#THE GREATEST GLAMOUR | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mypoisonedvine · 1 year ago

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𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 || william killick x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 || your husband sometimes gets carried away with his devotion to you...

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 || 3.7k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || noncon/heavy dubcon smut (18+ only!!! rough sex, breeding kink, marking kink, hair pulling, praise and degradation, dark but the reader is lowkey into it lmaooo), jealousy and possessiveness, yandere vibes?, gaslighting/manipulation, established relationship, alcohol consumption

"Heavens, you look stunning!" Gordon announced when he saw you, opening his arms wide as an invitation for an embrace. You only went in for a quick hug, but he grabbed you tight and kissed the top of your head as you laughed delightfully. "Doesn't she look ravishing? Don't I have excellent taste?"

The other ladies nearby nodded in agreement, hanging off of him like they tended to. That was the way Gordon was: magnetic, for his personality just as much as his looks. Blonde curls with light brown eyes and that megawatt smile… as long as you'd known him, he'd never had trouble with ladies— he just made trouble for them.

"Aren't I the greatest literary agent you ever had?" he asked you, and you rolled your eyes.

"You're the only I've ever had," you reminded him. "You represented me when I was a teenage girl trying to sell my assignments from secondary school!"

"Yes, so I win by default," he decided with a big kiss to your cheek that made you scrunch up your nose.

"But that makes you the worst I ever had, too, doesn't it?" you noticed as Gordon relaxed his embrace to just an arm around your waist.

"See?" he prompted the nearby women, "Didn't I tell you? Can't get anything past this one— sharp as a whip, she is—"

As you shrugged in dismissal of the praise, you looked around the room in awe of all Gordon had done for you now. He had a taste for the extravagant, clearly; truth be told, it was nothing like you'd pictured it, and nothing like what you'd asked him for when he insisted on throwing a party.

"So, please, drink up, be merry, all of that," Gordon instructed his ladies, motioning out towards the crowded room, "get properly sloppy if you must— all in honour of this lovely woman right here… a genius of writing, and one of my longest and dearest friends."

As they departed in search of free drinks, you turned to Gordon with a nervous frown. "I'm not sure this is really all for me, Gordy," you sighed.

"Of course it is," he chuckled heartily, "I told you I'd throw something to celebrate another year of us working together— I wanted to have a gala for your novel's first publishing, but you were too busy on the honeymoon then—"

You smiled just at the mention of your honeymoon.

"All these people, doll, they're here for you," Gordon assured.

"The people, maybe; but the evening wear, the drinks, the music, the glamour? That's for you, isn't it?" you smirked.

But before he could respond to the accusation, his eyes fell somewhere at the other end of the room, and he turned you to look the same way. "Speaking of people here for you…" he trailed off.

You perked up when you saw William, slipping through the crowds of people, already approaching you with his hat tucked under his arm.

"You came!" you squealed with excitement as you jumped towards your husband, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. "Oh, dear," you sighed when you saw that you'd printed berry-red lipstick on his cheek, starting to wipe it off with your fingers.

"I couldn't miss it, of course," he smiled at you, his voice so soft you barely heard it over the hustle and bustle of the party.

"They shouldn't have let you in," Gordon said, making you both look back at him. "It's black tie only, you know."

William smiled slightly with his lips pressed together. "He's only joking," you realised with an awkward mumble.

"The uniform seemed to go over alright," William replied, sticking his hand out towards Gordon for a shake.

"Oh, don't be so formal," Gordon laughed as he yanked William into rough side-hug. "We know each other, don't we?"

"Sort of," William answered under his breath as Gordon put a heavy hand— adorned with golden decorative rings— on his shoulder.

"Though I've half a mind to rough you up for convincing my star author to publish her next book under her married name," Gordon continued with a haughty laugh. "She's already so established with the maiden name!"

"I didn't convince her of anything, I only married her," William defended.

"Never thought you'd manage to tie this one down," Gordon smirked, "independent as she is."

"She didn't put up too much of a fight," William winked at you, and you felt a little flushed as you blinked quickly.

Apparently tired with that line of conversation, Gordon stood beside you and flipped it back to the real topic of the evening: your writing.

“She’s quite a prodigy!” Gordon exclaimed with a wide grin, wrapping an arm around you, then. “You’ve read what she writes, haven't you?”

“Some of it,” William admitted with a nervous laugh, looking down for a moment. “The rest is too sad for me, I’m afraid.”

“Her latest is a masterpiece,” Gordon assured. “Forbidden love, secrets, affairs—”

“Sordid stuff,” William frowned, shaking his head.

“Sells, though,” Gordon winked. “Men and women— we’re even selling copies in America!”

William only nodded, not seeming too convinced, and you deflated slightly as you reached out for your husband’s hand. “Aren’t you proud of me?” you asked, sounding much more pathetic than you meant to.

“Of course, darling,” he smiled at you, “always.”

“You don’t mind if I borrow your lovely wife again, do you?” Gordon beamed. “There’s some people over there she should meet— they might just sponsor the tour for her next novel.”

“All these book tours, I feel as if she’s hardly ever home,” William sighed.

“Well, we’ve got to keep her on the tours,” Gordon chuckled, “or that pretty face will go to waste!”

William’s jaw tightened as he nodded curtly in agreement, and you felt nervousness turning in your stomach.

“You should have a drink, soldier,” Gordon offered to lighten the obvious tension, handing William a wide glass of champagne.

He patted your husband a little too roughly on the back as he drank, before dragging you off to talk to some publishers or whatever— you glanced over to try to see your husband at the bar, hoping to catch him smiling at you, but you only caught his icy stare over the edge of his glass.

Enough liquor loosened you both up, and you managed to enjoy the party well into the hours of the night— it was almost one in the morning when you got home, yet you had a shocking amount of energy still coursing through you as you started to undress at the vanity. It must’ve been all the people there, and knowing they were all celebrating you; it was electrifying, even as someone who preferred to be cooped up alone with her typewriter.

William leaned against the bedroom doorway as you shed your heels and stockings, then unpinned your hair. When you saw him skulking on the reflection, you smirked to yourself, taking out one of your earrings.

“What’s the matter, love?” you asked sweetly, but he said nothing. “Love?”

“I guess I’m not much of a partier,” he explained flatly.

You smiled a little, taking out your other earring and then reaching behind your neck to unclasp your necklace. You didn’t even really notice the silence before it was broken.

“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” William said suddenly, and you scoffed— once you realised what he was talking about.

“He’s just that way,” you assured, “I don’t take it personally.”

“And all the talk of your genius, of your prodigious writing— that’s not personal?”

You shrugged slightly as you turned slightly and looked at him over your shoulder, smiling but knitting your brows together in confusion. “Isn’t that why you married me? I thought you liked the way people fawn over me.”

“But you know him,” William insisted again. “You knew him before you even met me, you work with him— you spend long hours with him, when I’m gone—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you laughed, standing up, but he only glared at you. You tilted your head as you approached him. “William, you couldn’t really think—”

“Don’t patronise me,” he sneered, and when you reached out to touch his face, he snatched you by the wrist and yanked you closer.

“William!” you scolded, whimpering as he moved his face close to yours, nostrils flaring as he breathed heavily through them. “William, please—”

“Look at me,” he demanded, grabbing your face with his other hand. “Look at your husband, darling.”

You bit your lip to suppress its shaking, meeting his fiery— yet cold— stare. “You’re hurting me,” you whispered, tightening your hand into a weak fist as he held it painfully tight.

“I can see, you know,” he told you sharply and quietly through his teeth. “I can see the way you laugh at his jokes, and let him pull you closer. His hand on your hip—”

“It’s nothing, William,” you breathed, and his hand moved down from your face to your neck, then your chest, where he brushed his fingers over the neckline of your dress.

“Wearing the dresses he buys for you,” he noticed with a sneer. “God, he’s got you looking like his fucking whore.”

He shoved you back and you tripped to land on the bed, hiding your face in fear and shame as he stalked towards you.

“Now you want to play innocent?” William spat as he towered over you. “I told you to fucking look at me!”

“I can’t!” you sobbed, fighting when he grabbed your arms and tried to pry them apart, attempting to force you to turn onto your back. “I can’t, William, not when you’re like this!”

“You made me like this!” he accused, eventually getting you to turn over so he could pin down your wrists on either side of your head. “You made me like this,” he said again, voice lowered from shouting to a soft growl. “You let him put his filthy fucking hands all over you, didn’t you?”

“No, William,” you denied, crying weakly as you shook your head. “Never. I love you— I love you more than anything.”

“But you won’t tell me the truth,” he snarled. “The truth, darling, not another story— not another one of your goddamn stories!”

“He kissed me!” you admitted suddenly, and before you could explain, William roughly slammed his lips onto yours. You whimpered into it, struggling against his tightening grip, and he pressed you down into the bed with the weight of his body.

“Tell me how it happened,” he demanded, lips still brushing against yours as he spoke, eyes still piercing through you.

“I swear, Will, I told him to stop,” you breathed, “I pushed him away. I told him I love you, William— and I do, don’t you know how much I do?”

“He kissed you,” William repeated, rage tinting his voice.

“That’s all, I swear,” you promised.

“And you didn’t tell me—”

“I thought you’d get angry,” you defended weakly.

“You didn't tell your poor, doting husband,” he groaned, “your heartbroken husband—”

“I’m so sorry, William,” you whispered.

“Why didn’t you tell me, hm? Because you love him?”

“No! Fuck, no,” you cried.

“Because you considered it— because you thought about letting him make love to you?”

“No!” you shouted, but he suddenly put a hand over your mouth to muffle it. When you stopped, stilling briefly as he looked down at you, he took his hand away and stroked your cheek with it.

“He must have forgotten,” William whispered under his breath, petting your face and acting oddly sweet. “He must have forgotten that you… belong to me.”

You blinked quickly, shivering as he pressed a slow, short kiss to your lips.

“That these lips belong to me,” he continued with a sigh, “that this neck belongs to me—”

He kissed it, but brushed his teeth teasingly over your pulse.

“That every single, beautiful, perfect part of you,” he went on, hands running down over your chest and settling on your waist tightly, “belongs to me.”

He bit down harder on your neck and you whined.

“Did you forget too, darling?”

“William, you’ll leave marks,” you whimpered, “you’ll bruise me—”

“Good,” he purred, “then you can’t just take your ring off and act single, can you?”

“I never take off your ring, William,” you swore, “not even to bathe…”

“I still want my marks all over you,” he explained darkly, “I still want you bruised tomorrow. I don’t just want them to know you’re married, darling— I want them to know how good I fuck you. I want them to know that your husband fucks you.”

Suddenly his hands were at your dress, tearing it to shreds right down the front.

“And I want them to know,” he continued with a groan, “how much you love it.”

He flipped you over roughly, yanking you up by your hair until you were forced to scramble onto your hands and knees. Your head dropped defeatedly when he let go of your hair, and he held your hips tightly with one hand as he opened his trousers with the other.

“W-wait,” you stammered, but he ignored you, reaching up under the tatters of your dress to yank your girdle and panties down. Before you could beg for some mercy again he slammed into you, making you choke out a wavering cry; instantly he was fucking you hard and fast, making you shake all over and try to reach back to grab his hips so he might slow down. “W-Will, love, please—” you whimpered helplessly.

“Fuck, if that son of a bitch could see you like this,” William sneered. “If he could see you now— he’d know who you belong to, wouldn’t he? If he could see you on your hands and knees, begging for me…”

He fucked you even harder— his hand reached up to hold onto your shoulder so you wouldn’t fall forward from the force of it.

“If he could see what a dirty little wife you are,” he groaned, digging his fingers into your skin— more marks, you were sure. “Fuck, you’re soaking me already, darling.”

A whimper slipped from your mouth as he leaned down, holding you tightly and speaking right by your ear.

“You like it, don’t you? Playing with me,” he hissed. “You like driving your poor husband crazy, thinking you might be stepping out on him?”

You shook your head, choking on a moan as he slowed his movements to make sure every thrust reached as deep into you as possible. “N-no, love, no—”

“You like how I fuck you when I’m angry, don’t you?” he went on anyways, biting the shell of your ear until your channel clenched around him. “Is that what got you so wet, darling?”

Biting your lip to hide your moans, you held tighter onto the sheets beneath you, and one of his hands came down to wrap around yours.

“So sweet,” he cooed, “such a sweet little wife. You look so innocent, darling, they have no idea what a slut you are— none of them do, but fuck… they will.”

He sped up again and you whined loudly; the pain and the pleasure together made your legs shake, hardly able to hold you up on the bed. He snatched one of the nearby pillows and shoved it under your hips— it kept them up when he began to fuck you so hard that you fell forward, and the angle hit just right inside you as a desperate scream was muffled by your face falling into the sheets.

"Yes, there she is," he praised, "my whore wife— how she loves to be fucked, reminded of her place. This is your place, isn't it? In my bed, sweet cunt taking my cock? Not out with that awful man— not on those godforsaken book tours—"

When you tried to reach back to keep him from going too deep again, he grabbed your wrists and pinned them back beside your face as he kept thrusting even faster, making the whole bed bounce and shake.

"You can take it all, darling," he promised with a groan, "you can fit your husband inside, all the way— fuck, you're so beautiful like this. You're so perfect, my angel…"

He buried his face in your neck as he thrusted into you, his own moans rivalling yours while he kissed your neck and ear and shoulder.

No one could accuse your husband of lacking passion, even if they didn’t see him like this— which you really hoped they didn’t. From the very beginning, he’d pursued you fervently: he read one of your short stories, and wrote rather effusive fan mail to the magazine in which it was published. And then when he came to your publisher’s office hoping to meet you, he took one look at you and became properly obsessed. He insisted you were the love of his life… and before you’d even really gotten to know him! You were nearly offended at first; but the longer his seduction went on, the more you couldn’t help but fall for him. Strong yet tender, kind yet stern, intelligent yet sensitive… and creative, much more than you expected. He had quite an imagination.

Unfortunately, that imagination had a dark side, especially with his tendency to be quite jealous. It had never gone this far before, though.

He pulled out of you, only a moment of relief and disappointment, before turning you onto your back and hovering over you. “Look at me,” he demanded again, though his voice was low and gentle now, “look up at me, beautiful.”

He tilted your chin up with two fingers, admiring the tears in your eyes with a tender sort of expression.

“Oh, my darling,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss your neck as he slowly pushed back inside you. Your back arched and he slipped one arm under it to hold you tightly as he set a more careful pace than before— though still not all that slow. "My beautiful girl— you can't help it, can you? The way men feel about you."

A slightly deeper thrust made you gasp and reach up to hold his shoulders, blinking through the watering in your eyes.

"Of course he kissed you," he breathed, "if you were another man's wife, I'd kiss you too. I'll always have to have you, darling, nothing could stop me."

"I pushed him away, love," you swore again.

"I know, I know," he cooed. "But I still can't stand to think of it… of my darling wife being kissed by someone else. He would've only done that if he thought you'd kiss him back, you know— he thought you would let him fuck you."

He picked up his pace, staring deep into your eyes and gripping you tightly.

“When you’re pregnant, then he’ll know,” William announced proudly as he held your hips. “Then everyone who sees you will know: you fucking belong to me.”

Overwhelmed by it, you felt yourself get even hotter and slicker between the legs at the idea of that. He was wrong about you wanting to make him jealous, but neither of you could deny now that you got some gratification out of it.

“Say it,” he ordered.

“I belong to you,” you promised, “I’m yours— you know I’m yours, love, always—”

He hummed in agreement, pumping deeper and faster into you as your head spun. “You’ll be the most beautiful expectant wife there ever was,” he purred, a rough hand tugging your bra out of the way and groping your breasts. “These nice and full— all of you swollen and soft—”

“W-William,” you stammered, hardly able to breathe with his weight on you and the way he filled you.

“Big belly,” he cooed, “and my baby inside— our baby. Fuck, how can I wait to see you like that?”

“F-fuck,” you choked out, “don’t stop, please… please, my love—”

“I’ll fill you, darling,” he promised lowly, baring his teeth as you started to fall into it— your head tilting back into the mattress, pleasure overtaking you, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “I’ll give you everything I have, every night, until it takes—”

“Please,” you begged, holding him tighter and lifting your face up with what little energy you had to bury it in his shoulder. You cried from the intensity of it all— from everything— as shudders wracked your body. He groaned as he felt you pulsing around him, kissing your face and groaning beside your ear.

“What a good little wife,” he praised as you came, “what a perfect little wife— you want it, don’t you? To be pregnant, have my child?”

You barely managed to nod, you were so overcome by every sensation running through you. But you did, and he growled proudly.

“You will, my angel,” he promised, “I’ll make sure of it. Just say one more time that you love me, darling— that you’ll always be mine—”

“I-I love you so much, William,” you swore, muffled in the jacket that you clutched needily. “I’m yours— I’m always yours— oh!”

You lost track of your words, but it didn’t matter then because you were drowned out by his gasps: heavy, low breaths as he pressed into you one last time and filled you completely.

Instantly, you were flooded with even more emotions: shame, ecstasy, confusion, hurt, love. It was too much to take even if you weren’t still slightly tipsy and entirely sleep-deprived, but altogether it just turned you into a mess.

After coming down from his high— though he was still catching his breath— William seemed to sober up in a second as you cried harder. Cooing gently at you, he wrapped his arms tighter around you and hugged you close.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he breathed as he held you tightly, “I’m so sorry. You know it’s just my love that makes me this way— I just can’t stand to see another man lay his hand on you… I just can’t imagine you with anyone else, it breaks my heart, darling.”

“You break my heart, William,” you whispered back, still hiding in his shoulder, “when you think I could ever hurt you like that. When you accuse me of something like that—”

“I just get scared, darling,” he sighed, petting your back slowly as he rocked you in his arms. “I just get scared that you’re too good to be true. That this beautiful creature can’t be all mine.”

You smiled against his skin, holding onto him tighter. “I love you so much, William… I’d never— you have to believe me, I’d never—”

“Shh,” he soothed softly, as he held your head and kissed the top of it. “I know, darling, I know. Because you belong to me.”

#william killick x reader #william killick smut #william killick dark fic #dark!william killick smut #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy dark fic

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thewritetofreespeech · 29 days ago

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Night 221: Liar’s Night

words: 1.7K rating: E pairing: Gale x Tav summary: A night for tricks & treats at the annual Blackstaff Academy Masquerade Ball. An certainly more treats than tricks that Gale had hoped for. tags: kinktober - masquerade, f!oral, public sex, fluffy smut

Ao3 - 1000 Night Series

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Gale huffed as he adjusted his mask, trying to straighten it. It was rather itchy too. He wished he could have just used a glamour like some many of his colleagues tonight.

Liar’s Night. A festival in honor of Leira & Mask, gods of trickery, deception, and illusion.

It was often celebrated with people dressing up in costume to ‘trick’ the gods into thinking they were someone else. Though celebrated up & down the Sword Coast, in Waterdeep, the celebration was very elaborate. As home to one of the greatest magical academies, people took their effort in the illusions very serious.

None more so than the academy itself.

As a student, Gale often wondered what the professor’s masquerade ball was like. The smaller celebration for students was often quite involved, so he had to assume that the professor’s was over the top. It did not disappoint. The main ballroom had been decorated with beautiful crystals straight from the Underdark and beyond. Intricate weavings of pumpkin vines from some of the best herbologist magicians this side of the druids. Candles floated in mid-air, a common trick, but would change on their own with the tempo of the music played by an invisible orchestra. Seeing his colleagues unbutton their collars for a bit, dressed so unique & silly, was also quite impressive.

“Gale my boy, where is that enchanting wife of yours?”

“Hard to say, Elminster.” Though not on staff at the academy, a wizard of Elminster’s acclaim was welcome at any magical gathering. And Elminster would go just about anywhere with free cheese. “It’s a little hard to see with this mask.”

“Hmmm…her suggestion, I take it?” The older wizard asked. Though not really asked, as he seemed to already have his answer before Gale nodded. “I thought as much. Do not take this the wrong way, my boy, but I would not have thought a proud peacock like you would cover put his visage so willingly.”

“Did you just call me vain Elminster?”

“Not so much ‘vain’ as more….proud of your appearance. And which you should be, my boy. Enjoy your looks and your youth while you can. They will be gone from you sooner than you know.” The older man huffed a little, seeming defeated by the weight of his own years a bit, before he sipped his wine. “I will leave you to search for your mate then. Do say goodbye before you leave though.”

“We’ll find you by the buffet I take it?” Gale quipped as his old mentor departed.

Alone in the crowd for a moment, Gale continued to try and scan the room for his wife. She had said that she would met him at the party, saying it was silly for him to come all the way back from classes just to return a few hours later. Gale said he didn’t mind what man would, arriving at a party with a beautiful woman on his arm but she insisted.

“Excuse me kind sir,” he turned around at the gentle tap on his shoulder, thinking it was someone looking for the loo again, and felt all the air rush out of his lungs, “could you direct me to the nearest stream?” There before him was Tav. His beautiful Tav. Dressed in what he could only assume was a water nymphs costume.

The intricate, flimsy material moving around her body like waves on the sea. The flecks of sparkle like moonlight blinking in the sea. Her mask, not nearly as cumbersome as his, just some delicate pieces of white coral by her temple with makeup over her eyes. Clearly her inspiration that of the Umberlee charges they helped while in the Gate. But where they looked ready to slay a man in divine vengeance for their Bitch Queen, Tav looked as if she would lure a man to the sea, who would willingly follow as a sacrifice to the Mother of Oceans for just one more glance at her.

“There…there are no streams here.” Gale replied. Collecting himself and turning fully towards her. “But there’s a pretty large fountain in the south corridor I could interest you in.”

Tav giggled. The sound like sea breeze through a chime. “I suppose I will have to make do. What’s a handsome man like you washing up on these shores?”

“I’m looking for someone.” Gale told her. “A missing love.”

“Missing? Oh, how horrible.” She stepped closer and placed her hand at his chest. Even with the thick cut of his jacket he could feel her pulse there. Although maybe that was his own heart. “Anything I can do, to help a poor lost sailor?”

Gale clasped her hand and, without a word, cast Dimensional Door. Suddenly, they were no longer in the thick of the party but in a secluded, unused portion of the ballroom. Gale torn off his mask and threw it to the ground somewhere in the dark before he kissed Tav feverously.

“Where did you get this dress?” He asked when he finally let her go.

“I made it.” She told him; would her wonders never cease. “I thought it would be a cute couples costume. Nymph and pirate.”

Suddenly his outfit made sense. Gale hadn’t questioned it. Interested in the party but less on what he was wearing, and trusted her judgement. “Well then, it seems I have caught myself a nymph in my net.” Gale replied. Falling back into ‘character’. “According to legend, that entitles me to three wishes for your freedom.”

Tav giggled again. “Alright. What are your wishes, handsome sailor?”

“I want to taste you.”

Gale kissed Tav again, deeper this time, before he moved down to her neck. Her skin tasted like salt. Gale wondered if she had added it to make her costume that much more authentic, or if it was just his imagination. He moved further down. Kissing the patches of skin her costume left dangerously bare as he moved the kneel in front of her. “Gale,” Tav hissed quietly, “we’re at a party!”

“You said you would grant me any three wishes.” He reminded her. Her blush an intoxicating contrast with all the blue. “This is my wish.”

With no further complaints from Tav, Gale moved the ruffles of her skirt aside. Letting them fall over him like a curtain as he reached up to spread her legs and lapped at her center. His wife moaned. Fingers gripping into his shoulders at the hem of her skirts to keep quiet. Gale used his practiced tongue to work her open. Moving one leg carefully onto his shoulder by her hand to give him more room. Taste her deeper. He was pleased to feel Tav buck her hips against him in a soft cadence. Using his mouth to gain her pleasure. His cock straining in his pants in reply.

In the quiet dark of their little corner, Tav moaned between the bite of her bottom lip as she came for him. Her sweet ocean coating his tongue before he pulled out from under her skirts. “Everything you wished for?”

“And then some.” Gale replied. Looking up at her with reverence before he stood to his feet. “For my next wish, I wish to be inside you.”

“Yes please.”

Tav wasted little time helping him unlace his pants and hike up her skirts again. Gale was pleased with her eagerness. Maybe it was the moment, or the fact that they were still at his work party, but she seemed quick to join with him; compared to their usual slow & passionate love making.

Gale held on to Tav’s legs when she wrapped them around his waist. Using the wall to brace them before he slid his cock inside. His little nymph moaned. Clinging to him as he fucked her. Thrusting in & out with ease from the wetness of her orgasm and tongue just moments ago.

“Don’t stop.” She begged him. “Feels so good. Don’t ever stop Gale.”

How Gale wished that could be true. To be joined with her always. To be one forever and feel her around his cock for eternity. Sadly though, all good things must come to an end, and the wizard grunted as his hips stopped. Coming deep inside her.

Gently, he let Tav down and allowed them to adjust themselves. Gale groaned as he straightened his back. The lower part tense from the strain and his impulse decision to lift his wife. Well worth it, but he was paying the price now.

“Shall we go back to the party for a bit, my love?”

“Yes we…Oh…Oh dear…” Tav giggled as she looked at Gale. Covering her mouth as she snickered. “Your face is covered in blue.”

Gale was surprised, although he really shouldn’t be, and touched his cheek to find blue paint at his fingertips. “Nine hells…” It was probably in his beard too. It would not do to go out looking like this; their disheveled appearance already a dead give away that they had not been taking in the pumpkin displays nor the night air.

“Think we can sneak out the back?” Tav asked.

“Now that you mention it, I just so happens I know a way to sneak out through this back hall.” A memory for his school days that was proving quite useful.

The couple snuck out through Gale’s hidden escape route and out off the campus to head back home. Once there, he took Tav in his arms again. “Sorry my impulsiveness ruined your costume. And the chance to show it off.” He apologized. “You just looked so lovely. I couldn’t help myself.”

Tav chuckled at his apology and offered him a kiss. “No need to be sorry. We’ll be better prepared for next year I suppose.” Gale smiled. Delighted at the thought of next year. And the year after that. And the year after that.

His wife wrapped his arms around his neck to stare lovingly at him. “You never told me your third wish, sailor.”

Gale grinned. He tilted her chin up, holding just before their lips touch to whisper, “Forever.” His one wish. His only wish for a very long time.

Tav leaned up to seal their lips together. Like the stamp on a contract. “Done.” She told him. “Now, handsome sailor,” Gale grunted as Tav hopped up into his arms. His lower back whining again as he held her up. “You’ve caught yourself and sullied a fine nymph this day. You’ll have to clean her up.”

“Oh yes, woe be unto he who interrupts a nymph’s bathing rituals.” He teased back. His cock already getting excited again as he carried her to their bathing suite. Eager to show his water nymph how long he could hold his breath for.

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skzdarlings · 10 months ago

Note

omg that sounds so fun!!!! (Sorry if this was quick I have your post notifs on) imma jump on this early!!! can we get “do you really think you’re in a position to give orders?” W changbin? 😩😩😩

summary: you are in love with the son of your family's greatest enemy. he sneaks into your room one night after a party.

pairing: seo changbin/reader content info: petite!reader. mentions of past body insecurities. romeo-and-juliet style love affair. sneaking around. gun play that is somehow more romantic than kinky but still kinda kinky. explicit sexual content. word count: 2900 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy!

You catch his eye across the room.

There are a hundred people between you, bustling in their designer gowns and glittering in their jewels. The hotel ballroom is an incandescent chamber of silver light. The sun has long since set but the party plays on in its excessive splendour, never tiring of itself.

You are tired of it. The glamour of this lifestyle has turned more tedious than not. At the centre of all this majesty is money, and everyone in this room prioritizes their wealth and capital above everything else. They have fought and slandered and killed each other and they will do it all again, but they throw their galas nonetheless. Places to celebrate themselves and their so-called achievements, to flaunt their successes in self-congratulation. Everyone laughs and dances, spinning around the ballroom, sipping their champagne.

You smile and demur, pretending you are having a good time. You sit with your family and only interact with their trusted allies or those who would be.

He is vehemently not included in that.

Seo Changbin.

He is across the room with his family, your family’s greatest enemy. Your father and his father are titans of business and the family rivalry spans generations. It started with your great-grandparents and you are destined to uphold it. You will marry an appropriate man of standing, someone who will expand the empire, someone whose allyship is worthwhile in both the monetary and social strata. You will have children and raise them to take your place, to inherit your name and all the blood and money that comes with it.

Those same expectations are on your enemy. You hold gazes across the sparkling sea of people. You look away first.

You are coerced onto the dance floor by one of your father’s chosen men. You join that sparkling sea. It is always bizarre to brush elbows with these people, knowing very well they would not hesitate to put a bullet in your head under any other circumstance. You catch the sight of a few discreet weapons as you are twirled around the dance floor. Ostensibly, weapons are not allowed inside the gala as fighting is prohibited, but these people always take their precautions.

Your dance partner spins you. You twirl as per the dance, then stumble to a halt because Changbin is standing there. He is dancing with someone too, has them spun out the opposite way. You stand in the middle of the ballroom looking at each other, faces equally stoic.

He is dressed in all black, austere and intimidating. His black hair falls in a sweep across his forehead, just this side of too-long so it obscures his eyes if he tilts his head a certain way. He is always so meticulously hidden in public, nothing but a walking shadow. He is a dark reflection of his family and their grim reputation.

But his jovial laughter is in your mind, his witty quips, his jokester nature. He is devastatingly charming and endlessly humorous.

You would never know just looking at him. Changbin is not the tallest man in the room but he more than compensates with his bulk and power. Pretty much anyone would be big next to you, but you know what your hand looks like when laid against his, how all encompassing the breadth of his big arms feel when they wrap around you.

He does not touch you. He looks. He smirks, like he knows your heart is racing. Then he spins away. Your partner pulls you back.

The dance continues.

You say you are sick and leave the party early. You are escorted back to the house with your usual security flank, sitting in the backseat of your limo with a guard on either side of you. They wear bulletproof gear under their uniform, matching pale blue in the family’s colours, and wearing bulky glasses to shield their eyes. They are all armed to teeth, wearing their holsters and belts. They dwarf you almost comically. They do not speak to you.

When you reach the house, you go straight to your bedrooms. You have three rooms to yourself, each lonely space spilling into the next. You dress in your closet, leaving the gown pooled in a silk mess on the floor. You discard your jewelry and amble to your main room in a satin nightdress and robe.

You almost miss it, the sound so faint, but you swear a gentle knocking comes from your balcony doors. They are still sealed shut. Security did not notice anything remiss upon arrival, but there is a blind spot in the security camera on your balcony. There are no cameras inside your room for privacy purposes. But no one would know that unless you told them.

And you have only told one person.

You approach the balcony doors, wary. You peer into the night, eyes roving the grand expanse of the brightly lit garden and swimming pool. Wind rustles through the leaves of the trees and a security guard is finishing his round.

You step onto your balcony slowly. The security guard can only see you when you lean over. He waves at you before leaving the yard, continuing the rest of his patrol elsewhere. You watch him go.

The world is quiet as it ever is. You can hear the buzz of the pool lights and the tinkling of your wind chimes, little else. You lean against your balcony railing and look over the yard. You weigh the luxury of the estate against its cost. Not for the first time, you ruminate on how it is absolutely not worth it.

You sigh and turn. Then you freeze at what, who, you find.

You mistake him for a security guard for half a second, which nearly gives you a heart attack because they are never on your balcony. But he is just wearing one of their uniforms. You are not sure when he stole it, tonight or previously.

Seo Changbin stands there in the blue uniform shirt and gun holster, winking at you behind bulky glasses. He is pressed against the wall in the solitary blind spot, nodding his head to your balcony door. If you open it a little wider, he can sneak in undetected.

Like he has done a dozen times before.

You feign nonchalance for the camera, humming to yourself as you step into your bedroom. You push your door open all the way, positioning yourself in distracting view of the lens while he sneaks inside. Then you follow and slam the door shut. You both take a curtain and draw them together, meeting in the middle.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say. It is not what you want to say. You want to say, thank god you are here. I missed you so much. But that is an utterly foolish proclamation. You know better. You have always known better.

But the son of your family’s greatest enemy is standing in your bedroom anyway. He looks at you, at where you clutch your robe, at where you wet your lips. He removes the glasses and tosses them aside, as if to study you more closely.

“I shouldn’t,” he says. You cannot tell if it is an agreement or a question.

“No, you shouldn’t,” you say. You take a step back, because every second in his proximity only compels you closer. It is surer than a planet caught in a gravitational pull, threatened to be shattered by the sheer cosmic power of the star holding it in orbit.

He steps with you. When you take another step, he follows. Back and back and back. He feels big in this space. Even though your room is massive, his presence shadows your little world. When your back hits the wall and he looms in front of you, he is all you can see. Nothing else exists beyond him.

“Changbin, we shouldn’t be doing this,” you say, though you know it is useless to protest your liaison with any logic, because this is a matter of the heart and not mind. That rebellious heart of yours beats faster. “If anyone found you here… we’d both be in so much trouble.”

“I won’t let them hurt you,” he says. He speaks with such easy confidence, like it is a matter of fact and not hope. He says it so certainly that you almost believe him.

“You can’t promise that,” you say.

“Yah, shame on you,” he teases. “You know I always keep my word.”

It is true. Though Changbin has a formidable reputation, it has little basis in actuality. He is a man of strong moral principle. He does not like the fighting and brawling and warring. He does not hurt innocent people, nor does he put civilians at risk for the sake of a stupid business.

And he has treated you with more loving respect than anyone else in your life.

Of course you surrender to him, again and again, sighing now as you lean against the wall and release your robe. It falls open and reveals your little nightdress. His gaze dives down your body, igniting sparks inside you. You were once insecure about your appearance, taking to heart your mother’s admonishments, that you were scrawny and gaunt, nothing but a burden as they struggled to find a match for you.

It is no struggle for Changbin. He curses even though he has seen you a dozen times. He holds your hips, then runs his strong hands up your body so you shiver all over. He cups the back of your head and draws you close, like he intends to kiss you. You are ready for it, eyelids heavy and lips parting.

With his other hand, he reaches for his chest holster. You blink as he slowly draws the gun, as he brings it closer to you. It feels like your whole body turns to liquid heat, heart thundering as he rests the barrel so delicately against your temple.

“See, baby,” he says, “if they find us, they’ll blame me. What was a little thing like you supposed to do, ah? Fight me?”

You are breathing harder, already so hot with anticipation. You gasp when he tugs you closer still, the gun still tapping your temple.

His lips are so close to yours, they almost touch.

“Poor baby,” he says. “She’s so good to her family. It’s not her fault Seo Changbin climbed in her window and fucked her in her little nightdress.” He moves the gun, making your breath catch again. The barrel touches your lips then moves down, down. It brushes a sensitive nipple, then moves lower still. The cool metal brushes your inner thigh under your nightdress and your knees starting shaking, a delicious heat twisting in your belly. “Tsk, tsk,” he says. “No panties. Maybe it’s not my fault completely.”

“We really shouldn’t do this,” you say, but it is still not what you want to say. I want you, I need you, so so badly.

He smiles and lifts the gun again, all the way up to your mouth where he taps your lips.

“Do you really think you’re in a position to give orders?” he asks.

It is so funny; Changbin is holding a gun to your lips but you feel more safe than dancing among those people at the party. You trust him so completely, so irrevocably, that you do not feel truly threatened for even a moment. There is something so liberating and joyous in allowing your body to go completely lax, in forgetting all your many grievances for the short but blissful time you have with him. Your heart is so full you could burst.

You kiss the tip of the gun, then smile.

“Well,” you say. “What are you waiting for?”

He tosses the gun onto the bed so he can hold you with both hands when he kisses you. You moan against his lips. His searching hands are careful where he touches you, squeezing and loving. He cups the small curve of your breast in his palm, rubs there until electric desire shoots to every extremity.

You shrug your robe off and he wastes no time gathering you into his arms. He holds you so securely, picking you up with no effort at all. Then you are pressed against the wall with him pressed against you.

“Yes, yes,” you say, gasping, as he kisses down your neck. He hikes you higher, catching you effortlessly, guiding your legs around him as he kisses down to your breasts. He wraps his lips around a nipple through your dress, making you clench your thighs around him, which makes him giggle like the maniacal tease he is.

“You like that,” he says, and tugs your dress down to get his mouth on you properly. He is so good with his tongue. You feel a little giddy, thinking to yourself that it is his true weapon. Fast, precise, teasing you and working you until you are tugging at his head and grinding against him.

“I need you,” you say, breathlessly, “Changbin, Changbin—”

You seldom take your time, given the danger of the situation. With the house empty and both your families occupied, you have time tonight to go a little slower, but you simply cannot wait. You are both accustomed to instant satisfaction when together. Your body feels wrong without him inside it. You need him like a breath of air.

“Please,” you say.

You do not have to beg much. He fiddles with his belt and his zip, then he repositions you. You cover your mouth to catch your squeal when he pushes inside you. He moans into your neck to stifle his own sounds.

“Baby, so good for me,” he murmurs, sounding intoxicated from the silky feel of you, wrapped around him so completely.

You know the feeling. You are incapable of forming sentences, clinging to him desperately as he fucks you steadily against the wall. He holds you with just one arm, the other palm planted flat to the wall, near your head. You clutch his big bicep while your other hand sinks in the hair at his nape. You fuck until he is close, when he carries you to the bed and lays you out.

You lean forward and take him in your mouth, sucking him down until he comes. He bites his wrist to keep his volume down.

You wipe your lips, smiling. Then you sprawl back on the bed, nightdress turned to little more than a sash around your middle. You slide it off completely. Even though he just came, he is already looking you with hungry eyes. He puts a knee on the bed, evidently ready to pounce.

You pick up the gun and point it at him, quirking a playful eyebrow. He blinks at you, surprised, then smiles as well.

“Baby,” he says. “That wasn’t the plan.”

“Do you really think you’re in a position to give orders?” you reply.

It just makes him laugh. The sound makes your heart gush with sentiment. He looks so handsome and sweet, hair pushed back, a light sheen of sweat on his neck. He is still mostly dressed, tucked back into his pants, but they are open and slung low, his shirt all untucked.

He gazes at you with deep, dark eyes, nothing but affection on his face. He plays your game and strips his shirt off, then he crawls across the bed until he is close enough for you to rest the barrel of the gun against his temple.

“Go on,” you say, nodding.

Truly, his tongue is the greater weapon. The gun does not stand a chance, falling out of your hand, forgotten, as he descends between your legs. You feather his hair through your fingers, then dig into his scalp, riding the motion of his mouth as he licks and sucks and kisses you down there. You come with a shivering sigh, your legs shaking.

He lifts his head and wiggles his eyebrows. “Good?” he asks, to which you can only nod. “Ha-ha,” he says, lightly slapping your thigh. “Of course it was. It’s me.”

You laugh, shaking your head and playfully rolling your eyes.

“You are incorrigible,” you say.

He climbs up your body and kisses you on the lips, tasting of you. It makes you whimper, delighted.

“I think you meant to say incredible,” he teases. “That’s okay, I understood you anyway.”

“I’m sure you did,” you say. Because there is a great deal of truth in that statement. You and him are on opposite sides of this ridiculous feud, but you are in exactly the same place. No one understands you better than him.

That understanding is written all over his face. He smiles tenderly, cupping your cheek in his hand. His next kiss is the definition of romance itself, sweet and long, enough to make you swoon.

“How much time do you think we have?” you ask.

“Not much,” he answers, then kisses you again. “Don’t think about it now. It’s okay, baby. I got you.”

“I know,” you say. You wrap your arms around each other and hold tight, kissing again while you can. The truth is, neither of you is in any position to dictate your fate. But he kisses you like that does not matter, with no past and no tomorrow on the horizon. You take control of this moment and consider it a happy ending for as long as you can.

#seo changbin x reader #changbin x reader #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #changbin x you #changbin smut #seo changbin smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #skz x you #valentinesdaystories #anonymous request

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hometoursandotherstuff · 4 months ago

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This is insane and it just came out yesterday, and will open on Aug. 21st. So, who wants to stay in the new Polly Pocket house? It's so weird, though, it's all open and you sleep in the tent thing. Located in Westford, MA, it fits 4 guests in 1bd and has a private 1/2 bath (so don't even think about showering or anything.)

It's hosted by Polly Pocket herself, so I'll let her describe the photos: Hi, friends! Sleepover at my place! You in? I’ll be off on a 35th birthday adventure, but my life-sized Slumber Party Fun compact is all yours for the night.

Play dress-up with my wardrobe. Suit up for adventure with my dresses, glamour jacket, scarves, and more!

Craft some bling for your BFFs. Unleash your creativity at my picnic table—aka Friendship Bracelet Station.

Raid my kitchen for your fav ‘90s goodies. It’ll be all that and a bag of chips! And lots of candy, too. My compact is stuffed to the brim with all my favorite snacks from the greatest era in snacking history. Ring Pops and Push Pops and Baby Bottle Pops, oh my!

Be kind, unwind, and rewind with a movie marathon on literal video cassettes. Remember those?! The couch pulls out, so snuggle up. BYOB (Bring Your Own Blanket).

At night, embrace the outdoors and camp out under the stars in my Action Park Tent. Whisper secrets, tell ghost stories, and giggle into the night while cozying up in one of the four sleeping bags I left for you.

Other things to note: My compact doesn’t close because, like me, it’s always open to adventure. So, what do you think? I don't know why they went w/the compact instead of the house. I don't like the openness. Maybe it's a temporary installation?

https://www.airbnb.com/rooms/1177661634882168657?

#polly pocket airbnb #polly pocket #other stuff

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hotvintagepoll · 7 months ago

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Propaganda

Natalie Wood (West Side Story, The Great Race)—She went through so much shit which I know can be said for all these women but Natalie really was a star and her death often overshadows her career and life. She could make you cry, but she also had the capacity to be incredibly funny which I think is lost on people.

Katharine Hepburn (Bringing Up Baby, The Philadelphia Story, The African Queen)—(I hope someone else submits real propaganda but just in case they don't:) Cries. Screams. Wails. The woman who singlehandedly made me realize I was bi. A real "do i want to look like her. be her. or be with her.' crisis, where the answer was all three. Holy shit please all three.

This is round 5 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Natalie Wood:

Katharine Hepburn propaganda:

I'm sure one million people will submit her as an iconic Hollywood star but that iconicness might lead people to forget just how insanely hot she was like she had it ALL she was skilled she was funny she was smart she was beautiful AND she was likely bisexual

The single word I would use to explain Katherine Hepburn's appeal is *range*. In her acting career, that meant covering all the ground between lush period dramas and the comedies she did with Carey Grant and Spencer Tracey. In terms of hotness, it meant an uncanny ability to bring anything from a Dietrich-esque androgyny to some of the best Classic Hollywood Glamour you will ever see.

Katharine hep was so cool. The VIBES, the INDEPENDENCE,,, living life on her own terms.

she just had this.... bearing to her, this power. she could be funny, even silly (like in bringing up baby) but also so regal and elegant. she was nobody's fool and dear GOD that's so hot

Fancam link

She’s not only stunningly gorgeous (those eyes that pierce your soul! a jawline you could cut glass with!) but her delivery and physical presence in roles gives off confidence and authority in such a sexy way (truly the biggest dick energy of Old Hollywood). Her fiery energy in The Philadelphia Story? Unmatched.

God she's. She's so hot y'all. She has the range!!!!! Funny and dramatic and lovely

She IS the transatlantic accent. Classically gorgeous and such a strong personality.

She's literally one of the funniest women to ever live! She goes shot for shot with Cary Grant in Philadelphia Story and we damn well love her for it! She's the most annoying creature to ever live in Bringing Up Baby but she's so insane and funny that we simply cannot help but fall in love with her (and root for her to give Grant an aneurysm!)

i know she's accounted for but i really want to be sure someone has submitted the scene in bringing up baby where she's pretending to be a gangster

youtube

She simply stuns onscreen; you cannot do anything but be captivated by her presence. Also a non-gender-conforming icon and mild tumblr celebrity by virtue of that one picture from The Warrior's Husband (stage play).

Katharine Hepburn was out here casually changing the lives of young butch lesbians with her gender swag! She wore pants even when people said she shouldn’t, she refused to marry or have kids, and she wore menswear in at LEAST one movie!

If I start thinking about her face for too long I will cry she is so so hot. Katherine is so charismatic and charming in everything she appears in - watch her adopt a leopard and fall in love with her. Also she has the biggest dick energy ever (she and her pal Lauren Bacall share that accolade). Also had an incredibly long and varied career from screw ball comedies to serious dramas - she’s a queen of the screen and I adore her.

Someone's got to mention it, but she's won the most Oscars out of any performer and is largely considered one of the greatest actresses ever. She's got an incredible voice, an incredible presence, and she absolutely steals every scene she's in. She was private person and deemed standoffish and unapproachable, but she was also profoundly concerned for people's rights and was an outspoken supporter of abortion access. Finally, the Katharine Hepburn slacks look is just iconic. I mean look at her.

This woman. I have been obsessed with her for years. I know the urban legend is a popular one at this point of her walking around set in her underwear when her pants were stolen and she was left with only a skirt, but the pants thing is honestly enough for her to be the hottest in the room in my book. She refused to wear anything else at a time when the public in general and especially the studios did not like that. She was independent, stubborn, and so so very capable. Competency kink anyone? Also, if you want one final way that Katharine's entire life was saying "fuck you" to the establishment, it started young! Her mother took her to suffrage events, and she never got rid of that attitude of justice. I feel like I have barely scratched the surface of all the ways she was such a badass that I'm turning into a rambling mess instead.

#natalie wood #katharine hepburn #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 5

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fyodere · 8 months ago

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actor!dazai au + hate fucking

I hope nobody catch us (but I kinda hope they catch us)

“she wanna go viral . . ?

keep fucking for hours

that pussy got power ”

— P POWER

₍^. .^₎⟆ ── content warnings / tags : nsfw content (mdni), actor!au, dazai is mean, nasty absolutely filthy smut, reader is a new name on acting scene, semi public sex, child star dazai, rivals with benefits, hate fucking, petnames, degradation, dazai is a sadic, unprotected sex, dirt talk, light dom/sub dynamic ♡

﹙ 🔪 ﹚── synopsis : Fighting for a spot on the entertainment industry was rough, but co-staring another film with Dazai was rougher.

Now you’re at the after party, all the paparazzi and interviewers are gone. You can finally relax now. At least, that was what you thought.

“Meet me in the bathroom.” Dazai whispered to you and quickly vanished, you were used to his superstar behavior, but it still annoys you.

You always fight on set and hate each other. What’s up with him now?

﹙ 🧥 ﹚── author's note : OKAY IM SO EXCITED FOR THIS i absolutely loved writing the whole rivals with benefits thing. it’s just too hot. i hope y’all enjoy it <3 my requests are always open so don’t be shy!

. . . ꒰ ꐦ › ﾛ ‹ ꒱

Fighting for a spot on the entertainment industry was rough, but co-staring another film with Osamu Dazai was rougher. For years, you had clawed your way through auditions, rejections, and fleeting moments of success, all in pursuit of that elusive breakthrough role. And just when you thought you had finally made it, fate threw you yet another curveball: co-starring in another film with the enigmatic and notoriously difficult Dazai Osamu.

The after-party buzzed with energy as celebrities mingled, champagne flowed, and laughter filled the air. For you, it was both a relief and a moment of triumph. Landing a role alongside the enigmatic Osamu was a career milestone, but it came with its own set of challenges.

As you sipped your drink, a familiar voice cut through the chatter. It was Dazai, his dark eyes glinting mischievously as he beckoned you with a subtle gesture. You rolled your eyes, accustomed to his dramatic antics. Despite their on-screen chemistry, behind the scenes, you both clashed like oil and water.

Reluctantly, you slipped away from the crowd, your curiosity piqued by Dazai's clandestine summons.

The tension between you and Dazai was palpable from day one of filming. Both of you were fiercely talented and fiercely competitive, each vying for the spotlight in every scene. The set became a battleground of egos, with sparks flying whenever your characters shared the screen.

Now, amidst the glitz and glamour of the after-party, with the paparazzi and interviewers finally gone, you hoped for a moment of respite. But as you leaned against the bar, nursing a cocktail and trying to unwind.

As the night wore on, you found yourself swept up in Dazai's whirlwind scheme, the lines between enemy and ally blurring in the face of ambition. And as you stood on the precipice of this daring venture, you realized that sometimes, the greatest battles were fought not on the silver screen, but behind the scenes, in the shadows where dreams and egos collided.

Dazai was a star since childhood. After starring in a movie at the age of 5, his career was an unstoppable ascent with no contenders. Every role, every appearance, no matter how small, made the project take off. Having Osamu in a project was synonymous with success.

At least, it was until he turned 15.

At 15, Dazai found himself on a thin line brought about by the consequences of fame. Surrounded by a world of drinks and nighttime dangers, Dazai felt embraced by the dark side of fame.

At 18, Osamu stepped away from his acting career. He needed a break from the spotlight and to clean himself from all the vices he had started in his adolescence. The media portrayed him as a comet in eruption disguised as a shooting star—if the media didn't want Dazai Osamu, then it wouldn't have him. Dazai distanced himself from screens and public scrutiny.

Now, at 22, Osamu was preparing for his comeback to the prestigious world of cinema, and when the cast was announced, people were stunned. Dazai's return after 4 years away from the stage. The return was so sudden that the media had no choice but to remind the public of Dazai's difficult phase.

His return was in a minor role in a drama film, the same film where you were one of the stars. You're a model represented by Fyodor Dostoevsky who landed this role by chance. It was a simple equation: good agents, beauty, charisma, and connections. There was no way your career could go wrong.

Despite the glitz and glamour of the entertainment industry, the atmosphere on set was anything but glamorous. From the moment filming began, it was clear that the animosity between you and Dazai was more than just a clash of egos—it was a full-blown feud.

Every interaction was laced with tension, each scene a battle for dominance. Behind the camera, snide remarks and passive-aggressive jabs were exchanged with alarming frequency, as you and Dazai vied for control of the spotlight.

But as the days turned into weeks, a begrudging respect began to simmer beneath the surface. Despite your mutual disdain, there was no denying the undeniable chemistry that crackled between you on screen. And as much as you hated to admit it, Dazai's talent was matched only by your own.

Yet, even as you grudgingly acknowledged each other's skill, the bitterness between you remained palpable. Every success felt like a personal affront, every compliment a thinly veiled insult. And as the pressure mounted, so too did the intensity of your rivalry.

But amidst the chaos and conflict, a glimmer of opportunity emerged. As filming progressed, it became increasingly clear that the success of the project hinged on your ability to set aside your differences and work together towards a common goal.

And so, begrudgingly, you and Dazai began to cooperate—not out of friendship or camaraderie, but out of sheer necessity. As the stakes grew higher and the deadline loomed closer, you found yourselves reluctantly setting aside your differences in pursuit of a greater good.

But, returning to the premiere of the film you were starring in: the after party was perfect. Only the most renowned people, the most coveted celebrities, all of it without any paparazzi or interviewer to disrupt the moment. That was the perfect opportunity to establish connections with the big names in the media. But, honestly, at that moment, all you wanted was to enjoy good drinks and soak in the energy of the place, having a well-deserved rest.

Navigating the treacherous waters of the entertainment industry had always been a challenge, but nothing could have prepared you for the tumultuous journey that came with co-starring in another film alongside the enigmatic Dazai. The tension between you two was palpable, a constant undercurrent of rivalry and animosity that colored every interaction.

Now, amidst the glittering lights and pulsating energy of the after party, with the paparazzi and interviewers finally gone, you hoped for a moment of respite. A chance to unwind and revel in the success of the film, to bask in the glow of your hard-earned achievements. But fate had other plans.

As you sipped your drink, a familiar voice sliced through the air, pulling you from your reverie. It was Dazai, his words laden with urgency and mystery. "Meet me in the bathroom," he murmured, before disappearing into the crowd. His abrupt departure left you both bewildered and irritated, a perfect encapsulation of your tumultuous relationship.

You and Dazai had always clashed on set, your fiery personalities and fierce ambition fueling a rivalry that bordered on hatred. Every scene was a battleground, every interaction a test of wills. And yet, beneath the surface animosity, there was a begrudging respect—a recognition of each other's talent and determination.

But as you made your way to the designated meeting spot, the backstage area cloaked in shadows and secrecy, you couldn't help but wonder what game Dazai was playing now. What could he possibly want from you?

As you rounded the corner, you found Dazai waiting for you, his expression inscrutable. The air crackled with tension, the weight of unspoken words hanging between you like a veil. And in that moment, you realized that whatever lay ahead, it would be anything but predictable.

You walked to the bathroom concerned. What the hell Dazai would want with you? You hate to admit it, but you’re kind of curious.

“Oh, well.” You said looking at the tall man with brown hair and mysterious eyes. “The demon prodigy want to talk to me. What an honor. Should I thank God for this?” You said with the voice dripping sarcasm as you roll your eyes.

The bathroom was empty and quiet. The place reeked of cigarette smell. Dazai was waiting there with a slight smile on his face. As soon as he saw you, he quickly put out his cigarette and threw the bud to the dumpster.

“Why so nervous?” His tone was taunting. He was leaning against the wall while talking to you.

“Why wouldn’t I?” You retort. “I’m trying to enjoy this after party but, damn, you really want to ruin everything.”

“Ruining it… or making it more interesting?” Dazai crossed his arms and smirked. His tone was still annoying. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. Like always.” Dazai muttered. You could see he was trying to make you angry.

“I wanted to talk with you in private. Since we’re having another film together. I want to propose something to you, since our reputation is on the line…” He said slowly.

“Our reputation?” You said laughter than you planned. “Oh, please. You’re the one who couldn’t resist to alcohol at 15. You’re the one who fucked up your image to the midia. Don’t put me into your twisted games.”

“Just listen before you go all ‘I hate you!’ On me, I get enough of that from the paparazzi.” Dazai said with a fake laugh.

Dazai stayed silent for a few seconds.

“You know how the rumor mill always says we are both in a relationship?” He sighed. “That’s not a problem to me. In fact, I believe it’s even better for us. I want you to pretend to be my girlfriend and feed the media with the idea that we are dating—“ You abruptly cut him off.

“Oh, don’t even come with this. I get enough bad ideas from my agent. I don’t need even more.”

Dazai's smirk widened at your reaction, his gaze unwavering. "I understand your hesitation, but think about it," he urged, his voice taking on a persuasive tone. "This could be mutually beneficial for both of us. Imagine the headlines, the buzz surrounding our 'relationship.' It would catapult us into the spotlight like never before."

You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. "And what about the fallout when the truth inevitably comes out?" you countered, your tone dripping with skepticism. "We'd be crucified by the media, branded as frauds and manipulators. Is that really the kind of attention you want?"

Dazai's expression softened slightly, a hint of vulnerability flickering in his eyes. "I know it's risky," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "But think about what we could achieve together. With our combined talent and charisma, we could dominate the industry. This could be our ticket to the top."

You hesitated, torn between your reservations and the tantalizing prospect of fame and success. The allure of the spotlight was undeniable, but at what cost? Could you really trust Dazai to have your best interests at heart, or was this just another one of his manipulative schemes?

As you weighed your options, the air between you crackled with tension, the silence stretching taut with unspoken possibilities. And in that moment, you knew that whatever decision you made would irrevocably alter the course of your career—and perhaps your life.

For a moment, you considered leaving, quitting the project before it even began, but the thought of walking away from such a high-profile opportunity filled you with dread. Instead, you looked back at Dazai, your expression unreadable. "I guess I have no choice," you said ironically. "If you insist on being such a jerk, I'll play your game. But remember, you're the one who's going to end up regretting this. Just wait until I show my true colors, and the world sees what a fucking asshole you really are."

With those words, You turned your back on Dazai, ignoring his derisive snort as you walked out of the room. You could feel his eyes burning into your back, and for a moment, you wondered if you had made the right decision. But then you reminded herself that you didn't need to like him; you only needed to tolerate him. After all, there was no way you could afford to lose your job over their petty feud.

Osamu couldn't help but smirk as he watched you storm off, your back rigid with anger and defiance. He had never cared about your opinion, but he still found himself curious about your reaction to his antics. There was something about your fierce determination and independence that intrigued him, and he couldn't help but wonder what would happen if you ever decided to fight back against him.

Without thinking, Dazai grabbed you by the arm. “Hey, I’m still talking to you, belladonna.” He smirked. “Don’t think you could run away from me so easily.”

“Huh? Get lost!” You said firmly. “Don’t you dare touch me.” You gnashed your teeth while stepping closer to him, stepping on his foot.

Dazai’s grin widened as he felt your foot press down on his foot. It was clear that you were furious, and he reveled in the knowledge that he had managed to rile you up so quickly.

"Oh, come on, sweetheart. You know you love it when I tease you like this," he said, trying to sound casual. "It's part of my charm." His smile turned mischievous. "Besides, I think I deserve some credit for getting you to stay after all."

“Oh, don’t be so cheeky.” You said while rolling your eyes. He was still holding your arm, like he didn’t want to let you go.

"I am being cheeky, hmm?" Osamu retorted, his voice low and dangerous. "And you know it. Don't play innocent, sweetheart. We both know you secretly enjoy the attention I give you."

"I do not!" You spat, glaring at him. "You are such a jerk."

"Is that so?" Dazai asked, his tone still light and carefree "I am?" Osamu arched an eyebrow. "You really believe that, don't you?" He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "You know you want me to keep doing it, right?"

"Shut up! I hate you, demon prodigy. You know how much I dislike you?” You said stepping on his foot even more heavily. Putting your face close to his.

Osamu laughed, the sound harsh and unpleasant. "So, you say you hate me?" He took a step closer, pressing his body against yours. "Well, I hate you too, sweetheart. But we can't seem to get rid of each other, can we?"

He moved his hand up to cup your face, turning your head so their gazes locked. "But that doesn't mean I can't make your life miserable, does it?" Your faces were to close, a single word could make your lips touch.

The air between you seemed to crackle with tension as Dazai looked into your eyes. His thumb brushed over your lower lip, tracing its outline. "If you don't want me to keep bothering you, then you should tell me to stop. If you do, I'll back off and leave you alone."

“Just shut up.” You said and finally pressed your lips against his.

Your tongues tangled together, Dazai's fingers digging into your hair, pulling your head back slightly. He was rough, demanding, and yet there was something undeniably compelling about the kiss.

As if he couldn't help himself, he deepened the kiss, taking control of the situation completely.

Osamu gripped you tightly, using all his strength to hold you in place. When he pulled away, he let out a loud laugh, a harsh bark of humorless mirth. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" Osamu broke away from the kiss, leaving you panting and gasping for air. His breath was hot against your skin, his eyes dark and hungry.

Osamu smirked, the smug expression making your blood boil. “I think you're enjoying it,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “You know what? I'm going to keep doing it until you beg me to stop.”

He grabbed your hands and pulled you above your head, pinning you against the wall. “Now, let's see how long you can last before you give in to my charms, hmm?”

Dazai leaned in again, pressing his body against yours once more. This time, he didn't use his tongue; instead, he bit down hard on your bottom lip.

“Fuck…” You said between heavy breaths.

“Mmm, that's my girl.” Dazai grinned, showing off his teeth. “Keep screaming out your protests, sweetheart. I love it when you fight me like this. Makes it all the more fun.”

With that, he licked at your lower lip, sucking it into his mouth. Then, he released it, only to bite down harder. The pain was intense, almost unbearable, but it also had a strange sort of pleasure attached to it.

Osamu's hand moved to your breast, cupping it through your dress. He squeezed it gently, then twisted it, causing her nipple to pierce through the fabric. The sensation was both excruciating and exquisite.

“A-Ah! Fuck!” You yelled, tears beginning to form in your eyes.

Osamu laughed softly, his smile growing wider. “You're so cute when you get mad,” he said, still holding onto your breast. “But remember, you asked for this, sweetheart. You wanted to play with the big boys, right?”

He released your breast, letting go of it. Instead, he began to run his fingers up and down your spine, making sure to tease you wherever possible. As he did so, he gave you breasts a rough tug, forcing your chest to arch upwards.

“Now, tell me, do you want me to continue or should I stop?” he asked, his tone casual and nonchalant. Osamu knew that he could push you to the breaking point, but he also knew that you would never say no to him.

You were breathless, your heart racing. Your cheeks were flushed, and you couldn't help but feel hot and bothered by his actions. It was clear that he enjoyed tormenting you, and you found yourself wondering if you should just let him have his way with you.

You hesitated for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to answer his question. Finally, you spoke, your voice barely audible over your panting. “... Fuck. Just keep going.”

Osamu nodded, his grin widening even further. “As you wish, my dear,” he said, giving you another hard pinch between your legs. This time, however, he made sure to rub against your thigh, pressing it against your sensitive flesh.

The sensation was incredibly intense, and it left you feeling exposed and vulnerable. But you didn't seem to mind; instead, you moaned softly, your body reacting to the stimulation.

Dazai's hands roamed across your back, tracing every curve and line. His fingers brushed against your skin, leaving trails of heat and desire in their wake. He grabbed hold of your ass, squeezing it tightly, before giving it a sharp smack.

“I'm going to fuck you, dear.” he whispered, his voice low and seductive. “I'm going to make you mine, and I'll never let you go.”

He leaned in close, his lips brushing against hers.

The sensation of his finger pressing against your entrance made you shudder, your skin feeling sensitive and exposed. It was then that you realized just how vulnerable you was in this situation, and it scared you. But for some reason, it was addictive.

Still, you didn't back away from him, even though you knew he had the power to hurt you. Instead, you just looked at him, you eyes wide and pleading.

“Please, Osamu. Please, keep going.”

Osamu chuckled, his amusement evident in the twinkle of his eyes. He leaned back slightly, keeping his finger pressed firmly against your entrance as he glanced up at you.

“You're adorable when you beg, sweetheart. So cute and pathetic. But you know what? You asked for this, so you get exactly what you deserve.”

Without warning, he pulled his finger out of you, leaving you aching and needy.

Osamu chuckled, his smile wicked and predatory. He continued to tease you, gently rubbing your clit and pushing his finger deeper into you tight hole.

“You're such a good girl, aren't you?” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “So obedient and submissive, like a dog. Always ready to do whatever your master tells you to do. But I bet you haven't ever asked what your master wants, right? I mean, it's only fair to ask before you start serving him, isn't it?”

The moment he pulled out, you whimpered, your body desperate for more. You wanted to cry out, to beg him to continue, but you knew it would only encourage him further. So instead, you just watched him, waiting for his next move.

As he sat up, you noticed something odd about his expression—it was almost as if he was enjoying himself. And yet, there was something cruel about the way he was treating you, something that made you want to run away from him.

But you couldn't leave. Not when he had you trapped in this bathroom.

“Dazai…” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “What do you want from me?”

Osamu laughed again, a harsh sound that echoed through the small space. His gaze never left hers as he spoke.

“I'm doing this because I hate you,” he said simply. “I think you're a terrible actress, and I can't stand the sight of you. Plus, it's fun to see you squirm and beg for mercy.

He reached over and grabbed your arm, pulling you close enough that your bodies were practically touching. He let go of you, however, and stood up, taking a few steps backward.

“Now, come here, belladonna. I want to fuck you until you beg for my cum.”

You sit down on the cold sink of bathroom and spread your legs, waiting for him.

Osamu smirked at your submission, a dark satisfaction curling deep within him. He walked towards you, his every step heavy with purpose and determination. When he finally reached you, he took hold of your hips and began to push your legs apart, making sure you were fully exposed and vulnerable.

He leaned in close, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered in your ear. “You know how much I hate you, right? Well, I hate you even more when you look like this, all pretty and helpless. It makes me feel powerful.”

With that, he released your hips and took hold of your thighs, lifting them off the ground and exposing your cunt completely.

As soon as he lifted your legs, you could feel his hardness pressing against your sensitive flesh. You shivered, feeling the chill of the air on your most intimate parts. Your heart raced, fear coursing through your veins. But still, you didn't try to stop him or fight back. Instead, you waited, your eyes wide and filled with fear and anticipation.

Osamu smirked once more before pushing into your tight, wet entrance. The sensation was intense, almost painful, but he continued to press forward, slowly filling you with his thick member. He gently rocked his hips, causing his cock to rub against your walls in a way that felt both rough and pleasurable.

As he did so, he couldn't help but grind out words against your neck. “Fuck, you're so tight. You'll be begging for my cum soon enough.”

The pressure inside you grew unbearable, but you tried not to let it show. Instead, you bit your lip and tried to focus on something else, anything else. All you could think about was how much you hated him, how much you wanted to make him suffer. But the thought of doing so only made you feel guilty and ashamed.

Osamu moaned softly, his voice low and rumbling against your neck. His hands clenched tightly onto your thighs, keeping your legs raised and exposed as he continued to pound into your with fierce intensity. He was determined to get what he wanted, and he would do whatever it took to make you suffer.

The sound of his moans echoed throughout the bathroom, the only thing breaking the silence besides their heavy breathing. Despite the fact that he was clearly enjoying himself, there was no love or affection in his actions; rather, it was all fueled by anger and hatred.

The tension in the room was palpable, and you found yourself unable to move or speak. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, and every time he moved, it caused your insides to writhe and protest. The thought of having sex with someone you hated so much was sickening, but at this point, you had no choice but to endure it.

You tried to bite down on your own lip, hoping to muffle some of the sounds of discomfort that were escaping your mouth. But it was no use; your moans were too loud and too frequent for you to keep quiet. And even though you knew that he would only use it against you later, you couldn't help but give in to the pleasure, however small it may be.

Osamu groaned out loud, his voice rough and strained as he felt his orgasm approaching. It was almost painful, the way he had to force himself to continue moving. But he wouldn't stop until he had finished, and when he finally did, he collapsed on top of you, his weight crushing you against the bathroom sink.

He pulled out of her with a grunt, his eyes still closed as he tried to catch his breath. Then, without warning, he reached up and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. When you opened your mouth to say something, he cut her off with a harsh glare.

"You think you can get away with your little tricks?" he growled, his tone dark and threatening. "Well, guess again."

He felt his climax approaching, so he released all inside of you, and as soon as you left, Dazai let out a sigh, his face twisting into a scowl. "Fucking hell," he muttered under his breath. "Why does she have to be so difficult? It's like pulling teeth to get anything out of her. This is going to be a nightmare." He plopped down on the couch, rubbing his temples in frustration. "I swear, sometimes I wish I could just strangle her and be done with it."

#bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd smut #dazai smut #dazai x reader #writing prompt

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dawndelion-winery · 9 months ago

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I Met You Once, I Loved You Twice

Celebrity au! Their persona, and then their true self, it seems like you were meant to love them regardless

Ft. Childe, Furina, Kaveh, Scaramouche (Wanderer), Wriothesley

[Idol! Childe, Actress! Furina, Racer! Kaveh, Artist! Scaramouche, Athlete! Wriothesley]

Childe:

You knew him before the fame, before the glitz and glamour; when he was just Ajax

And as horribly sappy as it sounds, you've loved him since day 1

Falling in love with Ajax was like slipping on ice while you're hiking up a snowy mountain

You get a little too caught up in the scenery, a tad bit too comfortable being around him

And suddenly, you fail to notice the patch of ice and slip, tumbling down the cliffside, your affection for him snowballing into something greater

And so you support him through his dreams of becoming an idol, writing to him while he's a trainee, making care packages for him

Anything for your Ajax

And when he finally debuts...

Oh boy, all the fans calling themselves his partner? They could dream on

You called dibs on him before any of them even set eyes on him

Besides, how could they even fall for someone just from watching them perform?

That was answered for you the first time Ajax excitedly insisted you watch him in the MV

You're not exactly proud of your reactions to seeing him come up on screen, but he seemed happy enough about it

Falling in love with the idol Childe was like drowning

Holding your breath, choking and flailing

It's dizzying until you finally succumb, which doesn't take long at all

And once he's converted you into a fan?

He's such a little shit, whipping out the idol persona for a smidge of free fanservice just to get you flustered at the most random times

And he's back to your sweet old Ajax in seconds too, acting like nothing's amiss

Furina:

The world's greatest actress finds that the world is her stage

Ever perfect, ever entertaining, her splendour is unparalleled

It was impossible not to adore such craft, and you easily fell in love with her acting just as one would fall asleep, gently and blissfully without even realising

Immersing yourself in her works, you develop a sort of fanaticism, delving deeper to find her interviews

She's beautiful whether or not she's filming, you find

So much so that you can't help but wonder how much of it is true

And so when you do, by some trick of fate, meet her, you feel compelled to ask

It's a dark, foggy evening, and you're taking a brisk walk along the forest

Who would've thought you'd bump into her then?

And so you strike up conversation, eager to interact with your favourite actress

And when you broach the topic of her facade, you notice she gets a tad bit defensive

So you apologise and back off, meaning well, hoping to see her again

And you do: these late walks become a regular thing, and slowly, you start to know her for who she really was

It's almost like meeting her for the first time all over again, and it very well may have been if you don't count the act as meeting her

Falling for Furina, your friend, was like taking an ice bath

Frigidity seized you almost instantly, and yet, as you stayed longer, the more pleasant it felt, almost soothing in a sharp sort of way

Kaveh:

Not just anyone could race in what was known to be the pinnacle of motorsports

And Kaveh? He was brilliant, the light of Ksharewar, the face of the team

And frankly, a very charming face

Often regarded as one of the prettiest on the grid (if not the prettiest)

He's really raking in the viewers

Imagine people seeing *1* edit of him getting out his his car post race and suddenly they're invested in races

Ofc being a new fan, the gatekeeping you have to put up with is ridiculous

"I bet your favourite driver is Kaveh because he's handsome."

As if he's not one of the most talented to ever grace us with his presence?

He gets so involved with the car's engineering honestly he should just build the car himself too atp

He is speed on the track

And falling for the light of Ksharewar through the television screen is an adrenaline rush in and of itself

So bumping into him in real life was just breathtaking

You sincerely hoped you didn't come off as some crazed fanatic with the way you rambled on about how much you loved seeing the way he pushed the car to its limits and everything

Overall it was a great once in a lifetime experience and you planned to treasure it

Until it was just a once in a lifetime thing and you seemed to bump into him a fair bit ("Hey aren't you that fan that completely went off about the car that time?")

Once you'd started talking to him more frequently, the rush of meeting him started to fade into less of a frenzy, and more of a bubbling excitement

Falling in love with Kaveh was like taking a breath of fresh air and letting the chilly breeze fill your lungs, a crisp clarity creeping through your senses

But from the faint flush of pink on his cheeks, perhaps the opposite was the case on his end

Scaramouche(Wanderer):

You've heard of artists with depression, now what about artists with borderline personality disorder?

The first time you'd met him, you didn't even know it was him

You'd been at an art gallery admiring the works signed off by Kunikuzushi when a stranger stood beside you

"You've been staring at this sculpture for a pretty long time."

"I like it. I don't think I've ever felt such yearning embedded in stone."

The stranger didn't respond, but nodded in acknowledgement and continued to stand beside you

Falling for Kunikuzushi was like falling in love with shadows

It was no more than a feeling, a yearning, a desperation much like what he portrays in his works

Everything you knew about him seemed to drown in sorrow, loneliness, and self destruction, yet having never met him, you were sure this was only one small aspect of his being

Which left you ever curious

Curiouser still was that same stranger with the odd navy blue hair who always seemed to happen to bump into you at these exhibitions

Without fail, he'd prompt you to speak, as though digging for your thoughts on each piece

Not that it bothered you, the stranger felt familiar, and had become a welcome face

Warm was his presence and gentle was his gaze, yet a detached coldness kept you from him

He was beautiful, you noted, like moonlight, with all it melancholic splendour and grace, like the paintings and sculptures you loved so dearly

And so you found yourself falling for a beguiling stranger whose name you knew not

You loved him like the sea loves the shore, always reaching for him, but pulling back in uncertainty

"You're oddly silent today," he notes.

"I was thinking of how much this piece reminds me of us. It's weird, isn't it? How I'm seeing things, drawing links to some stranger."

"Not really. I made it like that for you. We don't have to be strangers."

Wriothesley:

Baseball player Wriothesley who has his fans swooning at his charming grin and chuckle

A real heart stopper (he could beat me with his bat)

Fans adore him regardless of whether they're simps (they are) because he's good at his job

The only people who hate him are fans of the opposing team

The way his arms flex with every swing, in this essay I will-

He's built like a tank and plays like one too

So obviously you'd expect him to be a pretty confident kind of guy

And he is

He's a charmer, a smooth talker, and painfully level headed

So why was this beefy cannon suddenly bashful over your incessant praise?

Just look at him, which of his fans haven't fallen completely smitten?

Falling for the star player was like stepping into a big city for the first time, and being wowed and blinded by the lights and massive skyscrapers

But Wriothesley was a soft person at heart

And oh so very vulnerable to affection

For every compliment you uttered, he'd readily deflect it, but when they just didn't end?

Boy was he at a loss

He did end up treating you to coffee, so that was nice

But he was very obviously avoiding your gaze which he deemed to raw for him to meet

Yet it is that exact raw adoration that he can't quite dismiss

He knows how superficial fawning can be, yet there's an undeniable gratification when it comes from you

So he keeps you at arm's length, letting you in ever so slightly, but never too close despite not pushing you away

Falling in love with Wriothesley was like planting a seed and nurturing it as it grows

The germination takes place out of sight, the results unnoticeable until it finally sprouts as a fragile sapling

Discouraging as it may be, with continued work, it does get easier

And when he's secure enough to trust you entirely...he promised to return all your efforts tenfold

Taglist: @ryuryuryuyurboat @yinyinggie @mx-kamisato @chaosinanutshell @haliyarobin @irethepotato @boundedbyfate @favonius-captain @aqui-soba @tiredsleep @sadlonelybagel @mastering-procrastinating

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katygorl · 2 months ago

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I shuffled these all from my liked songs playlist which is a nightmare because I currently have over 3200 songs it, and my music taste is all over the place as I will listen to anything ^^' But I'm still curious to hear what you all would pick from these!

Thanks for the tag! I tag whoever wishes to try this themself!^^

thanks @gojjosatoru this is fun!!

Rules : put your music library on shuffle, then list the first five songs that come up in a poll to let people vote for their favorite! ✧₊⁺

If you're interested in doing the same, say I tagged you!

#tagged game #reblog game #music #poll #dream #imagine dragons #sweater weather #the neighbourhood #death by glamour #toby fox #undertale #rewrite the stars #the greatest showman #good kid #the lightning theif musical #the percy jackson musical

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eluxcastar · 11 months ago

Note

idk if we're meant to req this way but Pantalone Dottore and Capitano (separate) with #6?? please we're starving out here ri

Opening up to their s/o

── ୨୧：pantalone, il dottore, il capitano x reader (separate)

୨୧﹑synopsis :: more of this prompt more comfort drabbles spins

୨୧﹑genre :: fluff but I would maybe not call it straight fluff

୨୧﹑content :: gn reader, literally none of these people effectively communicate, kinda vague on purpose

୨୧﹑words :: 1.3k

Opening up for the first time.

is nobody feeding you?? I mean I know I've been slow but anon honey are you ok 😭

sorry this has taken so long as I said medical issues I swear I'm back to not starve you I've been thinking of this since I received it actually because you said you're starving. to everyone else, I'm getting off my ass

prompt list

── ୨୧：pantalone

Pantalone is not typically emotional. He is prone to fronts and lies, and he is not enthusiastic about the idea of sharing his feelings with you. It's not in his nature to be emotional, though Pantalone feigns such things and uses it to hide things from you. Playful with you each time you question him, he'll evade it and convince you, to his satisfaction, that everything is fine.

You hardly believe him, as is the case with many of the things he says. His well-crafted exterior hardly masks his stress once caught off guard, crushed under the pressure of maintaining the image of a well-groomed and high-class businessman.

The people he associates with disgust him, as do their actions and worldviews. They were raised in a world of glamour and decadence where he's belittled, new money in a sea of people living off of old money. It never seems to get to Pantalone until it does; the outbursts of anger are what follow. It's fine, he always says. He just needed a moment.

But nothing will ever be enough, he realises, your arms so inviting as you stand by the chair at his desk, running your hands through his hair, only a month after you made it official you were dating. Pantalone's poker face was pretty while it lasted, but his messier sides were always lurking just around the corner. To hold his head in your arms and console him through his pent-up anger is therapeutic to him, a labour of love for you.

His composure is fragile at times as he dances on the occasionally very thin line between put together and on the verge of smashing his wine glass in frustration right in front of an acquaintance. It's certainly not pretty, and he makes his fingers hurt at times from how hard he fights to refrain from doing it, but it keeps the very thing he works so hard for—his reputation.

Pantalone got so far, but it still amounts to nothing, even when he's the wealthiest man in the world. Nothing matters in the face of a reputation lingering, a poor man pretending to be rich, new money already too big for his britches. You don't care about his reputation, and you're not caught up in appearances. He likes that.

He likes how you laugh as you tell him that's junk, rich people crap, aristocratic bullshit. It feels comforting, like home to laugh his problems off as the pettiness of others. It's nice to let go of such a serious outlook.

── ୨୧：il dottore

Dottore's idea of sharing with you very much involves deflecting, avoiding and dancing around the many problems in his life, not eager to rely on a person when he could solve the issue himself. If you never need to know, you never start worrying and never dwell on it. He never has to face the problem properly.

For small things, that doesn't seem so strange. Dottore can quickly move on without them bothering him too much because that's the natural way of dealing with minor inconveniences, short of being ironically dramatic. Something goes wrong, and he can solve it within fifteen minutes. It's like water off a duck's back. Other times, Dottore will wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, and his greatest worry is how to make sure he doesn't wake you up as he slips out of bed.

No matter how often you tell Dottore to tell you what's wrong, he tries to assure you it's nothing, insignificant or a temporary setback. It's not that, as evidenced by his troubled face. It doesn't shake his lies. He'll run off and try to fix it all himself just as he always has, previously stemming entirely from the fact he had to, now purely by habit. If it ain't broke, don't fix it (it's broke).

So to hear him open up is…strange, though you are used to long-winded rambles reminiscent of a raving madman. He talks quickly sometimes and expects you to follow to the best of your abilities. Whether you can or not is another question. It is different, tired and spent from a day of hard work, hands raking through his messy blue hair as words fall from his lips as quickly as they enter his mind, barely coherent sentences of every inconvenience big and small he faced.

In a way, he hopes it's so hurried and jumbled you'll hardly catch half of it, though you sit by his side and debate between rubbing his back and not startling him with the sudden touch. It feels like the release of every little thing he bottled up overflows, and he doesn't want to speak once he settles, quiet. He looks at you with such exhaustion in his eyes, and you touch your hands to his face with as much caution as you can muster. He lets out a sigh the closest filled with the closest to relief he can get.

It is not perfect; he is an imperfect man. But it is his first step, and he can be nurtured.

── ୨୧：il capitano

Capitano doesn't intentionally hide things at a glance. He's usually very open with what he says, but some things slip his mind, and he's hardly keen on speaking from an emotional standpoint. Everything is objective, a piece of news and not a conversation about what happened. Someone fell down a ravine. What happened? They died. And his reaction? It happens all the time.

Objectively, that measure is correct, but it ignores the fact that people are people. He never wants to acknowledge being part of something because Capitano can tell you things without needing to. You notice it but avoid bringing it up, wondering maybe if that's just how he copes with it all. The years of death and bloodshed will weigh down on him, but if he doesn't bring it up to you, he'll have a reprieve to retreat to.

It's not good enough, but people never are. Everyone has their vice, and perhaps Capitano's vice is separating himself from who he is in battle once he returns home.

He never had a single point at which everything came crashing down, and the world felt bleak, but a series of small moments where Capitano let it slip that he mourned each loss with unimaginable care. Capitano remembers their names and keeps items to memorialise them. Somehow, that's not unthinkable with the way he keeps his regiment running like a well-oiled machine, every person there to better it in some way. He picked those people by hand.

Capitano paces when he thinks. He paces more than usual around the room in circles on a particularly rough night. He suffered a great setback, as it was put. You try everything you can think of to get through to him, from asking him to talk to you to telling him to sit down. He insists on just being preoccupied.

Coincidentally, that gets you the furthest as he tries to push you away with excuses.

He's preoccupied. Why? He had a difficult mission. What happened? People died. And? And what? There shouldn't be more, yet it unravels, the loose thread of his stoic composure suddenly coming apart. He knew them by name; it hurt to lose them, and he wishes to personally deliver their belongings to their families as soon as possible. That's it. That's enough for him to curl up on the couch and quietly accept that you finally got him to say something and that it was pleasant to have it be less of a burden to carry such things.

#♡ — anon visit.#✦ — headcanons.#pantalone #pantalone x reader #dottore #il dottore #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #capitano #il capitano #capitano x reader #il capitano x reader

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