, how I've daydreamed of your hands on me since we met.â she says softly, grabbing onto the lapels of his shirt and pulling him closer. âHow badly I want to please you.â Rook says, swiftly unbuttoning his shirt halfway, exposing more skin than she's ever seen on him before. âHow badly I want you to please me.â
And finally, finally, his mouth is on hers again. It's gentler this time, not so rushed and urgent. He sets a slow but deeply satisfying pace, takes his time to rebuild the passion from earlier. She wants to go fast, wants his hands to stop roaming everywhere but towards her pants buttons, how badly she wants to show him just how ready and wanting she is.Â
Emmrich must sense where her thoughts are because he's pulling away from their kiss, but this time he's grabbing her hands and tugging her along across his study to the bed he has tucked away in a corner behind the spiral staircase.Â
Rook sheds her shoes and pants fairly quickly while walking across the room. As soon as he's back within arms reach she starts tugging his shirt untucked and unbuttoning the rest. Sheâs standing there in just her smallclothes now but there's something about the way heâs looking at her, looking so affected by her want for him that makes her feel stark naked. She pushes up onto her tiptoes and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him back in for another searing kiss. He bites her bottom lip, so gently and softly but Rook wishes it was harder, wishes he would draw blood and kiss it away. She tucks that fantasy in a drawer in her mind, saving it for later - perhaps another time she can bring it up but now, today, is just about beginnings.
He takes a few steps backwards and sits on the edge of his bed and she's all too eager to join him, sitting down on his lap with her knees on either side of his thighs. His hands are on her waist, almost covering her entire midsection, and she slowly, slowly starts rocking her hips back and forth and the gasp he lets out is the most treasured sound sheâs ever heard. She can already feel that he is enjoying this as much as she is, but sheâs rewarded even further by his praise.Â
Emmrich tells her that sheâs exquisite, and doing such a good job, and it just about sends her over the edge there and then. His praise in their everyday interactions always flustered her but here, now, with his lips brushing her ear and his hands on her naked skin itâs otherworldly. He can tell sheâs getting too restless, too antsy for this to move forward quickly so she can release this tension building inside of her, and does what Rook always hoped he would. He takes the lead, takes control, instructs her on exactly what to do.
âDarling there is no need to rush tonight,â he says. âJust relax, I promise Iâm not going anywhere,â and how she melts, how she sighs and drapes herself over him like her body has turned to liquid. Heâs rock hard under her and sheâs wetter than she's ever been in her life and he still hasnât moved his hands down further, rather opting to stroke up and down her sides, occasionally coming up to brush her face, her chest, or gripping hard onto her thighs. Itâs driving her absolutely mad, and the more friction she seeks the harder the pressure with which he holds down her thighs becomes. It's hard enough to bruise now, and Maker how she hopes he leaves her covered in marks that only they know exist. Sheâs in ecstasy, in agony, in everything in between and is seeking a deeper sensation with great fervor.Â
Emmrichâs kisses begin venturing down, moving from her lips down her throat and eventually to her chest. His hands move up to slowly unclasp her bandeau and expose her tits. He leans back just slightly, taking in her appearance slowly, savoring each new patch of skin, each scar because she truly is littered with them. Being a crow is not an easy life for multiple reasons but vanity gets dismissed almost immediately when wounds heal poorly, quickly, and the reminders of what once was stays in thin white lines.Â
âGorgeous, absolutely perfect,â he whispers like he physically canât stop the words from leaving his mouth. Rookâs had enough - sheâs writhing in his lap like a pathetic lovestruck fool and needs him to do something now. As much as sheâd rather this sped up to the main event, sheâs glad heâs so insistent on taking their time, reminding her sheâs something to savor and not a quick fuck to pass the time.
She takes his hand, slowly moving it down from her waist to between her legs, only a thin strip of fabric separating her from his hand now. He raises his eyebrows at this, kisses her once, and finally lets his hands wander past her underwear, tugging them down and practically ripping them off of her. She shimmies out of them, kicks them to the floor and sheâs finally, gloriously naked atop him and he's still almost fully clothed but the disheveled state of him is just as obscene.Â
Emmrich brings his hands between them and starts to remove his rings but Rook intercepts, asks, âPlease, can you keep them on a while longer,â and he smiles, laughs softly and says âAny particular reason why?âÂ
Her skin is burning, her face must be redder than the wine she was drinking only an hour before. âItâs just,â she starts, sighing and grabbing his decorated hand and kissing his palm, running his fingers across her lips. âYour hands, your rings, theyâve caught my attention once or twice,â is all she can provide before her embarrassment overtakes her arousal.Â
âOh do tell,â he says, enjoying this indulgence into her private fantasies. She canât face him and say this so she does the next best thing, buries her face in his neck as he strokes her back, gently persuading her into telling him whatâs on her mind.Â
âI justâŚyou have incredibly attractive hands,â she explains. âI may or may not haveâŚfrequentlyâŚfantasized about them,â she adds, her face absolutely burning with embarrassment.Â
âThereâs nothing wrong with that, Rook. If you tell me what exactly my hands are doing in these fantasies, Iâd be more than happy to turn them to reality,â he says against her ear, kissing the tip of it and slowly running his finger along the edge of the other one.Â
And the dam is broken, her brain has short circuited and everything is flowing freely. âTouching me, choking me, fingering me,â she blurts out, âHolding onto me tight enough to leave marks. Sometimes letting me remove your rings with my teeth.âÂ
âYou spend that much time thinking about my hands?â Emmrich questions, not in a demeaning or accusatory way, but with lust and wonder and pure want drenching his words.Â
âI told you. You have no idea how badly I want this, how badly I want you,â Rook says.
âWell, who am I to deny you of such an innocent request,â he says, letting his hands wander back down her body, rings still firmly in place. He lets one hand grip her hip, the other continuing to move south until finally reaching its destination, finally making small circles around her clit, so confident in his knowledge of her despite this being the first time heâs touched her. Itâs like all those times sheâs touched herself and imagined it's him, his deft fingers not even second guessing where to go because he just knows exactly what to do.Â
The moment his fingers find that already throbbing bundle of nerves sheâs absolutely done. Head tipped back, moans and sighs freely escaping her throat, it takes everything in her not to come on the spot. She holds on as long as possible, letting his fingers work their magic. Slowly he thrusts two digits inside of her, saying, âYouâre being so good for me, taking my fingers so nicely,â and it's too much, not enough, she needs all of him immediately.Â
And to think only a short time ago she had no idea what tonight held in store for her, had no idea what his hands felt like inside of her, what his voice sounded like as he talked her over the edge.Â
It doesnât take long to get there. Rook was already soaked through her smallclothes when Emmrich kissed her for the first time. One of his hands is in her hair, the other expertly coaxing her towards her release, his praise ringing through her ears. His rings are cold against her entrance, his lips are on her neck saying her name, telling her sheâs amazing, and finally the waves of pleasure are crashing over her brain, her hips stuttering on his hand as his fingers trace circles around her clit and move back and forth within her.Â
This time, when she comes with his name on her lips, heâs actually around to hear it, to kiss it out of her and tell her how wonderful she is, how perfect she feels, how good she did.Â
She spends one moment, two, breathing and regaining control over her senses. Heâs still hard beneath her and she immediately feels bad for neglecting him, for making this evening all about her. Her hands move to his waistband, trying to undo the buttons and pleasure him just as he did her, but his hands stop her from moving any further.Â
âYou donât need to worry about me, Rook. As far as Iâm concerned this night is about you,â he murmurs, lips ghosting over hers as sheâs still catching her breath from earlier.Â
âI need you, all of you,â she whines, the heat building up inside of her again at breakneck speed. Sheâs been thinking about this encounter for so long that sheâs not going to let it be over that fast.Â
âThen I am more than happy to oblige, my dear.âÂ
-
If the rest of the crew wasnât wrapped up with their own affairs or actively trying to save the world, maybe they would have noticed the little glances between Rook and Emmrich. They don't see the stolen kisses in an empty kitchen, his hand gently resting on her thigh after family dinner when they're all still gathered around the table, grateful for a slow evening with each other.Â
They donât seem to notice Rook entering and exiting Emmrichâs study at odd hours in various states of dress and undress. They donât see her pressed up against his bookshelves, or on her knees with his hands in her hair. They absolutely don't hear her moans and cries of joy, don't hear his steady voice talking her through her orgasms or the sweet nothings he whispers into her skin in the early hours of the morning.Â
They definitely don't notice the time he bent her over the couch in the library, both of them slightly thrilled with the knowledge that anyone could walk in and see them. He had to keep his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet (which only wrecked her further).Â
If they see the little bruises on the base of her neck, her collarbones, her arms that look suspiciously ring shaped and are only a finger's width apart, they donât ask questions.Â
Itâs Neve who figures it out first, unsurprisingly. She and Rook are walking back to the eluvian after a meeting at the Cobbled Swan when she asks,Â
âSo, care to share whatâs been going on with you and Emmrich?â Sheâs got a knowing look in her eyes and a friendly, teasing tone in her voice.Â
âThere's not much to say,â Rook says, knowing she looks incredibly guilty at the moment. She can feel her cheeks and ears heating up. She shrugs and continues, âHe justâŚis so knowledgeable. About the fade, I mean. And Iâve been learning a lot from his instruction.â she continues futilely. Neve can see right through her if that smirk is anything to go by.Â
âOh I'm sure,â Neve says, smiling and elbowing Rook softly on the arm, detouring their route while Rook is distracted. They arrive at Neveâs favorite fried fish stand and as they get in line she adds, âYouâre telling me everything while we eat. Spare no details; I want the full story.â And Rook is laughing, butterflies are fluttering in her stomach and she feels like a schoolgirl giggling about her crush. She obliges and tells Neve everything, secretly excited that they've been noticed, all too happy to gossip with her friend about this aspect of her life.Â
Later, when they've returned to the lighthouse, Rook makes no excuses and heads directly up to Emmrichâs room, sparing a mirthful glance at Neve who shakes her head and laughs. She's giddy to tell him the ruse is up, that Tevinterâs finest detective has figured them out. He's seated at his desk when she opens his door, reading over his correspondences from colleagues at the Necropolis and the latest updates from Myrna and Vorgoth.Â
âGive me twenty more minutes to finish up and respond to these and Iâm all yours,â Emmrich says as Rook walks over to his desk. âMaybe thirty, but no longer than that.â he adds as she walks behind his chair and wraps her arms around his neck, gently placing a small kiss on his cheek.Â
âI just wanted to let you know Iâm back from Minrathous. And that Neve has figured us out.â she says, savoring the way he immediately loses concentration on the materials in front of him.Â
âCome again?â he asks, brows furrowed and mouth open in that delightful, flustered look he used to get when she first started flirting with him.Â
âTurns out we haven't been as sneaky as I thought,â she says, moving to lean back and rest against his desk. Her arms are crossed over her chest but her voice is light, the smile she's had since her lunch outing is still plastered on her face.Â
âIt was bound to happen eventually with all of us living in such close proximity to one another,â he responds, much more carefree and accepting of the situation than his initial reaction was. âAs much as I enjoyed this being our little secret I canât find it within myself to care too much about the others knowing,â he adds.Â
âWell, thatâs all I wanted to share. Iâll leave you to it then,â Rook says as she pushes off his desk and makes for the door. She pauses when she feels Emmrichâs hand reaching out and grabbing hers, stopping her in her tracks. She turns back to face him, her eyebrows raising as he reels her back to him.Â
âI thought you needed twenty or thirty minutes to finish up what you were working on,â she teases, her voice dropping to an imitation of his from earlier. She jokes, but is all too ready to go along with whatever plan heâs concocting for the rest of their afternoon.
âWell,â he says as he leans back in his chair and she settles down on his lap, knees on either side of his thighs and arms circling around his neck. âIâm sure Myrna and Vorgoth will be fine if I take a little longer than usual to get back to them.âÂ
âWhatever you say love,â Rook sighs as his lips meet her neck, his hands already gripping onto her hips. The world will keep turning outside of this little bubble theyâve created, the questions from their companions will start immediately once Neve confirms everyone's suspicions.Â
Theyâll start to really notice the glances, the touches, the private conversations in crowded rooms. But for now it's just them, alone, and Rook finds she doesnât mind one bit. Sheâd follow him anywhere, do anything he asked, just to have these moments of peace at his side.
#datv#dragon age the veilguard#rook x emmrich#emmrook#dragon age fanfiction#hand kink girlies this one is for you#i'll stop naming fics after taylor swift lyrics when she stops writing good lyrics#elf crow female rook too btw
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I do recommend people take this test, it's a riot.
But like, it's not a study. (The site linked above appears to be yet another waste-of-space Amazon-affiliate-advertising content aggregator grift, which talks a big game about Creative Commons but why would I want to repurpose any of this material in the first place? The only original content I can see here is obviously-AI-generated thumbnails for the art, which look like dogshit. The original results post for the test is a much better read.)
The way the test is designed is like this. Images were roughly balanced by art style: so of all the digital-art pieces, 50% are human, 50% are AI, same for the renaissance paintings, same for the impressionist stuff, same for abstract. Except, obviously, the human pictures have been selected to exhibit stereotypical signs of AI-ness: overdetail, odd scaling, incorrect proportions, random meaningless shapes, illegible text. Meanwhile, the AI stuff has been filtered to avoid anything that had obvious tells to a layman's eye, like fucked-up hands or whatever.
So it's basically a game of like... whatever your gut instinct tells you the image's provenance is, it's probably the opposite.
When you filter out the human works, and look at the provenance of solely the AI pictures (as given in the results post), that's when you find out what this test is actually indicative of. The pieces were mostly generated by two ACX readers, Ryan Wise and Jack Galler. I remember spotting every single one of Ryan's images, without fail. Meanwhile, nearly all of Jack's images fooled me. (There were also a handful of other AI images taken from social media or whatever, which again, I easily pegged as being AI-generated, they're pure slop.)
I'll actually go so far as to say that it's pretty embarrassing for Ryan that he thought these images were good enough to share. Wall-eyed figures whose clothes blend into flesh, abstract shapes with eerily-lifelike inhuman faces leering out of the picture, inconsistent details... but most of all, a sense that the prompts themselves were bereft of any creativity. "robot skeleton abstract painting", "woman in field impressionist". Come on man. AI is the ultimate tool for ideas-guys, and yet here you are without a single idea to show for yourself.
Ryan was apparently using StableDiffusion. Meanwhile, here's Jack talking about his process:
I just used Midjourney. Most of the prompts were just describing some generic impressionist scene. I've never had an art history class (but I am an art history fan!), so I worked with ChatGPT to identify key trends of say, Impressionism, so I could prompt better. I generated a lot of each one ,and just used my subjective opinion to decide what looked good and what didn't. The Paris Scene (which fooled the most people) had this prompt: "Impressionist painting of a bustling Parisian street under the soft rain, 1881" The Riverside Cafe (which people liked the most) had this prompt: "Impressionist painting of a countryside cafĂŠ terrace during twilight, 1883"
It seems that specifying a year in particular was what helped Midjourney hone in on these historical styles in a convincing way. Jack's method obviously involved a huge amount of cherry-pickingâwhich I would argue is another huge element of human intervention, if only in a sense of curation. A version of this test I would like to see would be one where both different AI models and a range of talented artists were given the same prompt. What if it was one-shot, with just a single generation, no cherry-picking? Except of course an AI can generate thousands of paintings in the time it takes a human to do just one, so what would that even prove?
This test reminded me of a piece I saw on deviantART a long time ago, of this ruined fantasy castle in a cave. Pretty cool! But then you look at it a bit longer, and it's like- hang on, why is that human skull the size of the collapsed turret lying next to it? It's exactly the kind of nonsensical composition you see in AI, except no, it's just a digital artist using photoshop and they fucked it. I kind of feel like this is where the state-of-the-art of AI image generation is right now; about as good as a guy bashing together stock assets in photoshop, which is to say maybe good enough to get an idea across, even if it can't actually stand on its own two legs as a piece of art.
So yeah, from a cynical perspective, I'd find it hard to argue that Jack's generations aren't "good enough" for many applications. I don't know that I'd hang any of them in a gallery. The longer I look at them, the less I like them. But they've got the right vibes.
So a more accurate headline for that BOING BOING article might be, "AI art haters unknowingly prefer AI-generated works by Jack Galler, according to test".
If there's one thing I'll be taking away from this post, that's helped me better understand my own feelings on AI art, it's this analogy from digital artist Ilzo, quoted in the results analysis:
Imagine if everyone got the ability to create mostly nutritional adequate meals for like five cents, but they all were mediocre rehydrated powder with way too much sucralose or artificial grape flavor or such. And your friends start inviting you over to dinner parties way more often because it's so easy to deal with food now, but practically every time, they serve you sucralose protein shake. (Maybe they do so because they were used to almost never eating food? This isn't a perfect analogy.) Furthermore, imagine people calling this the future of food and saying chefs are obsolete. You'd probably be like "wow, I'm happy that you have easy access to food you enjoy, and it is convenient for me to use sometimes, but this is kind of driving me crazy".
Last month, over 11,000 people took Astral Codex Ten's survey to see if they could they tell the difference between 50 human-made art and AI-generated images. The results were humbling for humans, especially ones who professed a loathing for AI art.
Most participants stumbled through the test, scoring just 60% â barely better than flipping a coin. What tripped them up? Our preconceptions about art styles, it turns out, are deeply ingrained. When people saw classic Impressionist paintings, they confidently declared them human-made (and were often wrong). When they encountered digital art, they quickly labeled it as AI (and were frequently mistaken).
Perhaps the most ironic finding was about people who claimed to despise AI art. When these AI critics picked their favorite pieces without knowing their origin, they consistently chose AI-generated works. Even among those who rated their hatred of AI art at maximum levels, their top two favorite pieces were created by machines.
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Valentino Rossi is not your typical-looking athlete. Under the leathers beats the heart of a great competitor, but he is not exactly a muscle man. That said, it is wiser not to mention this in his presence, as he can be a touch sensitive on the subject. 'You've got to stop saying that I don't train. I go to the gym all the time,' he says peevishly when the subject of how physically tough it must be to ride MotoGP comes up. There are certainly no doubts over his riding ability, despite the lack of brawn. But it is hardly surprising that he finds training a chore; how can a bench press and weights machine, or worse still, swimming-pool lane be expected to stimulate the competitive juices of a motorcycling champion? In the millions of photos that have been taken of Valentino Rossi, it is extremely difficult - perhaps even impossible - to find a picture of him out jogging or using a piece of gym equipment. These are activities in which effort is the end in itself, with no further satisfaction. For other pastimes, we are spoilt for choice. Take the example of football. As everyone knows, it is Italy's national sport and Rossi is, of course, crazy about it. On the pitch he is a decent left-footed midfielder with a penchant for getting forward. Valentino occasionally turns out for the relatively unknown national motorbike riders' side and more often in the regular Fan Club v. Dorna (the organisers of the motorcycling World Championship) games. Unlike others, he has not managed, or has not wanted, to fulfil the dream of playing alongside any of his favourite players, not even Ronaldo. He does, however, have the great Brazilian's shirt in his souvenir cabinet, and regards it as one of his most treasured possessions. Valentino is not a huge fan of swimming, or the sea, in spite of his house in Ibiza. Snow is much more his thing. In fact, his first public appearances were during the riders' skiing weeks that took place at Livigno. The winter of 1990 was made particularly memorable by an irritating 11-year-old kid with an angelic face, who followed Loris Capirossi around all day, constantly asking him questions. Vale's passion for snow has stayed with him, but he has moved with the times and now prefers snowboarding to skiing, which he assures us that he is pretty good at. His passion for the slopes has remained undimmed, in spite of the incident in January 2005 when he crashed into a skier who went as far as reporting the star to the police.
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First meetings and good signs - Kita x Reader
for @stellar-haikyuu for the Milestone Event Week 2
Family.Â
What a loaded word.Â
âMy grandmother still lives in the countryside,â Shinsuke explains on your first date. His eyes light up when he talks about her as if the bare mention of her lights up a candle inside of him, a fire of memories.
His voice is warm when he speaks of her and you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that her opinion of you is more important to him than anything else.
But as with all important things, it takes some time.
That first weekend you catch a cold, sniffling apologies into the phone.
âTake care,â he whispers back and you imagine him overlooking his rice fields.Â
Itâs not easy, this budding love of yours, when your place is here and heâs so far away.
One day, you hope, nothing will separate you two, but you know what it entails and youâre not yet sure if youâre ready for that.
To break down what youâve built up here, in the city.Â
-
You meet his parents first, try to match them to the man youâve met and grown to love.
They are as much city people as Shinsukeâs a child of nature.
You wonder if they miss him but you donât dare to ask.Â
You can tell they think differently about his life than you do when they express hope for him to move to the city and follow you here.
You know it will be the other way around.
-
It rains when you step out of the train. Hyogo presents itself from its dullest side, thick fog hiding the green hues of trees and rice fields.
âHere,â Shinsuke wraps a scarf around your neck and kisses your cheek. âI donât want you to get sick.â
âIâm not some fragile being,â you tell him, squeezing his hands affectionately nonetheless.
âI know.â
The car ride is quiet. You like that about him, that he doesnât need to fill silence with words, rooms with chatter.Â
Your own thoughts are muddled and chaotic.
What will his grandmother think of you? Will you be able to see beauty in this place that might become your home someday?
When you step out of his truck your foot sinks deep into the mud and you laugh, adamant to see no signs where there arenât any.Â
Your foot lifts with a wet squelch and youâre reminded of your childhood, innocent games on the playground during rainy days.Â
Thereâs beauty in the mundane, you tell yourself.
The front door opens, the warm golden light calls you in.
âShinsuke!â An older woman calls out, âBring her over!â
His hand is warm in yours, your heartbeat creating a rhythm in your chest that reminds you of the pitter-patter of raindrops on a window.
Yumie Kita is smaller than you, but her wrinkled face holds meaning. She cradles your cheeks with both hands and looks you over.
âYes,â she declares with amusement audible in your voice. âYou picked well. Whenâs the wedding?â
Shinsuke sputters next to you but you laugh, in tune with her humor.
âLetâs have dinner first, shall we?â You ask. âIâve brought dessert.â
-
Everytime I write about Kita it's always somewhat inspired by @amjustagirl's Kita Fic.
Join my Taglist:
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#my writing#milestone event#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu x you#hq x reader#kita x reader#kita shinsuke#kita fluff
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The stakes are ramping up! Fasten your seat belts, people...
Blind Man's Bluff, Part five
Gustavo looked back at the exhausted man behind him on the rat. They were heading home after sitting through the premiere of the Pizza Tower movie. Normally, Peppino never even turned the channel to NTV (unless he had reason to suspect Noise was plotting something against him,) let alone go to the first showing of one of Noise's movies. But Noise had been acting off for months in ways only Peppino noticed, but couldn't understand, leading to Peppino also acting out of character. The little rabbit ear box in the dining area had been exclusively tuned to NTV since the explosion at Fake Peppino's, as the chef tried to glean a single clue to his rival's strange (for him) behavior.
He hadn't found anything. So they had gone to the theater, hoping for a chance to talk with Noise, who had been actively avoiding them, face to face. Peppino and Noise had had a confrontation in the lobby while Gustavo and Brick watched the final boss rush. Gustavo was particularly impressed with Fake Peppino's segment in the boss rush. The clone was never fully shown, but the fight played out in an extremely eerie way, visibly messing with Noise while never showing himself fully, even after a well-aimed bomb took out half the standing area on the Tower top, sending a mass of limbs, stonework and melting pseudough plummeting to the ground far below.
Gustavo wondered at both Noise's ability and willingness to pull the scene off when Fake Peppino was still missing, as well as the complete absence of that mysterious blue-clad character that took his place on the third floor. Why bother introducing him if he never showed up again? Especially with how stressful and high-stakes the whole scene was. There were a lot of loose ends that never got tied up. That scene really set Gustavo on edge - something clearly wasn't right about it...
They never saw the final escape. Peppino and Noise got into a pretty intense fight in the lobby, and Gustavo had to separate them and take Peppino home. It wasn't out of the ordinary for arguments between the two to come to blows, but something about the encounter felt different. In Peppino's own words, "it felt like he actually wanted to kill me."
Peppino stumbled through the front door, exhausted. He hadn't gotten any answers, only confirmation of what he already knew. He waved goodbye to Gustavo absent-mindedly, still trying to put the pieces together in his head. It was frustrating! Peppino knew he wasn't the smartest person in his circle, but this was ridiculous. Even though Pepperman and Vigilante had confirmed in his brief chat with them that something had changed in Noise, they didn't take it seriously. They said there had been an "accident on set" at some point during filming that may have attributed to the change, but looked extremely uncomfortable and changed the subject when asked to elaborate.
Peppino knew it was serious when two of the strongest people he knew looked scared and deflected. He recognized the same behavior in himself when asked about the war. Had Noise also been traumatized by whatever had happened on set? If only he could find out what had happened! He didn't need a lot of details, just the general idea...
Peppino continued on this train of thought as he prepared for bed and attempted to go to sleep. Unable to get his brain to shut up, he eventually waved the white flag and returned to the living room. He turned on the TV, hoping to distract himself enough to go to sleep. It didn't help that the channel was tuned to NTV, playing a rerun of one of Noise's older game shows. Peppino sighed; this was going to be a long night.
Peppino looked at the screen without watching, still turning the puzzle over in his mind. He tried to think of various things that could have happened on set to set Noise off, but nothing seemed to fit. For a brief moment, the strange man Noise fought on the third floor in his movie came to mind. Who was he? Why had Noise taken such a bizarre route for his film, only to not elaborate on it?
"Well, Italian man? What's your answer?" Peppino nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Noise's voice, letting out a startled yelp before remembering he had turned the TV on. He sighed, attempting to focus on the show, trying to banish the infuriating thoughts from his head. It occurred to him that Noise was staring at the camera an uncomfortably long time, almost as if he was staring into his soul. "Peppino? Did you hear me?" Noise asked again, turning more directly toward the camera. He had an almost desperate expression on his face... strange, given the genre of the show... suddenly, it hit Peppino like a bullet train.
He wasn't in this episode.
"...N-Noise...?" Peppino hesitated.
Noise looked relieved. "So you did hear me," he said, taking several steps forward until he had his hand pressed against the inside of the screen. "I need your help. Please," he continued, a note of desperation in his tone. Peppino immediately climbed onto the back of the couch, breathing quickly as he felt his heart rate pick up. "If this is one of your sick jokes, I swear - " he began, staring right into the dull red eyes of the little goblin on the screen. Those eyes... those eyes, normally filled with an explosive vivacity that almost glowed, now had a lifeless look about them. The person on the TV, normally bursting with life, now looked almost dead. Peppino's breath caught in his throat.
Noise pounded on the inside of the screen. "Please! You have to believe me!" he shouted. Peppino jumped and fell screaming off the back of the sofa, hitting the floor with a thud. He could hear the desperate pounding and wailing voice, begging, "I can't do this alone! Please! You're my last hope!" His heart was going a mile a minute - he hadn't been this freaked out since he had dove out of WAR with two seconds left on the clock. Not even his first encounter with Fake Peppino had scared him this bad. He heard a cracking sound, and his heart skipped a beat. He saw the remote on the floor a few feet away, scrambled towards it, and pressed the power button on the screaming figure on the screen. The sound shut off instantly, but the screen slowly faded to black, with those haunting, heartbroken red eyes staring into his soul for several agonizingly long seconds before disappearing.
Peppino took several deep breaths, trying to calm his panicked heart. His hands were shaking. He stared at the blank TV for a long minute, eyes fixed on a crack that definitely hadn't been there before. He was wide awake now. He slowly crept up to the machine, reached behind it, and unplugged it. He looked at his vibrating hands. What had just happened? He felt something off in his stomach as he remembered how desperate the Noise onscreen had sounded. Had whatever that was been telling the truth? He couldn't make heads or tails of the situation. He had just seen Noise that night... right?
Peppino stumbled into the bathroom and started washing his hands for no particular reason. He was attempting to calm down, letting the sound of the water fill his senses. Every time he blinked, he could see those sorrowful red eyes staring back at him, pleading, hopeless. It hadn't even been five minutes, but Peppino somehow knew those eyes would haunt him the rest of his life. Had he made the wrong choice? He started to beat himself up for jumping to conclusions. He glanced slightly at his reflection.
His heart started speeding up again. Though he was washing his hands with pure water, the liquid flowing from the faucet in the mirror was deep red and slightly thicker. His reflection's hands were stained with blood. His reflection... it occurred to Peppino that he was wearing his white pajamas, not a pink undershirt and red pants. He didn't even own red pants? Trepidatiously, he slowly looked up at his reflection's face. Blue sleeves revealed themselves, and then...
Empty sockets stared back at him.
Peppino screamed and backed up, as his reflection climbed out of the mirror, never looking away. Peppino felt like he was about to have a heart attack. But... the specter didn't seem angry with him. Even with empty black voids for eyes, he seemed deeply saddened, almost carrying the same desperation as... the phantom gently pointed to the bathroom door. He carried no hostility in his manner.
Peppino gulped and also pointed at the door. "Y-you want me to go back out there?" he asked, voice barely able to rise above a whisper. The phantom nodded gently. Peppino nodded in return, cracking a nervous smile as he opened the door, not daring to look away from his uninvited guest. He was completely terrified, and his heart felt like it was about to quit. He backed into the living room - then stopped. He heard the sound of static. He slowly turned around and looked at the unplugged TV. The screen was white with static snow. Peppino was certain his heart completely stopped for a few seconds as he saw a bloody red glove emerge from the snow, followed by the rest of the figure.
It had the same silhouette as Noise, but it looked drastically different. Its suit was a stony blue-gray, and its cape and gloves were the color of dried blood. And behind that mask, its face was an even more deep, dark void than the eyes of the figure he knew was still behind him. Peppino couldn't make out a single facial feature in the gaping black eternity, seemingly only held back from devouring him by the feeble cloth mask over its face. And yet, despite its unrecognizable form... Peppino somehow knew it was him. "Theodore?" he asked, though he didn't truly need to. He recognized his rival after everything that had happened.
Noise slowly stepped closer to Peppino. The chef could feel his hopeless desperation, even though that horrible blank void of a face was incapable of betraying any emotion. He spoke, and Peppino thought that he sounded like he was on the verge of tears.
"I need your help, Peppino. I've tried everything, but I can't do this alone. Hazel, she's in danger - hell, everyone is! And I can't do anything to stop it, or she'll - " he stopped, seemingly unable to continue. He started to shake. Peppino hesitated only a moment, then taking a deep breath, he hugged his fallen friend. Noise hugged back, and Peppino felt his shoulder slowly become wet as Noise whispered, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I took all of you for granted..."
Peddito hung back. He noticed Noisy hanging out by the window, and opened it to let the little creature in. He scooped him up and started petting him, hugging the tiny animal as he watched Noise and Peppino trying to get some closure. This had been several months in the making, as Noise slowly realized how much he had lost. How much he had taken from him, Peddito thought, still beating himself up over what he had done. His hands were still covered in blood, and he half fancied leaving them like that, as a reminder of what consequences his vengeful spirit mentality had had...
Peppino and Noise finally broke apart. Peppino could feel Noise staring into his soul, and the memory of those lifeless red eyes returned to him. Noise squeezed his hands, making sure he was listening. "I'm out there somewhere. You have to prove it, you have to stop him before he gets away, before he can hurt Hazel! I am relying on you. I know you can do this." Peppino nodded, still processing what was happening. He briefly thought of the war - then pushed those thoughts aside. He wouldn't fail this time.
Noise leaned against him again. "I know you don't have any reason to do this for me. I wasn't good to you... to any of you. I'll understand if you - " Peppino put a finger up to where he figured Noise's mouth would be. "I'll do it," he reassured his rival. "I'll save her. And I'll make sure you get a decent burial." He was fairly certain Noise started to cry again. "Thank you, Peppino..." Noise whispered.
Peppino looked around. They were gone without a trace. Even the crack in his TV had disappeared. Peppino felt his heart pounding furiously, and realized that it had been completely still throughout the entire conversation. His mind was racing. For the first time, he fully processed that Noise was dead, and he had been talking to his ghost. If Noise was dead, then who had he fought with that evening? Had he been the one to kill Noise? What was he planning to do to Noisette? Peppino trembled in sudden anger. He wouldn't let this doppelganger get away with it!
His train of thought was interrupted by a knock on the front door. He opened it and saw Gustavo and Brick, fully dressed and ready for the day's work. He also noticed the sun coming up. Oh boy, he had somehow managed another all-nighter. Gustavo looked at him and immediately became worried. "Peppino? Did you even sleep last night? You have eye bags the size of Pepperman's book bag!"
Peppino shook his head, then looked behind Gustavo at Brick, plopped on the sidewalk. The rat seemed to be reacting to someone invisible attempting to pet him. He protested at first, but then seemed to consent to the scritches, with no sign of anyone giving them. Peppino brought his attention back to Gustavo and looked determined.
"Gus," he said, "we're not opening the pizzeria today." Gustavo looked surprised. "We are getting on that rat, and we are going to go catch a murderer."
I was originally going to have the Noise's final request scene be a lot creepier, but I decided to change that and give them a little closure.
There's still at least two parts left. đ
<<<Previous part
Hell yea! Go get his ass Peppino!
Thank you for another part of the story! The ghosts haunting Peppino scene was amazingly spooky  đ  đ  đ So very excited for the final showdown! :D
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"During early development of The Veilguard, BioWare experimented with multiplayer once again, however, Epler insists that there was never a mandate from parent company Electronic Arts to implement any specific online or live-service modes; the devs were just exploring different ways to tell the story. Eventually, BioWare ditched the multiplayer aspects to focus solely on creating a single-player experience, aiming to meet the lofty expectations of the fandom. âWeâre a studio built to make single-player RPGs,â Epler says. âAnd more importantly, I think a lot of people have come here to build single-player, story based RPGs. So, it just kind of ended up making more sense to make this game the way it is versus a multiplayer game.â With the transition back to a core single-player emphasis, many of The Veilguardâs systems had to be reworked, including one that Bioware is most famous for: the companion system. Unlike previous Dragon Age games, The Veilguard only lets players take on two companions instead of three â more in line with how the party system works in Biowareâs other big game, Mass Effect. However, when developers were testing out multiplayer for the game, it had the classic four-player party setup where the player and three other friends could join. But now that The Veilguard was strictly a solo affair, BioWare wanted to focus on the main protagonist, Rook, and their companions. Banter between the party was essential to get them to feel like fully-realized characters. In previous Dragon Age games, whenever the player traversed the world, non-playable party members would talk to each other about current events or their interests, fleshing out their perspectives and constantly evolving the dynamic between the team. This was usually reserved for just two characters at a time, however, with the third generally meandering off to the side. âOne of the biggest things we got slammed on at Dragon Age: Inquisitionâs launch was people felt there wasnât enough companion banter because it wasnât firing as often,â Epler says. âSo much of our companion banter is built around two characters interacting. When it came down to it, it felt like [three] was the right number when we were building the game.â And while it took some time to come to a final number of active party members, Epler insists that initial experimentation with multiplayer didnât impact the decision in the end. âIt was not a relic of the multiplayer at all,â he says. âIn fact, one of the few things that survived was the four-person party until we tried it out a lot and realized that three made the most sense for the game.â"
"Lessons to be learned While Anthemâs poor reception wasnât the sole reason for BioWareâs decision to focus on creating single-player, narrative-driven games again, it was clearly a catalyst. One of the biggest complaints about the game from fans was the lack of traditional storytelling and characters that made the studio revered in the first place, especially coming off the back of one of the developersâ weakest links,��Andromeda. âWe were alienating parts of our fan base that had been with us for a long time, and not successfully bringing in anyone else through the multiplayer side of things,â Epler says. âThe reception to Anthem was very clear in that we needed to get back to those aspects that we did well, and multiplayer became an obstacle in the way of doing just that.â [...] The biggest lesson that BioWare learned from Mass Effect: Andromedaâs botched launch was the importance of polish. The game became the butt of jokes and a slew of memes for its hilarious visual glitches, a legacy that leaves Epler feeling torn. âI do think Andromeda was a better game than its reception suggested, but on the flip side, I donât think the reception was unfair,â he recalls. âAt the time of launch, there were technical issues and things that didnât work.â Avoiding these issues again was of critical importance to Epler and the rest of the team, especially as they sought to get back on playersâ good graces. Another lesson that BioWare took from critics of Andromeda, and Inquisition too, was that sometimes building a massive open world doesnât mean much when it isnât filled with meaningful content. At the time both games were being developed, open worlds and big explorable spaces had become an industry trend, even in games where they failed to serve the overall vision. BioWare still wanted players to have a sense of discovery in The Veilguard, but also didnât want to settle for an open-world that the developers couldnât realistically fill. âWe had been doing Dragon Age pre-production on versions of Dragon Age 4, and we did have a version that was a lot more open-world,â Epler says. âBut again, we ran into the same problem of how do you make it compelling or narratively interesting? The reception to Andromeda definitely solidified that.â"
"Staying focused on whatâs next With Dragon Age: The Veilguard now complete, BioWare confirms that there are currently no plans for downloadable expansions. The developersâ full attention has now shifted entirely to the next Mass Effect as their current project. While Epler wonât divulge anything about it, he does weigh in on whether BioWare would take another crack at multiplayer. âItâs possible to tell a strong story in a multiplayer game. Final Fantasy XIV does an excellent job,â he says. âMultiplayer also introduces some complications around world states. I make a giant choice in my world, and the world changes.â For games like Dragon Age, the consequences of a playerâs choice are intended to impact the narrative moving forward, but for a multiplayer game, it isnât quite as simple. For example, one player could choose to save a certain person from their fate while another could do the opposite. âItâs funny, because the games I play the most on my personal time are actually multiplayer games,â he says. âBut when it comes to crafting these worlds and crafting the experiences, I love the focus that single-player can give you.â Epler also comments on the possibility of some sort of Dragon Age collection, similar to the Mass Effect Legendary Collection that updated the original games for modern consoles in 2021. Having been at Bioware since the first Dragon Age game back in 2009, he would love to see a collection come together, but remastering the first three games in the series would be challenging as they were originally designed using EAâs proprietary game engines. The first two used their own custom Eclipse Engine while Inquisition used Frostbite, a platform famously used to build the Battlefield games. The Mass Effect trilogy, on the other hand, used Unreal Engine, a more flexible and widely popular engine used in game development, which made the remastering process much easier for the Legendary Collection. âI think Iâm one of about maybe 20 people left at BioWare whoâs actually used Eclipse,â Epler says. âItâs something thatâs not going to be as easy Mass Effect, but we do love the original games. Never say never, I guess thatâs what it comes down to.â Shifting focus from multiplayer integration to fleshing out the solo narrative ultimately allowed BioWare to finally get The Veilguard to the finish line. âOnce [the companions] become the core, all the other pieces start falling into place,â he says. âStatistically, a lot of people just take the first two companions they meet, and thatâs their party for the rest of the game. I would say for The Veilguard, try different characters, try different combinations, and get outside your comfort zone.â"
[source]
Rolling Stone interview with John Epler: 'âDragon Age: The Veilguardâ Is Biowareâs Best Game in Ages. Hereâs How They Got There'
Veteran Bioware creative director John Epler looks back on the lessons learned from the studio's failed multiplayer game
Some key excerpts:
"BioWare confirms that there are currently no plans for downloadable expansions" for DA:TV
The devs' "full attention has now shifted entirely to the next Mass Effect as their current project"
[source]
#dragon age: the veilguard#dragon age: dreadwolf#dragon age 4#the dread wolf rises#da4#dragon age#bioware#video games#mass effect#next mass effect#long post#longpost#mass effect: andromeda#anthem
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just discovered ur acc, who's ur fav character? (and yeah, this is me asking for u to rant abt ur fav)
L A N C E !!!
Lance is my favourite!! For many reasons, but mostly because I relate to him on a lot of levels, mainly with
- self recognition issues, aka what happened when Lance doubted his skills as a paladin, and was thinking about stepping down.
I struggle with this, mostly as an artist, as I've seen my friends, and other people I know in life, have better skills, and most of the times doubting myself about my artist skills đ But I've gotten better at just focusing on my own art and in turn I felt like it helped me get better!!
- value in relationships, platonic, family, romantic even. I love how he values his relationships with the other paladins, about how he's always willing to take steps for others, comforting his friends, and always willing to step up as a person, even though he's cocky and can be full of himself (mostly in the earlier seasons) he's got a heart of gold underneath all that!!
Lance tends to put up this persona of himself being a "ladies man," the cocky flirt even. But there's so much more to his character than just that, he's not just the love interest, he tends to be the emotional support of others, a hard worker, he's also a pretty good well rounded character, he has his own flaws and insecurites, which help him become a better paladin throughout the show. Honestly, though, later, seasons mainly treat him as the "love interest," and I don't think that's really a way to describe him, as he's just SO much more than that!!
I love his dynamic with other characters, SO SO MUCH!
There's Hunk and Lance. They're basically best friends!! Best friends since the garrison, I love their moments together, even though it's not much, and mostly joking and small banter, but in the end they're really close friends who've always got eachothers backs, and knowing how close they are, makes them a really good team. They show their best values and bring out the best in each other!!
There's Pidge and Lance, who are more like a brother/sister duo, with Lance being like a second brother to Pidge. A moment that really stood out to me was Pidge dragging Lance along to help her find enough GAC to purchase a video game from the space mall, I love how Lance just simply went along with it, spending time with her as if she was his own sister, and in return, Pidge traded away a video game so that Allura could get a dress for her date with Lance, as Pidge knew how much this meant to him, even though she was reluctant at first!
Coran and Lance, having a father-son bond, similar to Shiro, being the guide for the paladins, acting as a father figure (space dad)
And then there's Keith and Lance, Keith and Lance, the "rivals" who compete for Np reason, who grow to accept eachother. A good example of acceptance shown between their bond is when the Black Lion had chosen Keith as the paladin, while at first, Lance was jealous, he learned to realise and proceeded to comfort Keith about his new position, showing that yes its going to he difficult, but he says to Keith that he is the one for the job, and gives him a fond look, stating that even though no one can replace Shiro, Keith can lead the team, and that he'll always be there with Keith. (Kinda cute as Lance sorta becomes his right hand man!) And the fact that Lance trusts Keith enough to get some words before his date with Allura, Lance going to Keith of all people when he was unsure about his place as a paladin, Lance even comforting Keith, and helping him during missions, being by his side, the jokes, the playful name calling. Everything, I love their dynamic!!
I love Lance as a character, sure, I'm still SUPER upset on how his life is after the events of the series, but in short, Lance, Lance McClain is my favourite vld character.
Literally the best sharpshooter ever !! âŹď¸
#lance vld#pidge holt#klance#vld#voltron#voltron legendary defender#vld lance#lance mcclain#vld keith#keith vld#keith kogane#sobs and cries#i love lance as a character so much i fear
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Can you please do Shut in, Holiday movies, and Ice skating with Toby? Thank you so much!!!
Shut in, holiday movies, ice skating w/ Toby (winter prompts)
Might try to lightly prioritize winter prompt reqs so they mostly post during the winter season-- at least starting when it's properly winter LMAO
Notes: reader is gn, written on mobile, short post
CWs: none
SHUT IN
see at first he would be thrilled to have an excuse to spend some extra time with you when you guys get snowed in your place- but it doesnt take long for him to get some cabin fever. perhaps its the fact that theres no way to leave that gets to him, makes it feel... like a trap... not that he doesnt want to be with you, of course!
if hes not outright trying to dig through the snow to tunnel his way out like prisoners in cartoons do, you both sit together in your bed where its warm and try to pass the time in any way you can
games, talking, doing something together like a puzzle or art piece.... or perhaps... a movie!
HOLIDAY MOVIES
being snowed in offers the chance to "waste" the day away by watching some classics together- because surprisingly, toby hasnt really... watched many movies... you could list the bigs ones and hed only have watched a handful of them... its not that he doesnt like movies, its just that he has to be in the mood and mindset for them. marathons typically dont end with him sitting still the entire time and paying attention. hes gotta get up every now and then to refresh his brain to refocus
being snowed in is probably the longest marathon you can get away with- toby is often times incredibly busy due to his being a proxy. he has free time, its just... not as often as you would like...
he seems like a home alone fan tbh
ICE SKATING
hes never ice skated before, he never found the appeal in it. you just slip on ice, how is that fun? (
despite that hes fairly into it when you manage to convince him- and its not going to take much, he simply loves being able to do things with you!- just... make sure he doesnt throw himself into it immediately and fall and slide across the ice
do not even attempt to do any tricks with him that involve holding onto each other or picking the other up- hes not going to purposefully drop you but until he REALLY has the whole... thing... down its best to not take any chances
#creepypasta x reader#creepypasta x you#creepypasta imagine#crp x reader#crp x you#crp imagine#ticci toby x reader#ticci toby x you#ticci toby imagine#canon x reader#canon x you#x reader
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Names, Marbles, and Fae-vors - More Lore on my Changeling Danny Au
In my last post I talked about the Infinite Realms and the three different planes existing inside it - the Long Far, Home to the Ancients and Celestial Beings. The Fey Wilds, Home of the Fey and other such Mythological Constructs. And the Ghost Zone, Home to the Mortal Spirits. - as well as three of the different ways beings inside the Infinite Realms can travel between planes; the Lake Portals, the Cave Tunnels, and the Starflare Currents. The Lake Portals and the Cave Tunnels don't have an official term for them yet, but I'll come up with something :).
In this post we'll be talking about some of the abilities of the fey! Specifically the things they're most popularly known for: their name stealing and etiquette thing.
For those who are not as well-versed in Fey Lore, or need a refresher, (and because I just want to yap infodump), one of the first rules you learn when interacting with the Fey is that you never, ever, say "thank you" or "I'm sorry" to them! Which is crazy, because they're really big on etiquette and being polite to each other, which is why one of their epithets is "the Good Neighbor/s". So why should you not say two phrases most commonly used when being polite to someone?
There are two big reasons for this, and the reason I'll be focusing on for this au is because, to the Fey, saying "Thank You" is acknowledgement of a debt that's owed to them. It turns the action or gift into something transactional, and results in a verbal contract that the receiver must then repay later down the line -- and whatever point in time, and with whatever the Fey they are indebted to sees fit. Whether that be food, valuables, or your firstborn child.
The other big reason is because some Fey just think it's rude, and view "thank you" as something that dilutes their act of kindness, and/or implies that they are there to serve you. One of the best summarizations I've seen for fey is that they're bros; they're doing this because they think you're friends -- or something similar to the sort. It's deeply insulting to do all these nice things for a friend, only for that friend to reveal that they don't view you the same way at all.
It's for similar reasons that you also shouldn't say, "I'm sorry" either, except instead of repaying a gift, you are now making reparations for a wrong you have done. A misdeed must be repaid in full, now how are you going to make it up to them? And also because well, I imagine that if saying "thank you" is seen as rude, "I'm sorry" is the exact same way because it dilutes the act.
If you're in a situation where you must say "thank you" or "i'm sorry" there are ways to get around it. "I'm grateful", "you're too kind", "I apologize", or "I feel regret" are just some examples I saw used.
NOW! How is this used in my Changeling AU? The Fey work by these same rules, the only difference is that I've added a physical aspect to it! If Fey are capable of stealing the abstract and turning the incorporeal corporeal, then lets run with it!
"Thank Yous" and "I'm Sorrys" are debts, and Fey can magically bound you into a verbal contract with that alone. However, it's not uncommon -- and actually pretty standard -- for Fey to weave the excess magic of that debt into something physical. They create these delicate-looking, iridescent threads that they then weave into their hair for decoration. And in some areas of the Fey Wilds, use it as a way to show off wealth and/or their own wit.
Ever heard of Fairy Hair? Yeah, same concept.
Debt Threads, as I am temporarily calling them, are thin and airy, and not that much thicker than gossamer. Since it's a debt that is intended to eventually be paid back, it's not practical -- nor is it seen as such -- to use the threads for anything more than temporary cosmetics. As a result, they're usually used for decorating the hair, but some crafty fey use their threads to decorate other appendages, or as form of makeup. Despite their dainty appearance, the threads are actually very sturdy and can only be unweaved by the Fey that created it.
You can, technically, take back your debt thread. However, the threads are made using excess magic of the debt, and not made of the magic of the debt itself, which is why it's so thin and airy. So if you do manage to get it, congrats! All you've got is some pretty string and a pissed off feyrie whose hair you probably just yanked out.
Danny's managed to accrue a few "debts" before he realizes he's a fey, mostly from his friends and sister -- although there are a few from his parents, and some from the other student body from when he was unknowingly and instinctually doing Fey Bullshit. As a result, he starts forcing Sam and Tucker and Jazz to stop thanking him for things, and typically makes them repay him through petty, menial stuff. Like getting him food, or buying him a small but relatively inexpensive trinket he's been eyeing for a while. Never usually anything super important - it's his own way of apologizing for indebting them to him in the first place.
As for his parents... well, he'll hold onto those debts for now. Having a way to magically get them off his back with no questions asked is a boon he's pretty willing to keep close to his chest, and no amount of persuasion will convince him otherwise. Sorry Jazz, Fey side wins out on this one. As for some of the students he's got, Danny manages to psych himself up and release some of them from their contracts without repayment -- even if it makes his bones itch.
AND NOW THE NAMES! You never give a Fey your name because they say everything literally. "Can I have your name?" is a literal question -- they are asking for your name, and thus ownership over you. The other thing is that Names have power, if a fey knows your Full Name they can make you do things for them -- however it goes both ways so you could do the same thing if you learn a Fey's name.
Knowing a Name and owning a Name are two different things, with owning a Name being, naturally, more dangerous as you are basically submitting yourself to permanent indentured servitude, among other things. Knowing a Name can be risky because it results in being more susceptible to fey charms, enchantments, and requests.
But! I digress! Just like how Thank Yous and I'm Sorrys can be turned into a physical object, so can Names! This is not obligatory, nor is it recommended to do often because unlike debt threads, these can be taken back, but it happens!
Names can be trapped in these little, colorful glass-like orbs -- marbles, they're marbles/pearls. They can be trapped in what are basically magic marbles, and just like debt threads, be used for decoration. They're more versatile though, and are used for different things since unlike debt threads, the pearls are meant to be permanent! They make beautiful jewelry, since the pearls come in various different colors depending on the person it once belonged to, and the intent behind its creation.
The marbles have a hard outer shell, with the cores having a fluid, shimmery appearance. Look up liquid core dice, and Name Marbles have a similar appearance, just more... ethereal, with different shades of the same color swirling inside. Not two pearls look the same, and even ones that have similar colors or appearances have subtle differences in them that are imperceptible to the mortal eye. Some pearls look like the deepest trenches of the ocean, blacks and dark blues swirling around each other as flecks of bioluminescence float inside. While others look like a lilac winter sunset, with hand-held purples bleeding into pink and gold.
Convincing Danny to return the Names he's gotten is harder than convincing him to absolve the debts. It takes a lot more psyching up on his part to actually do it, and more verbal coaxing and negotiating on his friends' part. Because on an instinctual fey level, those names are rightfully his. For all intents and purposes, he was given those names freely and without reservation, and so to be told that he has to return what were essentially gifts to him is... deeply distressing.
Lots of cognitive dissonance there. His human-raised brain and morals know why he needs to give them back, and he feels bad for owning them. But his new changeling-baby fey-brain is deeply upset at the prospect, and is a liittle bit stronger than the once-human part of him. He rapidly becomes overwhelmed when trying to convince himself to return the Names. He does, eventually, end up doing it, but he's unwillingly upset the whole time.
#changeling danny au#danny fenton is not the ghost king#danny phantom au#danny fenton#danny phantom#fey danny fenton#changeling danny#dpxdc crossover#dpxdc#i think dpxdc would have a blast with fey danny so im including them akjldfh#Convincing danny to return the names is like convincing a toddler to give up a toy they really want. which really isn't that far off#considering danny's a baby fey during all this. you are literally taking what is technically a toy from a baby.#and danny's baby fey brain is throwing a tantrum as a result. 'mine mine mine!'. its a complicated situation because on one hand danny#*does* genuinely want to return the names. he feels incredibly gross owning people and guilty that he even has them in the first place#but at the same time he feels incredibly averse to even the idea that he has to give them back. it feels unfair. he was given those#names! those are HIS names! its as if someone just gave him a gift and then went 'oops nevermind give it back'! he's incredibly offended#especially over the fact that they just want him to *give* them back without anything in return? those are valuable! what is he getting#out of this? satisfaction? great cool except he doesn't feel satisfied! he just feels hurt and sad and frustrated and robbed. one of the#cons of being a fey. being a fey is all fun and games until it isn't because he was human for 14 years of his life and now he isnt anymore#and this is just one of the many reminders of his changed physiology.
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ok among my favorite parts of qsmp is the fact that charlie slimecicle can only hold the act of being mad at mariana when mariana isn't in the room. like he successfully rp'd being mad at his deadbeat puta esposa for months while mariana wasn't logging on, like he complained about mariana at the wedding, during the election, in subsequent appearances, and then he's messaging mariana in the chat during purgatory and he's still holding it
and then they're both at spawn like as close to face to face as they get. and bro CANNOT hold the act it drops so fast lmfao he was like "yea cellbit i'm gonna kill mariana" and instead they have a genuinely heartfelt conversation and then rp sexo in the fountain
and i know i'm brainrotting purgatory rn but i'm actually thinking about this bc i saw a clip of mariana and slime talking during the awards show and literally. slime's face goes from đĄđ¤Ź MARIANA'S HERE, SAY SOMETHING PUTA ESPOSA to đđ the second mariana shows up on the screen
like he's still pretending to be mad but dude is grinning like absolute crazy and i love that
#qsmp#qsmp slimecicle#qsmp mariana#shut up vic#block game brainrot#their dynamic is among the best things to have come out of this#and genuinely it was the thing that got me into qsmp in the first place#((even tho i only dove in for real after flippa was gone LMFAO))#also shoutout to cellbit losing his shit when slime says me-WH*RE?#oh and for absolute clarity that ain't my tiktok lmao#probably obvious but ÂŻ\_(ă)_/ÂŻ it's 3:30 am i like to be Certain#i missed this live because LITERALLY I WAS WALKING IN THE DOOR FROM A SHOPPING TRIP EXACTLY AS IT HAPPENED#i am being so serious like i looked over my sibling's shoulder like 'so how are awards?' and there's FUCKING MARIANA#AND THE FUNNIEST PART IS THIS HAPPENED DURING THEIR PURGATORY INTERACTION TOO#I WALKED IN FROM BEING OUT RIGHT AS FUCKING SLIME AND MARIANA WERE GOING TO SPAWN TO MEET#SO I CAUGHT PART OF IT BUT NOT ALL OF IT#basically what i'm taking from this is i need to go out more often bc they have a tendency to exist together when i touch grass for reasons#that are not 'going to my job'#long tags#i'm not at the mariana convo in my rewatch yet so i may or may not have more to say when i hit that#but yea was thinking about it#this is the qsmp at its finest >:D its most base form#sillies being sillies together who might never have met otherwise >:D
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