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changbunnies · 9 months ago

Text

Angel of Music (18+)

♡ Pairing: Phantom!Minho x Opera Singer Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: phantom of the opera inspired au, horror themes, dark romance, age gap, smut, dead dove? read the warnings carefully and come to ur own conclusion on what you're willing to read before engaging pls :'), the ending is also a lil dark, sorry!

♡ Word Count: 5.8k

♡ Summary: A phantom exists in the opera house– he controls every production from the shadows, lurks around every dark corner, always watching. In your dreams exists an angel– a guardian that sings to you, guides you, and comforts you. When The Phantom appears before you in your dressing room mirror, you begin to realize that he and your angel may be one in the same.

♡ General Warnings: slightly less extreme age gap than the source material that inspires this fic but it's still fairly large (reader is ~mid 20s and minho is ~40), briefly described attempted murder of minor characters, implications of stalking, hypnotism, hallucinations + doubts of reality, so much usage of the words "phantom" and "angel" it's not even funny, this fic is not an accurate representation of how hypnotism works irl but it's fiction so i'm taking liberties!

♡ Smut Warnings: dubcon (due to reader being hypnotized), additionally to not being in their proper state of mind, there are also moments in which reader does not feel to be in full control of their body, light dom/sub dynamics, soft pleasure dom!minho because i want more of him !!, mask kink (does it still count if the mask doesn't cover his whole face?? idk i hope so!), some biting, oral (f rec), overstim, multiple orgasms

♡ Notes: i've known for ages that i wanted to write a phantom!minho fic, and my kinktober series gave me the perfect reason to finally write it! also the fact that both my uploaded minho fics are age gap romances?? that was not intentional i swear lmao

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

All inhabitants of the opera house have been on edge these days– consequence of the new owners of the Opera Populaire, who decided to disregard all of The Phantom's demands.

The Phantom, as the name suggests, is a ghost story of sorts. According to your castmates, he has been here since long before you joined the Opera Populaire's trainees last year, but his activity has begun to increase since your arrival.

He controls all in the opera house, and his demands of the previous owner were always quite simple; perform what shows he instructs you to, follow his casting down to the letter, and keep the seats in Box Five free at all times. Evidentially, Box Five is his favorite place to watch the shows from– and sometimes, his dark silhouette can be spotted in the shadows of the booth, indiscernible but unmistakably there.

No one has ever truly seen The Phantom beyond a shadow, nor have they heard him speak. He communicates with notes, always left within feet of the recipient without anyone having seen him come or go. His notes will even appear in broad daylight, with not a single person having caught a glimpse of him despite all the eyes in the room.

Well, more accurately, no one has seen him apart from the Madame– an older woman who used to be a performer for the Opera Populaire herself, but has taken the role of choreographer since her retirement from the stage. In the 15 years it's been since The Phantom made his presence known to the opera house, she's the only one who's ever seen him, or heard his voice.

A brief encounter, she explained when asked about it– had barely seen him for more than a few passing moments. He spoke little, but the beauty of his voice was striking, completely unlike any other she’d ever heard. And all he asked of her, in that fleeting moment, was to remember that the Opera Populaire is his home– and as long as the inhabitants respect him, he'll respect them in turn.

The previous director, the Madame, and The Phantom all had a mutual understanding of what was to be done. As long as they listened to him, shows would go off without a hitch; but refuse, and there'd be dire consequences. As such, the Madame has been doing her best to express the importance of listening to The Phantom to the new owners.

The Monsieurs view it as no more than silly superstition– every opera house has their own beliefs and customs, things they consider good and bad luck before a show, things they view as omens of a show's future success. The Phantom is simply one of those things– and with a guiding hand, they can dispel such superstitions, show the cast and crew that there is no shadowy phantom to fear.

The first note left for the Monsieurs went disregarded– a barking laugh leaving the elder of the two before he tossed it in the bin. The instructions on the note were clear enough– you were to take the role of Eurydice in the opera house's production of Orpheus and Eurydice, and not Carlotta, as they originally casted.

You were just as baffled as everyone else to learn that The Phantom wanted you to take such an important role– you'd only been here a year, were still so new to your opera training. It's true enough that you have a good voice, and your dancing has improved with all your diligent practice, but you're still young, and the tragic role of Eurydice is not so easily performed.

Natural talent for bringing emotion to performance aside, you lack stage experience– experience that you can easily gain from background roles. To make you such a crucial stand-out role after only a year of training was simply unheard of– no opera house would do it!

This is to be your first production, your first time on stage in front of an audience; and so regardless of what The Phantom wants, Monsieur Reyer opted to keep you strictly in the supporting chorus roles, where you would go from shepherdess, to nymph, to spirit as the acts progressed. Not a glamorous, shining position in the cast by any means, but more than enough to help familiarize you with the reality of performing with hundreds of eyes watching.

It wouldn't take long for The Phantom to make his displeasure with the decision known. And what started off as just small accidents and stage mishaps quickly turned violent and dangerous as each week passed with you still not given the role that The Phantom felt you deserved to have.

The first violent turn came during rehearsals for Act 3, right in the middle of Eurydice's climactic aria, when the chandelier above the stage came crashing down. Carlotta was standing directly beneath it just before it fell, and it narrowly missed her– purely because she happened to take a few steps forward whilst singing.

“An unfortunate accident,” the Monsieurs said, “it had nothing to do with The Phantom!” But the veterans of the opera house knew better– and the conductor swore he saw a dark shadow on the scaffolds just before the chandelier fell; a shadow that could belong to none other than The Phantom.

Carlotta screamed as it crashed just mere inches away from her, right where she's just been standing, and cried as everyone rushed to her side to ensure that she was unharmed. Again, the Madame tried to persuade them to heed The Phantom before another such “accident” occurred.

"Good God in Heaven, you're all obsessed! These things just happen sometimes– there is no phantom!" Reyer cried in exasperation over everyone's insistence, still unwilling to give in to the idea that the opera house's ghost was real.

And tonight, just after rehearsals came to a close, another terrible stage accident occurred– this time happening to Monsieur Reyer himself. He was up on the scaffolding when it happened, making sure all the stagehands properly rigged the lights in preparation for tomorrow night's premiere of Orpheus and Eurydice.

He was bent down, inspecting the bulbs and wires, when a dark figure appeared behind him. The shadow wrapped a noose around his neck faster than anyone could even react, pushed him off the scaffolding before swiftly retreating back to the shadows.

Reyer almost didn't survive– he was lucky that the nearby stagehands were quick on their feet and in their wits, managing to grab his arms and pull him up while another cut the rope that served to hang the poor man. And as if the message from the accidents alone weren't clear enough, another note was left behind right in the middle of the stage.

It was astounding, really, that not a single person saw The Phantom leave the note behind– and while some could argue that it was because all eyes were on Reyer, or because the stage became chaos as they worked to save him, the Monsieurs realized that maybe they should start to believe that there really is a ghost inhabiting the Opera Populaire.

The moment the note was noticed, the Madame picked it up, and read it aloud for all to hear. "Again, I remind you that Y/N will play the role of Eurydice. As I instruct, Box Five shall remain open for my use. These seats will not be used by another. This is my final warning– disregard at your own risk."

Realizing they had no choice, lest they wish to continue putting themselves and other cast and crew in danger, the Monsieurs begrudgingly declared you the new Eurydice, right then and there.

Given that you're at every rehearsal, you know Eurydice's lines by heart, and are confident that you can sing them well– but still, you're nervous. It's your first production, the premiere is sold out, is set for tomorrow night, and suddenly you're in one of the most pivotal roles in the entire opera.

You don't even understand why The Phantom is so adamant about giving the role to you; what is it about you that he likes, what is it that he sees in you? You wish you could ask the Madame, but she met him so fleetingly, and so many years ago– she has no way of knowing The Phantom's heart beyond an educated guess.

Sitting before your dressing room mirror, you sigh, utterly exhausted– now that you're Eurydice, it was vital that you do a last minute costume fitting and makeup test. As such, you've been in the opera house hours past the time you'd normally be here. The moon hangs high in the sky now, you're sure; you wonder if you should just spend the night here, sleep in the dressing room instead of making a late trek home.

Regardless, you hope your angel comes to you tonight. You know no one would believe you if you told them, but you really do have a guardian angel; and in your dreams, he comes to you– always when you are most lost and in need of guidance. He's a gentle, calming presence; always comforts you, talks to you sweetly when you're filled with self doubt, sings to you in the most beautiful of voices.

You've never actually seen your angel clearly– only heard his voice calling your name and whispering, singing, in a way that could only be described as angelic in its serenity. In your dreams, he's nothing but a vague, blurry image– even at his most clear, you can't define any of his features.

Still, you think of him fondly– and you suspect that as an angel, you aren't meant to be able to fully perceive him. And your angel always, always, knows when you need him– you suspect that even now, he's waiting; waiting for the moment you fall asleep, so that he can come to your side.

You look at yourself, still dressed as Eurydice. A beautiful, off shoulder bateau gown in the prettiest, purest ivory. There's lace appliques throughout the gown, has a beautiful cinched bodice before the tulle skirt fluffs out. It's elegant, makes you feel like a bride waiting to walk down the aisle.

Your makeup shimmers– extra glitter applied on your eyelids to make sure the stage lights catch it. Your jewelry too, is extravagant– made to sparkle and shine every time a light shines on you, to twinkle with each subtle move you make. It's a shame you have to take it all off just to put it all back on tomorrow– but the effort to make sure everything fits you was necessary.

You reach your hands up to one of your ears, prepare to remove one of your dangling earrings when you hear a voice you know all too well call your name– your angel's voice.

You look around the room, bewildered, but see nothing and no one. And surely you were mistaken– you're still awake! Your angel only comes to you in dreams, and you haven't fallen asleep... right? You are still awake, aren't you?

Again, you hear his voice, another whisper of your name. You rise from your chair, look around the room once more– no one. You turn back to the dressing room mirror, and jump in surprise, realizing that the view reflected in it has changed. You no longer see yourself, or the reflection of the dressing room around you– instead, you see a man.

He looks just as the Madame described her memory of The Phantom– dark hair, and even darker eyes, with a white mask that covers the right half of his face. Not completely– just from his hairline, down to his pretty, plump lips. Every inch of his skin is covered, head to toe, all of his clothes pure black apart from the ornate red vest.

Sleek boots and dark trousers, a tall collar that obscures most of his neck, long sleeves that cover his arms, even gloves covering his hands. He wears a cape, long and as dark as the rest of his clothes, and it blows behind him as if there’s a breeze rolling through.

You’re confused, a little frightened, but you can’t tear your eyes away or will yourself to flee– and as the figure speaks your name, you gasp; he truly has the voice of your angel. But he’s The Phantom, isn’t he?

The blurry, vague scenery behind him begins to sharpen, coming more distinctly visible to your uncertain eyes. A dark corridor full of candelabra, glowing in dull yellows and shades of orange, held by incorporeal hands with no discernable origin.

What little of your dressing room you see in your peripheral shifts and warps as you stare at him, blur together into dark shadows as the table holding your hairbrush and makeup begin to fade and disappear, leaving the view through the mirror as the only thing you can see.

The figure– your angel, The Phantom?– holds his hand out to you through the mirror, as if the glass that should separate you no longer exists; perhaps it doesn't. Smoke– or maybe fog, mist? you can't be certain– pours into the room as you approach the mirror.

As if under a spell, you reach out to take his hand, thinking not of logic as you follow the beckoning call of your name. Your angel; you trust your angel. He smiles as you place your hand in his, and carefully, you step through the mirror, into the corridor.

Entranced, you stare at him; even with half a mask covering his face, he's utterly beautiful. He appears to be older than you, hints of fine lines beholden around his mouth and eyes, and even that adds to his mysterious charm. He holds your gaze as he takes a step back, a candelabra in his hand now, beckoning you to follow him down the corridor.

You squeeze his hand as you follow, and finally he turns around, walks with purpose as he guides you, glancing behind every so often to look at you in what you think to be adoration. You too, glance behind– and where the mirror once stood is now a desolate, barren wall.

You do not see any hint of your dressing room, or of the mirror you stepped through. And as you continue further down the corridor, the candelabra that were once behind you slowly begin to blink out and vanish from sight, leaving only pitch black darkness behind. A spiral staircase made of stone manifests, and you descend it, hand in hand with your angel.

You're so enchanted and bewildered, you can't seem to find your voice– all you can do is follow, let him guide you along to where it is he wants you to be. Even the staircase dissipates when you've finished descending, and for just a moment, you wonder– is any of this truly real?

Finally, you stand in the middle of a beautiful room, lit candles both resting in more candelabra and strewn about the floor, with dark, intricately woven tapestries hanging from the stone walls. There’s a grand piano, sleek black with gold accents, with even more candles resting atop it, as well as a sheet of music sitting pristine on the music desk, black ink seemingly freshly dried, just waiting to be played.

There are several mirrors, though only one remains uncovered– the rest are obscured by cloth, for reasons you do not know. There is a bed, in what you suppose would be called a “corner” in this otherwise circular space, inviting and plush in its appearance, with blankets colored a rich red. Naturally, candles surround the bed as well, covering it in a beautifully soft, yellow-orange glow.

“Where are we?” you finally find your voice to ask, and the man smiles as he beckons you to follow him towards his bed. “We are home,” he replies, and though it’s a strange answer, you feel you understand– yes, you are home. This is home.

You gaze at him curiously after you sit on the bed, just as comfortable as you expected it to be, and he mimics the way you’ve tilted your head at him. “You’re.. My angel, aren’t you? Or are you The Phantom?” you ask, and the man laughs ever so softly, melodious and beautiful.

“I am Minho,” he responds, as if that alone is a sufficient enough answer– in a way, you suppose it is. What else is there to know? He is Minho. That is enough.

“I have longed to touch you, to bring you here,” Minho whispers as he reaches one of his gloved hands to your face, strokes your cheek slowly, gently. The sensation, though simple, feels so tender– it sparks something inside you, fills you with a warmth you’ve never felt before. You close your eyes, bask in the comfort his touch provides you.

You feel his hand move, travel down until his fingers are under your chin. He tilts your head up, and you open your eyes to see him gazing down at you warmly. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers, speaking to you as gently as he always does. He’s said it before, in your dreams– that you are beautiful, talented, deserving of all you wish to have.

He never lets you linger on self-doubt, never allows you to think you are lesser than someone else, or undeserving of the opportunities you’ve been granted. Your angel knows you– you think he’s appearing to you now, like this, because he knows you are uncertain of playing Eurydice; he must think that he needs to remind you of just how special you are.

All of your doubts about tomorrow’s premiere– he will dispel them from your mind, as he always does. He kneels before you, gazing at you carefully as he inches closer to you, his hands softly rubbing over your shoulders and down your arms. His attentive stare as he caresses you makes you breathing quicken, your heart starting to pick up speed.

“Do you trust me?” Minho asks suddenly, and with not an ounce of hesitation, you nod. You’ve no reason not to trust him– in the year it's been since your angel first appeared to you, you’ve always trusted him. There is no one else that makes you feel so secure, so at peace, so.. Loved, cared for. Yes, your angel, Minho, loves you, cares for you like no other. You trust him.

“I wish to clear your mind of worry and doubt– to make you think only of me, and the music we can make together. I wish to touch you, to kiss you, to hold you," he says, and oh, he knows he shouldn’t be pouring his heart out like this, for it’s too soon, much too soon. But he’s been enamored with you since the first moment you stepped into the Opera Populaire, has been infatuated with you since first hearing the passion in your voice.

He can’t help it, it seems– now that he has you here, in his lair, his defenses falter, all of his desires pouring out of him. To have you here, and to touch you like this, even so simply– it’s everything he’s wanted. And instantly, unconsciously, you reach out to him. Your angel sees you, knows you– you wish to know him too, to understand him the way he does you.

Your mind is somehow as clear as it is hazy– clear, because you know what it is that you want. Regardless of who he is, what he is, you want Minho to have you. Anything he wants, you feel compelled to give, as if it’s all you know; and in this moment, perhaps it is. In the very back reaches of your addled mind, a reminder blares– The Phantom always gets what he wants.

And what he wants now, most of all, is you; and despite what logic may tell you to feel, you trust him to have you. He sees all that you feel in your expression alone, knows all that you think as if he’s seen into the depths of your mind. Even now, perhaps more than ever before, he sees you.

Sees all that you are, and all that you want– and a charming smile plays on his lips as you gaze at him with wanton desire to let him take you. To let him have, to give yourself over– you wish to offer yourself wholly to your angel’s desires.

Your eyes flutter closed as he kisses you, a soft press that you could almost call chaste, his hands slowly moving over your body, each soft touch lingering. You don’t feel his gloves anymore, you realize– did he take them off without you noticing? You suppose it doesn’t matter– his hands are warm, a bit rough and calloused against the soft skin of your arms, and you like it.

Even as his kisses become less chaste, deepen as his hands travel to your hips, they remain slow and purposeful. His hands eventually find the bottom of your dress, begin to lift it ever so slowly up your thighs– not to expose you, but so that he can slot himself between your legs. Somehow, innately, you understand this– and easily, you spread your legs for him, allowing him to find his place between them.

His arms wrap around you after, pulling you closer, pressing your body to his. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly by the time he pulls away, breathless as you look to him with eager, impassioned eyes– a gaze that heats his otherwise cold heart. You reach up, bring your hands to his face; he nearly flinches when you touch his mask, though he knows you mean no harm.

Minho feels himself ugly under his mask– too scarred and disfigured to be appealing to you in any regard; at least like this, with only the good parts of his face on display, you may find him handsome. Your touch is as soft as your gaze, and though perhaps you should, you make no move to remove his mask; you simply rub your thumb over the cold porcelain.

It’s a vulnerable thing, really– how softly you touch his ugliest spots. It doesn’t matter that you can’t see them from beneath his mask– the tender regard you seem to feel for him, even without having seen the scars that mar him, is more than enough. It’s ironic, in a way, that you seem to think he’s an angel; in reality, the only angel in this room is you.

“I want to please you, if you'll let me,” he breathes as his fingertips ghost over your thighs. It makes your breath hitch, blinking at him slowly as you process his intent. There is much your angel wants– but chasing the pleasure of his own flesh isn’t one of those things. He doesn’t need it to feel satisfied; your pleasure will more than suffice him.

His dark eyes bore into yours as he awaits your answer, can tell from his wanting gaze how serious he is about pleasing you, and it makes your cheeks slowly bloom with heat. And it’s not just what he wants– it’s what he needs, really; when you surrender yourself to him, he wants it to be for your pleasure, not his own.

“Oh, please– touch me,” you answer, plead– because something from deep inside you screams for it, wanting it beyond all comprehension. Your darkest, most innate desires manifest for him; desires that you didn’t even fully realize you had. They possess you, drive you to kiss him again, urgent and passionate.

Minho returns your kiss with equal fervor, lets his tongue slip past his lips to meet yours. They share a dance, swirl around each other until you’re breathless again; and then he’s guiding you back, urging you to lay down as he hovers over you. He pulls the skirt of your dress further up your body, until your thighs are entirely exposed and he can see your dampening panties.

He lowers himself to you, but doesn’t go immediately where you expect him too– he takes his time trailing wet, lingering kisses over your thighs instead. Your inner thighs are sensitive, ticklish, and you can’t help but squirm from each kiss he grants you.

You also can’t help but jolt each time the cool porcelain of his mask presses against the hot skin of your thigh, and again when he carefully sinks his teeth into your pliant flesh. He doesn't do it hard enough to hurt, or even fully leave indents of his teeth behind– just enough to leave you panting and squirmy; and he lets out a soft, airy laugh every time he succeeds in the endeavor.

Your bunched up skirt is so full that you can hardly even watch him work you up; but there are times, while kissing and biting over your trembling thighs, that he lifts his head just enough to let you catch his gaze. It makes your heart skip a beat, butterflies dancing in your stomach every time he locks eyes with you while kissing around where you need him most.

You reach a point where you’re no longer squirming because his attention tickles, but because you’re becoming desperate, impatient; and the way he stares at you as he does it all doesn't help in the slightest. “Minho, please,” you whine, shameless; and you can feel him smile against your skin before he lifts himself up from his place between your legs.

“Needy are we, angel?” he asks, grinning as you pout and nod. “Need you,” you mumble, but he hears you loud and clear; he’s attuned to you, your angel is. He lowers himself between your thighs once more, kisses your pussy over your panties– and it’s not quite what you need, but it’s enough to have you gasping and quivering.

Again, he takes his time, as if not a single ounce of urgency resides within him. And make no mistake, it does– but Minho knows how to restrain himself. He’s a stubborn man, that is certainly true, but he’s also perfectly in control of himself; for now, anyways.

And he likes the way you whine for him when you feel his tongue lick you up over the fabric of your panties. It’s not a full enough feeling for you, or a full enough taste of your pussy for him, but the desperate, whiny sounds it draws out of you are delicious enough to satisfy him.

Still, while he’s enjoying the way his soft kisses and kitten licks over your panties is making you writhe and cry for him, he also can’t deny how badly he wants to finally taste you directly on his tongue. He’s been patient enough, he thinks, and so have you– why not indulge just a little sooner than planned?

In contrast to how sweetly he’s treated you up to this point, he’s quick to tear your panties away from your body. The sound of the fabric ripping makes you gasp, and maybe later he’ll apologize– but for now, lapping his tongue between your folds is of more importance. You moan when his tongue finally meets your bare pussy, as does Minho– and despite the hunger that he feels, he continues to lick you over slowly.

The languid pace makes you crazy– you want more, so much more, but your angel has been waiting for this; he needs to take his time with you, needs to embed the taste of your dripping sex on his tongue, needs to make sure it’s something he’ll never be able to forget. And he isn’t trying to tease you by keeping the slow pace– well, maybe he is a little; he does enjoy it, after all– but he’s sincerely craved this for too long to let the moment quickly pass him by.

He brings his hands to your thighs, squeezing them in his hands and preventing you from closing them around his head. You’re sure it’s partly so he can keep you spread out for him, to keep enjoying the easy access to your pussy, but it’s also so that your trembling thighs don’t cause his mask to shift, and fall from his face.

You gasp when the cool, smooth and rigid porcelain covering the right side of his nose bumps your clit as he shoves his tongue into your hole. And while he isn’t purposely trying to get you to cum just yet, his slow but diligent ministrations are getting you there regardless– with his tongue dipping in and out of your heat, always pushing in as deep as he can make it go, and his mask-covered nose nudging your clit.

You let your head fall back against the bed, your every high pitched whimper and moan echoing off the stone walls surrounding you. You try to tell him you’re going to cum, but you fail miserably– all that leaves you is a quick succession of whines before your eyes are rolling, back bowing off the bed as release on his tongue. Minho moans with you, hums happily as he licks the mess from your pussy like the cat that got the cream.

He laves over your clit when he’s done licking up your cum– and it's sensitive, swollen from your orgasm; but that doesn’t stop him from swirling his tongue around it, and positively knocking the air from your lungs. The sensation is overwhelming, he knows it is even without you telling him, but it’s still so good that you don’t want to squirm away, or ask him to stop– or perhaps you can’t.

You get the distinct feeling that even if you tried, your limbs would resist, would fight to keep you in place– despite your best efforts, you would remain just as you are now. Spread open and trembling, exactly how Minho wants you. “You make the prettiest music, angel,” he separates from you long enough to speak, “want you to keep singing for me.”

And sing for him you do when he dives back in, flicks your clit with his tongue a few times before wrapping his lips around it, sucking it like a piece of hard candy. Your moans, the smacking sounds of his lips, the way he hums when he returns to your hole to collect the cream– it’s an orchestra, just for the two of you.

You cum again in record time, of course you do. Minho finds it cute, the way you incoherently babble away as you let go for him again. And he isn’t done just because you came again– no, he’s far from finished with your pussy. He doesn’t tire in the slightest, ceaseless in the way he lavishes with you his tongue and suckles with his pretty, perfect lips.

When you cum for the third time, you don’t even know if you truly ever stop cumming at all– the pleasure just keeps coming in waves, never fully receding before it builds again, washing over you like a tsunami before it all repeats. You writhe and twist, back repeatedly bowing off his bed before falling back, but your thighs stay spread for him, even when his hands stop holding them down.

His hands have found their way beneath you, cupping and squeezing your ass as he eats away. Your hips wriggle, and he helps grind you up against his face, moaning and humming all the while. It’s too much and not enough all at once; your body screams that it can’t take it, and yet your mind screams that it needs more, and God, you can’t think straight– but is there any point in this night that you were?

You’re hot and heaving, sweat dripping from your brow as you tremble and bend. Minho is hot too, of course– his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, his face red from his cheeks to his ears, and even down his neck. And were you not so far gone, you’d have noticed that his mask has shifted and fallen from his face.

It was because of you, too– when another high took you and tugged on his hair hard, crying as your hips jolted and bucked against his face. He should’ve swiftly put it back on, lest you see his scars, but he didn’t– he just shoved it aside, against his better judgment, so he could keep licking you up without interruption.

You feel positively delirious by the time he’s finished, eyes heavy and bleary, body utterly limp and boneless. He crawls his way up to you, and your gaze is unfocused, blurry; you can hardly distinguish his features anymore– similar to the way he always appeared in your dreams before now.

Regardless, you smile at him before you close your eyes; a weak, but content one that Minho finds oh so endearing. You’re beyond fatigued, but also feel an unmatched sense of elation as your angel strokes your head and whispers sweet nothings for you to fall asleep to. “You belong to me now,” you hear him say, just before you drift off– and you know it’s true.

You think, perhaps, you’ve always belonged to him. From the very first moment Minho saw you, he knew he was never going to let you go. And just as Orpheus had done for Eurydice, he’d gladly walk into the depths of Hades itself if that’s what it took to keep you by his side.

He gently caresses your cheek as you fall into a deeper sleep, presses a soft kiss to your lips and whispers a final soft utterance of love before he covers you with a blanket, and your mind goes completely dark for the night.

You wake the next day with a struggle– at least, you think it’s the next day; it’s too dark in the room you’re in to tell for certain. You reach out for Minho, but don’t feel him anywhere– and as you sit up, and your eyes adjust to the darkness, you realize that you are alone. Your brows furrow as you look around; you’re still in his room, but it doesn’t look quite the same.

There are no candles, not on the floor or in the candelabra that now lie empty. The tapestries adorning the walls are torn and dulled in color, the piano dusty and the gold decorating it chipped. The sheet of music that sits on the piano’s music desk, that last night looked so fresh and pristine, now appears weathered and yellowed.

As you grab the blanket to pull it off you, you realize it isn't a blanket at all that is covering you, but a cape– Minho’s cape. And on the bed, just an arm’s reach away from you lies a note– the same kind that The Phantom always leaves behind inside the Opera Populaire.

Your hand trembles as you pick it up, eyes straining to read it in the darkness. The message he leaves behind, when your eyes focus on the words well enough to read them, is quite simple. “To my beloved and beautiful Eurydice; welcome home.”

#skz x reader #lee know x reader #skz smut #lee know smut #skz fanfic #lee know fanfic #skz imagines #skz scenarios #mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune #don't ask me how many times i listened to the poto soundtrack while writing and editing this #the answer is obscene (several hours)

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kisblle · 4 months ago

Text

Dark Paradise

Pairing: Low Honor Arthur Morgan x Female Reader

Part Two

Word Count: 6,218

Summary: After seemingly not wanting you for more than sex, you finally have the strength to leave the cowboy. But Arthur soon finds himself becoming jealous, possessive, and bitter as he watches you move on without him.

Tags: heavy angst, toxic relationship, pnv, smut, porn with plot, low honor, caught in the act, 18+ MDNI

Author's note: THIS is that fan fiction I wanted to read so bad I wrote it myself. I lovveee a low honor, possesive, jealous Arthur that yearns for the reader when he know's he done wrong. So that is EXACTLY what this is. This is one of the fics I've been working simultaneously on, and I think this is the one I am most excited to share. I was kicking my feet and giggling with my jaw hanging open as I wrote the smut scene. Inspired by Lane Del Rey's song, Dark Paradise, low honor Arthur is my dark paradise. Also starting to work on my masterlist since my page has started to get a little more traction.

Update: How tf do yall edit your posts so well?? Like I reread this so many times I didn’t think I’d find anymore errors and then I post it and reread it and it’s full of errors!! HELP.

A guttural moan escapes Arthur’s lips as he spills his seed onto your stomach, his body going slack as he collapses beside you on the small bed. His breath is ragged; white puffs of steam dissipating into the cold air in front of him. “Needed that,” he mutters tiredly. And with a practiced motion, he tucks himself back into his black work pants, the moment already slipping from his mind.

You sit up, reaching for a worn bandana from his wardrobe to clean yourself before pulling your bloomers back into place, letting your skirt fall back down. Exhaling, you slide back onto the mattress, pressing yourself into his side.

Colter had been relentless.

Since the gang arrived nearly a week ago, everyone had been on edge, the weight of Blackwater still pressing heavy on their hearts. But with John Marston’s return, thanks to Arthur and Javier, the burden had felt just a little lighter.

Arthur shifts beside you, his brow furrowing beneath the thick fur of his winter shotgun coat. “What’re you doin’?” he asks, his voice gruff and annoyed.

“Just wanted to lay here with you for a while, that’s all,” you admit, curling yourself closer, draping your leg over his and clinging to him as if he might disappear.

But Arthur exhales sharply and pushes himself upright, dislodging you from his body. You stumble before catching yourself on your elbows. “Best you be goin’ before Dutch and Hosea show back up,” he grumbles.

Your lip quivers with indignation.

You’d be lying if you said Arthur Morgan wasn’t an asshole. For months, you had laid yourself bare for him. Half the time, he couldn't keep his rough, calloused hands off you. The other half? He acted like you didn’t exist.

With a clenched jaw, you swing your legs over the bed and yank on your boots, rolling your eyes as you tighten the laces. You had needed this - needed him - but getting a moment alone had been damn near impossible with Dutch and Hosea constantly occupying every second of your cowboy’s time.

And now that you finally had him? After a quick, meaningless fuck -Arthur didn’t even want you to stay.

“You’re an asshole,” you snap, tying the last knot with a vicious tug.

Arthur doesn’t flinch. He simply lets out a small, amused snort, like this was all some sort of joke to him.

And that pushes you straight over the edge.

“I’m done,” you seethe, standing abruptly. “You want your dick played with? Go find someone else to do it."

Arthur doesn’t look at you as he lays back down, his gaze focusing on the cracks between the wood beams over head. “Shore” he murmurs, voice indifferent. Because he knows that with a single word, he could have you right back in his bed, tangled up in him like a moth drawn to a flame.

But this time, you swear it’ll be different.

You scrunch your nose in disgust, marching toward the exit, fury burning in your chest. You slam the already broken door shut, doing your best to control your budding emotions - you wouldn't let yourself shed anymore tears for him.

...

It takes a day and a half before the familiar heat in Arthur’s loins stir strong enough to send him searching for you. With the way he’d been pulling you into his bed nearly every other day, it almost felt like he was going through a second puberty and he didn’t mind it one bit.

Adjusting his hardened length, he steps out of his makeshift room, offering a brief nod of acknowledgment to his two fathers seated by the fire. Bringing you in here wasn’t an option of course - but the stables might offer enough privacy. You had never been too proud to let him bend you over somewhere less refined anyway.

With a firm kick, he forces open the lodged door, squinting as the sunlight glints off the white casted ground. Though winter still held its grip, the clear skies and shining sun were a welcome change from the relentless storms that had plagued Colter for the last several days.

It doesn’t take him too long to spot you. Like most of the others, you’re outside, soaking in the afternoon rays. But instead of lingering with the other women, you’re standing beside a certain Mexican Guard.

Arthur watches as you playfully swat Javier’s shoulder, a guttural laugh spilling from your lips. In response, Javier leans down, eyes locked on you as he tosses a handful of powdered snow your way. Arthur would be lying if he said the sight didn’t twist something in his gut, but deep down, he was certain you knew exactly who you belonged to.

The cowboy moves through the snow with slow, deliberate strides, the powder slipping off his boots like white sand on a beach . He makes his presence known as he hooks his fingers in the loops of his gun belt, his sharp gaze resting on you.

Javier greets him with an easy, "Oh hey, Arthur."

The outlaw barely acknowledges him, his eyes flicking straight to you. Your easy smile fades to thin lines. He hadn’t forgotten your last conversation. He just figured you’d be over it by now.

"Uh… was wondering if you could help me in the stables with something," he says, making up the excuse on the spot, not even bothering to sound convincing. "Need someone with small hands."

Your response is smooth, flat, and unimpressed as your cross your arms, your voice laced with an undertone of venom. "I'm busy here with Javier."

Javier hesitates for only a moment before shaking his head with a small chuckle. "No, it's okay, amiga," he says warmly. "I have a few guns to clean anyway. Go help him."

Arthur’s smirk is slow, his gaze never leaving yours as he watches your jaw tighten. You both know damn well there’s nothing in the stables that needs your help - at least, nothing Arthur couldn't handle himself. However, you knew the only assistance he was looking for was one that involved a quick release before throwing you out like trash right after.

If the last time Arthur hadn’t gotten the message, you were more than ready to lay your tongue on him the second you knew no one was paying attention. So, without a shred of defiance left, you allow him to drag you through the snow, past the schoolhouse, and toward the stables.

Once the door creaks shut behind you, and Arthur's sure the place is free of wandering eyes, he lifts you up against the wood wall in one swift motion, shoving his tongue down your throat before you can even process what’s happening.

“Get off of me,” you seethe, pounding your fists into his chest, the anger rising as you demand space. With a slight grunt, he lets you drop to the ground, taking a few steps back as if you had slapped him.

Arthur huffs, utterly bewildered. “What?”

You glare up at him, hands on your hips, straightening out the skirt he’s already wrinkled. “I told you I was done with all this.”

Arthur laughs, rolling his eyes as if you’re just having a moment of stubbornness. He steps toward you, all confidence in that cocky smile of his. “You don’t mean that.”

You take a sharp step back, eyes narrowing as you stand firm. “I told you, Arthur. If you want your dick played with, find. Someone. Else. I’m done.”

Arthur’s expression shifts, his charming smile still plastered on his face, but now there’s something more predatory in his gaze. He shakes his head slowly, his blue eyes twinkling with disbelief and amusement. “You don’t want that? Me?....with someone else?”

The tone in his voice, that half challenge, half laugh, is enough to make your stomach churn. But this time, you’re not backing down.

"I told you I was done, Arthur," you spit, your voice growing more venomous with every icy word. "I'm done bein' hid away like you're embarassed of me, done bein' treated like I’m your two penny whore."

Arthur’s cocky smile vanishes, his jaw tightening as anger sparks in his eyes. His brow furrowing, his body stiffening at the accusation. "I don’t treat you like that." He barks, his voice sharp and clear like a shard of broken glass.

You let out a bitter laugh, rolling your eyes. "Oh, sorry - my mistake. Only difference is they get paid, and I get treated like shit for free."

That sends Arthur over the edge. His nostrils flare at the accusation, his hand diving into his satchel as fury overtakes him. "You want money?" he seethes, his voice low and dangerous. "That what this is about?" Without another thought, he yanks out a handful of bills and throws them at you, the crisp paper fluttering to the ground at your feet. "Here."

Your mouth falls open in shock, completely floored by his sheer audacity. Your eyes flick to the ground, where at least fifteen dollars lie in the muddy snow. The anger fades, replaced by something heavier - something sad. Your lip quivers as you lift your gaze to meet his. "You think that's what I want from you... money?" A sob escaping you, a single tear slipping down your left cheek. "Is that what you really think of me?"

Arthur’s anger cools in an instant, the weight of his actions sinking in. Throwing the bills at you was too much. It was cruel. And for a fleeting second, he lets his walls crack. But just as quickly, he slams them back up, his fiery tongue flicking out like a whip.

"Then what do you want from me?"

By now, the floodgates have opened, tears streaming freely down your face. But even through the heartbreak, your voice is sharp. "Once upon a time, I just wanted you and your attention - your love. To be shown off like you were proud to have me." You let out a cracked sob, failing to harden your expression. "Now, I just want you to leave me alone."

Arthur struggles to open his mouth, your words hitting him like a brick. He wants to say something, anything, but he finds himself for once in his life, utterly speachless.

And then you turn. Catching him off guard as you walk away without giving him the chance to respond, knowing that everything might be better that way.

Arthur just stands there, fists clenched, jaw tight, eyes trailing after you.

Stupid. He was so goddamn stupid.

He wants to blame you - hell, it’d be easier that way. But as much as he wants to be angry, as much as he wants to tell himself you’re just some stupid girl he uses for fun, he can’t. Because deep down, beneath all that stubborn pride and whatnot, he knows that he's wrong.

And that pisses him off even more.

...

Two days pass as another wild Ambarino storm brews over the cursed outlaw camp. Arthur’s young mare shifts uneasily beneath him as he returns from a scouting trip, her ears flicking at the howling wind. Before he can steady her, she startles, sending him sprawling onto the icy path.

Call it unlucky or call it karma - either way, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he deserved it. Groaning, he pushes himself to his feet, running a hand over his aching jaw before soothing the mare.

"It's okay, girl," he mutters, the familiar tang of iron flooding his mouth.

Damn.

He’d busted his lip.

As snow began to flurry once more, he took the mare by the reins, leading her into the barn. He worked quickly, untacking her before trudging toward the steps of the old schoolhouse. If he was lucky, all he’d need was a quick cleanup from Grimshaw. But as the warmth of blood pooled in his mouth, he had a sinking feeling he might need stitches.

The old schoolhouse, where the women and children slept, was only slightly warmer than the bitter cold outside. For a brief moment, Arthur wondered why he, Dutch, and Hosea got the good cabin while the women were left to suffer - but he had never been the one to question the gang leader.

The first thing he noticed was Karen, bundled under a blanket, Mary-Beth resting her head on Karen's shoulder, her pale face expressionless. Then Abigail - curled up not with John, but with Jack, holding the boy close in her arms near the fireplace. Ms. Grimshaw, in a rare moment of exhaustion, sits hunched over at the table, elbows resting on the worn wood, looking utterly drained from the day’s struggles.

And then there was you.

Tucked against the far wall, John Marston’s head in your lap as you dipped a cloth into a pail of water, carefully tending to his wounds. Sure, John was incapacitated - possibly from the pain, maybe from Reverend Swanson’s morphine, and Abigail didn't seem to have a care in the world - but that didn’t make it any easier for Arthur to watch. The way you held him close, the way your touch was so damn gentle…

It should be him that you -

“Arthur Morgan!”

That familiar, no nonsense voice yanks him from his thoughts.

Ms. Grimshaw was already on her feet, her scowl sharp enough to cut through stone. She grabs at his chin without warning, tilting his head back and forth as she inspects him with narrow eyes.

"What did you do to your face?"

Even with the tang of iron still coating his tongue, what he’d just seen - you and John - bothered him more than the pain. So when Grimshaw grabbed his face, Arthur only muttered, “It’s nothin’,” before attempting a quick escape.

He should’ve known better.

Before he could take another step, Grimshaw yanks him down onto a spare chair, her grip firm.

"You men… all idiots," she mutters, voice sharp as a knife. Then, without missing a beat, she shoots a glare toward the rest of the room. "And all you women… lazy!"

Arthur barely has time to roll his eyes before she was at work. Taking a small mug, she pours steaming water from the pot over the fire, then reaches for him again.

"Hold still," she snaps, gripping his chin as she dips cloth into the hot water. Without warning, she presses it to his busted lip, scrubbing away the blood like she was scraping grime off a skillet.

Arthur winces - Grimshaw completely lacking the gentleness you had with John. The woman had no mercy.

"Now what you do? Get in a fight with Bill? Lose a game of cards?-"

"Got knocked off that damn mare," Arthur replies, swatting away the woman in dismay.

"Told Dutch not to be sending you out scoutin' in this weather, nothin' ever good comes out of it," she says, letting Arthur stand up.

His eyes quickly flash to you, unmoved. Still letting John sleep in your lap, still dabbing at his scars. Not even a flicker of acknowledgement in his direction. Sure his lip was popped open, actively bleeding out - but atleast the pain was temporary. Seeing you with John Marston of all people - that hurt much worse.

…

Arthur had downed nearly half a bottle of Tennesse Whiskey as he sits slumped over outside the cabin, his eyes fixed on the schoolhouse. The snow and wind had barely bothered him, numbed by the liquor coursing through his veins. But the only thing that truly bit at him was the same damn thought he hadn’t been able to shake since last night.

You and John fucking Marston.

The way you cradled him so gently, your fingers tracing over his scars. The way you acted like Arthur Morgan didn’t exist. Like John Marston - of all people - mattered more than him. It burned in his bones, tortured his thoughts, bruised his ego more than you with any other damn man could.

It had to be you taking care of John. Touching him like that, head in your lap like his should be. It sickened him.

His fingers clench around the bottle, dusting the glass over his split lip, and just as his vision starts to blur, he sees you step out of the schoolhouse, bundled in layers against the cold, completely oblivious to his drunken watch.

Before he could think better, he was on his feet, trailing after you toward the clearing behind the old chapel. His steps were slow and unsteady, but determined.

You were kneeling, scooping handfuls of snow into a metal bucket for melting.

"Enjoy yourself last night?" His voice was thick with bitterness as you startle, lifting your head to the cowboy standing over you. On your knees in front of him for the millionth time - just not in the way you had been so used to.

You exhale sharply, brushing snow from your skirt as you make your way to your feet, the sharp scent of whiskey wofting into the air infront of you.

"You're drunk," you mutter, shaking your head before bending back down, continuing to gather snow. Trying to argue with an intoxicated Arthur was never a good idea.

The gunslinger tilted his head, a slow, cruel smirk pulling at his lips as he lets out a snort of frustration. "Bet Marston's real grateful for all that attention you're givin’ him." His voice dipped in bitterness, anger, and jealousy. "Or do you just got a thing for broken men?"

Your hands still, the snow dripping through your fingers as your jaw tightens. Arguing with him now would be as useless as trying to stop the wind, but damn if his words didn’t sting.

"You're pathetic," you said flatly, refusing to meet his gaze, dumping the last handful of clean snow into the bucket.

Arthur huffs out a bitter laugh. "Least I ain't playin’ nursemaid to some bastard who can't keep himself outta trouble," he shoots back.

You straighten, gripping the bucket tight, your nails digging into the metal. But instead of lashing out, you just shake your head, looking him up and down with something close to pity.

"Go to bed, Arthur."

And with that, you turn and walk away, leaving him standing in the snow. Small flakes attaching themselves to his beard.

He holds his breath, eyes burning a hole into your back as he watches you disappear into the schoolhouse. He only exhales once you're out of sight. His head pounding. Maybe you were right - he should just go to bed.

Silently, he stumbles through the abandoned town, kicking open that damn lodged door to the cabin he shares with his patriarchs. The fire crackles, casting shadows as he steps inside. The other two men are already asleep in their worn beds. His gaze drifting to Dutch’s room, where the leader sleeps soundly on his back, Molly gently tucked into his side.

Arthur exhales sharply, a bitter weight settling in his chest. Maybe he’d feel better if he had you curled up at his side like that. And he swears at himself for even thinking it - because all those days ago, when that’s all you wanted, he was the one who pushed you away.

...

Days passed, weeks bled together, and before Arthur knew it, a month and a half had gone by.

The weather had warmed with the spring melt, and after a successful train robbery, Dutch was finally ready to lead the gang off the mountain. Taking Hosea by his side, he ventures down for a few hours, ensuring that the pass would be safe enough for the caravan.

In the meantime, Arthur grabs a bowl of venison stew from Pearson’s makeshift kitchen, half listening to Uncle joke about bloomers. The stew was nothing special, just venison, but it was a step up from the rabbit broth and salted offal they'd lived on in the early days of Colter. Still, Arthur pays no mind to its bland taste or the two old men chuckling at each other. His focus was elsewhere - on you.

His eyes trail after you as you move to the back of the caravan, hopping in and out of the last wagon, already loading supplies. He watches as you lift heavy boxes and bundled blankets in and out of the wagon bed, his gaze never leaving you.

He hadn’t spoken to you since that night behind the chapel, but the conversation still ran fresh through his mind. Guilt wasn’t something Arthur was accustomed to, yet the feeling had gnawed at him.

He hated to admit it, but something wasn’t right without you. He was never a tame man, but without you, he’d turned feral. And he’d be lying if he said his right hand had done a damn thing to replace you in his bed.

With one final bite, he tosses his half ate stew on the ground, ignoring Pearson swearing at him for wasting a bowl. He didn’t care. His only thought was getting you alone, making things right.

Jaw tight, brows drawn, scowl etched onto his weathered face, he moves toward the wagon silently. You were humming softly, lost in your own world beneath the shaded canopy, unaware of him until you turn around.

“Goddamn it, Arthur, you scared me,” you hiss, clutching your chest, face pale as a ghost.

He didn’t say a word. Instead, he extends his gloved hand, offering to help you down from the rather large jump.

For a split second, you stare at his hand before rolling your eyes, gathering your skirt in your fists, and preparing to jump down on your own.

But the gunslingers patience snaps. With a low grunt, he grips your hips, lifting you off the wagon bed without asking. “You done yet?” he mutters coldly.

Your feet hit the ground, and you quickly straighten your skirt, glaring up at him. “You already know how I feel,” you snap, turning to leave.

But Arthur wasn’t letting go. He catches your wrist, pulling you back with ease. “You want me to say I’m sorry, is that it?” he growls, scowl deepening.

Your lips purse, a crease forming between your brows as you study his face. Arthur Morgan doesn't apologize. Not sincerely anyway. And you knew him well enough to understand that words meant nothing without proof. So you stayed silent.

With a sharp sigh, he runs a hand through his hair, his scowl softening. “I jus'... I don know how to tell you I care for you more than I’d like to admit.”

You roll your eyes. “That doesn’t make up for the way you treat me, Arthur.”

“Goddammit woman, I know,” he shoots back, louder than what he'd like to. Frustration lacing his voice. Mentally berating himself for yelling at the one person that could fix everything. “I ain’t the type to beg-”

“Then don’t.” You snap.

But then something flickers in his eyes - for no more than a second. Something sad. And for a brief moment, guilt pricked at you.

Had you been too hard on him? Maybe not, but you couldn’t ignore that invisible thread tying you to him. Frayed and worn in many places - but still holding on tight.

And Arthur felt it too. You knew he did.

Neither of you would admit it, and hell would freeze over before he ever said those three words to a woman ever again. But deep down, in that cold, stubborn heart of his, he knew how he felt about you.

And that’s why, not ten seconds after you finished telling him off, he pulls you in and kisses you.

It wasn’t soft or gentle.

But either was Arthur Morgan.

Neither were you.

You met his kiss with fire, letting him think he was in control until you bite down on his bottom lip, hard enough to sting, hard enough to draw blood

Arthur jerks back, his calloused fingers swiping over his lip. Gaze dropping to the smear of red on his fingertips before snapping back to you, something wild flashing behind those eyes of yours.

Your tongue flicks out, tasting the faintest trace of him still on your lips. You don't apologize. You don’t waver. You just stare up at him, letting your pout linger, letting your lashes lower just enough to be dangerous.

And God, it drives him insane.

A muscle in his jaw ticks, his breathing uneven, his body drawn to you like a predator to prey. But you weren’t running.

This time, when he grabs you, it was rough, near punishing. He yanks you against him, his grip firm, and possessive. His mouth back on yours, nothing but tongue and teeth.

It was violent and needy. But you couldn't help but to melt into him, knees weakening as his hands find your hips.

Arthur Morgan was an asshole.

But maybe that’s why you liked him.

Sure, part of you would always ache from the way he treated you, the way he pushes and pulls like he couldn’t decide whether to claim you or drive you away. But deep down, beneath all those heavy walls you’d built, you loved watching him unravel. Watching his jealousy twist into something dark and possessive. Watching him squirm when he couldn’t have what he wanted - when he couldn’t have you.

You'd never admit it, but you'd enjoyed torturing him.

Enjoyed the chase.

And for hell’s sake, he deserved every second of it.

No words were spoken as he drags you to his empty cabin. No grand admission of love, no declerations- it didn’t need to be.

As soon as he got you behind those walls, he kicks off his boots, leaving his coat on as he nearly throws you onto his bed. His hands making quick work of your shoes, tossing them into the corner before his lips crash into yours again.

It was desperate and needy, more wrong than right.

Swiftly he yanks your bloomers down one leg, dragging his rough hands up your skirt, flinging the cloth over your hips in a sudden motion. And in a moments time he settles himself between your legs, pulling his already hardened member out from beneath the buttons of his work jeans.

But you wouldn't let him have you like that.

Not this time.

With a sharp inhale, Arthur barely has time to react before you hook your leg over his back, twisting with just enough force to flip him beneath you. In seconds, you have him on his back, your legs straddling his hips.

He looks up at you, momentarily stunned.

Arthur Morgan had always been the one in control - the one on top. But now? Now that he was beneath you? His breath trembles, muscles tensing beneath your hips.

And you could see the exact moment that confusion slips away and turns into something pleasurable for him. And strangely enough, for once in your life; you felt like his equal.

The second your fingers wrap around his cock, Arthur goes slack. His brows smoothing, jaw falling open, breath hitching in his throat. His hands twitch at his sides the second you sink down onto him - slow, deliberate, making him feel every inch of your swollen core. Teasing him until he's sheathed fully inside you.

His head falls back against the filthy mattress, a muscle in his jaw flexing, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. His gambler’s hat tilted low, the shadow of it casting over his eyes, but you can still see the way he’s looking at you.

Like he’s starving.

Like he’s waited too long for this.

And God, he had been needy.

You could see it in the way his lip quivers, in the way his fingers flex like they were itching to grab you, hold you down, rut up into you hard and fast. You could feel it in the way his cock throbbed inside you, thick and pulsing, stretching you to the point of pain.

His hands finally find your hips, rough and possessive, but before he can take control, you catch his wrists and shove them to the bed beneath your weight.

His eyes flash. For a moment, you see the fight in them. Arthur Morgan was bigger. Stronger. If he wanted, he could flip you over, and take you the way he liked. But the second you roll your hips, dragging his cock deeper, working him slowly and teasing him.

He gives in.

Lets you keep him there, pinned down underneath you.

And from the way his body trembles beneath yours, from the thick, shuddering swallow that bobs in his throat, from the muscle in his jaw that flexes tight, you know he likes it.

The slow, teasing grind isn’t enough. You need him deeper. You need him now.

Your hold on his wrists weaken, hands finding their way gently to his neck instead. Nothing too harsh, just enough for you to let him know who's in charge, your nails slightly digging into his nape. Starting to bounce up and down on him rather than grind.

This surprises him as his jaw goes slack, a devilish smile plastered on his face as a line forms between his brows.

And then -

Still smirking, he reaches up, plucks his hat off his head, and sets it atop yours, watching you ride him like a cowboy. His neck as your reigns.

Something about it makes you burn. Makes you ride him harder, makes you bounce your hips like you’re desperate, running after the high that the slight ache of your core gives you as he stretches deeper into your heat, reveling in the pain that comes with each roll of your hips.

Arthur groans beneath you, deep and wrecked, his fingers twitching at the cotton of your skirts, the veins in his arms flexing as he fights the need to grab you, to fuck up into you with the brutal force he’s so used to.

It doesn’t take long before his restraint snaps.

His breath stutters, his brows furrow, his nose flares - his whole body tensing beneath you.

A sharp inhale. A muffled groan through gritted teeth.

His hands snap up to your waist, shoving you up off of him, just in time for his spend to spill across his stomach, hot and thick - more than his right hand had been able to conjure in the past several weeks. In ecstasy, his head presses back, chest heaving, mouth falling open as the last of it pulses out of him.

From above him, you just watch. Watch the way the veins in his neck seem to pop, the way that his breath steadies as he comes down from his high. Pretty as a picture.

And then, before you can even think about curling against him, feeling the heat of his body rap around you in nothing but innocent affection, Arthur pushes you off of his hips. Rolling to his side like he needs a few moments to recover.

You push yourself to his back, grabbing ahold of his frame just to cuddle with him for a few delicate moments. Half expecting him to send you away like he'd always done.

But before you can get comfortable, he pushes you off of him. Dislodging your from his back.

He hadn't changed.

But then something surprising happens, instead of him getting up to rudely send you away. He shuffles halfway down the bed, turning himself onto his stomach. Settling his head between your bare thighs.

“What are-”

You stutter as he licks up your seam.

Your body jerks upwards in surprise.

His hands snap up, one pressing against your stomach, holding you down. His other hand gripping your thigh, fingers digging in as he pulls your legs farther apart for him to feast on. His lips finding that bundle of nerves you enjoy so much and sucking vigorously.

Fuck.

He’s never done this before. Never cared to.

And yet, he’s fucking good at it. Too good. The thought flickers, - who the hell taught him this?

But the idea of him like this with anyone other woman makes your stomach turn. Makes something ugly and possessive coil tight inside you.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe you were just as bad as him.

Because the second that jealousy burns through you, the second that thought even crosses your mind -

Your fingers tangle in his hair, and you shove his face deeper between your thighs.

His mouth works you like he’s desperate, like he needs this, like he’s making up for every single time he left you aching and unsatisfied. His beard scraping over your inner thighs, his tongue flicking over your clit with a steady motion. His mouth sealing around your cunt, sucking just enough to make your breath catch, to make your hips jolt against his face -

But his left hand presses firmer against your gut, pinning you down.

And then, his right hand moves.

And without hesitation, without a single fucking care, he slides two thick fingers into your dripping cunt.

The stretch, the pressure, with the roughness of it all.

Your spine arches.

Your breath shatters.

Arthur doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow. Just keeps fucking you open with his fingers, his tongue relentless, his blue eyes locked onto yours like he’s daring you to finish in his mouth.

Your body shakes. Your orgasm building fast, burning through you, twisting tight in your core.

“Close,” you pant, barely able to get the word out as Arthur refuses to faulter.

Just keeping the same damn pace.

And then, between the sluices of his fingers inside your core.

The goddamn door busts open.

“Arthur, we need you.” Dutch yells, his heavy footsteps entering the cabin slowly.

But Arthur doesn’t stop.

Your body goes rigid as you whisper, “Arthur?”

But Arthur just growls against you, pressing his tongue flat against your clit, not changing pace.

For no more than second does Arthur lift his mouth from your heat, quickly yelling a tense but commanding, “Get out, Dutch."

But the footsteps don’t stop.

“Oh, come on, Arthur, what’re ya doin’?” Dutch’s voice gets closer, moving through the main room, to Arthur's doorless excuse of a bedroom.

But you’re right there.

The pleasure is unbearable, your body trembling, your fingers clutching at Arthur’s hair, holding on for dear life.

And at the same time, Arthur growls, “Dutch, no,” before sucking your clit back into his mouth, dragging you over the edge.

But it's too late, the gang leader stands in Arthur's doorway.

Your orgasm crashing through you at the exact moment, stealing your breath, leaving you writhing beneath Arthur’s mouth as his tongue continously flicks back and fourth.

And Dutch?

He sees.

For no more than a second, he stares.

Wide eyed, the gang leader watches your hips tremble underneath the mouth of his enforcer. Your jaw slacking open as waves of euphoria hit you at the worst possible time.

And then.

Dutch smirks, shaking his head back and forth and walks out without another word.

Once it's obvouis you've been worked through, Arthur pulls back, his beard coated with your sweet juices. Your hand flying to your mouth, your chest heaving.

“Why didn’t you stop?” You slap at his shoulder, scrambling off the bed, shoving your boots back on as your face burns in embarassement.

Arthur shrugs without a care. As if Dutch fucking Van Der Linde hadn’t just watched him devour you.

You face burns red as you storm off, leaving him on the bed. Your ears ringing in embarrassment as you kick at that damn broken door to leave.

Only to run straight into Dutch. Freezing in surprise.

He leans against the cabin, smoking a cigar as he smirks knowingly at you. He doesn’t say a word. Just looks at you as if he's holding something in.

And then, the second you turn around to scuffle off.

A steady hand catches your wrist.

It’s Arthur.

And in front of every watching eye, with your taste still fresh on his lips, he pulls you in.

And kisses you.

Slow and deep.

Like he’s finally claiming you infront of everyone.

And when he finally pulls away, your cheeks burn, the weight of every watching eye settling heavy on your skin.

Your heart pounds.

Without a word, you turn on your heel, walking away as fast as your legs will carry you - more embarrassed than anything. Turning around once more to lock eyes as you attempt to fix your sex ruined hair.

Several yards away now, you turn around. But he doesn’t stop watching. He just leans against the cabin beside Dutch, arms crossed with a slight smile grasping at his lips.

Dutch breaks the silence by chuckling, pulling a cigar from his satchel, offering it over with a knowing smirk. “You know I can’t blame you.”

The cowboy just roughly exhales in response, taking the cigar from Dutch's hands. Lighting it with a match he lit from the bottom of his boot and exhales slowly. His smirk lingering, eyes never leaving you as you disappear into camp.

Away from him.

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption two #arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead smut #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan #smut

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holysupesbatman · 1 year ago

Text

SuperBat Fic Recs

Woaaaah boy. I was in the Superbat tag and saw someone asking for recs and I got about 5 fics in before I realized that wouldn't fit in a reply and decided I should just make a whole post. I feel like I've read half of the Bruce/Clark tag on ao3 at this point and yet I still find more every time I look.

As a note, this post is heavily editorialized. These are all fics I've personally read and are here because I liked them and they come from my ao3 bookmarks. If you want better details about the fic, follow the links and check them out 🤷‍♀️ I'm a picky reader so the fact that it's on the list says a lot, though our tastes may vary.

Onto the recs! I'll organize them by ratings and then by length for simplicity and at the end I'll recommend some of my favorite SuperBat authors for further reading!

🦇

Rated: G

Uno Reverse by WixenBurr (~7k rated G) is really cute and fluffy

Summary: The batkids are trying to set Batman and Superman up. Unfortunately Bruce Wayne wants to date some rando news reporter named Clark Kent.

Rated: T

Know You Better by rotasha (~6k rated T)

super fluffy and cute. I adore this fic. Summary: Clark asks Bruce on a date, not knowing he’s a famous billionaire. Bruce says yes, because this is the first time this has ever happened to him.

I'm Not As Think As You Drunk I Am by Mardiaz173 (~13k rated T)

This one is SO much fun – Nobody believes Clark after he meets the supposed "flirty, stupid, entitled drunk" playboy billionaire Brucie Wayne when he says he's actually "clever, mischievous, and sober with an indecipherable ulterior motive."

Saudade by liodain (~20k rated T)

OK THIS ONE MAKES MY HEART MELT IT'S SO FLUFFY AND SWEET I CAN'T. Like put this on your re-read when you're sad and need to feel like love and goodness exist list. Bruce breaks down in Kansas in 2006 years before BvS and meets young Clark.

fallin' for him was like fallin' from grace by Resacon1990 (~23k rated T)

It's just 20k of Clark simping for Bruce. That's it. That's the fic. He's a golden retriever and he's in love, Your Honor. Bruce is not unaffected, but the pining is glorious.

summary: Or, five times Clark finds himself falling for Bruce, and the one time he does something about it

Mr. Romantic by Pandamomochan (~24k rated T)

ft Established Relationship SuperBat. Summary: Clark gets tasked to write a Valentine's Day article. The end result has every single women throwing themselves at him. Clark has always been patient with the drove of Brucie fans. Will Bruce be as mature with Clark's sudden popularity?

How to Date a Superhero by @solomonara (~25k rated T)

Technically a series of fics. Pure fluff. 1. Someone spots the Batman kissing Mild Mannered Reporter Clark Kent. Hijinks ensue. 2. Superman kissed Bruce Wayne in full view of several dozen phones. Now the whole world, including Lex Luthor, knows Superman has a boyfriend. But that's okay. Batman has a plan. 3. Deleted scenes from the How to Date a Superhero series, ruthlessly cut in most cases to prevent the Robins from taking over.

In every sense of the word by froggy-o (bobafiend) (~29k rated T) From the author's summary: Alternatively titled "Why Wonder Woman is on the verge of losing her fucking mind."

I swear this fic is just Diana's eyebrow twitching as she watches Bruce and Clark start dating and she's let in on both their civilian identities meanwhile Superman and Batman are on the watchtower arguing and disagreeing about basically everything on the daily. In the name of Justice, of course. The identity porn is on a whole other level and it was done so well.

Get Over It by rotasha (~32k rated T)

heh this one has plenty of identity hijinks. Sooooo funny. Summary: Bruce needs to get over his inconvenient feelings for Superman and he meets an attractive reporter who he thinks can help him do just that. Little does he know...

the cost of being a good dad by Mawiiish (~96k rated T)

hehehe... the batkids set up a dating profile for Bruce and catfish Clark. It's more of a blind date for Bruce (not that he had any idea he was going on a date at all), but who has Clark been texting for the past several weeks??? Oh yeah. The kids. What follows is as follows. Still with capes!

Rated: M

Guardian Dog by BombusBombus (~22k rated M)

Summary: There's something wrong with Clark Kent. He has to be a villain, right? A threat? He doesn't behave like a normal person, no matter how handsome or clever he may seem.

grasp his heart (once and for all) by liodain (~32k rated M) soulmate AU fic. Pretty emotional LOTS of identity issues going on there like so much. Kinda high on the drama and angst there honestly but it was a cute read. Summary: Bruce Wayne doesn't believe in fate.

tell all the truth (but tell it slant) by susiecarter (~33k rated M)

love me a fake dating AU. Summary: It takes a while for Batman and Superman to work things out, once Clark comes back from the dead. Pretending to date each other in order to explain why Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent are in the same place so often? Doesn't help as much as you might think.

Strangers When We Meet by Trista_zevkia (~63k rated M)

ANOTHER soulmate AU! This time feat. Kryptonian Biology hehehe. Summary: Clark Kent thought he was straight, until Batman kick started something. The question is what did Batman start? Is Brucie Wayne able to explain it to him?

ship-to-ship combat by pomeloquat (~77k rated M)

OK NO LISTEN this is one of my all-time favorite fics EVER. It's so meta and so funny. Clark is us. We are Clark. Clark is writing RPF for the Bruce/Batman ship and he's very convinced it's real EVEN THOUGH he has a huge crush on the Batman... let the hijinks BEGIN.

Rated: E

Embracing Destiny by Mithen (~8k rated E)

This one is just really really cute. Summary: As a member of the Legion of Super-Heroes in the 31st century, a teenaged Clark learns a stunning secret about his own future: he and someone called "Batman" will be legendary lovers.

perfect strangers by susiecarter (~15k rated E)

like. bruh. susie did it again. This tag says it all: communication failure. I love this one though. Summary: Batman and Superman are fucking. Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent are a great cover for fighting crime, and also might be dating. Bruce and Clark have no idea what they're doing; but they definitely aren't going to be able to talk themselves into stopping.

Relinquishing Control by foxyk (~25k rated E)

afsfwsdfhishdfksj no words. Read the authors summary and then just go read the fic:

Superman worries that if he lets go he'll injure his partner. Batman knows better. Batman worries that if he lets someone else in, he'll hurt them. Superman knows better.

Picture Perfect by TheSaltiestDog @the-saltiest-dog (~26k rated E)

this one is cute and then horny on main but also just so fluffy. Clark sees Bruce in a new light through candid shots, then proceeds to take lots of candid shots as they begin a relationship. Cue schmoop, fluff, smut, and – you guessed it! –Miscommunication!

A Night Off and sequel A Day Off by Mawiiish (~37k combined; first part is E, second is T)

One of my all-time favorites. My bookmark says 10/10 would read again soooooooo... 👀🤷‍♀️😅🥵

Bruce is enjoying one of his few nights off when a very persistent young man offers to buy him a drink. At first he's apprehensive; he's just here for a good time and this Clark seems to be looking for more than that. Then again, what harm can one drink do?

Clark wakes up to an empty bed and despite Bruce being honest from the start, he's still disappointed.

The Downsides to a Secret Identity by liodain (~42k rated E)

I'm currently reading this one – the summary from the author says it all, it's so good but sooo drama:

Bruce Wayne has taken a shine to Clark Kent, but Clark is more interested in the Bat of Gotham. The Bat, however, has it in for the Superman in a big way. Clark should probably have considered that before falling quite so hard. They're working together to track down some missing Kryptonian weaponry, after all...

50 Shades of Wayne by susiecarter (~161k rated E)

No but listen, this is actually so full of plot and emotional depth and not as much smut as you might think. It's a full-scale retelling of Batman v Superman but without them knowing each other's secret identities. I read it in one go... the reveal? Maybe the best I've ever read. Soooo many emotions. It's one of the few times I've read BDSM in a fic and it actually felt in character. I wasn't sure I would read it when I started, but it was a compelling read and extremely well done. Honestly, I'd read it again.

SuperBat Author Shoutouts:

susiecarter @susiecarter

liodain @liodain

Resacon1990 @sassyresacon1990

shipyrds @burins

Mawiiish @superbattrash

rotasha

Mithen

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dancing-dawn · 2 months ago

Note

atsushi for the ask game 🙏

Oh my darling boy, my sweetest joy, oh, how this ask has brought the brightest smile upon my face. Hihi this is gonna be a long one, I tried my best to restrain myself, I swear!

Favourite thing

Boldsushi! SASSUSHI! I love how unapologetically cocky and no-bullshit he gets when surrounded by utter madness and at some (many) points he feels like the only reasonable person in the room. He is also literally the most unique and lovable (once you get to really know him) protagonist I've ever read. My boy is so complex and to me, out of the whole cast, he feels the most like a real person.

Least favourite thing

Atp I adore canon Atsushi so much, the only thing I dislike is his fanon perception. In particular - people who just do not get why he's a compelling protagonist and not a "weak pathetic crybaby." I am pointing knives at everyone who still dares to STILL utter those lies this after recent chapters.

Favourite line

*clears throat*

"Away with you... you fool."

...but! Considering that is not an original thought but a shamelessly stolen flirty dramatic ass pick-up line from our second best boy xD I'll give you another, the silly and the serious:

"All this cause of Dazai, well, Dazai, my ass!"

-> oh the amount of times I have rewided to hear this over and over, laughing hysterically every single time, oh dear

Ok now for the serious one:

"Akutagawaaaaaa!"

"People need to be told they're worthy of being alive by someone else or they can't go on."

-> I love this one because of how blatantly wrong he is. And by wrong, I mean having an unhealthy mindset plagued by deep-rooted trauma, and this being the only way he's learned to cope. That's why he's a fascinating character. He's not saying this as a "lesson" or "moral" to the audience, nor as an objective truth - he's simply stating what he believes in and what drives him to keep going. Obviously this is an incredibly dangerous life policy to have because if you surround yourself by people who don't have your best interest in mind, and you rely on them to tell you what your worth is and why you're allowed to live - then you're just doomed, you're playing with the hazard of life and walking the thinnest line between hope and despair.

I can get into how this also connects to Akutagawa’s influence on Atsushi as he, subconsciously or not, helps him grow in the direction of living seperately from his past and abiding by his own ideals (something that is mirrored by Aku's own struggles), seeing his self-worth and taking action EVEN if faced with his biggest fear of being alone, even when the world is against him and there's no one there to pat him on the back and tell him he did a good job, even when everything and everyone has fought for is gone and he's left to pick up the pieces and he needs to believe his strength goes beyond the tiger's prowess, that he exists for a reason and he is enough, he is allowed to believe himself worthy of going on...

...but this wall of text is gonna have no end, so maybe another time!

brOTP

Kyouka & Atsushi. There is just no stronger familial relationship than those two and their influence on each other's lives is very sweet and very important. For me this hits especially hard in Beast and makes me tear up, just a bit (totally). I also regularly think about the crepe scene and it fills my heart with warmth and joy. Big brother Atsushi, my love, I will die for you (im almost starting to sound like yk who, jesus).

OTP

Ahem, *clears throat again*

*picks up the microphone* *leans down and whispers*

"Skin Soukoku."

*the crowd claps and cheers, showering me with bouquets of daisies and black roses* *i bow and take my leave, the faintest trace of a smile on my face*

nOTP

mmmm I actually don't have one, I think?? Even tho I will die on my sskk hill, I respect all ships with Atsushi because they're just wholesome and fun if you imagine then in an alternate universe (where Aku somehow doesn't exist *cough*) I guess if you're fooorcing me to choose, I will have to say Dazatsu because it just doesn't make sense to me, I cannot even see it making sense in any universe or scenario - for me they are simply mentor and mentee, barely even friends at max. The hierarchy gap here is just too large, I feel. But I enjoy some cute fanarts here and there for fun nonetheless <3

Random headcanon

He is absolutely ogling every single cutesy tiger-themed article of clothing and furniture he sees but needs to restrain himself due to the imaginary flies coming out of his wallet. Kyouka notices this someday and buys him a baby tiger plushie or some cartoony tiger bedsheets (*cough* which I may or may not have already written into my wip *cough*).

Unpopular opinion

Considering my only habitat is sskk circles with very insighful people who understand his character mmmm it's a bit hard for me to know what is unpopular. But I'm gonna say that his flashbacks to the orphanage are not reduntant at all, no matter how repetitive they get, because it honestly feels like how a real person would experience trauma. It's not sugar-coated or glorified for the interest of the story, it just feels genuine yk?

Song I associate with them

Lacy - Olivia Rodrigo, because of this gorgeous animatic by @piedpip3rrr

For the love of everything, please just drop everything for a minute and watch this, if you haven't already.

Everything about it is sheer perfection - the storytelling, the relation of the characters to the lyrics, the incredibly expressive and gorgeous drawings, the coloring (that has a storytelling of its own even!!), the subtle motions that just pull on your heartstrings with every single beat. I love this thing <3

Favourite picture

*pushes my sunglasses slightly over the bridge of my nose and slides this across our imaginary table*

*disappears into the shadows*

...

*feral shouting resonates through the aforementioned shadows*

Ok OK LIsteN. I think, and I am correct, that we as a fandom have failed spectacularly by getting over this panel WAY so soon. Yes, I have the "you fool" one printed out at my desk and I stare at it lovingly every half hour or so, but THIS ONE! Oh, this belongs in a museum. I would pay money if I had to, just to rest my gaze upon it for a mere second. I believe I need not express myself on why it's so magnificent... but I'm gonna do it anyway, becuz who's stopping me, my blog my rules woooo! :D

1. Peak of Harukawa's new art style. Hands down. The softness of his features. The tender look in his eyes. The composition is strikingly dynamic and just heartbreaking to take it all in. There is a dream-like quality to it that makes it feel ethereal, yet it depicts a living nightmare.

2. Oh, the hand reaching out for Aku. The way he turned his whole body to face him mid fall. As if he's seeking comfort because he's scared to die alone and he's scared of leaving his partner, no matter if he knows his strength and believes in him with his whole being. The way there is not an inkling of regret in his eyes, because he's finally done the right thing. It's his closure, his retribution, his response to a sacrifice in his own name that he didn't believe himself worthy of. But now he understands. Need I say more?

P.S. Link to the Aku sequel because they shall always come as a pair <3

#yelp #not sorry for this length of this teheee #ask game #bsd atsushi #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd atsushi nakajima #sskk #shin soukoku #because it's like a third of the post imao #bsd analysis #i love atsushi did yall notice #atsushi best protagonist in history change my mind #u cant

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 11 months ago

Text

Save a Cow

Steven Grant x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• ko-fi •

Summary: Steven finds a badge in a charity shop.

A/N: I, erm... so I wrote this.

Warnings: oral (m! receiving), some dirty talk, swearing, pre-existing relationship with reader, over use of italics, typos, not beta read, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 833

Steven had chuckled when he’d seen it. The pin badge in the little tray by the cashier's desk, it was one of many. Most were Happy Birthday badges, a couple with cartoon animals on them. But this one was the only that stood out.

‘Save a cow, eat a vegan’, with a little cartoon bovine.

The badges were 50p. He’d picked it up and put it on top of his main purchase - a book on prehistoric cultures around the world that he’d been trying to find for ages and despite usually selling for upwards of £50 online, this charity shop had only put £2.50 on it. It didn’t even look like it had been opened.

“That’s £3, all together.”

Steven gave him a tenner and put the rest of the change in the donation pot.

He’d pined it on his shirt before he put the book in his bag, and continued about his day.

In all honesty, he’d practically forgotten about it and the fact that he was wearing it had slipped his mind.

It was only later on that evening, when you pointed it out as he walked in the door and was in the middle of taking off his shoes, that he remembered.

“Oh!” He giggled, giving the edge of it a flick and grinning. “Made me laugh, didn’t it? Only 50p too! I also found-”

“Okay.” You said simply, dropping to your knees.

Steven frowned, so completely bewildered for a second that he didn’t even catch the wicked gleam to your eyes.

“Love? What are you-” he swallowed harshly, practically choking on his words as you ran your right hand up his inner thigh, while you palmed his dick with your left.

You look up at him with a fake innocence. “I’m doing what the badge says? Saving a cow?”

“Ohhh,” he let out a little shuddered breath as you undid his belt and unzipped his trousers, letting them hang low on his hips. His cock twitched, already half hard as his blood rushed downwards and heartbeat increased.

You nuzzle him through his boxers, mouthing at his balls until a shaky groan slips from between his parted lips.

“Love,” he shivers, fighting the maddening urge to buck his hips and push himself closer, to grab your shoulders and force you against him.

You slowly hook your fingers under his waistband and pull them down his thighs. The second the head of his cock is free you lap at the tip eagerly, small firm strokes that has his stomach muscles twitching under the strain.

Heat pools and twists in his belly, burning deep as you lightly suck his head into your warm, wet mouth.

He lets out a groan, breathless and needy as his cock hardens quickly. You stroke his balls with your free hand as you suck him deeper, greedily taking more and more and Steven squirms, unable to hold himself back a second longer.

“Love, fuck,” he pulls on your shoulders, grabbing at the back of your neck as he shallowly thrusts, encouraging you to match his frantic movements. “God, that’s good, that’s really good,” part of his brain isn’t working, can’t even register what he’s saying as nonsense falls out of his mouth.

“You’re gonna have to suck harder, you know?” He shivers, bucking his hips and pushing his thick length to the back of your throat, “if you want to save a cow, gonna have to take it all, take all of me, let me come down your pretty throat,” he hisses as you whine, as you try and struggle to swallow around him.

Your jaw aches, knees sting a little from the hard wooden floor, but Steven’s sounds are driving you insane, making you dizzyingly lightheaded with every cry and groan.

You keep bobbing your head, salvia on your chin, keeping up with and surpassing his manic pace. You want all of him, every single part. And with each push he sinks a fraction deeper, inches closer to finally filling you completely.

“Oh fuck,” he whines loud, his voice rising in pitch as the pressure in his stomach tightens to an impossible peak. “I’m, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna, love, ‘m sorry, please, can I-”

You suck hard, giving his balls a light squeeze and Steven all but screams.

His hips buck twice, his fingers digging into your shoulders as he shoots hot, thick cum down your throat in a fevered rush.

You swallow eagerly, moaning around him and holding his outer thighs to keep him steady as aftershocks roll through him.

He breathes deeply, swallowing air and you slowly take your mouth off him with a gentle pop.

Steven sighs, his eyes glued to your lips as he traces the line of salvia on your chin with his thumb. “So good to me love,” he whispers.

You giggle and shake your head, suddenly feeling a little bashful.

He grins, “but it’s my turn now,” he strokes your chin, “save a cow, eat a pussy?”

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh

@romanarose @strangerhands @saturn-rings-writes @lonelyisamyw-0love @queerponcho

@steven-grants-world @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @lunar-ghoulie

@silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @apesarecuul @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom

@alwaysmicado @mangoslushcrush @marc-spectorr @soft-girl-musings @spxctorsslxt

@novarosewood @pygmi-cygni

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

#steven grant #moon knight #moon knight mcu #steven grant x reader #x reader #steven grant x you #x you #steven grant x female reader #x female reader #steven grant x f!reader #x f!reader #steven grant x fem!reader #x fem!reader #my writing #fanfic #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

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chvoswxtch · 2 years ago

Note

Court baby i've waiting for this moment! I have this idea for a fic living rent free in my head. Its Frank x fem!reader. They were in a very cozy and confy moment when the snap happened and reader was blipped! You could write how Frank deald with those five years and with reader coming back. With a lot of angst moments and flufly and maybe spicy after she comes back. I would love if you accept this request! Thank you, I love you ❤️

i'm not gonna lie to you, the blip is my least favorite marvel storyline, but I love you so I put myself and frank through it just for you 🖤

I would say sorry that i'm about to emotionally wreck you but in my defense, you did ask for this so...enjoy or don't

warning: swearing, mentions of blood, violence, guns, & alcohol, heavy angst, very brief allusion to suicide (blink and you miss it) word count: 4.1k

the blip.

A split second. That’s how quickly Frank lost you. He turned his back for a second to refill his mug of coffee, and when he turned back around, you had vanished seemingly into thin air. At first he thought maybe you had gone back into the bedroom to grab a sweater or something. It had been a bit chilly in the kitchen, and you were always cold. But then a few seconds turned into a few minutes, and Frank didn’t hear any shuffling or soft footsteps. He didn’t hear anything at all. The crisp silence had an icy sense of dread trickling down his spine, and when he didn’t hear your sweet voice responding to his cautious calls of your name, he went into a full blown panic.

You were gone.

Year One.

This wasn’t happening again. It couldn’t be. There was no way he had survived losing Maria and the kids just to find you, to let your endless patience and irrevocable empathy fill the gaping void in his chest, only to lose you too. It had to be some kind of cruel joke. Frank didn’t consider himself a good man; he was well aware of and acquainted with his demons. But he didn’t deserve this.

Did he?

It was forty-eight hours before anyone even knew what happened. One giant asshole snapped his fingers, and half the universe’s population ceased to exist. Frank had stopped believing in God a lifetime ago, and he certainly didn’t believe in aliens or otherworldly creatures. He had seen first hand during his time in the Marines that mankind was the real monster. But it didn’t matter that he didn’t believe in it, because it happened, and not even the fucking Avengers could stop it. Hell, half of them were gone too.

Two weeks after the snap, news broke that Thanos had been killed, and that the Infinity Stones were destroyed, but the remaining members of the Avengers were trying to come up with a way to bring everyone back. For months Frank was glued to every news outlet, frantically waiting for even the smallest of updates. Anything was something. He refused to believe that the snap was permanent. The Avengers were going to find a way to bring everyone back. They had to.

Your pillowcase had stopped smelling like your shampoo, and Frank found himself using it and your body wash just to keep your scent on the sheets. He burned your favorite candles and read your favorite books. He wouldn’t stay gone longer than fifteen minutes in case you finally came home. He wanted to be there when you did. Frank kept himself busy with little projects around the house, things that you had mentioned changing or updating that he had promised he would get around to and never did. Frank swore to himself when you came home, things would be different.

He would take that trip you wanted to go on. He’d take you to the shelter to pick out a dog like you had been talking about. Maybe you two would finally start a family. Whatever you wanted, he’d give you. He’d find a way to give you the goddamn moon and every single star in the sky if you wanted them.

As soon as you came home.

But then a year went by, and nothing had changed. The anniversary of the snap came and went, and everyone seemed to give up hope on bringing everyone back, or they just decided to move on and accept that no one was coming back.

But Frank couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. He refused to believe you were really gone.

Year Two.

The worst part about the snap was that Frank couldn’t collect his vengeance in blood like he had with his family. The one who took you from him was already dead, and even if he hadn’t been, Frank had no way of reaching him. Thanos was a Titan, someone who was revered as a God to those that followed him, and Frank was just a man. A man poisoned with rage and an insatiable thirst for revenge. So, he did what he was good at. He punished. Even though half the universe’s population was gone, that didn’t mean there weren’t still monsters left on Earth.

Frank killed without mercy or prejudice. There was no sin too harmless for his wrath. His fists collided with skin and bone until there was nothing left but ivory fragments tainted crimson and torn flesh. He didn’t stop, not even when his destructive blows caused his own knuckles to crack. It had gotten to the point where he hardly reached for a gun anymore unless he absolutely had to. He preferred to use his hands or serrated steel. He wanted to inflict every ounce of pain that he felt inside on whoever was stupid enough to get in his way.

It was like he wasn’t even mentally present anymore. His conscience had been shut off somehow, and all that was left was a relentless killing machine. Whenever he ran out of targets in the city, he moved on to hunt in the next one, and the next one, and the next one. He lived primarily out of his van, or whatever dingy motel he came across on the road. He hadn’t stepped foot in your home in almost a year. He couldn’t. It was haunted by your memory, and he couldn’t desecrate the home you two had made together with what he had become.

You would be ashamed of him. You would be disgusted and horrified by the things he had done. That thought echoed in his head as he watched the water continue to run red while he stood under the weak spray of the shower head. He didn’t know what town or even what state he was in. He didn’t know what day of the week it was, or what month it was. He didn’t care. All he knew was that you were gone, and he had nothing left.

Nothing left but the white hot fury that infected his veins and had him seeking out blood like water in the desert.

Year Three.

Frank couldn’t visit you, not like he could Maria and the kids. He couldn’t even have the closure of burying you, because there wasn’t a body. There was no final resting place for you, and he didn’t think that was fucking fair. Today was your birthday, and Frank had been drowning himself in whiskey trying to dilute the painful memories that played in his head like a haunting home movie.

The angelic sound of your voice as you read him whatever book your nose was buried in that week, your fingers slipping through his dark tresses while he laid his head on your chest and listened in pure content. The feeling of your soft lips on his heated skin and delicate noises of pleasure as your bodies connected like they were made for each other. Your melodic laughter, the silkiness of your skin, slow dancing in the living room with the moon acting as a spotlight.

All the words he never said. All the promises he didn’t get to keep. All the dreams that wouldn’t come true.

Somehow Frank found himself in a church. He couldn’t remember the last time he stepped foot in one. Maybe it was Sunday school back when his parents still forced him to go. He had stumbled in, his heavy boots thudding along the aisle, the only other sound coming from the amber liquid sloshing around in the half empty bottle in his hand. He stopped when he got to the front, looking up at the stained glass depictions of angels, until his weary eyes landed on the savior that was nailed to the giant cross.

Frank glared at him for several minutes before hurling the half empty bottle right at the head of the statue, causing a firework explosion of shimmering shards of glass to rain over the altar and various candles that had been lit for loved ones that had passed on. His rough voice boomed throughout the empty space.

“You son of a bitch! Why didn’t you take me, huh? Why not me? She ain’t never done a goddamn thing wrong. I’m the one you want. I’m the one that deserves it. I’m the goddamn killer here, huh? I’m the fuckin’ Punisher. So you bring her back, and you take me!”

Frank started grabbing bibles from the pews and hurling them at the statue with all his strength. In his inebriated state, some of them flew right past the statue and knocked over other small figurines and candlesticks. He let out a guttural war cry every time he threw a new one, and by the time he ran out of steam, he was panting heavily, and tears had formed in his eyes.

Dropping to his knees, he looked up at the melancholic face of the statue that matched his own, and he did something he hadn’t done in years.

He prayed.

“Please. Please, just bring her back. I’ll take her place…I won’t fight…just…just bring her back. I’m beggin’ you…I’ll do whatever it takes, alright? Just…you can’t…you can’t do this to me again. You can’t. I may deserve it, but she don’t…okay so just…just…”

Frank was tired. Three years without you was too long. He hadn’t been able to find the peace that he had found after Maria and the kids. He spent a year waging war on everyone, and it did nothing. He spent the last few months drowning himself in booze, and it didn’t help. Nothing helped, and there was nothing to keep him going. You were gone, and you weren’t coming back, so what the hell was he still getting out of bed every morning for?

Reaching into the pocket of his coat, Frank pulled out a revolver and stared down at it. There was only one bullet in the chamber, and it wasn’t meant for anyone but him. If God wouldn’t bring you back, then he would go to you.

As soon as he cocked the hammer, a familiar voice sounded behind him.

“You don’t wanna do that, Frank.”

Turning his head to look over his shoulder, Frank squinted his blurry eyes before turning back around, shaking his head with a dry laugh.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me. Half the goddamn universe gets wiped out, and I get stuck with the fuckin’ altar boy.”

“Frank-”

“Mind your fuckin’ business, Red. Just cause there’s only one bullet in this chamber don’t mean I won’t handle your ass.”

Matt let out a deep exhale through his nose as he took a few cautious steps towards where Frank was on his knees in front of the altar.

“You’re drunk-”

“And you’re fuckin’ relentless. Go home.”

“Look, whoever you lost-”

“Whoever I lost? I lost everyone, Red!”

Matt didn’t flinch when Frank suddenly rose from his knees and stormed over towards him, his loud voice booming in the silence as they stood barely an inch apart. Matt cocked his head to the side slightly, his lips pursed as he grit his teeth.

“You think you’re the only one that’s lost everyone you’ve ever cared about, Frank?”

“Then what the hell are you waitin’ on, huh? You too much of a fuckin’ pussy to do it yourself, huh? That it? You need me to do it for you?”

Matt carefully reached out to place his hand on Frank’s arm, lowering the gun that was in his hand while he spoke in a calm voice.

“I don’t want to die, Frank. And I don’t think you want to either. You just want the pain to stop. But if you do this, it’s permanent, and you’ll never know if she came back.”

Frank shook his head and blew a puff of hot air out of his lips, his dark brows scrunching up in pure annoyance and frustration.

“She ain’t comin’ back-”

“You don’t know that. She’s not dead, Frank. She’s lost. Maybe she’s with Karen and Foggy. Frank, someone came down from another planet and wiped out half the universe. Is it so crazy to think that could be undone?”

The anger that was simmering inside Frank from Matt’s intrusion seemed to be burning through the alcohol in his system, and Matt’s question was igniting a tiny ember of hope that Frank wasn’t prepared to tend to. His body physically deflated as he dropped his head between his broad shoulders. There was a heavy tide of tears on his bottom lash line threatening to flood at any moment.

“Don’t do that.”

“You have to have faith, Frank-“

��I don’t, Red.”

“I do.”

Frank didn’t know when Matt managed to slip the revolver from his grasp, but he didn’t feel the weight of a permanent decision in his palm anymore. Matt had planted a tiny seed of hope, and what if’s were taking over Frank’s brain like wild ivy.

What if there was a chance you could come back? Matt had a point, you weren’t dead. Not really. Even if the probability of it happening was one in a million, didn’t Frank owe you the same unwavering patience you had always shown him?

“Look Frank, just…give me a year. One year to show you things can be different. If you still want to make that call in a year, I won’t stop you. I’ll leave you alone. But Frank…you’ve gotten through this once before. You can do this again. If not for yourself, just try for her.”

A year. A year was nothing in the grand scheme of things. Frank had already been without you for three years now.

What was one more?

Year Four.

Matt’s apartment was fucking obnoxious due to that goddamn billboard across the street, but it was better than the shitty motels Frank had been staying in. He still couldn’t step foot in the home he had shared with you. It had been three years now, and even though he wasn’t fully convinced you could come back, he couldn’t let it go. Everything that was you was there, and if he sold the house, that meant every trace of you and your existence was gone.

Matt had one rule for Frank staying with him; no killing. For a week, Frank lounged on the couch trying to figure out what to do with himself. He would start to read a book, but could never get more than a few pages because he remembered how much you loved to read, and then he would get stuck staring at the pages while memories of you played on loop in his head. There wasn’t a TV because Matt didn’t have use for one, and Frank didn’t care to watch anything anyway. It didn’t take long for Frank to go stir crazy. He had never been good at staying idle.

While Matt was out making the world a better place, Frank had managed to find a construction job. Busting down walls all day long allowed him to get his pent up anger out while not breaking Matt’s golden rule. Most days it felt like Frank was on autopilot. He woke up, went to the job site, smashed a sledgehammer through a wall until his hands bled, came home, tried to sleep, inevitably had a nightmare about losing you, and laid on the couch staring blankly up at the ceiling until the sun rose.

Every single day was a repeat of the last until they started to blur together. Frank didn’t speak to anyone at the job sites. He didn’t speak to anyone at all. Between Matt’s busy court schedule and his nightly patrols, they didn’t see each other often, and even when they were home at the same time, Frank still hardly spoke to him. He wasn’t sleeping, he barely ate, and on the days he had off, he didn’t leave the couch. He felt like a hollow shell of the man he used to be.

Matt knew what he was going through. Hell, he had been there himself after the second time he lost Elektra. He knew what it felt like to lose the person you loved most in this world, and that had happened to Frank twice now. He did his best to be patient, but after four months, he couldn’t take it anymore. Matt was fortunate that he’d had people that helped him combat his depression to find his way back to himself, but Frank didn’t have a soul in his corner.

Except for Matt.

And even though Frank wasn’t shy about not wanting Matt’s help, Matt didn’t care. Frank could be stubborn, but he didn’t have the energy or the drive to match Matt’s stubbornness, and Matt used that to his advantage. He was relentless in pushing Frank to participate in life again. He purposely antagonized Frank, even if it meant being reduced to a human punching bag, because that meant Frank was still in there somewhere.

Matt started small in getting him out of the apartment, like guilt tripping Frank into joining him on trips to the grocery store.

“You’re not gonna help your blind roommate get groceries? You know, a lot of items don’t come with braille labels. So when I die because I accidentally put bleach in my coffee instead of creamer, you have to say nice things about me at my funeral.”

“You don’t need labels, Red. You got that goddamn bloodhound nose. Would you stop lookin’ at me like that? Jesus fuckin’ Christ, fine. Get your fuckin’ jacket and let’s go.”

After a while, he even managed to get Frank to join him at Fogwell’s from time to time.

“No wonder you became a goddamn lawyer. All you know how to do is fuckin’ argue, makes sense you made a livin’ outta it.”

“I’m not arguing, Frank. If we got in the ring, you would lose. That’s a fact. You don’t know how to box, you just know how to run at people and slam them into things. And you’re too bulky to move as fast as me. None of that is an argument, it’s a simple observation.”

“Why don’t you observe your ass in that ring so I can shut you the fuck up, Red.”

The more time they spent together, and the more Frank put in an effort to move forward one step at a time, the less empty he felt. The nightmares still came every so often, and there were days where the weight of your absence was too much for him to bear, but for the first time in four years, he didn’t feel so hopeless.

He could think about you without breaking down. He could see something that reminded him of you, and it warmed his heart instead of ripping it out. He had finally reached a point where he had slowly crawled out of the deep pit of grief that he had been digging for the past four years.

As much as he hated to admit it, Matt had helped him find a semblance of peace.

Year Five.

The sound of a dog barking caught Frank’s attention. He pulled his head out from under the hood of his truck, looking over at the grey and white pitbull that was standing a few feet away from the front door of the house you and Frank had lived in together that he’d finally moved back into six months ago. He glanced between the front door and the dog with his thick brows furrowed.

“What is it, Daisy?”

The dog turned her head when she heard Frank’s voice, the movement so fast it made her long velvet ears flop. She turned her attention back to the door and continued to bark. Something inside had caught her attention. Eyeing the front door warily, Frank rubbed his grease stained hands off on a small rag and walked over towards where Daisy was, kneeling down beside her to gently scratch that spot between her ears that she loved.

“Hey, shh shh shh. C’mon now, what’s got you so worked up, huh? What do you think is inside, huh? You smellin’ that-”

The sound of the front door opening caught Frank’s attention, and he instantly snapped his head in the direction of it. All of a sudden, his warm brown eyes went wide, and time seemed to freeze in that very moment.

“Sweetheart?”

His quiet whisper was dripped in disbelief. There you were, looking exactly the same as the day you had vanished, looking between Frank and Daisy with an expression of surprise and perplexment.

“Frank?”

God, your voice. It had been five years since he had last heard it. That was all the confirmation he needed that this was real. You were real. You were really home.

Without wasting a second, Frank stood and ran over towards you, tears filling up his eyes as he wrapped his arms around your frame and hugged you as tightly as physically possible. His heart was thrashing against his ribcage, and he was terrified this was just a vivid dream, but then he inhaled the scent of your shampoo intermingled with your perfume, felt your hands gently pressing against his back, and heard your soft angelic laughter.

“Frankie…baby…you’re crushing me.”

Frank pulled back only slightly, bringing his large hands up to cup your face to study your features, taking in every single inch of you. He caught the way you frowned softly, looking up at him in pure concern when thick tears streamed down his cheeks. You lifted your hand to delicately brush them away with the featherlight touch of your fingers.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“You’re really here.”

“Of course I’m here. Where else would I be? Baby, why are you so upset?”

As you ran your hands through his long grown out curls, a crease of bewilderment nestled in between your brows when you took in his appearance.

“Wait…what happened to your hair? It was just short five seconds ago…and you didn’t have a beard. How…how did you do that? And when did we get a dog? Frank, what-”

Five seconds ago.

Is that all it was for you? Frank could see the visible disorientation on your delicate features, and he had a lot of questions of his own, but right now nothing mattered but you. He leaned in and captured your lips in a deep kiss, pouring every emotion he had felt in the past five years into it. He kissed you like the world could end at any moment, because for him it did the day you vanished.

When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead against yours and let out a deep exhale of relief.

“You…you were gone, sweetheart. You were gone a long time…a long goddamn time.”

“Gone? What-”

“I’ll explain everythin’, I promise. Just…just give me a minute, please. Just let me hold you for a minute, can you do that for me, baby? Please?”

Frank had always been able to read you like a book, and he could tell by the look in your eyes that you weren’t just confused. Hearing you had been gone for a long time infused you with a sense of panic and uncertainty. But you trusted Frank, and you knew whatever hard truth he was going to tell you, he wouldn’t let you go through it alone.

“Okay.”

As Frank embraced you again, you suddenly felt a pair of paws on your back. Glancing over your shoulder, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the happy dog wagging its tail while looking between you and Frank. Reaching down, you gently pet the side of her face with a soft smile.

“Hi there, precious.”

“Daisy.”

Glancing up at Frank, your lips parted slightly when Frank told you her name. A soft smile covered his lips, the first smile to do so in five years. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear slowly.

“You always said if we got a dog and it was a girl, you wanted to name her Daisy.”

Tears welled up along your bottom lash line as you looked up at Frank, a gentle smile covering your lips. After a moment, you glanced away from Frank to look at Daisy again, letting out a soft laugh.

“I’ve waited a long time to meet you, Daisy.”

Frank gave your waist a light squeeze, leaning in to press a soft lingering kiss to your cheek.

“And we’ve been waitin’ a long time for you. Welcome home, sweetheart.”

tags: @day-dreaming-goddess @kdogreads @heimtathurs @mars-rants-a-lot @casa-boiardi @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @hazallem @avencol @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @mattymurdock1021 @bubuslutty @ninejlovebot @purrrfect @pennylovey @firesunflamed @oscarisaacsleftknee @ameliaswife @Vane28282 @kmc1989 @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042 @utterlynuts

#frank castle #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x reader #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle request #frank castle fic #the punisher #the punisher request #the punisher fic #matt murdock #daredevil

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fgmetanoia · 4 months ago

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It's been a while since I've posted about Steddie, but they're always my favorites.

Sometimes I read a fic and suddenly remember why I am so deeply obsessed with these characters.

Like on one side you have Steve, who is so much more than an ex jock who piqued in high school.

He has family issues, totally absent parents, but he's successful and at the top of the societal food-chain when we meet him. And YET not only he fight with/trusts the most random group of people with his life just because he thinks it's the right thing to do, but he also is the momest guy who ever momed to them. He takes care of every single person of the group as if they were his own children. He learns from his mistakes and tries SO HARD to change the way he acts and the beliefs he was raised with.

He has well-hidden anxiety and head trauma and he is always the first in line to throw himself in front of danger like he is expendable. No screw that, he actually think he is the most expendable. As if he didn't know how his death would completely destroy Dustin! And Robin. And so many other. Again, no reason to do that except that he chooses to. I feel like people often overlook Steve's resilience, because. He could've give up a million times already? And he just... didn't?

It always baffles me how they managed to make Steve both the hottest and coolest guy ever and the dorkiest adorable loser at the same time.

And then on the other side there's Eddie, nerd musician who is been rejected so many times that he made it into a strength. Openly uncaring about what people say about him. So loud and over the top. Flirty. Confident. Self assured. ...on the outside. On the inside though, are we sure it's the same?

And again, he'd have all of the reason to not fucking trust anyone - least of all the ex jock of the group - but he says a big fuck you to his own prejudices, as if it was the easiest thing in the world, and goes over to Steve to say 'hey you know what? I was so wrong about you'. Proceeds to shamelessly flirt with the guy and then five minutes later he's over there facing his biggest fear with the same easiness like DUDE ARE YOU REAL? No you dumbass, he's not.

Totally ADHD, runs on anxiety and caffeine, swears like a sailor and parades around in leather and a Hankie in the mid-80s in bumfuck Indiana.

In the end, the thing that I love the most about him, is that Eddie never ever shrinks himself in order to let the world around him live more comfortably. He's a living poster of 'I am here and my existence matters even if it's uncomfortable for you'.

They are deeply relatable and multifaceted characters, and this is probably why I will never be able to get over them.

#i love them your honor #we have matching mental health issues #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things meta #character study #part of this is based purely off headcanons but ANYWAY #franci rambles

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dcdreamblog · 3 months ago

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Okay, okay, so, question, I know Marvel Comics does fiction. But here's the thing, they have a whole series about The Amazing Spider-Man, and I swear I've read actual news reports about a guy by that name in that costume teaming up with Batman. Are they ripping off a real person?

No.

And also, inevitably, yes.

This is a simple question with no real answer and the more I explain it the less sense its going to make. So buckle in.

THIS is comic art from a special graphic novel published by Marvel Comics showing their flagship character the Amazing Spiderman teaming up with the real life flagship superhero Superman.

THIS is a photograph showing a real life Spiderman standing back to back with the real life Superman taken only a few years later, after an adventure that mirrored the events of the comic to a frankly scary degree. See, what some people fail to fully grasp intellectually about the multiverse is that it's a kind of...how do I explain this. My multiversal theory 101 professor called it an "Infinite Reality Superposition". He explained it as a function of the physics concept called Hypertime (which I refuse to explain in detail until someone has the nuts to force me to talk about it directly...because I would need time to go bother someone smarter than me) but my retained understanding of the concept is thus: Because the multiverse is an infinite variation of itself, spread out unto infinity by every event and every decision ever made by any series of conditions stretching back until the dawn of time by definition ALL things are true somewhere in the multiverse. Every idea you have ever had, every idea you have ever NOT had. Every possible version of every story ever imagined by any theoretical human on all possible Earths is, on another Earth just as real as the author's, provable, obvious reality. If you sketch a doodle creature on a piece of paper right now not only does that creature exist somewhere in the multiverse, INFINITE versions of that creature exist on infinite worlds within said multiverse. There are exactly as many worlds on which I am a figment of someone's imagination as there are where I am as real as I am sitting at my keyboard right now: infinity. There are worlds where Spiderman and Superman are equally as real as each other and always have been, there are worlds where both are equally fictional, there are worlds where the two beings are mixed together jumbles of both of their aspects and there are infinite versions of all three previous categories. Some worlds are so similar you could spend lifetimes looking up and down the timeline for a single blade of grass out of place in 1892 somewhere in Wales. Some worlds are so different that you would have to go back to the motion of the first hydrogen atoms after the big bang to find the common root between them and us. WE live on a world where Superman is a real being and Spiderman is a comic book character. But because we ALSO live on a world where extranormal events are a regular occurrence we ALSO saw a Spiderman from a different universe temporarily deposited into this one where he teamed up with Superman to save the day and then fucked off back to where he came from. Marvel characters have done this closer to a dozen times actually with character like the Hulk, the Fantastic Four and the Avengers all showing up for brief moments and then vanishing as quickly as they appeared. That does not change that one THIS world Spiderman is a comic book character. It's just that the OTHER universes in the multiverse could give less of a fuck about us and our airs.

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chrizztopher97 · 11 months ago

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WARNING: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Idol!Chan, Fan!FemReader, swearing, oral, piv, unprotected sex, breast play, praise, name calling.

It has been a day ever since you went to Stray Kids tour date in Seoul and you just couldn't get Chan's solo stage off your mind.

You were sitting in the park with your laptop on the picnic table, one tab playing over and over the HD video they uploaded not long after the concert you experienced and the image of him stripping the jacket off of himself while staring right your way just kept on popping on.

You knew he was just staring blankly but just the idea of him taking off his clothes while looking right into your eyes made you fold in half.

Unable to resist it, you started writing a smut but all you could write was a scene of you begging and pleading, asking him to suck him off, begging him to fuck you in every way possible.

Lost in your own imagination you visioned everything you wrote and as the image of him entering you from the side, lying down on your bed while he held your leg up with his face buried in your neck you jumped on the bench and took your face in your hands.

"I'm definitely out of my mind..." You exasperated as you started deleting the entire line.

"Hey hey, I'm still reading." A voice mumbled from behind your shoulder making you turn around before closing the laptop.

Tumblr will save it for you anyways.

"When.. what.. why?" You could only ask as he, the main thought of your sinful thoughts was pouting at your action.

"I've been here ever since you started writing it." He mumbled sitting next to you, "as for the what, I was kinda curious since you typed so fast while listening on repeat to my song." his eyes looked at you and you could see a faint smirk on his lips. "As for the reason, well you kept on repeating my name over and over so I just came."

Pointing at the now closed laptop, he chuckled. "Well, not yet."

"I don't know if I should apologise for writing such things about you or be mad at your teasing..." You whined as you sat on the bench.

"I think you should apologise..." He mumbled making your heart stop and the realisation of doing something bad hitting you. "for not continuing and almost deleting the entire thing." He whispered taking the laptop.

The need to fight back to get it back was there but a part of you wanted to know what he liked just by him reading your scenarios.

"Just don't mind me and continue." He said passing the laptop to your way.

"You-" Taking a deep breath you unlocked the pc and bit your lip. "but don't get all sensitive later." You mumbled.

Closing your eyes for a moment was enough to let your own thoughts flow from your head, envisioning it in the back of your eyelids, to finally flow in your fingers.

A scene of you on your knees begging to suck him off while he looked down at you, your fingers trembled as you typed.

The Y/N of that one story was you and you wanted to write all the things you craved. Every single thing you wanted him to do to you.

Writing about how you wanted him to hold your head, massaging your scalp while you took all of him deep down your throat.

Noting down the way you wanted him to manhandle you, hold you by the hips while he kissed you so passionately.

As if you forgot where you were, a soft whimper escaped your lips as your breathing became unstable and shaky. Your thighs pressed together while in your eyes you could see everything so clearly.

Him holding you in his arms while you rode him, you calling his name over and over, pleading him to love you, begging for his existence.

"Fuck." You gasped standing up and retracting from your seat but an arm sneaked behind you, holding you still.

Almost forcing you to sit back down and so you did. How could you not when he was right there, beside you. Reading straight into your mind.

Your naked thoughts revealed to him. Your soul completely exposed while your heart busted inside your chest, begging for his love and attention.

"Go on." He whispered in your ear.

That's when you finally lost it. Your sanity disappeared making you write something you've never thought you would ever.

Exposing your own preference in bed as you wrote a scene where he railed you over and over, you begging for more, clinging onto him for dear life as you screamed over and over 'more'.

Describing how he held you down, kissing you everywhere, indulging you in the sweetest sinful pleasure between two souls. His hands all over you, his hard length slipping in and out of you with squelching noises while your throbbing core clamped down on him, your hands grabbing every part of him, your nails digging in his skin as he pressed deeper and harder.

A railway of emotions washed over you as you felt yourself nearing an orgasm by solely imagine the scene.

Completing the page, you bit down on your lip and saved it as a draft before turning off the laptop and look down.

"I think it's best if I go at home..." You mumbled as you stood up slowly.

He hummed in response standing up and grabbing your laptop case before grabbing your stuff and look at you. "I'll walk you home."

Looking up to him you shook your head. God knows what you would have done to him if you were near your apartment.

"There's no need." Was all you could say even if you craved more of his company.

"It's late." He just said, his head loaming above yours as if to engulf you in his presence.

═══════☆♡☆═══════

As you stood in front of your apartment door, you grabbed your laptop and held it in your arms. Feeling your legs weak, you leaned onto the wall as you stared at him.

Wanting to engrave in your memory the way his face looked up close before he'd disappear from your life as if you've never even met.

Engraving the way his eyes stared at you, the way his parted lips shaped the form of a heart, the way his breathing sounded shallow, the way that hoodie enveloped his toned chest.

Oh... how bad you had it for him. You already knew that you'd miss him already.

"What's your username on tumblr?" His voice came out so softly.

It felt as if you've heard him only in your head.

"Chrizztopher97..." You whispered shyly.

Noting it down on his phone, he tossed it inside his pocket once again before coming closer, his body a few inches from yours as he stared down at you.

The way his body engulfed you making you disappear from sight, just that was enough to make the butterflies fly all around your body.

"Sweet dreams..." He whispered leaning in to plant a caste kiss on your forehead before taking a couple of steps back.

"You too..." Your heart fluttered at the way his soft lips felt on your skin yet it left a burning feeling lingering there.

Smiling softly you looked at him for a moment before unlocking your door and enter the apartment. Leaving all your stuff at the door, without shoes you went back outside hoping he was still there and thankfully he was.

"Christopher." You stopped in front of the elevator. "Stay with me," you pleaded as you looked at him. "please."

Walking out of the elevator, he took a step then another and another until you found yourself trapped against your door. "Want me to stay?" He whispered as his eyes gazed right into yours.

Nodding as you lost yourself in his eyes, you heard the door unlock and his voice softened. "Forgive me, I saw the code..." He whispered before holding you by the hips and pushing the door open.

His body heaving as he breathed shakily, his feet stumbling on each other just to get rid of his own shoes. His foot kicking the door shut before he walked blindly with you as the source of his eyes.

"What shall I do to you, hmm?" His words ringed in your ears as he leaned over.

His lips a few inches from yours.

"Kiss me, please..." Your voice trembled as all you wanted was him.

All of him.

There, the throbbing feeling, that shaky and ragged breathing you had whenever you were about to faint yet, it was all because you craved for him.

Without saying anything he let his lips touch yours in a soft motion, a simple peck stamped on your lips before looking at you for a moment and let loose.

His lips now finally locked with yours in a slow, intimate kiss. His hands moving behind your back, pushing you closer to him as the both of you indulged in a marvellous kiss that made the tender feeling turn into pure hunger.

Your hands rested around the nape of his neck, slowly taking off his beanie and tossing it somewhere in the living room before letting your hands bury themselves in the lock of his soft curls.

His hand slowly moving down the curve of your back, cupping the ass cheek softly yet tightly. Making the first sinful sound escape your lips and flow into his mouth making a muffled grunt come out.

"Up." Was all he needed to say for you to understand what he wanted.

Jumping in his arms, he held onto your ass and sat onto the couch with you on his lap.

Heated and with trembling hands you reached the edge of his hoodie. Slowly sneaking your hand on his stomach, tracing the lines of his abs, grazing it lightly with your nails.

Head on cloud nine as your tongues swirled around each other, his plush lips pressed on yours while unholy moans escaped both your mouths, gulping each other's breath down.

Out of breath, you rested your forehead on his. Eyes closed as you took in the scent of him, his cologne now lingering on your shirt.

"Give me your hands." He whispered softly as he leaned back.

Without objecting you obeyed.

Taking your hands in his, he kissed your fingers before cupping his cheeks with your hands.

With softened eyes you smiled. He might have looked very appetizing after that heated kiss, but he still looked so adorable.

Tracing the outline of his lips, you leaned in to steal a kiss. "Can I do this?" You questioned, eyes half lidded as you stole more kisses.

He didn't answer, he just let you do what you wanted.

He was now breathing shallowly, as if to calm himself.

Kissing his lips over and over, you let yourself loose. Lips trailing on his neck, softly biting on his skin making him grip tight on your butt. Your hands moved down, feeling his body over the soft material of his sweatshirt.

Lifting it slowly, you looked at him for approval and with a kiss on your cheek he sighed and helped you get rid of it.

Gulping down at the sight of his bare torso, you bit down on your lip before throwing the hoodie somewhere and kiss his skin. From his neck to his shoulder, making sure to not leave marks on him. Just to not get him in trouble.

Slowly getting up from his lap, you leaned in to kiss behind his ear before going down on your knees, his prominent bulge facing your eyes.

"Can I suck you off?" You whispered softly as you ran your hands up his legs and along his thighs, reaching for the waistband of his shorts.

"Want me?" He breathed as he took your hands and curved your fingers around the waistband, pulling it down.

Eyes locked on his, you got rid of everything he was wearing.

His hand trailed along your arm, reaching your head he massaged your scalp and smiled. "All yours."

Licking your lips you moved your hands on his thighs as you kissed the soft skin of his inner thigh before slowly moving in the middle.

Letting out a soft chuckle you looked up to him. "First the chest and now the dick... I've definitely lived this moment before..." You mumbled before taking his erection in your hand.

Slowly stroking him you kissed the leaking head, licking slowly and tasting his precum. The pineapple definitely worked on him.

Looking up into his eyes you started taking his cock in your mouth, stuffing yourself full of him, slowly moving your head as you sucked him deliciously.

"Pretty, if you keep it like this I might explode in your mouth..." He huffed as he jerked his hips against your head.

"Hmm." Stuffed with him you gently took his balls and massaged them as you deepthroated him.

"Shit, baby girl..." He moaned as he took a hold of your hair in his hand, pushing himself further.

Jerking his hips he slipped his hardness inside your mouth, your tongue wetting his length as he slid in and out until he reached his high. Pulling out of your face, spurts of cum hit your flushed face.

"Oh Gosh." He breathed looking at you, leaning in to steal a kiss. "Should have known by the way you wrote that page." He chuckled standing up. "You want me desperately to the point that everything you've imagined so far has trained you to be my good girl."

Taking your hands he made you stand up. Removing your shirt, he unclasped the bra effortlessly before burying his face between your breasts. "Where's your room?" He asked patting your ass as if to make you jump in his arms.

"On the right." You huffed, the feeling of his lips kissing your soft skin made you shiver.

Humming in response, he walked following your instructions. Door opened and the bed welcoming the both of you, wishing you a beautiful and sinful night of pure bliss.

Falling onto the mattress he hovered over you, his chest heaving as he kissed your exposed skin over and over, biting and leaving marks on your skin.

Fingers buried in his hair you gently tugged at his hair making his erection twitch against your leg.

"You guessed it right." He whispered as he removed your shorts slowly, tossing them away. "I do have a kink for my girl pleading and begging to have me."

"Lord have mercy..." You whined as he kissed the sensitive skin of your inner thigh before burying his face on your cunt.

Tongue dipped in your slick hole, licking stripes of your wetness making him grunt in approval. "Taste so good... hmm..."

Rolling your eyes, your back arched and he took the chance to put the small pillow under the curve of your back before focusing back on his task. Eating you.

He ate you as if he starved all his life, he starved as if he has been waiting for you all these years.

Lips brushing between your outer lips, making out shamelessly with your cunt, muffling incoherent sweet praises as he sucked on your clit while one of his hands cupped your tit, playing with both nipples. The other kept your folds open as he kissed you and licked you sloppily.

Head over heels, head in the clouds you came unannounced, coating his mouth and chin with your slickness.

"Chris... please I need you..." You pleaded tugging at his hair gently.

"I'm here." He whispered while kissing up your body, reaching for your lips.

With a hand he caressed your body, your breasts, your stomach, your hip, your thigh, your leg. His lips remained on yours as he moved between your legs.

His hand reaching for your folds, sinking two of his fingers in with ease. "Is it the slickness or are you completely comfortable with me?" He asked kissing your cheek.

"Both." You smiled as he kissed your forehead.

"With no protection though..." He mumbled looking around your room.

"I haven't had sex in years." You mumbled looking away. "And I've been going to the gynaecologist every month." Your hands moved on his back. "I'm clean and I trust you in cumming outside."

"Next time I'll make sure to get condoms..." He mumbled widening your legs more before diving in.

A gasp escaped both your lips as he pushed deeper inside you. His twitching erection finally inside your long waiting cunt, welcoming him like a velvet glove.

"You're such a beauty." He smiled kissing your face as his hips jerked in and out, his cock dipping in and out of you with squelching noises.

"You're the most handsome guy I've ever met." You smiled as you played with his hair.

"I'm not even that hand-" He started speaking but you cut him off with a kiss.

"Shut it. Never say that ever again." You mumbled indulging into a slow kiss which he gladly accepted.

It didn't take long for him to lose all his restraint and start being vocal about how good you felt, how good he wanted to fuck you, how beautiful and sexy you were.

He was so lost in you to the point that after cumming and making a heart shaped puddle on your stomach, he let you suck him off a few times before diving back inside of your wet core.

Lying on the side, he pulled up your leg and thrusted inside of you slowly yet deeply. The rhythm being in good harmony with your moany breathings.

Hickeys resting on your skin as you fought against the need of marking him yours.

"Is it too late to admit something?" He asked as he pressed himself deeper before moving once again.

Looking behind at him, a slight fear came over you.

"I don't have a girlfriend and I am genuinely loving this." He huffed. "And that's for the record." He poked your hip.

"You made me almost have a heart attack." You whined placing a hand over your chest.

Sneaking his hand up from your clit, he rested his hand on yours. "I did stare at you when I was doing the solo stage."

Biting your neck softly before nibbling on your earlobe, he smiled. "You were the only one who was actually looking at me and not filming me."

"Because I needed to experience that strip tease and needed full focus." You joked as you swayed your hips to encounter his thrusts.

"I'm pretty sure you also mouthed me a 'fuck me, please'." He teased as he slipped out and got on his knees before cumming on your chest.

"With all those lights, you saw that?" You questioned in disbelief as he brought his fingers in his mouth before inserting them in your core.

Finger-fucking you, he looked down at you and smirked. "Also you're really easy to read."

Furrowing your brows, he hit that sweet spot making your legs tremble and fall loose as you came all over his hand.

"Especially if you keep on looking at me as if you'd give me all of you." He chuckled leaning in to plant a kiss on your lips. "I'll get something to clean you."

Sucking on his fingers he smiled to himself before standing up and going for the bathroom. Not long after he came with a water bottle and a wash cloth.

After cleaning your body, he gave you some water before wrapping his arms around your body.

Exhaustion finally kicking in as he melt in your embrace.

"Remember to give me your number before I go tomorrow." He whispered kissing your forehead.

His fingers massaging your scalp as he kissed your face. Smiling you nodded before kissing him over and over.

"Raw feels good though..." You pouted making him look at you dumbfounded and then chuckling.

"Bet you have some breeding kink." He giggled hugging you tightly.

"I have a severe Bang Chan breeding me kink." You admitted which made him burst out in laughter.

"Guess I'll need to fuck some sense into you." He mumbled shaking his head.

Kissing his chest you just stroke your nose on his soft pec before kissing it and dozing off.

"You adorable thing." He whispered before falling asleep himself.

#skz bangchan #stray kids #bang chan #bangchan #straykids #chan #stay #fyp #skz #railway #bang chan solo #bang chan one shot #bang chan oneshot #bang chris

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mellozheist · 1 year ago

Note

Hi guess who got no sleep last night (thanks doctor's appointment) and decided to watch your animatic again

I quote myself about 1 hour ago in a treebark channel on a discord server my friends and I made (to anybody that reads this i am so sorry):

(Also I'm sorry if somebody's uncomfortable with swearing :'D)

"[Link]

I'm sorry I still can't handle this animation's existence peoples

I can't with it

I'm crazy

Like REN PUTTING HIS HEAD BACK ON AND CALMING DOWN MARTYN WHO'S PANICKING?????

REN BEING SO CALM AND THEN FUCKING CRAZY IN THE NEXT SHOT?????

FUCKING HELLO????

THE VERY FIRST FEW SHOTS WHERE MARTYN IS LOOKING AT REN BEING ALL EXCITED AND BLUSHING??????

THE END????????

THEM HAVING THEIR PINKIES WRAPPED AROUND???? I EVEN SENT MELLOZ AN ASK ABOUT THAT AND THEY TOLD ME "oh yeah they indirectly promised to see each other in the next life series :3" MELLOZ IS SINGLEHANDEDLY KILLING THE TREEBARK SHIPPERS WITH THIS ONE

MARTYN HOLDING REN'S HAND AND KISSING IT BEFORE DYING ALSO

GUYS I BEG

I CAN'T WITH THIS

I CANNOT

I AM UNABLE TO

Oh my gosh FCUKING REN PUTTING HIS HEAD BACK ON AND LOOKING AT MARTYN WITH THOSE DANG EYES

Guys I need to resist spamming this thing in here

But at the same time IT'S SOOOOOO TEMPTING

FUCKIN

LOOK AT IT

[Link]

GRIPPING MY HEAD FURIOUSLY

THIS WHOLE BEHEADONG SCENE

I JUST NOTICED REN'S NECK DOESN'T LIGN UP PROPERLY IN THE SHOT WHERE MARTYN KISSES HIS HAND

GUYS I'M INSANE

GIYS I'M INSANE

LOOK AT THISSSSSSS

Furiously rattling the bars of my cell is that what it's called

Honestly I never thought I'd go insane over a ship called treebark

IT'S FUCKING BAUMRINDE IN GERMAN

BAUMRINDE IS SUCH A SILLY SHIP NAME ISTFG

I don't think I've ever loved an animatic thid much

I'VR NEVER LOOKED AT AN ANIMATIC SO CLOSELY

THE FACT THE FIRST SCENE IS SO SWEET AND THE SECOND ONE IS ALREADY REN BEING BEHEADED

I wish they won. I wish Ren or Martyn was the winner of 3rd Life

CAN'T I HAVE L8KE

A LITTLE FAIRY THAT MAKES MY WISHES COME TRUE?

C'MOOOOONNNNN [insert a bunch of screaming emotes here]

AGH I CAN'T

...what if i copied every single message and sent melloz this as an ask to show my appreciation

CUZ I SURE DO APPRECIATE THIS ANIMATIC

[Link]

WATCH THIS. WATCH. OBSERVE. NOW. I BEG.

I'VE WATCHED THIS FOR 5 TIMES IN A ROW NOW

I'M VERY SANE

I STILL CAN'T GET OVER REN'S NECK NOT ALIGNING PROPERLY

also the feather and the poppy but this is the treebark channel

Not

Not desert duo

I CAN'T

.........do i send this as an ask i am very sane i promise

One of my very favourite scenes though is the beheading scene, funnily enough

Me literally passing out when I see gore but not here cuz idk baumrinde <333333

Also here

HIS NECK.

IS NOT.

ALIGNING.

Or what if it's his head falling off after death cuz he died and that determination is no longer there to keep dogwarts, causing his hesd to fall off

New headcanon i think

And I just noticed I watched this like 6 times now DESERVED THOUGH

Gonna watch it again

I love them so much

I love this animatic so much

Guys I can't

WAIT DID MARTYN'S EARS TILT DOWN IN THE REN DEAD SCENE

HOLD

WAIR YEAH

HIS EARS TILTED DOWN

I CAN'T

Somebody stop me

Actually no

Oh also the song choice IS PERFECT????????

WAIT REN'S PONYTAIL IS GONE IN THE LAST SCENE HIS HAIR IS OPEN

YAAAAAYYYYYY

Anywhoozles

[Link]

WATCH THIS.

I BEG

EVERYBODY THAZ DOESN'T IS MISSING OUT THIS IS SO COOL"

And with that, Melloz you're amazing, EVERYBODY WATCH THE ANIMATIC EVER >:D

I have so much fun reading this, It's like I'm in a theater seat watching this happen with 4D sound surrounding Lmaoooo

Thank you for sending this to me I really appreciate this <3333

I'm so happy you eating all the details I put in hehe

though the part where you describe Ren's neck as not aligning is probably just my error in art but that's also a really cool headcanon!

I might adopt that headcanon :d Like drawing Martyn carrying Ren's head

you really made my day Thank yooou :D

hope you get a good night sleep bud

#askmelloz #treebark #trafficshipping #kinda #I slained so many treebarkers #I'm happy to served UwU

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i-am-creacheur · 8 months ago

Text

okay listen. I get the urge to talk about my favorite life series ship like it's Canon in every season...BUT. THAT HAS NEVER ONCE BEEN THE CASE.

Yes, Jimmy would be upset if Tango canaried (technical scientific term for that). Everyone would be- even I would be, and I've never watched a single one of his videos. Canarying sucks, and it hurts. Of course I would be upset. THAT DOES NOT MEAN THAT I THINK JIMMY WOULD BREAK DOWN SOBBING FROM A CHARACTER STAND POINT. They have had only like... THREE on screen interactions. One is Tango murdering a man infront of Jimmy and another is Tango cheerfully burning down something one of Jimmy's teammates worked very hard on. WildLifeChara!Jimmy has more reason to hate or be afraid of WildLifeChara!Tango than to be madly in love with him.

I promise you, if Tango had offered Jimmy a life instead of Ren, people wouldn't shut up about for MONTHS. But, because it's Ren, somehow the interaction isn't NEARLY as homoerotic??? I understand having NOTP's, but the Jimmy/Ren ship doesn't even show up ONCE on ao3. Zero fics. ZE-RO. There's no reason to hate something that doesn't even exist.

This same concept applies for Flower Husbands as well- not just in Wild Life, and Secret Life and Limited Life and Last Life and Real Life though- in Empires.

I have no clue about Empires Season 1, but they barely interacted in Empires Season 2- and yet the amount of ship art I sift through on a weekly basis for my side blog is actually insane. Yeah, the few interactions WERE important, but I think Scott only flirted (in video) with Jimmy maaybbeeee three times. I have no idea what the count of that for streaming is, but I swear it is not enough to keep that number so inflated.

Although, honestly, this problem might just be affecting me because of my personal view on shipping- if it's in a context where it doesn't make sense for the characters to be romantically engaged, I won't read it or write it.

For example, my beloved Solidwood! I mostly get their vibes or read their fics from the following series: Evo, Last Life, New Life, Empires2, Secret Life. That's because those settings make sense! They are active, they are engaged, they have near constant interactions or very close base locations. It makes SENSE for them to be shipped. However, if you showed me art or fic of them in, say, Limited Life, I'd furrow my brow and tilt my head and say "no, that doesn't do anything for me." BECAUSE THEY HAVE ZERO REASON TO BE INVESTED ROMANTICALLY IN ONE ANOTHER THERE, AS A STAND ALONE SETTING.

Most of the major Jimmy ships, though, don't follow this rule. I can understand loving a ship so much you want to see it everywhere- but, I promise you, stepping back and looking at which characters actually have chemistry regarding the new setting and social system will do wonders... you won't have to think of new Au's to insert your favorite ship into a new setting... all ships will be your favorite ship (unless they give you the ick). Join the multishiper hivemind /j

No but honestly it's gotten to the point where I will like or dislike a creator/character of theirs by what ship is their most popular given the context of the setting. Like, Tango in Double Life? Awww the sweetie!! I love him :) and then Tango in Empires2 sets off alarm bells in my brain screaming at me. He is NOT meant to be here bringing that ship here, this is NOT its territory. Same problem for Scott in nearly damn near every SMP both Jimmy and him are in... except Wild Life because he's actually been pretty nice and not condescending or forcing on Jimmy. I guess also power imbalances in how fans view them is a major no-go for me...

Idk if you read this whole thing thanks I guess... for anymore needed context I am a Jimmy rarepair obsessed multishiper.

TLDR; Lots of popular ships are inserted into settings without a thought for what that would mean for the setting and any changes in the established social connections, which gives OP the ick. I'm also not policing ships I'm just begging people to please either understand more ships using in setting context or list their AU details in the summaries of the fics. This goes hand in hand with misinterpreting characters in writing also... the more ships you like the more characters you will get to get good at writing!!!!

#Realized why the reason some creators leave a bad taste in my mouth is because their main ship's fanbase #Shoves that ship into everything. Even places it shouldn't be. For example a crazy amount of the Jimmy empires fics #Are au's of Esmp1 where Tango rules a kingdom in the Nether. Yeah its a fun idea but if it dominates HALF of the tags its...#It's just kinda spam at that point. He's not even in that smp and I'll bet Tango is tagged more than one of the Canon emperors #And the nearly the other half of Jimmy Empires fics are god damn FLOWER HUSBANDS. YOU CANT ESCAPE THEM #And also Scott even shoves the ship on Jimmy. Did you not SEE THEIR INTERACTION IN REAL LIFE???#JUST REALIZES THATS WHY I WAS ABLE TO READ A FLOWER HUSBANDS FIC ONCE.BEVAUSE THE WRITER MADE THEM SEEM LIKE EQUALS #fandom discourse #fandom discussion #shipping discourse #shipping discussion #creacheurspeacher #ship and let ship #life series #life smp #trafficblr #solidaritygaming #jimmy solidarity #traffic smp #scott smajor #smajor1995 #tangotek #wildlife smp #trafficshipping #long post #rant post #shipping rant #flower husbands #the ranchers #solidwood

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derww · 10 months ago

Text

ok ive decided that i also want to have it here. written right after s5 zam ban

Name: Everything that will remain after me

TLDR: Mapicc and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

CW: Violence, murder, suicidal ideations, self-harm, canonical character death

Zam betrays Mapicc; it's a second time.

He freezes at the place, hearing the blood-curdling rumble of the ban. He knows who it is with his guts. For the first time in his life, he is fucking terrified.

How dare he, It's tearing him inside out. How dare he leave him alone. Leave his back exposed and one comm – empty. How dare he.

BETRAYAL BETRAYAL BETRAYAL

He wants to revive Zam just to crush his skull and then kill himself, twist the knife in his own stomach, and on and on until there is no blood left in him to flow out. Every cell in his body is irritated. He turns inside out and tears apart; his skin melts alive; his world exists at one tiny point, around which there is an all-consuming void.

He hardly remembers what he does next, but his blood is boiling and his hand is clutching a sword. It seems that he kills someone, with the full realization that this is forever; he skins someone's alive and does not even remember who. He wakes up in the middle of nowhere, bloodied from head to toe. Some of the blood is his own: torn, extended wounds from a fight that he does not remember, as if the only thing that prevented him from being split apart were reflexes.

How dare he leave me, he thinks. How dare he give up. How dare he die. How dare he, how dare he, how dare he.

He is so hot that he is suffocating. He's so cold that he can't stop shivering. He wants little more now than to light two beacons of rebirth – to pull ten hearts out of his chest and dissolve them in the wind. He knows it's useless. He knows it won't work. Helplessness eats him alive. He wants to kill someone else. He wants to stick a knife in his leg and lead it forward until it stops hurting.

When Mapicc was betrayed last time, he felt sad. He didn't want to fight, and he didn't want to lose his friend and partner. Most of all, he was sorry – it was a pity that they did not talk more, it was a pity that they did not establish real trust, it was a pity that Zam did not talk to him first, and that he did not think that something was wrong. He fought not because he wanted to, but because he had to, because he had no choice, and then mourned their dead friendship, knowing that he would never be able to return it to its former state. Anger and rage came after.

"If we're going to continue working together," he told Zam when the Pirates started working with Guccigang, "you have to swear that you will never betray me again. I'm serious." Because his "I" did not rest on just hating, and he never liked to be reduced to that.

"Don't worry," Zam replied with a smile, "I won't betray you anymore. I've learned my lesson." For a single, unified moment, they were back in the snow-covered castle. Mapicc nodded. He knew he would never be able to trust him the way he trusted him then – unconditionally, absolutely – but that didn't mean he couldn't trust him with his back and his life.

In reality, his hands are shaking so much that, for a moment, he doubts whether he will ever be able to hold a weapon again, and it terrifies him. He is complex and simple, he reads people through and through, but misses the betrayal of the nearest one, he is smart and strategic, but at really important moments only a berserker who wants more deaths. He wants to cry, but he can't. He wants to give up, but that word is not in his vocabulary.

You whisper to MinuteTech: where is his body.

MinuteTech whispers to you: the podium

He is preparing a battle kit. He is preparing to die. He's going anyway.

There are people on spawn, and he appears to them, smeared in blood, carrying a trail of corpses in the shadow, with crazy eyes and still fingers. Guilty and innocent, dangerous and harmless, they don't bother him – in tunnel vision, he goes to the podium, and then just stares.

Zam looks peaceful. He is bloody from head to toe, and holes in his clothes mark the places of severe wounds, but he is smiling, and his whole body is covered with sakura flowers. It's a disgusting sight. He seems happy.

It seems that someone is trying to talk to Mapicc, but he does not hear a word. He carefully takes the body off the podium into his arms and just looks at it for a long moment, completely not understanding how they got to this point. Just a couple of hours ago, Zam had thirty hearts, and Mapicc was sure that he didn't have to worry about him. Now, he was dead. Mapicc opens his wings and takes off. No one follows him.

Ultimatum: You don't trust a Lifesteal member who is not your ally with absolutely anything. Immediately after the disaster, Mapicc and Zam took Bacon's body and buried it in the middle of nowhere, because the idea of using it against them was much worse than not being able to let him rest in his home. Mapicc flies there again, remembering the coordinates by heart.

He buries Zam very close to Bacon, almost shoulder to shoulder, and then stares at the graves for a long time. Both of his closest allies were banned on the same day. Those with whom he dreamed of meeting the finale, which he desired more than anything else, are now almost unattainable.

You whisper to Roshambogames: if i die, bury me next to them.

Roshambogames whispers to you: of course.

He tears his hand into a bloody mess with his bare fingers. The hatred in him is a beast, eager to tear apart everything in its path.

"Wemmbu better resurrect you both next Saturday," he hisses, "or I'll crush the skies to kill him."

He leaves without looking back, walking along a path that uncomfortably reminds him of something from the past. An hour later, he obtains immortality.

#lifesteal smp #princezam #mapicc #devotion duo #d.fics #fanfiction

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ethanesimp · 1 year ago

Text

Tangled Hearts

Pairing: FWB! Ethan Torchio x Photographer! Fem Reader

Summary: As much as you want to deny it, you want to be more than friends with benefits with Ethan.

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Kinda smutty but no actual smut, Ethan is a lil bit of an asshole in this, at least I think he is. There's also a lot of swearing, bc there is, and mentions of conflicts with parents.

Masterlists & Taglist

A/N: So uh... it's been a long while since I last wrote on here. Idk if people still read these but here you go! I missed writing dearly. It's also me just messing around, trying to get back into the writing habit again. Might add a part two if you guys like it cuz I've got some ideas. This is also inspired by a request I got a while ago, however it's like the events that happened before the request, if that makes sense.

═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══

A month left of the contract. That’s the very thought that has left a deep-seated sense of anxiety in your brain the more you let yourself think about it. For the past eleven months, you have been living the dream of traveling around the world with Måneskin and being their photographer. It was a job you would have never imagined having but one you are glad to have found.

It had been as much of a jump of faith for them to hire you with such little professional experience under your belt as it had been for you to accept the job. You left behind everything you knew for the opportunity to finally make a significant jump in your career that would make a difference in your future whether or not they renewed the contract for another year.

Then love made its way into the picture to mess everything up. Nothing could have prepared you for what you experienced during that first photoshoot alone with Ethan, the band’s drummer. The intimacy of the moment and the deep conversation shared as you set up your equipment was one that wouldn’t be forgotten easily, especially not when you got so close that it eventually led to the best night you had ever had while in Texas the night before a show.

Once the initial shock of what had happened wore off, you made a mutual agreement to keep it casual, despite the knowledge that whatever existed between you was anything but that. It worked nonetheless, for a long time, so you didn’t even bother questioning just how ephemeral it would be.

Your schedule, as well as the band’s, was full to the brim, leaving little to no time to think about your feelings with all the exciting things that had been going on around you. Until everything stopped and there were no shows or collabs to photographs.

Every single emotion pushed to the back of your mind has resurfaced as you sit alone in your bed for the first time in a while. It is the first night in a long time that you will be able to sleep in your bed instead of at a hotel or inside a cramped bunk on a bus. The whole thing takes you back to reality and helps you sober up from all the adrenaline quicker than you would have liked.

After such a long time away from your family, being back in your childhood room feels unreal. So does hearing your parents talk downstairs while you try to busy yourself editing pictured you’d taken at the last show. You want to take your mind off of all you have left behind and everything you would lose once your contract expired, which doesn’t happen as you look at the picture open in Photoshop. It is one of Vic spraying Damiano with the champagne she had opened to celebrate the end of the tour.

You smile to yourself as a bittersweet feelking makes its way into your heart. You know the band rarely keeps the same photographer around for more than a year and it has felt unfair to ask Ethan if you would be any different, if maybe they had grown to like you enough to keep you around for a little longer. So you just assume and accept that you will suffer the same fate as all the others before you.

The thought saddens you as you look up from your laptop and take a look around your room for the first time since you had arrived. On one of the walls hangs a picture of a college friend of yours you had taken for a photographic essay during your second semester. Close to it, you had placed one of your mother, which makes your heart ache as you look at it, knowing you would never be as close to her as you were when you took that picture.

Your parents have never been content with the idea of you being a photographer, especially not when both of them are engineers and have always envisioned a similar future for you. However, when you decided to go to college, they had been over the moon about it, despite you studying a photography-related degreee.

Sadly, all that happiness came crashing down when, during your fifth semester of college, none other than their manager reached out to you after finding your photography blog. He had gone on and on about how they needed a young and creative photographer in order to capture the band’s flare after their fame sky-rocketted.

You obviously accepted the job and put a pause on college for some time. Your parents had been against your decision and had stopped speaking to you for the first two months or so of you leaving. They eventually came around but things aren’t quite the same anymore. That is why you have found shelter in your room to avoid them and their hurtful comments they think they’re being more casual about.

You hate the situation you’re in much more than you’d like to admit, but what you hate above all else is feeling like an intruder in your own home when it used to be your safe place. You feel hot tears slide down your cheeks as you keep looking at that picture of your mother, asking yourself if the job is worth all this.

You haven’t even found an answer to the question when your phone buzzes. You pick it up from the bed and open the message, which happens to be from Ethan.

You hesitate while typing your next message. You want to tell him you miss him, but you fear it makes your feelings for him far too obvious. You’ve always wanted to be more than just his friend with benefits, but your fear ir far stronger than your desires. Still, without giving it more thought, you type out the two word message and send it through. Any worries fade away as you read his response.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

You shift your balance from your heels to your toes as you wait for Ethan to open the door. After you replied to his text, you didn’t waste a second to drive over to his house, completely ignoring your parents’ complaints.

When he opens the door, you feel a wave of relief wash over you at the sight of him. His dark eyes and easy smile do their usual trick and help you forget about everything else. Then, you feel your breath hitch when your eyes scan over his clothes.

Ethan is dressed in a loose-fitting white button-up shirt with the first few buttons undone, giving you a small glimpse of his toned chest. He pairs it with tight black slacks and polished black shoes. He looks absolutely stunning... as always, you think.

You meet his eyes after a few seconds of gawking at him and soon realize how absolutely fucked you are when you see his long hair is nicely gathered in a bun that sits at the nape of his neck, just how you like it.

That absolute fucker. You absolutely despise how attractive he looks, especially when your thoughts go straight to a few nights ago. You remember your hands tangled in his hair, completely ruining his bun. You remember pulling at it while his head was in between your legs, then while you were having sex. And now all you want to do is hide as you feel your cheeks heat up at the memories.

He lets out a hearty laugh, succesfully snapping you out of your little daydream.

“You’re staring.” Ethan says teasingly.

You roll your eyes at him, “You wish.”

He shakes his head and steps aside to let you in, “It’s nice to see you too, by the way.”

You let out a soft laugh, “We literally just saw each other yesterday.”

"Says the one who told me she missed me. Besides, it's always lovely to see you." He says, in such a relaxed and casual manner, as if it doesn't evoke any emotions within him, while it stirs up everything inside of you.

His place is small and tidy. There are books and plants here and there, scattered in random places all around the kitchen and living room, accompanied by the faint smell of vanilla coming from a lit candle.

Ethan catches you off-guard by wrapping his arms around you in a hug after closing the door behind you. Driven by instinct, your arms wrap themselves around him as you let your face rest on his shoulder for a few seconds.

You pull away enough to look him in the eye. He looks back at you with nothing but warmth in his eyes. Then he plants a gentle kiss on your lips that makes it so much harder for you to believe he has nothing but sexual feelings towards you. How could he kiss you with such gentleness if that were the case?

“I wanted to get out of there so fucking bad.” You mumble as an attempt to quiet down your thoughts.

Ethan gives you a knowing look. He’s the only person who knows everything you have sacrificed to follow your dream. He always tries to reassure you that you had made the right decision, but believing him never gets any easier. Especially not when the price you had to pay was so high.

“You’re always welcome here, dolcezza. Offer still stands if you want to stay until we’re back on the road.” He expresses. When Ethan had first brought the idea up, you had been so shocked to say anything. It’s still hard for you to understand how he is so casual about asking you to move in, yet turning into something other than fuck buddies is too much for him.

Rather than focusing much on your thoughts, you focus on observing him unscrew the cork on a bottle of wine that had previously been sitting inside the fridge.

“Being back here is so strange,” You say as he pours wine into a glass for you, “I didn’t spend a lot of time at home while I was at college either, so it kinda made me think I wouldn’t feel much different than how I did then...”

The words slowly die down in your throat, and your attention drifts away to the bright light over the kitchen counter.

“Hey, hey,” Ethan says gently as an attempt to get your attention. He leans forward to cup your cheeks, “All this you’re going through isn’t easy. I get it’s probably much more overwhelming when all this negativity is coming from your parents of all people.”

You place a hand over his and close the distance left between his lips and yours. The kiss is a comforting sign of understanding between you both, a silent way of saying that everything will be alright.

You tangle your hands in his hair to bring him closer to you, to feel more of his lips on yours. He smiles softly at your actions and reacts by brushing his tongue over your bottom lip, which you reciprocate almost right away.

This moment between the two of you feels like none you’d had before. You have grown familiar with messy quickies squeezed into every free space that could be found in your busy schedules. Unlike then, there is no recording session, interview, or show to stop you from taking your sweet time together.

Knowing he can, Ethan enjoys every kiss and touch with you, extending them as much as his body allows him to. He lets his hands slowly wander under your shirt as you break the kiss to catch a breath. His hands warm up your skin as they make their way up your waist and he lets out a soft chuckle upon noticing you were wearing nothing underneath your blue sweater.

“Something tells me you don’t just want to watch the movie.” He laughs as his lips trail down to your neck.

You laugh too, “I actually do, but this is pretty great too.”

He pulls away from you completely despite your protests and starts walking towards his room. You follow him with an eager smile on your face, happy to let him fuck away your worries.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . ﾟ☆º:. ───

You’re still wrapped in a curtain of bliss after the intimate moment you’ve had. Between his soft pecks and warm hands you slowly let go of any sort of worries that had still been clinging to your body and mind. Instead, you let all of your attention fall on the words that easily fall from his lips like calm rivers.

“You’re beautiful, sweetheart.” He murmurs through parted lips before they keep on sucking on your exposed neck. You do nothing but hum in response, basking in the pleasure his attention brings along.

He can’t keep his hands and lips off you. You’re already so overstimulated that you cannot even think straight anymore as he draws shapes on your back. So it happens, in only a few seconds and with a phrase that anyone but Ethan would’ve been happy to hear, you lose it all. While he places kisses along your collarbones and gently massages your breast while his free hand holds yours, you mumble out words you won’t be able to take back, ever…

“I love you.”

At first, his dark eyes look into yours with surprise and a slight touch of happiness, words still processing in the very back of his mind. Then, any trace of gentleness and adoration that had been previously present, vanishes. You lose the warmth of his hands against your naked body when he stands up and puts a distance between you that feels infinite.

You see his face harden as he leans down to pick up his shirt from the floor, your heart falling to your stomach as you watch him get dressed. He avoids your eyes, which you suspect is much more painful than if he were looking at you.

That moment of silence seems to stretch out into what feels like an eternity. You don’t know what to say, and by the looks of it, your words have also rendered him speechless.

You feel the need to get up and try to reach out to him. To try and make up an excuse that explains why you said it, but your body doesn’t move. You just wait impatiently for him to speak first.

“Please get out.” Ethan says coldly, your heart shattering as you search for any trace of that warmth that used to be in his eyes just seconds ago. But his expression remains neutral and void of emotion. An expression you have never seen before.

“Ethan, please,” Your eyes start getting watery as you plead. Your body finally responds and allows you to stand up and walk closer to him as you put your sweater back on. “Please, I’m sorry.”

There’s a part of you that feels pathetic at the sound of your wavering voice as you ask for forgiveness. An unmistakable desperation in your tone that you wish would disappear and a sharp pain in your heart that you want to ignore.

“I said get out.” You watch as his expression shifts into what you mistake as anger, but it’s nothing more than pure heartbreak.

“Please don’t, let’s talk about this. You can’t just kick me out before we do.” He’s still looking away from you, which makes you feel like your words are being dismissed by him.

“I can, and I will.” Ethan says firmly as he buttons his slacks.

“Come on, did our relationship mean nothing to you?” You say those words as a last attempt to bring him back to his senses. At first, you think it works because he’s finally looking back at you, but what he says next makes it clear that’s not the case.

“We are not in a relationship, we never were.”

“Fine, fuck this shit! I’m tired of just being someone you fuck whenever you’re bored anyway.” You see his whole expression soften at your harsh words. Ethan tries to reach out but you notice he debates on it before letting his hand fall back to his side.

Everything went to shit so quickly with those three little words. The friendship you have been building up for years has just been ruined in less than ten minutes and you have no idea what the fuck you’re supposed to do next.

“You know that’s not what this is! You’re so much more than that, you’re my best friend!” His voice is much gentler than it was, but you don’t notice it because of the anger that’s building up at his words.

“Well, you have a shitty way of showing it. Best friends don’t do whatever the fuck we do!” You turn your back to him and start collecting the rest of your clothes and car keys.

You feel his hand on your shoulder as you dress up, but you shrug it away, “Don’t. I’m listening to you and getting out of here.”

A part of you hopes he’ll go after you, but this is no romcom, so he doesn’t do anything to stop you and lets you leave.

#ethan torchio x reader

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not-poignant · 3 months ago

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PIAAAA oh my gosh, the new UTB chapter ! I swear, I have never re-read something as much as I’ve re-read the Underline series, you’re such a brilliant writer. Every single protagonist has my heart ! And HENTON. Oh my gosh. Haven’t gotten around to reading FFS but I knew the gist of what was going to happen from context clues/your responses to other asks but somehow STILL got surprised. Poor Ef ! I am self soothing with the thought of “Gary and/or Temsen are going to kill him.”

And Faber going missing was a twist I never saw coming ! The poor lad. The build up of Gary thinking about what Faber could do when he got back like providing insight and organising calls, only for the dramatic reveal at the end ? Incredible. Can he hypercompetence himself out of this one, folks ? We’ll see soon enough.

Hi hi anon!

Yeah Michael Henton really speaks differently once he's around Efnisien on his own, which is like, welp. Welp. We have some big, big cliffhangers coming over the next few chapters, that's for sure.

But we also have a few peak alphas who have absolutely had it, and are feeling deep in their murderous instincts right now, so I'm sure it'll all work out. Sort of. Messily, perhaps.

Faber going missing is a twist I've been looking forward to for such a long time. I knew this was coming, though I didn't when I started the story (to be fair, Underline the Red didn't exist in my head at that point), but once I knew what I wanted to do with Underline the Red, it put Faber in a perfect place to er, well, make his life harder.

Faber cannot hypercompetence his way out of this one. But he is still very, very good at lying.

#asks and answers #faber castle #dr gary konowalous #michael henton #efnisien ap wledig #underline the black #underline the rainbow #we won't get the full picture of what happens to faber #until underline the red #but just know that what he shares with the crew #is only the tip of the iceberg #or that efnisien's instincts about the whole matter #are kind of right sdlkfajs #administrator gwyn wants this in the queue

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azrielwingspan · 1 year ago

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DISTRACTIONS (AZRIEL X OC)-PART 3

Distractions is a collection of short stories whose main characters are Azriel and Nyra (OC).

It's established that there is some heavy tension between them (everyone suspects lol) and I decided to put into words a few visualizations I've had of the both of them just pining for each other, playing hard to get, flirting, a bit of angst, maybe smut, some fluff and overall just being HELLA CUTE OKAY.

Part 3 of the collections of short stories!! No specific reading order to be followed.

PART 1 / PART 2

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Summary : Nyra and Azriel finally meet after a month. What starts off as a pleasant conversation branches out into something more. Warnings: Angst , mild swearing, bit of smut (i think?) .

Enjoy !

Nyra was fed up. Everything, everywhere all at once was going wrong. For the past few days, all she had done was wake up, fix shit and have a fitful sleep.

She came back home to Vallahan a month ago and had been served bad news on a silver platter. The nobles were planning an intervention to add a new clause to the tax benefit laws. This wasn't something new that had to be tackled but it had never been held over the courts head before. If this wasn't handled delicately and shut down definitively, the court would have a civil war on their hands.

"I will say this once and only once." she stared down the Lord of Fendale, her face a carefully crafted mask that betrayed no hint of emotion. "The laws exist for a reason---" she raised a hand as she noticed the Lord open his mouth to interrupt her. "NOT for you to change them as per your personal interests. So if you have any legitimate reason for your proposal my lord, you will present it to the ENTIRE court. I will not be tolerating anymore personal visits."

She motioned towards the door not giving him a chance to speak up. She had had enough of this idiocy for a lifetime. The Lord fortunately took the hint and left the room slamming the door behind him. That fucking cun---.

"Another visitor for you my Lady."

"If I see one more noble parading in here like they own the damn place, I will stab them with my pencil. Let them know beforehand. Would serve as a fair warning don't you think?"

"Fair enough." a dark and smooth voice responded. The scent of night chilled mist and cedar hit her bringing a smile to her face.

"That applies to you as well, Shadowsinger."

"I am not a noble." the sound of boots tapping across the wooden floor came closer , the male now in front of her casting a shadow across the reports she was trying to read.

"You did walk in here like you own the damn place." The words in front of her might as well have been an entirely new language. Her brain refused to acknowledge anything else when he was nearby.

"Was I meant to take an appointment?" a teasing tone laced into his voice.

"Would've been suitable."

"And here I was thinking you would always make time for me. It's not reciprocated I see."

Scarred hands placed onto the table entered her field of vision and she finally looked up meeting his gaze.

After an entire month of restlessness , irritation and exhaustion, something in Nyra finally settled. It felt like walking into an open field, taking in a huge gulp of fresh air and feeling the heaviness leave your body only to be replaced by a pleasant humming sensation.

"Hello, Az."

"Hello, Nyra." a delightful grin graced his face.

The greeting alone seemed to charge the air around them. The memory of him kissing her neck sprung into her head and she pushed it out immediately. Now was not the time.

She had thought of that moment every day since. The feel of his lips brushing against the skin of her throat, the shared breaths, the heat of his skin beneath her fingers. Most of all, she remembered the dismissal at the end of it all. It managed to break her out of her day dreams every single time. It wasn't meant to happen. What was she thinking?

Something on her face must have betrayed her emotions because Azriel's smile dimmed as he watched her. The memory seemed to clutch him in its grasp as well , making him step away from the table. The heaviness slammed back into Nyra with full force.

Well there goes my moment of peace.

Clearing his throat, Azriel pulled something out of the shadows surrounding him. "Rhys asked me to pass this onto you. I managed to find some...information regarding the Lord of Fendale that might be of benefit to you."

"Oh."

Stupid, stupid girl.

Of course he was here on official business. She had duped herself into thinking he was there for her.

When will you learn?

"Right." She read through the report Azriel had written all the while trying to shove her disappointment into a dark recess of her mind.

"This is.....excellent." The information in the report could be used against the Lord and make him rein in the other lords who had fallen out of line.

"Azriel...thankyou. This might solve the problem once and for all."

He bowed his head and gave her a small smile.

"I hoped it would. He's a viper Nyra. Be careful."

"I will."

They settled into awkward silence for a few beats. She hated it. This feeling of walking around eggshells around him, the way they were pretending that nothing ever happened between them. She didn't know how to fix it and she hated herself more for it.

"What is this?" Azriel had moved towards a table littered with official and personal letters. He was clutching one of them in a white knuckled grip, his eyes flying across the page over and over again.

SHIT. SHIT. SHIIIIT.

She knew exactly which one of the dozens of letters he was clutching. She had planned on burning it that morning but clearly had forgotten.

"Az..."

"What. Is. This. Nyra?" he growled, his voice like subdued thunder.

He had gone still. Oh so still, she wondered if he was even breathing.

His eyes were still glued to the letter and she wondered how the page hadn't caught fire from the look he was shooting it.

"It's nothing important. I was supposed to burn it today." she tried to placate him, standing up from her seat and making her way towards him.

"Nothing important?" he turned to look at her and she almost stumbled at the darkness in his eyes. Hot burning anger that raged like a fire, she could deal with. However, Azriel's anger was like cold death. It was honed and sharpened to strike it's opponent when the time came.

She wasn't scared of him.

Never.

She was scared for him.

"Yes nothing." she kept her tone unbothered , tinging it with a hint of annoyance. It wasn't hard really. She was annoyed that he had found it fit to just go through her letters.

"It would be of utmost honor if you were to wed my son---"

"I know what it says, Azriel. I can read." She could feel her anger rising to the surface preparing to clash with his.

"Did you respond?"

"Yes. Yes I did."

"What did---"

"It's official court business."

He scoffed.

He fucking scoffed.

It was enough for her anger take over and make her see red.

"Put the letter down Azriel. You have no right to read those. Oh and next time make a damn appointment. I don't have time to deal with your fucking tantrums."

"Tantrums? You think me reacting to a marriage proposal is a ...tantrum?" his voice had gotten deadly quiet.

"Yes." she hissed through her clenched teeth. "What I do or don't do with my personal life is none of your concern. If I want to marry a Lord's son, I damn well will and YOU are not obligated to know about it."

"Say that again, Nyra. Say that again but be truthful to yourself this time." the intensity with which he was looking at her hadn't subdued. If anything it seemed like he was taunting her.

She stepped closer to him, reaching out a hand and grabbing the letter out of his.

"I..." she started tearing the letter into pieces.

"do not..." she crumpled the pieces in her hands, a few of them fluttering to the ground.

"answer to you." she tossed the remaining pieces onto the table, her hands shaking from the adrenaline rushing through her.

"No. No you don't." he stepped closer to her , towering over her as their gazes clashed. Cold death and a simmering volcano.

"But I do know one thing with absolute certainty. You know what it is?"

She kept silent and refused to look away.

He took another step and let his scent envelop her completely. His shadows were dancing around them, seemingly out of control. They had carved out a dark secluded spot in the bright confines of her office, trapping the both of them in a whirlwind of their emotions.

"You can do whatever or whoever you want Nyra. At the end of the day, it'll always be you and me. Remember that."

Her breath was knocked out of her, the anger being flushed out of her body in an instant. A whole new set of emotions that she had carefully locked away poured into her, leaving her dizzy.

She didn't know who moved first. It didn't matter. Because the next thing she knew, they were a clash of lips and tongue , desperate to get closer and feel everything.

She ran her hands up his shoulders and reveled in the feel of it. How she imagined doing this over and over again every single night. His hands were cupping her face , angling it towards him as he kissed her like it was the first and last time.

He turned them around and placed her on the table, all the while kissing her. Her dress had bunched up to her thighs and Azriel ran his hands over her body as if trying to memorize the feel of every inch.

She ran her hands through his hair, the burn in her core flaring with every second that passed.

"Az." she let out a whimper as he trailed a line of kisses down her neck and chest. Tugging at the collar of his shirt, she brought his lips back to hers, wrapping her legs around his hips to bring him closer.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this." he whispered hoarsely against her lips, taking her lower lip in between his teeth and biting down gently.

A new wave of lust shot through her and Azriel's gaze turned ravenous as he noticed her reddened cheeks and glazed eyes.

"I refused." she said ghosting his lips as she craned her neck to place a soft kiss on his pulse. "There is no one else I would say yes to, Az." she clutched his shirt tighter pressing herself against him. Her breasts brushed over his chest, her nipples turning to peaks. She did it again, chasing the feeling.

He let out a groan that made her clench her thighs around his hips.

"You don't know what you do to me , Nyra."

She bit down on his neck, making him hiss and lace his fingers through her hair.

"The things I want to do to you ...fuck. Not here though. I want to take my time." his breathy voice was doing things to her brain that she could not comprehend. She didn't want to. She wanted to be at the mercy of the moment.

His hand brushed the underside of her breast and she let out an embarrassingly loud moan that had him pulling her head back and latching onto her lips.

As suddenly as it started, it ended.

Azriel pulled back abruptly, blocking her from view as he turned to face the door.

"Lady Ny..." her attendee walked in , stopping dead in her tracks when she noticed Azriel. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know you had company." Her face turned tomato red.

Nyra cleared her throat and spoke as though she hadn't been close to being bent over the table. "Anything urgent?"

"Uh..y-yes my Lady. The nobles have called an emergency council meeting."

Azriel exhaled through his nose in exasperation. Nyra wanted to kill someone.

"Wonderful. I'll be there soon. Thankyou, Elle."

She would be needing that pencil after all.

#azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x oc #acotar series #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acomaf #azriel x original character #azriel fic #azriel x nyra #rhys acotar #cassian #acosf #azriel smut #azriel spymaster #azriel angst

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