#a spark in fate core

[izzasecretredacted]

Using A Spark in Fate Core to Build My World

I thought I’d show you my process through A Spark in Fate Core, a worksheet for creating an original campaign setting. This doubles as a writing tool and something that will contribute to gameplay, even after going through it, so I think it’s worth showing what I ended up doing before formulating that introductory post.

Since Spark in Fate was made specifically for Fate Core, a TTRPG I’m not using, I’m using part of it. I also homebrewed this a bit, since it’s built for collaborative worldbuilding and I’m just doing this on my own, but not that much..

Step 1: List Media

Going into this project, all I knew about it was that I wanted it to be kinky, in a world that’s atleast better than real life, and related to space. This first step, which is to list some media that I like or has things that I want in my world, will help me get a more solid idea. I’m not going to justify my choices, because I don’t have to, not until step 2.

Usually, you would have 1 or 2 per player. I picked 3 total, which is a bit less than you’d normally have, but that’s because of a future step.

Cowboy Bebop

Star Trek

Tekken 3

I didn’t need all of the media to be sci-fi, and in fact, only 2 have space travel. I didn’t need media with a story, either. I’m actually pretty sure that, every time I’ve done this with an actual group, atleast one person gives an album. I make a point that it works just as well as anything else. I picked these because they were either cool, or were cool and also had themes I wanted to explore.

Step 2: List Inspirations

After asking for some of the stuff I like, Spark in Fate then has the gall to ask ‘why’. This means I have to pinpoint specific things in the media I’ve listed that I want to see in my world, and put that concept into a phrase that’ll be called an inspiration. I went for 1 ‘cool’ inspiration and 1 ‘thematic’ inspiration for each piece of information, just to keep a balance or something.

I’ll describe my thought process for deciding each inspiration. I won’t go in depth about how that inspiration relates to the media it comes from, because I don’t need the inspirations to be perfectly reminiscent of how they were explored in the media I chose.

Cowboy Bebop

Bounty Hunting

This felt like a good way to facilitate swashbucklery duels, and maybe have an excuse to explore dub-con/cnc style dynamics.

Holding on to Identity

I tend to get bored of sex that just exists for its own sake (acespecs gonna acespec), so I figured it’d be fun to ask what makes sex, and for that matter, romance and gender as well, meaningful to the characters doing it.

Star Trek

Space Adventure

It’s fun, you should try it! That, and I recently came across a book called “Elf Genders” that has tables for randomly rolling genders for fantasy cultures. I won’t use that specific book, because some of the tables are checks for if certain things are discriminated against, and I just don’t want to introduce that in this game. I’m giving it a shoutout because it made me realize that it’s kinda silly how aliens in media are often just a couple of genders that humans ended up with, and I thought I’d contribute to rectifying that.

Almost Utopic

Utopian fiction appeals to me because I just think it’s a more productive way to comment on real world issues, and because not being depressing doesn’t make something less intelligent or meaningful. I went with ‘Almost Utopic’, partially to acknowledge that Star Trek’s politics aren’t perfect, but mainly because it makes fitting it into the Thirsty Sword Lesbians framework slightly more straightforward.

Tekken 3

Expressive Fighting Styles

I like when characters have fighting styles that fit their personality, and are flashy to the point of ‘that would never work in a real fight’. Basically, professional wrestling.

Tech Awakening Old Horrors

I wanted to interrogate the idea that technological advancement is inherently good. Obviously, as a tool, it's done some pretty cool things like develop modern medicine and make long distance communication practical, I guess. I’m more talking about the idea that we should have more powerful technology just for the sake of it, and thought maybe having really powerful technology that poses an existential threat could be a good jumping off point. I didn’t intend to end up with ‘fossil fuels but Lovecraftian’ but maybe I can lean into that.

Step 3: Genre

This is when you pick a genre and put an adjective infront of it to make it more unique. That’s about it. It sounds easy, but with a group, it can sometimes take awhile…

Anyway, I went with “Kinky Sci-Fi Adventure”, of course.

Step 4: Scale

Ironically, this is another one-question-long step. It asks what problems the PCs will need to face, ranging from small town drama to saving the world from a mad god. This is actually a pretty complicated question when you put it in the context of a single campaign, which is probably why it gets its own step. It asks you to say something like ‘small scale’ or ‘big scale’, but then add a phrase to elaborate on the nature of that scale.

I plan on this campaign being a monster-of-the-week with space travel and rival characters. Since the broader problems of the world aren’t being tackled (atleast, not in the start), this would actually be a ‘small scale’ campaign. I’ll specify that the setting takes place in a large location, but focuses on a certain type of character.

I went with “Small Scale (Space, but Filled with Rivals)”.

Step 5: Establish the Facts

At last, I get to start putting in some more tangible elements into this world. Normally what would happen is the DM would ask a question (my favorite starting question is ‘What does mundane life here look like?’, but that’s neither here nor there), and a player answers it in a way that incorporates one of the inspirations. Then, that player asks another question, and another player answers it by incorporating another inspiration. This goes on until every inspiration is incorporated, making sure everyone gets to ask and answer a question.

When I’m doing this on my own, I sometimes write down a question and randomly roll for what inspiration to use to answer it. For this campaign, I don’t have to, because Thirsty Sword Lesbians has a worksheet for worldbuilding, with questions that I can use for this process. This is why I only used 3 pieces of media with 6 inspirations, because there were six questions that I wanted to pull from the TSL worksheet.

Since the questions were decided by another source, I just picked the inspirations I wanted to use.

What community does the PC live in?

The Sell-Whips. (Expressive Fighting Styles)

What’s the scale of this community?

Scattered across two galaxies. (Space Adventure)

What is especially positive about this community?

Complete and mutual respect for each-other’s needs. (Holding on to Identity)

What is a serious flaw of your community?

Sometimes you need to ‘grab’ someone to help keep the ship running. (Bounty Hunting)

What poses a threat to your community?

The sorta benevolent Federation, which pressures others to assimilate to a specific way of life. (Almost Utopic)

What poses a threat to the world?

The chaotic, powerful, and destructive Extinction-Tech. (Tech Awakening Past Horrors)

Step 6: Name Your Child

It wants a title for the world. Most groups skip this step. I figured there’s no better title than my blog title, so refer to that and continue to Step 7.

Step 7: Step 7

This is Step 7. It’s the step where ‘Sparks’ are come up with, root problems that have an effect on the entire world, and it’s the last step that I want to do. This step exists even for small scale campaigns, because they give an understanding of where more local problems originate. This is normally done by each player thinking of 2 sparks, but I like to make sparks usings the facts I established in Step 5, which is not Step 7. Step 7 is this.

Remember these Sparks, they’re the whole reason why I thought this process was worth showing. They’ll come up in a future, similarly ‘behind the curtain’ post, and will hopefully play a huge role when actual gameplay starts.

It’s a dangerous job, but someone’s gotta do it. (The Sell-Whips.)

Interstellar travel takes a while. (Scattered across two galaxies.)

Sell-Whips stick together. (Complete and mutual respect for each-other’s needs.)

Sell-Whips hunt each other. (Sometimes you need to ‘grab’ someone to help keep the ship running.)

Life’s hard for those who aren’t homogenous. (The sorta benevolent Federation, which pressures others to assimilate to a specific way of life.)

Extinction-Tech is never good news. (The chaotic, powerful, and destructive Extinction-Tech.)

In later steps, a group or solo player would create more local issues, and then create some key characters and places. I plan on doing all that without Spark in Fate, so that’s why I’ve neglected them. I just needed to come up with a skeleton (or the outside of the iceberg, if you’ve seen that Brandon Sanderson lecture that one time), and get those Sparks as a secret tool that will help out later. It’ll be a bit until I start the actual journal, I got some homebrew ideas I want put into writing, plus a bunch of rivals and my PC’s crew, but next post will have atleast a little bit of narrativeness to it.

[plutonianeris]

🕷️𝖘𝖊𝖝𝖞 𝖘𝖞𝖓𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖞 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖔𝖘𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖘🕷️

Sun Conjunct Mercury in the Composite Chart: this aspect makes communication between you two smooth and natural. You understand each other’s thoughts, and there’s a lot of intellectual compatibility. Conversations flow easily, and you’re able to express your ideas and feelings in a way that brings clarity and connection to the relationship.

Moon Square Uranus in Synastry: With the Moon squaring Uranus in synastry, emotional sparks fly. and this is sometimes in exciting ways, but other times in destabilizing ones. The Uranus person might bring a sense of unpredictability to the relationship, making the Moon person feel emotionally unsettled. There’s a lot of excitement, but the relationship can also feel erratic or unreliable.

Venus Trine Neptune in Synastry: This aspect brings a beautiful, dreamy vibe to the relationship. Venus trine Neptune makes the love feel almost magical, as if you’ve found a connection that’s too good to be true. You see the best in each other, and there’s a sense of unconditional love. But be careful not to get lost in the fantasy...sometimes Neptune can blur the lines between reality and illusion.

Mars Square Saturn in Synastry: Mars square Saturn can create a push-pull dynamic where one person’s desires (Mars) feel blocked by the other’s caution or resistance (Saturn). The attraction is there, but it’s often met with frustration. This aspect can bring lessons around patience and compromise, but it can also feel like you’re constantly hitting walls in the relationship.

Sun Sextile Moon in Synastry: When the Sun and Moon sextile each other in synastry, there’s an easy, harmonious connection between your core identities and emotional needs. You both understand each other at a deep level, and it’s easy to sync up emotionally and energetically. This aspect creates a sense of mutual respect and comfort in the relationship.

Pluto Conjunct Venus in Synastry: When Pluto and Venus come together, this isn’t just any kind of love...it’s a deep, transformative connection that feels like it was written in the stars. There’s a magnetic pull between you two that can feel like fate, but the intensity can also be overwhelming. This is the kind of relationship where love transforms both of you, for better or worse.

Venus Sextile Jupiter in Synastry: Venus and Jupiter together create a relationship full of generosity, fun, and affection. There’s a natural flow of love and optimism in the relationship, and you both enjoy making each other feel good. It’s the kind of connection where you can spoil each other, laugh a lot, and just have an easy, joyful time together.

Venus Conjunct Saturn in Synastry: Venus conjunct Saturn brings a lot of maturity and commitment to a relationship. This is the “ride or die” aspect where love feels solid and long-lasting. It’s not the light, fluffy kind of romance. it’s serious, with lessons to be learned. You might feel like you’ve been brought together to work through karma, but the bond can be incredibly stable if you’re willing to put in the effort.

Moon Trine Neptune in Synastry: When the Moon trines Neptune in synastry, there’s a sense of emotional and spiritual connection that feels almost otherworldly. You may feel like you’ve met your soulmate or that this person understands you on a deeply intuitive level. It’s a soft, flowing kind of love that brings a sense of peace and emotional healing.

Mars Conjunct Pluto in the Composite Chart: When Mars and Pluto come together in a composite chart, the relationship feels intense, transformative, and possibly a little dangerous. This is the type of bond that can change you deeply, for better or worse. The passion is undeniable, but it can also bring up power struggles and a need to constantly transform through conflict.

Venus Opposite Uranus in Synastry: Venus opposite Uranus creates a whirlwind romance that’s full of excitement, but also instability. This is the kind of connection where things can feel electric, but also like they could fall apart just as quickly. There’s a rebellious quality to the relationship—you might be drawn to each other because of how different or unconventional your love feels.

Sun Square Moon in the Composite Chart: In a composite chart, this aspect creates tension between your identities and emotional needs. There’s a desire to connect, but it can feel like you’re always out of sync. One person’s emotional needs (Moon) often don’t align with how the other expresses themselves (Sun), which can lead to frustration, but also growth if you learn to meet each other halfway.

Mars Square Pluto in Synastry: Mars square Pluto in synastry can feel like you're in a rollercoaster relationship. There’s incredible sexual chemistry, but it comes with intense power dynamics. You might find yourself getting into fights or feeling like there’s always a battle for control. The attraction is hot and heavy, but the emotions run deep and dark.

Moon Conjunct Venus in Synastry: This is one of the most romantic aspects in synastry. The Moon person feels emotionally safe with the Venus person, and Venus loves how nurturing and comforting the Moon feels. Together, there’s a vibe of deep affection, tenderness, and care. It’s the kind of connection where you just want to cuddle and take care of each other.

Venus Trine Mars in the Composite Chart: In a composite chart, Venus trine Mars creates an effortless balance between affection and passion. You two just get each other when it comes to love and intimacy. There’s a beautiful harmony between how you both express love and desire, making this a relationship where the chemistry feels right and doesn’t require much work.

Moon Opposite Mars in Synastry: When the Moon and Mars are in opposition, the emotional (Moon) and physical (Mars) sides of the relationship can clash in spicy ways. There’s a lot of passion here, but it might also lead to emotional outbursts or frustration when one partner’s needs aren’t met. You’re either fighting or passionately making up—there’s no in-between honestly...

Venus Square Pluto in Synastry: a full-on obsession. The Pluto person brings intense emotional depth to the connection, while the Venus person feels swept up in the intensity. There's a magnetic pull that makes you crave each other, but be careful: this aspect can easily swing into power struggles, jealousy, and possessiveness if you're not careful.

Sun Conjunct Moon in Synastry: When the Sun and Moon align, it’s a cosmic “I see you and you see me” moment. The Sun person feels recognized for who they truly are, and the Moon person feels emotionally safe. Together, there’s a deep sense of comfort, warmth, and emotional connection that makes this relationship feel natural, like you’ve known each other forever.

Mars Conjunct Venus in Synastry: This is the classic "can't keep my fucking hands off you" aspect. When someone's Mars touches another's Venus, it creates an almost magnetic physical attraction. The Mars person is the pursuer, while the Venus person feels irresistibly desired. It’s sexual tension in its most sexiest form in my opinion, and when you’re together, it feels like there’s always a spark between you.

Pluto Conjunct Mars in Synastry: Pluto conjunct Mars is the ultimate battle for control in the bedroom—and outside of it. The sexual energy here is insane, but it’s not just about attraction; it’s about power. The Pluto person wants to possess and transform, while the Mars person pushes for action and excitement. This aspect can bring wild, mind-blowing sex, but also explosive arguments and power struggles that can burn everything down if unchecked.

Venus Opposite Pluto in Synastry: Love-hate, but can’t let go. Venus opposite Pluto brings intense desire and a deep emotional connection, but it often feels like you’re stuck in a cycle of obsession and power games. You want each other so bad it hurts, but the tension is constant. This aspect is like living on a rollercoaster—you’re either at the highest highs or the lowest lows. It’s hard to walk away, even when things get toxic, because the attraction feels fated.

Mars Square Uranus in Synastry: Unpredictable attraction. Mars square Uranus is the definition of "expect the unexpected" in relationships. The chemistry between you two is electric, but it’s also unstable. The attraction can be instant, and the sex? Explosive. But don’t expect consistency—there’s always a risk that things will crash just as quickly as they heat up. This connection thrives on adrenaline, so if you’re into sudden breakups and makeups, this is your jam.

Pluto Conjunct Moon in Synastry: Pluto conjunct Moon is where things get dark and intense emotionally. The Pluto person digs deep into the Moon person’s subconscious, exposing all their fears, insecurities, and hidden desires. The emotional connection is powerful and can feel transformative, but there’s also a risk of emotional manipulation or control. It’s like living in a psychological thriller—there’s no escape, but you don’t want to leave either.

Venus Square Mars in Synastry: Venus square Mars creates so much sexual chemistry, but it often comes with frustration. The Venus person might feel unappreciated or overwhelmed by Mars’ direct advances, while Mars can get frustrated with Venus’ need for romance or tenderness. It’s a push-pull dynamic where attraction is always there, but so is the tension. This aspect can lead to incredible sex, but you might fight just as passionately.

Mars Conjunct Uranus in Synastry: Mars conjunct Uranus is all about breaking the rules in the bedroom and maybe even outside of it. This aspect brings a lot of excitement, spontaneity, and experimentation to the relationship. You two probably surprise each other all the time, but there’s a constant restlessness here. It’s great for keeping things exciting, but don’t expect stability its like you might go from making love one minute to fighting the next.

Moon Square Pluto in Synastry: Moon square Pluto can bring power struggles to the surface, especially on an emotional level. The Moon person might feel emotionally vulnerable or manipulated by Pluto’s intense need for control. Meanwhile, Pluto might feel that Moon is too sensitive or tries to evade the transformation that Pluto demands. The emotional connection is intense, but it can quickly become toxic if either person abuses their emotional power.

Moon Opposite Venus in Synastry: Moon opposite Venus creates a sweet attraction where both partners feel drawn to each other emotionally and romantically. However, their needs might not align perfectly. The Moon person craves emotional connection, while the Venus person may focus more on the aesthetic or sensual aspects of love. This can create misunderstandings about what each partner truly wants or needs, but the attraction remains strong.

[pseudowho]

Professor Higuruma: Part One, Star-Crossed

Leaving your job behind to study Law, you fall into the gravity of Professor Higuruma Hiromi. Soon, you find yourselves entwined in an affair so deep and alluring, you cannot see where Hiromi ends and you begin.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut from Part One, age-gap relationship (20s to 40s), 'thread of fate', tw- leaving an emotionally neglectful relationship, tw- alcohol use, wet dreams and daydreams

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The bottle would not draft his timetable, and as such, it remained corked. Hiromi's thirst extended past wine and warm bodies, to something altogether more elusive; an alleviation of his crippling loneliness-- that which ground him down to dirt.

Hiromi sat on his sofa, picking up the claret, rolling it in his hands, putting it down, running his fingers through his hair, clenching white knuckles against jittering thighs.

The week had been long. His Department was undergoing fresh demands for classes and time and curriculums and more, that Hiromi had not the staff to facilitate. With the new term about to start, and fewer professors than ever, Hiromi felt like the wick in the middle of a candle burning at both ends.

From the heated sneers that set to flame in the room around him, Hiromi wasn't the only one already balancing on a knife edge. He felt the frost crisp the earth around Nanami Kento, his Literature department already at the end of their tether.

If the rampant deep-seated loathing for the world in which he lived didn't kill him first, the stress would. The loneliness would. The drink would. The pressure would. The late nights would. The loneliness the loneliness the loneliness the loneliness--

Hiromi threw his bottle and responsibilities to the sofa. Too touch-starved for solitude, but too burned out for company, Hiromi grabbed his jacket and keys, and headed for his favourite bar.

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See you later? At the bar across the street.

Let me know when you'll be here.

Are you still coming?

Not dressed up, sorry. On your way?

Got you a drink. See you soon?

???

The Spring evening was too crisp for such chilly rejection. The sun had seemed hopeful, earlier in the day, and you hadn't brought a jacket. You felt the bite upon your exposed arms, a nipping punishment for your optimism. Whether he was here, or not, made no great difference; he had not given you his jacket in a long time.

He would come, you reassured yourself. You'd buy him his favourite drink, and he'd arrive late, all I'm so sorry baby, you know how it is, c'mere, I'll warm you up, with twinkles in his eyes like you'd hung his stars and his hand in yours and the life you had lived and shit don't cry you stupid bitch pull yourself together.

You scurried into the bar, embraced by your own arms, before ordering his favourite drink and yours, as if a summoning ritual. The bar had a happy thrum, warm with love and life, and you saw cherry blossoms drift across the torch lit balcony. It beckoned you. You remained, waiting for your spell to work, with your eyes on the door.

The torches dwindled. A barman went to refill them with oil. Your fiancé had not arrived. The ice in his drink had almost melted, and you sank into a sigh that shredded down to the very core of you. The first time you saw the man in the black suit, arriving on a thundercloud, and sitting a few barstools down from you, you registered him only briefly, past the knife in your gut.

Then, a pair of coal-dark eyes met yours. The torches on the balcony reignited with a whoomph, setting drifting blossoms to pink-spark ember on the Tokyo backdrop. Your breath caught halfway, the scent of smoky petals and spiced cologne on the sides of your tongue. The barest clink of ice cubes settling in the glass, cracked through the moment that time had paused.

The man in the suit opened his mouth, offering only the other half of the breath he had stolen. His hangdog eyes were so curiously expressive. A smile wrinkled his nose. You stumbled across yourself, pressing your fiancé's undrunk drink across the bar to the black-suit man.

"Would you like this? It's in need of appreciation." The black-suit man laughed, a breathy rumble.

"Is it indeed?" He took the glass with long fingers, and you followed the trail of a trickle of the glass's condensation, dripping down his finger's inner length, to pool at the junction between. "Will it taste bitter in the mouth of someone for whom it was not intended?"

You smiled, your eyes narrowing in tease. "It is a gift."

"Oh!" He uttered, laced with small joy. "Then it will be sweet." He took a sip, a vermouth-honeyed tongue darting across his lips with an appreciative hum. "Yes, quite. Welcome, little drink. There is joy to be found amongst the unwanted." You laughed, and Hiromi felt a curious yank upon his finger. He had fallen into your company, and could not get back up.

"I must be old," he laughed again, swiping commas of grey-streaked Inky hair from his temples, "because I've forgotten my manners. I'm sorry for pressing conversation upon you. Thank you for the drink."

You shook your head, without the appropriate words to express how a stranger had warmed you more in moments than you had been in years. Your black-suit man bowed his head, standing, and turning away before pausing. Fate rolled a dice.

"The balcony looks lovely. And, empty." Hovering on one footstep, his gait then steadied, and brogued black shoes clipped across the polished floor. You felt something fine and golden tug within your chest, as torchlight rolled across the black-suit man's disappearing shoulders. Another diceroll raised Fate's eyebrows.

You stood, hesitating between the balcony and the bar. The barman buried a scoop into some ice, watching two strangers interact with an oddly burgeoning certainty. He never interfered. Fate flipped a coin; how readily the stars did align.

"He likes red wine." The barman offered, nodding between your stuttering gape, and the void the black-suit man left in the doorway. You frowned, biting your bottom lip, unaware that your path had been decided before the words left your mouth.

"Then I like red wine, too." The barman smiled. He reached to a row of dusty wine racks above his head, pulling out a bottle with a glassy clink.

"Do you trust me?" The barman asked, placing the bottle before you with a muted thud. You felt a bubble of joy up your nose.

"I do, actually." You replied, awash with certainty as you paid, took two glasses, and headed towards the balcony. As you walked through the doorway, and firelight uncovered the gems hidden within your hair and eyes, your black-suit man smiled, and gestured to the rattan sofa opposite him.

As you sat, strangely comfortable under his gaze, in your state of plain dress, your black-suit man smiled over at you. He looked awkward for a moment, not trusting himself in his own shoes.

"...all this and I wasn't actually prepared for company." You both laughed. Your black-suit man watched you with a glimmer in his eyes, fingers plaited and clasped under his nose, leaning forwards on propped elbows. You struggled to open the wine. He huffed through his nose, your fingers brushing as you handed the bottle over with a scoff.

The man's eyes narrowed as the bottle opened with a brittle schtick; "Loosened it for me--" you laughed again, pinching your nose bridge, "--no no I mean it, I'm really very weak--" You rolled in your laughter together, with him babbling smiling reassurance, while he poured your wine.

"I have one condition to this rendezvous-- please can we not talk about work?" He groaned, clinking your two glasses together in his own hands before passing one to you, still warmed by fading laughter.

"Absolutely. I promise. No work talk."

He was older than you, by an uncertain amount, though you were no girl. You leaned on one palm, in easy silence as you smelled the petal-burst flames. He watched the aurora cast upon your cheeks, feeling his chest fill in a way he couldn't describe.

"...Hiromi." He offered. "My name's Hiromi."

"And it suits you. Should I remain a great mystery?" You gasped, melodramatic with one hand over your mouth.

"Appalling manners!" Hiromi shot. "You owe me a name."

"I gave you a drink! And a bottle of wine."

"Bullshit."

"I don't owe you a thing, in fact--"

The evening trailed away, all warm banter, easy laughter and lingering looks. The conversation grew sloppier, uninhibited, lubricated by wine, of which the bottles nestled, one, two, two and a half. Hiromi had laughed, as deep and rich and mature as the grapes, positively Dionysian, his laughter dying on his lips to catch you mid-shiver. He huffed into his glass, the scent of fermentation rolling back over his own face.

"Here." He dropped, lackadaisical as he sloped past on the way to the bathroom. You blushed to feel his jacket nestle, warm and homely, around your shoulders. He did not appreciate the enormity of the gesture, to you, as he walked away. On his return, you appeared muted, holding onto his jacket around with with two chilly hands. Hiromi felt a stutter in his chest, and sat down beside you.

"...are you alright?" He whispered, soft under the torchlight. Your head drooped onto his shoulder, your neck softened by wine, and he puffed his surprise, short and sharp across your cheek.

"I've had such a lovely time." You sniffed, feeling the clock tick far too late, and you had a busy day ahead, with the start of your new course, and you had to get home and prepare your mind for the beginning of a new life and--

"It...doesn't have to be over." Hiromi intoned, and your belly clenched as his voice rumbled through your core. Your head turned on his shoulder, your nose brushing his. Hiromi spoke again, stroking your nose with his until your eyes fluttered closed, having never felt more certain of anything in his life. "I...I've never done this, but...come home with me, just tonight, and--"

Your phone rang, shrill and piercing and you cried out, jolting away from Hiromi's touch. He chased your lips, his face twisting in a pain you didn't see, as you looked down at your phone screen, slurring.

"Shit...my fiancé..."

Hiromi's belly tumbled, sick with disappointment-- with something altogether more possessive-- and feeling that yank upon his finger, more insistent as he spoke, low and slow.

"Your...fiancé?" The words tasted rotten. Hiromi felt sick, bitter with the sudden loss, hobbled by the brutality of having gained the stars and lost them all at once. He watched you swallow, watched the flash of a wound reopening, piecing the puzzle together so fast now.

"The one who stood you up?" Hiromi toned, venomous with the injustice of the theft. You mistook the direction of his anger, and looked up, your face tight with apology. Hiromi shook his head, raising a hand. Your phone stopped ringing. A few moments passed before your phone buzzed. You read a message as Hiromi stood, turning on the spot, his hands cupped over his nose and mouth.

"You...shouldn't worry. I assume he's coming to pick you up, and I...thank you for such a lovely evening, it's been--"

You laughed without humour, eyes brimming with tears. You shook your head, and nodded, and shook your head again. Hiromi watched you, uncertain.

"I'll walk myself home. He's gone to bed." Hiromi paused, then scoffed.

"You're not walking home alone. Not a chance. Not like this."

He extended a hand to you. You took it, as if tied by the fingers. He held you, like this, all the way home to your cold bed.

You took each others' breath with you as you parted at the door. Hiromi was sure that his loneliness would not kill him first; the drink would not kill him first; the stress would not kill him first; the late nights would not kill him first; the pressure would not kill him first. Being taken to great heights, and then dropped in a dizzying fall, would.

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"Thank you for inviting me in." You whispered, smiling against the shell of his ear. In his bed, soft and open against his body, Hiromi sighed into your touch, your fingernails trailing across his scalp as he groaned. His cock throbbed, thick with promise.

"Couldn't leave you out there, naked." He mumbled against your lips, reaching under the covers to feel you and meeting only the cloth resistance of the mattress, but you were there because he could taste the wine on you, and you were opening yourself to him, he knew somehow.

"You're the one who undressed me." You said, your voice above him, but he was climbing above you, bracketing you to the bed while your voice whispered all around him. Hiromi felt his cock grasped, bucking forwards into the warmth and softness of it, chasing warmer and softer, and he begged you.

"Please you...never told me your name...let me in please, please--" He couldn't see your face with his eyes closed in this odd black moonlight, somehow within you and outside of you all at once. One more rock of his hips seated him within you, plush walls pillowy and smooth and all for him.

He groaned, low and desperate, rocking his cock inside you and he longed for you to welcome him with your arms, but any time he tried to draw them round him they flopped, useless, absent, so he urged you with his hips rutting faster, to pleasure you into holding him. Was it you crying out, or him? He couldn't tell, his pleasure mounting, pulsing through him in waves and why wasn't he trying to stop himself, he hadn't done anything for you--

Hiromi woke with a gasp, his pillow clutched between taut arms as he fucked involuntarily into the mattress, groaning into the mess of cum spurting between his sheets and belly. Hiromi's voice cracked, still lost in his dream, still spilling himself inside you in his mind. The blissful contractions of his cock dizzied him, surely the wettest dream he'd ever had.

Coming back to earth, Hiromi panted, face down in his pillow and a pool of his own sticky seed. His phone alarm rang. He groaned, feeling the catastrophic disappointment of the night before wash over him anew. Seeing the date on his phone in fumbling hands, sent another groan through him, and he buried his hooked nose in the pillow.

The new academic year began today.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Higuruma." More statement than question, Hiromi accepted Nanami Kento's proffered coffee as if being reminded of his own name. Hiromi took it, weary and silent, slouched at his desk beneath the crushing weight of having been scooped out in the middle.

Kento sat in Hiromi's visitor chair, regarding Hiromi with cool impassivity. He read the usefulness of any comments he could make, and set them aside for business.

"How do you plan on handling your evening classes? The high-school ones." Hiromi scoffed.

"Nanami, it is 8am on the first day of term, you cannot surely have a plan--"

"We'll offer assistant wages to one or two new First Years." Nanami said, before continuing, sniping and bitter. "If we must lose our Graduate Professors, and if we must host the accessibility courses ourselves, then at least the First Years can gain some income and some experience through teaching."

Hiromi rested his cheek on one palm. He stared Kento down.

"That...that's not a bad idea, actually, Nanami. I shall use that, I think." Kento and Hiromi inclined coffees and heads to each other, an easy camaraderie. Kento let the silence hang as Hiromi scribbled in his diary.

"I don't actually know how we'll do it, Nanami." Hiromi groaned, his face in his hands. "They make staffing cuts as if I can knit a new professor to take some of these classes. How much more 'self-directed learning' can I give these students? It's barbaric. They're being bled dry for this degree, and for what? So they can teach themselves? Shit."

Kento did not disagree, frosty again as the University Chancellors' departmental meeting montaged before his eyes.

"They're paying for a library, and the pleasure of our limited company." Kento sneered, as bitter as his coffee dregs. Hiromi sighed, trying to rub the alcohol away with his fingertips on his temples. Kento's eyes narrowed in cool regard, again.

"Home, or bar?" Hiromi grumbled, steepling his fingertips across his nose.

"Am I so fucking transparent?"

The faintest quirk lifted the corner of Kento's lips. He awaited an answer. Hiromi's head swam with the memory of you, interspersed with the false memories from the dream of being nestled between your thighs, and he felt his cock twitch. Hiromi shook himself out of it, sitting up and shaking his hands out with a huff.

"Bar, if you must know. It was...a late one." Kento hummed again. Hiromi did not elaborate.

"You should try harder to rest, before a work day. It is...irresponsible of you." Hiromi glowered over at Kento, Hiromi's junior by a good few years, quacking after him.

"Yes mother." Kento scowled.

"I could report you." Stony silence. Two chuckles in the office.

"No. You won't do that. You're my best friend."

"I don't have friends--"

"Shush."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

You recalled taking a day off work, on your fiancé's first day at University. You ironed his shirt the night before. You made him lunch, with notes and flourishes. You enjoyed a hot breakfast together, brimming over like the coffee pot about his future, while you worked to support him, and then your future, while he worked to support you. You had opened your arms to release him, and closed them around him on his return.

And god, you had worked, gruelling long hours for three gruelling long years, but despite the great chasm he had dug between you, you had brimmed over again when he landed his new job. A lucrative career. More than enough to pave your way, while he worked to secure your future--

He stayed in bed as your alarm went off. He accepted your affectionate nuzzles, before rolling away into the embrace of bed. Your fingers closed around nothing. You ate cereal. You packed your bag. You bubbled, low and alone. You wondered if he'd mind you slipping a banknote out of his wallet for your lunch. Your belly clenched with anxiety, and you packed a microwave meal instead.

You rocked, rhythmic with the clatter-back-and-forth of the train. Your eyes closed. Your music was soft. Though, not as soft as those coal-soft eyes, the gentle, brushing aquiline nose against yours, of the night before. Not as soft as the bittersweet ache of loss, of failing to know him better. The ghost of his touch soothed the stinging guilt, of wishing you had spent the night in his arms, instead.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Hiromi was early to his first class, his nerves too frayed and electric to be anything other than hypervigilant. The lecture hall stretched up around him, an amphitheatre where he would slowly watch the soul and enthusiasm be sucked out of those wishing to learn Law.

He had held some optimism, years prior, that his own fractured soul (from years of systemic self-abuse in the Criminal Defense system) could be soothed by teaching the next generation of lawyers, solicitors, and barristers.

Alas, second to idealism, feckless optimism had oft been Hiromi's failing. Alas, the decaying state of education and academia could provide no such balm to his soul while it crumbled itself, and expected its professors to use their bodies and bones to prop up the teetering institution. The grind was different, but just as potent. Hiromi felt the crushing responsibility of leading his department through this storm, and wondered how many would remain on the ship once the rain cleared from his vision.

He resigned himself to filling his chalice with the immeasurable optimism of the fresh and uninitiated. Though under-subscribed compared to prior years, he was still excited to receive his first batch of students for the term. He hoped their passion could bounce off of him, and multiply, exponential.

While preparing his slides for the day, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, Hiromi heard the steady fill of the lecture theatre behind him.

He could not shake the ghost of your head upon his shoulder. He could not shake the taste of your skin from his dreams. He could not shake his regret, for not shaking you by the shoulders and insisting you deserved better, instead of delivering you back to the bed of a man who didn't appreciate the treasure within his grasp.

"I'll be with you in a moment!" Hiromi called behind him, waving one white-sleeved arm in a vague gesture. "Please be seated! I shan't be long."

The chatter crescendoed behind Hiromi, and he turned, clapping his hands together and affecting a smile and speech, gazing into the sea of new faces.

"Good morning everyone! Welcome to your first class. I'm delighted you have all chosen to study the Law-- it means the flow of the insane into our noble professions remains, as ever, consistent." A few smattered laughs from the audience. Hiromi grabbed his clicker, a slide slow flicking onto the great screen behind him.

"My name is Professor Higuruma, and while I will only be teaching you Case Law this year, today we shall talk about what to expect from your course, and--and..."

Oh, god. Those eyes, that haunted him. The body he had made love to while he slept. The shock, mirrored in your own eyes back at him, a participant in his new audience.

Hiromi's arm and mouth drooped, with the tug of the fine gold thread that you, too, felt. The night you had almost shared together passed across two pairs of distant, breathless lips. You felt every pulse, every nerve, every fibre of yourself skip a beat.

How readily had the stars aligned.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Part Two, Interpretation, coming soon!

[risuola]

ENTRY #7 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU // You touched my hand and suddenly I couldn’t breathe anymore.

contents: arranged marriage!au, emotional confusion at its finest — wc. 509

a/n: are we going to leave the fluffy territory? i don't know, i enjoy writing those little pieces about confused fools in love (??), don't at me ♡

series masterlist

Blabbering.

A hazy echo of Jujutsu elders played somewhere in the background — monthly gathering of all high-grade sorcerers — and Satoru’s mind was somewhere else. Seated on a hard chair, a setting akin to a school lecture that usually would have reminded him about his old days, he struggled to keep his composure. The lack of snarky remarks and constant scoffs and sarcasm brought attention of few of his colleagues, but there was nothing in this world that could shift his attention away from you.

You were next to him, seemingly absentminded as you kept your eyes in front of you, studying languidly the characters hiding behind the matted glass. You were observing them, the surroundings and he was observing you, thanking his own cursed fate that the sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose were just as black as the middle of the night, not allowing anyone to see through them. He thought it was funny, ironic even, that what always was a way to establish his dominance — a glimpse of his blue orbs being enough to remind everyone that he is the strongest — now was just an excuse to steal glances of you with the corner of his eye.

Every time he took a breath in, your scent filled in his lungs. It made him dizzy. His hand rested on top of your thigh, a tip of his finger just barely touching your naked skin, while the rest of his palm met the fabric of your shorts, but it was that sliver of flesh that was driving him insane. He couldn’t help but focus solely on the gentle way you moved. He was your stress-toy and you were his distraction.

Seemingly paying him no mind, you kept playing with his fingers. Your dainty ones brushing up and down his long digits, ghosting over his knuckles and pressing on the pads of his palm — a tickling touch across the sensitive skin of the inner part of his wrist and then, you were following the veins on top of his hand.

He felt lightheaded.

The tips of your nails were scraping against his pale flesh ever so slightly, leaving a faint trace of goosebumps behind and teasing him from time to time. Your touch was soft and tender, sending sparks of intimacy right through Satoru’s core. His heart was racing inside his chest and he wondered if you could feel it every time your fingers brush over the pulse at the base of his hand.

You were taking your time. Slowly, lazily following the lines and curves of him, exploring the valleys and ups. Satoru felt a tingle of a shiver that run down his spine. Every single of your gestures was playful, innocent, sensual.

Tantalizing.

He was on fire.

The heat was burning him inside out. He fought with everything he’s got to not grip your thigh, to not squeeze the plushiness of it, to not just touch you more.

Gojo was on the edge, he couldn’t take it anymore.

But he didn’t want it to end.

taglist: @kinny-away @anan-baban @lotomber @netflix-imagines @kawliflo @nishloves @ghostfacefricker6969 @thejujvtsupost @yozora7154 @cherrycolabarbedwirebedpost @ae-mius @ropickle @chokesonspit @lansy-4 @just-pure-trash @mo0sin

[tasteracha]

a/n: i'm still taking a little tumblr break but the combination of things i've seen today and @astraystayyh and @forlix had me.......is this chan? is this hyunjin? who knows. also this was written very quickly and not proofread.

you’re on top of him before he can blink - still wearing that sinful outfit and wearing an annoying confident smirk that makes your blood bubble up and threaten to burst out of your veins.��

it takes only a few minutes of a nasty makeout and heavy petting before he’s touching your core through your shorts and you’re jerking in his lap. 

you unbutton his pants and free his cock from his boxers in what must have been record time, him returning the favor to your shorts like he can’t last one more second without being inside of you. 

of all people, you understood the sentiment, especially when he looked like that. 

you take advantage of your spot on his lap and position yourself over him, sliding slowly down and savoring every centimeter of his cock as it enters you. 

“oh, fuck,” he curses under his breath when you’re seated fully, his entire length throbbing against your walls. your knees are already wobbly from just one taste of him inside of you, and yet you work past it to roll your hips against his. 

he lets you have your fun for a few moments, looking up at you with a twistingly confusing mix of adoration and condescension. you can almost see the moment he tires of your slow pace, his eyebrows furrowing as he weight out his options before deciding on your fate. 

his hands circle your waist, tight in a bruising grip as he steadies you. you barely have time to whine in confusion before he starts fucking up into you, keeping you still on top of him. you felt weightless, the only stimulus hitting your empty head was the feeling of him sliding in and out of you, over and over. 

“eyes on me,” he all but growls out when you drop your head to his chest, starting to pant a bit. “i want to see you fall apart on my cock.” 

you meet his eyes and almost fall apart on the spot - his pupils are blown out, dark possessiveness overriding everything else as he keeps you in place. you feel like a puppet, taught on his strings and there is nothing else running through your head other than his name chanting like a prayer. 

you don’t realize that you’re saying it out loud until he moves one hand to tangle into your hair, pulling your lips into his to shut you up. 

you come together and it’s brighter than the sparks of fireworks behind your eyelids. you sob into his mouth as he fucks you through both of your highs until the only sound echoing through the room is your harsh breathing mingling with his. 

you can't stand straight when he lifts you off and you almost stumble back onto him; and he laughs at you and you shoot him a glare, reaching for his softening cock in retaliation. the sound of his panicked shout when he curves away from you sends your heart soaring through the skies. 

[2kiran]

THREEKVENT NAVIGATION

sub bruce wayne soft dom gn reader handjob

Bruce Wayne leaned against the brick wall, his suit uncomfortably sticking to his skin with how badly he’s been sweating. Each movement caused his breath to hitch, the material grazing the cut on his side. Thankfully not deep, but it hurt like a bitch.

He reached over, unlocking the window. Bruce found himself returning late at night to your apartment after encounters with criminals, taking in more hits than normal for a proper excuse.

Fate happened. You were a kind stranger, he was injured, and he needed help. Eventually, it remained like that for a while. He’d be in one place, some sort of wound visible, and you’d take him in. His eyes had watched you like a hawk, grunting and squirming away from the slightest of advance on instinct.

Embarrassingly enough, he immediately melted into your gentle touch. You guided him, made him feel what it was like to be openly vulnerable with someone else present. It’s wrong. You’re a civilian, continuously helping Batman would put your life at risk.

He feels guilty about it. You’re too kind for him, never daring to stay close to him than is necessary and choosing to respect his personal space. It was welcomed at first, but he wants more of it, more of you.

The only time he’ll actually touch you is when the pain is incredibly overwhelming his senses, which has him catching your wrist accompanied by a restrained grunt. Like he’d been burned, he’d pull back once reality crashed back down. He can’t, he shouldn’t. He’s putting you in danger.

Damn it all to hell.

Bruce tripped, stumbled, landing right on your lap. How convenient, he thought. He held himself upright, clutching the top of the couch’s backrest in a death grip, eyes wide. Bruce frantically searched your face, analyzing your reaction. “I’m—” He’s cut off when you pull him closer, gasping in surprise.

“It’s okay.” You reassure him, a soft smile gracing your lips and he wants to kiss you senseless. Until you can’t feel your hands, your face, or use that smart brain.

He stays like that, straddling your hips as you clean the wound on his side. It’s taking everything in him for his thoughts not to drift towards sinful ideas, borderline unprofessional.

He can’t help it.

Every touch, even an accidental brush on his skin has his breath hitching, anticipation thrumming in his veins. Heat pools deep within him, leaving him aching. He hopes you don’t notice, pants tightening and he’s almost painfully hard.

You do. Of course, you do. Right when you finish patching him up, earning a few pained groans, you halt him from standing up and leaving. “Batman.”

Oh fuck. Bruce is doomed. He wants to sink into the floor, or maybe the wall would be better. You know how he truly feels about the situation, and this is the last time he’ll ever see you. Panic rises, but he doesn’t allow it to outwardly show. His palms suddenly become all clammy, sweat dotting his forehead—

“May I?” Damn you.

Your hand settled on his muscled thigh and he has to suppress a shiver. Your fingers inched closer to where he needed you the most, just a little bit higher. But then you stop. Bruce whines.

“Please,” Batman didn’t beg, never did. “Please, I-I need it.”

He panted, excitement delivering a spark of heat that rushed straight to his core. His arms surrounded your shoulders, trapping you in his hold as he leaned down to your neck to hide in shame. He assists you in pulling down his suit enough to expose his glistening cock, pre-cum oozing from his slit.

Bruce felt like a wreck, lips in a tight line to prevent any embarrassing sounds from leaving his throat. Your thumb swiped across the cockhead, pressing down with enough pressure to force out a choked gasp from him.

“Don’t hold back,” You whisper directly into his red-tinted ear. He felt his hole clench around nothing, your words making him light-headed and he involuntarily bucks his hips against your touch. “I’ve got you, c’mon. Let me hear you.”

His breath stutters when you begin to gently trace the angry veins, moaning softly as he pulsates in your grasp. It’s been too long since he’s had someone—anyone—to touch him intimately, but never like you are now.

Your fingers wrap around his cock, slicking up your palm. It’s a slow pace, guiding him to a gradual orgasm. Gods, fuck, why were you being like this? He’s uncertain whether he enjoys how you’re treating him as though he’s made of glass that could shatter any unforgiving moment or if he should beg for you to fuck him rougher, make him go all dumb and drunk off the feeling of you.

He desperately ruts against you, it was selfish but the both of you knew he needed it. “Mmm.. fuck, I–” He gasps when you jerk him off a bit quicker, coming up to tease the underside of his tip every single time. Throbbing at the increased pace, he felt his eyes roll back into his skull. “more, ah ah mngh, more please.”

Bruce knew his manners, with his skin absolutely flushed and mind consumed with lust and greed to taste and take. “Yeah? Keep talking for me.” You urged, twisting your wrist as his pre-cum lathed up your hand, producing so much he seems like he’s right there. “Feels so g–good.” He whimpers, thighs trembling as his knees were beginning to fail on him.

Your too-good praise didn’t help him, at all. He felt young all over again, horny and wanting. “Beautiful,” you whisper, “need me to help you, don’t you, B?” The air gets knocked out of him, leaving him panting. He can barely feel his brain, all sensations leading to your hand pumping his wet cock.

“Need you,” He didn’t care how pathetic he seemed in this state, all he knew how desperate he was for you with your slick palm teasing his tip, rubbing in little quick circles. “ngh, so bad...”

Bruce Wayne knew he shouldn’t be thinking like this, but he wants you to stay with him. He could protect and provide for you. Who else would you want to be with besides him? That’s right. No one.

[earthstellar]

One thing that I really liked in IDW 2 was the concept of Going Immersant.

Given the immensely long average lifespan of Cybertronians, it makes sense:

If nothing kills you, and you live long enough to have experienced all of what you feel you reasonably can in this lifetime, and you feel content with the life that you have had, and it seems time to retire--

--Why not return your knowledge and the entity of your self to the core of your planet, where your energy and your components can be reused and your memories and knowledge can be subsumed into the greater whole?

Plug in with the stray cables that stick out of the cavernous expanses deep beneath the surface of Cybertron, let yourself get situated, and allow yourself to daydream as the crystals grow around you and gradually consume you. It is not painful. It is a process of sharing.

Each daydream then enters the great memory bank of Primus, at the heart of the world, the core of life itself for your species. Your experiences become part of the eternal record of experienced Cybertronian life. You join your God himself, frame and processor, as you combine with him within the physical form of your planet.

Primus created you, and as you are subsumed into the crystalline forms that surround you, you will go on to sustain Primus in some way. An unending cycle.

Perhaps you feel something, leeching up from deep within the crystal mass, some unique energy meeting you halfway, the cables that snake their way into your ports like vines carrying some ancient data, older than yourself, older than the Rust Sea, older than the Hydrax Plateau, older than the Titans.

Maybe you cannot decipher it, yet. But it comforts you. It reminds you that you are not alone, after your visitors have gone. Where there is digital noise, there is something to produce it. You will meet it soon--

--After countless years of a peaceful rest, knowing that at the end of your endlessly long existence, your life will go on to benefit others.

And for as long as you are able, you still remain present, as well. Just not above, on the surface. For some time, others can still come and visit, speak with you, consult with you-- Although as your memory banks purge into the greater whole, you begin to falter in this waking realm.

And that is OK; To rejoin with Primus and re-enter the Well of All Sparks as an ancient elder, a repository of experience and wisdom, is to become a teacher to all. Even in peaceful, gradual death-- And even then, your energy and materials and thoughts remain somewhere, deep within the planet.

Returned. Recycled.

Eternal, in some shape or form.

It's just a really beautiful concept.

Without any natural death, Cybertronians have the option to simply return to Primus, return to the core of the planet, in a half-waking state.

At peace, gracefully and with intent.

All of what they have experienced and all that they are, all of their memories and feelings, all of the metals and compounds that make up their frame and armour and protoform, all of it can be taken in and absorbed.

The option is there, to emerge once more.

But for most, this is the final calling.

To go immersant is to enter peace, to become a living state of meditation until the very end for you as an individual. To have full agency over how you pass on, to make the decision and consciously know. To be happy with that. To relax into your fate, as you see fit.

To make the decision to be recycled, to contribute all that you are, to return your energy to the crystalline matter that fuels your world and your people and your God, who in turn fuelled you and will thus go on to fuel all those subsequently churned out by the Well.

To merge with your living planet on an atomic level, on an esoteric level.

I wonder if the fully immersant aren't dead in the traditional sense. Perhaps they are offline, to those in this world. Perhaps their frame is vacated as their data is absorbed. But that data is not lost, necessarily.

It's just a very beautiful end of life option for Cybertronians, and I do hope the concept is revisited in some form in the future.

[hipsdofangirl]

my SVT bias line as HOCKEY PLAYERS

general + romantic headcanons

genre: college au!, hockey au!, some hockey lingo that may be wrong, subtle innuendos but nothing explicit, lowercase intended

note: always after i go to my college’s hockey games i want to write something… also not proofread as always cause i just got back from a game to sit down and write this for an hour straight... PLEASE comment your thoughts cause i need more people to talk to about this

general information:

the svt hockey team can play in any lines, but they prefer their units they dubbed themselves! this is what makes them so dangerous…

yoon jeonghan (04; position: right winger)

very fast but normally has no stamina, causing early line changes. they usually throw him toward the end of the periods to spark fear into the opposing team.

his signature move is flicking the puck to and fro in front of his opponent only to swipe it under his legs.

he loathes getting shoved but he plays it up so his team gets more angry (they always fall for it).

has best lettuce (slang for hair and this shocked me to my core learning about this)

subtly goes offsides and it’s a 50/50 chance of him getting caught.

he is not the type to pick fights but sometimes feels left out when they occur. one time, the other 3 were butting heads with the other team after a shot and he just stood there with an opposing player and just lightly grabbed his stick; the player tried tugging it back but jeonghan would not let go.

normally, after a fight he is immediately with his teammates and checking for any injuries and hearing them complain about the other team. if they are injured, oh boy watch out.

romantic

during warmups before the game, he purposely shoots with force and towards your direction. you can always spot a little smirk (and a giggle which mingyu side eyes him for) whenever you flinch in response

whenever he scores and his teammates hug him, right after he scans the crowd for you. once he spots you, he does his signature ‘click’ noise and salutes you (sometimes you blow a kiss and he dramatically is taken aback).

when he had his injury that took him to out of play for a month, he would always sit beside you, arm resting on your seat. whenever his team would score a goal, a smile donned his face as he clapped; you on the other hand, always stand up and high five the people around you, his face seems to bloom when he watches you with love.

obviously you receive his jersey and he adores you when you wear it. when he first gave it to you, in your apartment, he had to indulge in his free will and squish your cheeks before planting many light kisses.

when you were mad at him, you wore joshua’s jersey. he was not amused for too long as his name wasn’t the only way to claim you.

xu minghao (08; position: left winger)

exchange player

he is the one with the least amount of broken sticks in his usual line up

along with jeonghan he is one of the fastest but has better stamina. he is also agile and flexible, causing opponents to hate going one-on-one with him; he does that meticulous side by side movement but the final one he leans his body to the avoid crashing into the plexiglass (his opponent doesn’t avoid this fate).

toward the start of his second year playing, the coach told him to tone down his anger, so the rest of the year he wasn’t very aggressive, losing points and vigor till hoshi had to have a talk.

now? once second period rolls around and the vibes are set, he will RUIN them. not with physical fights but his ‘light-taps’ with his shoulder and stick seem to blur the line of being a penalty.

romantic

after the whistle has been blown to perform another puck drop in their zone, minghao will always look to you and tap his stick onto the ice.

whenever you get the courage to create a sign, he will read it but then won’t indulge in your schemes; however, when he faces the other way a smile seems to shine through the face shield.

now when HE had his injury, he would also sit next to you. it was awkward when his injuries overlapped with jeonghan’s as you all sat next to each other to cheer. when it was break time and the screens in the middle points to a new ‘____ cam’, jeonghan would look over at him leading minghao to sigh and gave a brief glare to the man. jeonghan would purposely flag down the cameraman and point towards you two. have fun under new situations (kiss cam, dance cam, cowbell cam, you name it).

he wants to teach you how to play or at least how to successfully hit the puck. he desires to indulge in both of your hobbies for a closer connection; even if you can’t skate or is not accessible, he will find a skate park where you two can hit a ball with hockey sticks while complaining about your latest group project.

if the ice is accessible, he will teach you how to skate…oh? you already know how to skate? no, you don’t; he will correct your form or tease you, allowing himself to be barely out of reach as you stretch your hands to lovingly strangle him.

unlike the others on the team, he never asked you to wear his jersey. instead, whenever he visited or you did, he would ‘forget’ or ‘misplace’ his jersey around you and sometimes overnight. he wanted YOU to ask if you could wear it; call it self-consciousness or call it pride, he wanted you to take this step. of course, you always noticed and knew where it was; and of course, one time he happened to catch up trying it on in the spur of the moment. and of course he had to see it off too…

lee seokmin (81; position: center)

originally played baseball as a kid till he fell in love with watching his sister ice skate.

didn’t think he would actually join the college team but he immediately vibed well with the other players.

somehow on the official roster they spelled his name wrong?? who is dokyeom??

at first, he was scared of boarding people or engaging in fights; however, after watching mingyu and wonwoo tag team someone after the pushed woozi out of the goal, he accepted his anger.

the first time he showed aggression was during an argument he had with mingyu: he slammed his bag on the locker room floor and the silence was so loud that everyone teases him about it to this day.

unlike some of his teammates, he continues to occasionally fight; when a fist goes flying and knocks his helmet off, it’s hard to miss that rare dark look (only reserved for some moments you aren’t naive to) before he winds back to tackle the assailant.

ANYWAYS since he is one of the centers, the other members hold amounts of trust for him as he never fails to lighten the mood. with random words that become pregame cheering phrases, or with a jaw-dropping goal that flew just over the shoulder and into the net. even when he barely misses, his teammates will no doubt have his pack and flick it in.

during warmups, he loves ‘missing’ the goal and miraculously a kid gets the puck.

romantic

always looks forward to what sign you created in the crowd and secretly hopes it’s his number written on there.

when the rink has open ice skating, he loves taking you on there. bonus points if you suck cause you know he will hold your hands the whole time (even if you don’t really suck and you are pretending) and beam at you with the prettiest smile and shining eyes.

after games, he WILL ride the bus with you back to your apartment. when you ask how he is going to get back to his place, as the closest bus line doesn’t go that way, he somehow is passed out in your bed: snuggled under your weighted blanket and hugging your plush squishmallow (he eventually abandons it for you when you give in hmm it’s like he was never asleep…you feel bad when you wake up and look over on the floor to see the abandoned mallow’s beady black eyes staring into you).

it’s a little tradition and mini competition between you two to see who can leave the most notes of encouragement for one another! he came so close to crying—when you first started this trend—by placing 7 blue sticky notes littered with words of affirmation and doodles: located on top of his hockey stick, inside his gloves, top of the inside of his helmet, in the side pocket where he holds his water bottle, and on both of his skates.

please please please wear his jersey!!! his mood will sour when you don’t. even if it’s dirty and smells and someone spilled beer on it—don’t worry!! seokmin will give you another one which leads to his coach wondering why he has no jersey (or one that reeks with beer).

[wwaheoh]

“What do the cold hands of Fate fear the most in the Universe? The fiery indomitable spirit of Humanity.” HSR x gnReader

Firefly, Himeko, Jing Yuan (+ Yanqing)

a/n: Starman by David Bowie type shit

Rip and tear. A dwindling defense against a relentless offense. Bugs, in the billions, cascading down towards Glammoth, all with the intent to devor. Her muscles screamed, the armor she was in began to grow heavier each minute, a metal coffin awaiting the moment her body gave up on her.

But she would not- could not let this happen. As part of the Iron Calvary, she had met someone she sparked a sense of wonder, of the uniqueness of each and every person. Someone she wanted to defend. Of course, this relationship was difficult to manage, with all of them having been born as nothing more than to fill the ranks and fight for their Empress. But there were times where the two of you could spend time together, really feel like people instead of the bred soldiers you were. Emotions that others in the Iron Cavalry knew not of bloomed between the two of you. 

The day the Swarm had come to their planet had been the day she intended to speak to you about these feelings she had, during the small breaks they had. She didn’t even know what to say, the words and their meaning never having been taught to her. 

So as she fought, all she could think about was you, the Empress barely even holding a space in her mind. Yet as she watched the suits of metal fall from the sky, it dawned on her that she might never be able to tell you anything. Tearing through the bodies as she rocketed forward, carnage raged around her, blood, guts, and fire being blown everywhere as panic fueled adrenaline.

Then the Swarm Mother appeared. And alll hell broke loose.

In her peripheral vision, a bright light appeared. Turning, she realized that it was yours. The two of you had played with the idea of decorating the suits- being reprimanded when attempted. But some super specific damages could be overlooked.

You exploded forward with a speed that left a sonic boom behind. Fire exploded as you bulldozed your way through the Swarm, leaving a trail of destruction through the army. Going straight for the Mother.

You exploded, with enough power to detonate stars, a beautiful supernova. 

Firefly screams, muscles seemingly revitalized with a feeling she’s never felt. Born to be a soldier, emotions taught to be kept down to keep a level head. All of it is thrown out the window as she charges forward into the regenerating mass. 

The smoke begins to clear, the Swarm Mother seemingly unaffected by what you had done.

It fills her with a rage that burns deep into her core.

Tearing through, she aims at the Swarm Mother, filling this blast with all of the power left in the mech, firing. 

A bright light overtakes her vision, white is all she sees before it goes to black.

-

Firefly sits by the window of the ship, watching the stars slowly pass by, one of the lessening times her body is able to be outside of stasis without suffering repercussions. An odd feeling stirring in her chest, bits of memories leaking from the box she locked them in, too much to bear.

Silver Wolf is running some maintenance on the mech. As the resident tech support of the Stellaron Hunters, it's become her job to make sure the mech known as “SAM” is in top shape.

beep… beep… Beep… Beep. BEEP… BEEP

What starts off barely audible begins to screech, the navigation system begins to go wild. Silver Wolf looks towards Firefly, who was broken from her thinking and now staring with wide eyes at the sound. 

“What’s that?”

Firefly quickly rushed to the mech, nearly tripping over herself as she hit a series of buttons, prompting a green holographic map to shine. A small red dot currently hurling itself at nearly 43,000/mph through the vastness of space. A red dot that symbolized a mech suit just like hers, another survivor…

“We have to recover it- it’s another one like me!” She exclaimed as she rushed to tell Kafka and get the ship to follow the projected path. 

Quickly the ship began to move faster, slipping off course and diverting its route to intercept the mecha. 

After several tense minutes, the ship was successfully able to slow the object down and reign it into the ship.

It was a giant piece of rock, yet something inside told her that it held something deep within. The frequency that had been discovered wasn’t something that could be made from an asteroid or piece of space junk.

Clearing everyone from the room, she entered her mech, charging it up to live with a flare of green, before slamming her fist down onto the rock and breaking it in half.

Inside was a damaged mecha, another Fyrefly Type-IV Strategic Assault Mech. Damaged, with battle damage all over. Metal melted and melding into other parts. It slowly creaked open, a body, with a face she never thought she’d see again falling out and onto the cold surface.

It was you…  the soft motion of your chest rising and falling told her that you were atleast alive.

Breaking from her stupor, she quickly screamed, “K-Kafka!” Said person quickly barged into the room, Blade and Silver Wolf ready, guns and blade in hands before quickly realizing what was happening. “We need to get them to my pod!”

They did just that, pulling your body into Firefly’s pod, stabilizing your vitals and checking for the sickness that ailed all of the Iron Calvary’s soldiers. It was there, but had been slowed to an insane rate as you had basically been ambered.

-

After several hours passed, you had finally awoken. Panicking at first before Firefly, who had been waiting by your pod-side, helped calm you down. Finally stable and conscious, they started the procedure to let you out: draining the fluids, unhooking you, taking out the IV, and taking off the oxygen mask. 

They allowed you some privacy to put on some clothes, pulling a white curtain around you with some spare clothes ready for you. 

After what seemed like forever to Firefly, you walked out of the room. A sense of dread as she proposed the question, “Do you remember me?”

An uncomfortable silence fell, with the other Stellaron Hunters trying but failing to not show that they were very blatantly eavesdropping on the two with bated breaths.

Finally you respond with affirmation, you do remember her. You remember them. You remember that hail-mary effort to take down the Swarm, intending to sacrifice yourself in order to bring down the Swarm Mother and give a chance to the Iron Cavalry- to her.

She rushes in to embrace you, with you opening your arms as she launches onto you. “Well, I’m called Firefly now…” “It’s… nice to meet you Firefly.” The name feels weird on your tongue, the two of you only having been designated with numbers rather than anything meaningful. But as you play with it, it feels right. 

Fyreflies, small little things that shone beautifully in the night. A future, together, that shone as well.

A beautiful sunset began to fall on this planet’s horizon, a warm orange transitioned into a deep purple. Stars twinkling in the evening sky.

It was you and Himeko, a cup of coffee in both your hands. The two of you were sitting on the porch of a home the two of you purchased. It wasn’t somewhere the two of you lived year-round, coming only for a couple weeks to relax from all the trailblazing the Astral Express got up to. It was quaint, overlooking a beautiful environment.

Taking a small sip of the coffee, you held in spitting it out- yup, still incredibly strong. Himeko laughed softly, admiring the fact that you still attempted to build up a resistance to the taste over the years. A beautiful thing to hear, never losing its novelty no matter how many times you heard it.

This was all so perfect…

“This isn’t real, is it?”

“No, dear.”

Even in a fake world, Himeko was so incredibly intelligent, probably having even figured it out before you did. 

“We didn’t win against Sunday?”

“No, everyone in Penacony is currently under the control of the Order.” She nursed her cup of coffee on her lap.

“Well then… I guess this is goodbye. I’ll see you in the real world.”

You leaned forward, kissing her on the cheek before setting down the cup of coffee and standing up. 

“I’ll see you too dear.”

You readied yourself, tensing the muscles in your arm as you pulled your arm back, righting your feet before swinging forward. A crack formed in existence, another swing, it expanded. Several more impacts before finally, the world exploded in white.

-

Alongside the rest of the Astral Express, all six of you readied your weapons, as the giant behemoth of a golden conductor leaned over the group.

Now it was time to reach the truth, in the Waking World…

Waves and waves of Mara-Struck, soldiers under your command, fallen and changed into these walking dolls for the Abundance to control. They begged for the sweet release of death, pleading for it all to be over. Apologizing over and over, begging for forgiveness as their bodies became prisons, as they attacked those that they swore to protect.

The last contact they had with your squadron was three hours ago. An outbreak of Mara-Struck caused by chemicals planted in the drinking water. The scientist had been apprehended already, but the effects were still being felt hours after. 

Jing Yuan paced in his room, awaiting further updates. You, his betrothed, was a respected commander, even with his hand in marriage you refused to become complacent, continuing your training and leadership on the battlefield. Yanqing was just returning from his mission, having been the one to find the source of the contaminant and lock up those involved in spreading it. 

“General, I have returned.” Yanqing greeted as he closed the door behind him, before quietly asking about your whereabouts, having not seen you. “They did not return with you? The last they told us, they’d be regrouping with you.” Jing Yuan questioned, a slight panic beginning to settle into his otherwise calm and lazy demeanor. “No sir, they didn’t relay such to me… last I heard they were clearing out the Mara-Stricken.” 

“And why was I not informed of their prolonged absence?” “I don’t know, general.” “It seems others are keeping vital information out of my hands. I’ll deal with it later, come, we must ensure the safety of them.” “Yes General!”

The two didn’t want to think of the possibilities, what might have happened to you in these few hours that you were dark. They weren’t arm-chair philosophers but men of action.

Stepping out, they marched out of the Seat of Divine Foresight, people instinctively moving out of their way. Yet one did, a newly instated assistant, one who was quiet but as they babbled on about how Jing Yuan shouldn’t leave, he knew why they truly were there. Nodding with a polite smile, he acknowledged their words before turning and continuing his march, signaling to a nearby Fu Xuan about the “assistant”. 

A group of guards quickly apprehended them as Jing Yuan and Yanqing left in search of you.  

-

Their first stop was your final ping before you went dark. Upon entering the area, the smell of bark and scent of iron filled their noses. Corpses were strewn about, mara-stricken and normal alike. None have the insignia of a Captain. 

Following the carnage, they begin to hear sounds of metal on metal, grunts, shrieks. Quickly hurrying, they turn the corner to see you, covered in blood and sweat, and a mob of mara-stricken soldiers surrounding you.

Quickly they rush in, with the power of the General of the Xianzhou Luofu and his Retainer, they carve a path through and quickly pull you from the center. With you out of the danger zone, Yanqing summons several blades, slashing at the horde with killing intent, slicing them in half as the blades whizzes through them.

As the Retainer takes out the horde, Jing Yuan turns to you, apologetic, “I’m so sorry, your whereabouts were hidden from me. I came as soon as I could.”

Still shell-shocked from finally being able to rest, you turn to Jing Yuan, softly pressing your knuckles against his jaw. 

“I knew you’d always come for me…”

Those were the last words you exchanged with him before passing out.

-

You woke up in an infirmary, several doctors rushing by, attending to other patients. Covered in bandages, the sterile smell of the room filled your senses. Looking around, you noticed Jing Yuan and Yanqing sleeping on the seats next to your bed. 

Your lips curved upward into a small smile as you took in the scene. Your boys, waiting for you to get better. 

[emjayewrites]

fouled by fate • aurelien tchouameni (9/10)

SYNOPSIS: Aurélien Tchouaméni, one of football’s rising stars, is used to navigating the pressures of the pitch—but nothing could prepare him for an arranged marriage. With his family’s legacy and cultural traditions at stake, Aurélien reluctantly agrees to marry a woman he barely knows. But as they’re thrust into the public eye, sparks fly in unexpected ways. The two must navigate the complexities of love, duty, and fame, all while figuring out if they’re playing on the same team—or if their hearts are destined for different paths.

PAIRINGS: Aurélien Tchouaméni x Zuri Awanto Nchang (faceclaim Samira Ahmed @/iamsamiira)

WARNINGS: cursing, football b.s., dry humor/wit, slight arguing, friends to lovers, instant attraction, angst, eventual smut (18+/minors dni)

TAGLIST: @trenterprise @f1-football-fiend @lettersofgold @deonn-jaelle @perfecttrashface @2serenity0 @hotfudgeslug @muglermami @sucredreamer @julescpu @tchouathon @greyishbach @shelovesfootie @certifiedlesbianbaddie @trinitoldyouso @bbgkoo @lottins-only @elyseesarchive @thearchieves @pepfectionary @peyiswriting @127hydrangeas @judesbabymamas @whoevenisthiz

A/N: Please let me know if you want to be removed from the tag list! Thank you again for your love and appreciation! This chapter may be triggering to some so please don’t read if it makes you uncomfortable.

The late afternoon sun filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room as Zuri lay sprawled on her back in Aurelién's — well, their — bed. She still wasn’t used to thinking of it that way, even though she’d made the move upstairs to his loft permanently. Everything felt so intimate now, so settled, yet there was still that electricity between them. And today was no different. Aurélien had a way of making her forget every thought that wasn’t about him.

Zuri's body hummed with pleasure as her legs shook uncontrollably, her skin buzzing from the constant attention he was giving her. Aurelién had insisted they stay in bed for hours, and after what felt like an eternity of stolen kisses and lingering touches, they'd predictably ended up where they always did — unable to keep their hands off each other.

He was between her legs now, his broad shoulders keeping them spread as he made sure she felt every flick and swirl of his tongue. The sensation was overwhelming — pleasure so sharp and all-consuming it made her toes curl into the sheets.

She glanced down and saw his eyes on her, piercing and intense. His mouth never left her, his tongue expertly switching between lapping at her clit and plunging into her soaked heat. He sucked softly on her clit, a sound that made her gasp and her thighs begin to tremble harder.

Aurélien’s gaze was dark, a silent command for her to keep her focus. His tongue delved deep into her, and the sensation made her moan uncontrollably, her back arching off the bed. It was too much, too good — she closed her eyes, losing herself in the waves of pleasure building inside her.

Slap.

Her thigh stung from the firm tap of his hand, and she whimpered as her eyes flew open to meet his again. He was watching her, making sure she knew that he was in control.

"Eyes on me," Aurelien growled against her skin, his voice low and rough. The rasp in his voice sent a fresh jolt of heat straight to her core.

Zuri swallowed, her gaze locked on his even as her body fought to shut her eyes, to give in to the intensity of the sensation. But he wouldn’t let her. His tongue was merciless, moving faster, switching back and forth between teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves and driving deep inside her. He was everywhere, his lips pulling her apart, making her feel exposed and raw under his intense focus.

Her legs began to close instinctively as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak, but another sharp slap to her inner thigh stopped her. She whimpered again, feeling the pressure mounting within her as she tried to contain herself.

"Stay open for me," he murmured, never lifting his mouth from her. His lips pressed hard against her slick skin as he alternated between slow, deep strokes with his tongue and quick, relentless flicks over her clit. Her entire body was trembling, each nerve ending alight as his hands tightened on her thighs, holding her exactly where he wanted her.

Her legs shook violently as she struggled to hold on, her fingers clawing at the sheets, desperate for something to ground her. Aurelien’s tongue worked her with expert precision, driving her closer and closer to the edge.

"Please…" Zuri gasped out, her chest rising and falling rapidly as the sensations became too much to handle. Her mind was a haze of need, and she could barely think, barely breathe. But still, his eyes stayed on hers, demanding every ounce of her attention, every ounce of her surrender.

"Not yet," he murmured, pulling his mouth away briefly to press a kiss to the inside of her thigh, only to dive back in with a renewed intensity. His tongue plunged deep into her again, and the sensation made her entire body convulse. He was relentless, drawing her closer and closer to a release that felt just out of reach.

The world narrowed down to the feel of his mouth, the wet heat of his tongue, and the way he looked up at her, watching every reaction with an intensity that only fueled the fire inside her.

And when his teeth grazed her clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her entire body, Zuri couldn’t hold back any longer. Her orgasm ripped through her, her body arching off the bed as she cried out his name. Aurelien didn’t stop, didn’t relent, his tongue still moving in deep strokes as her walls pulsed around it, dragging every last ounce of pleasure out of her.

Her chest heaved, her skin damp with sweat, and her thighs trembled as the waves of pleasure slowly ebbed. Aurelien finally pulled back, his lips swollen and glistening with her arousal, but his eyes still burned with desire as he moved up her body, planting kisses along her trembling thighs, her stomach, and her breasts, before settling beside her.

He leaned down to brush his lips against her temple, whispering softly, "Bonne fille (Good girl)."

Aurelien hovered over her, his eyes gleaming with that mischievous edge that always made her both melt and want to roll her eyes at him. He kissed her lips softly at first, then with more intensity, as if savoring the taste of her pleasure that lingered there.

He studied her face, the corners of his mouth twitching with a tease he couldn’t keep to himself. "You should see yourself when you come," he murmured, brushing his nose lightly against hers. "It’s… impressive."

Zuri let out a breathless chuckle, rolling her eyes and shaking her head, though she couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at her lips. "Impressive, huh?" she retorted, giving him a mock glare. "Remind me to get a mirror next time, just for you."

"Wouldn’t mind it," Aurelien shot back with a grin, his hand resting possessively on her hip as he trailed a thumb over the curve of her waist. "You’re beautiful, and I’ll take every chance to remind you." He pressed another kiss to her lips, this one softer, lingering, as if he couldn’t bear to pull away just yet.

She scoffed, unable to keep from laughing as he kept that cheeky look on his face, but the warmth in his voice softened her defenses. He was always like this—playful and affectionate, even when he was holding her under his spell, making her toes curl and her pulse race.

He shot her a lazy grin, his fingers brushing over her flushed cheek. "I could keep you in bed all day," he said, his tone half-joking but laced with unmistakable hunger.

Zuri bit her lip, fighting the grin threatening to spread across her face. "Oh, is that right?" she teased, arching an eyebrow at him. "You think you could handle that?"

Aurelien chuckled, his eyes darkening with promise as he trailed kisses down her neck, his voice a low, rich murmur against her skin. "Well, guess we’ll just have to test that theory."

His lips moved over hers again, deep and consuming, his hands sliding down to cup her waist, pulling her close until she was melting into him. He nipped her bottom lip, eliciting a soft moan from her before he pulled back slightly.

"You want me to fuck you, Zuri?" he murmured, his gaze heavy with anticipation. She nodded, breathless, her heart pounding. But just as she tilted her head up to kiss him again, the shrill ring of his phone cut through the room. Aurelien groaned in annoyance, rolling his eyes as he kissed his teeth and leaned back, reaching over to grab his phone. He settled onto his side, bringing her along with him as he glanced at the screen, sighing as he recognized the caller.

It was Cama, and before Aurelien could say anything, Jude’s voice piped up on the other end, unmistakable and teasing. "You better bring your ass over here, Aurélien. Don’t tell me you forgot about us already."

Aurelien snorted, rolling his eyes as he muttered, "Nah, I’m with ZuZu, so we’re gonna have to reschedule. I got a little distracted." He threw Zuri a wink, which made her laugh quietly as she nestled into his side.

"Come on, man, you’ve been with her all week," Jude protested, and Cama’s voice followed with a quick, "Yeah, bring her if you want, but get over here."

With a sigh, Aurelien hit the mute button and turned to Zuri, his expression softening as he brushed a strand of hair from her face. "You good with me spending some time with them?" he asked. "They’ve been harassing me for days."

Zuri smiled, her cheeks still flushed. "Go ahead, I need a break anyway. I can barely walk straight as it is."

Aurelien laughed at that, shaking his head in amusement. "Alright, alright." He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, then unmuted his friends. "I’ll be over soon. Don’t have too much fun without me," he said before hanging up.

He stretched as he rose from the bed, glancing down at her with a grin. "I’m gonna take a shower before I head over,” he said, starting toward the bathroom. Pausing at the door, he shot her a playful look. "You wanna join me?"

Zuri lifted a brow. "Aurelien, what did I just say?" Her voice was firm, but the amusement in her eyes gave her away.

He held up his hands in mock surrender, backing toward the shower. "Alright, alright… my bad. Sheesh."

Still, he couldn’t help himself, slipping his fingers into the waistband of his boxers and slowly, almost temptingly, pulling them down. He let them fall to the floor, and there he stood, completely bare, his toned body a tempting sight, with his arousal already evident. He turned back to her, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You sure though? I could go for a shower quickie. Promise I won't be too rough this time."

Her eyes drifted down, lingering for a moment before meeting his gaze again, her lips curving with a smirk of her own. "One quickie wouldn’t hurt."

His eyes lit up, and he chuckled as he stepped back, turning on the shower, adjusting the temperature as the steam began to rise around him. "And," he said, throwing her a teasing look over his shoulder, "I can put on the jet streams…"

Before he could finish, she was already hopping off the bed, her decision made, and following him into the shower.

The Santiago Bernabéu was buzzing with energy, fans filling every corner as Real Madrid took on VfB Stuttgart. Zuri sat comfortably in her seat, glancing around the stadium, the electric atmosphere settling a contagious excitement in her. Beside her, Lila sipped on her drink, scrolling through her phone, her expression lighting up as she pulled up a picture and nudged Zuri.

"Look what Amara sent me," Lila grinned, showing her a selfie of Amara and Lewis on a private plane, captioned, "Next stop: Singapore 🏎️." Zuri leaned in to look, chuckling at the way Amara’s hand rested affectionately on Lewis’s shoulder while he focused on something off-camera.

"Singapore? Damn, she’s a ride-or-die for him," Zuri mused, and Lila nodded with a warm smile.

"Yeah, it took me a minute to open up to her," Lila admitted, lowering her voice a bit as the match was about to start. "But she’s good to him, and that’s all that matters, you know?"

Zuri nodded, her gaze drifting to the field. "Exactly. Lewis deserves someone solid." They shared a look of mutual understanding before focusing back on the match, occasionally chatting and cheering as the game picked up speed.

Real Madrid was playing with precision, and by the time the final whistle blew, they’d secured a 3-1 victory. The crowd erupted in cheers, and Zuri and Lila exchanged high-fives, riding the rush of excitement as they made their way down to the players’ area. They didn’t have to wait long before Aurélien and Jude appeared, Aurélien’s smile widening as he caught sight of Zuri. He crossed the short distance between them and greeted her with a lingering kiss, oblivious to the laughter from Jude and Lila.

"Oh, get a room," Jude teased, elbowing Aurélien with a smirk, while Lila joined in, rolling her eyes playfully.

Just then, Rodrygo came over, slinging an arm over Aurélien and Jude's shoulders. "We gotta celebrate! Hit up some clubs, yeah?"

Jude immediately shook his head, giving Lila a knowing look. "Nah, man, I’m chilling. Wanna hang out with my girl."

Aurélien nodded in agreement. "Same here. I’d rather keep it low-key."

Cama strolled up then, grinning as he gave Zuri and Lila side-hug greetings. "Alright, alright, maybe not a club, but we could do something chill — hit up a lounge or something?"

Lila’s eyes lit up. "Ooh, can we get hookah?" She asked eagerly, only to get a round of amused stares from the guys. Jude shot her a mock-serious look, shaking his head with a smirk.

"See? This is why I don’t want you going to Miami anymore. What do you know about hookah, Delilah Marie?" he teased, emphasizing her middle name.

Lila huffed, rolling her eyes and glancing at Zuri. "You wanna get hookah with me?"

Zuri shrugged with a smile. "Yeah, that sounds good to me. Maybe a mojito too."

"Yes!" Lila clapped her hands excitedly, doing a little jump.

Aurélien and Jude exchanged glances, rolling their eyes good-naturedly at the girls’ antics. But they followed along, laughing as the group made their way to a sleek lounge downtown. The vibe was perfect, a dimly lit interior with comfortable seating, tables scattered with hookahs and trays of tapas, and a chill, relaxed atmosphere.

The lounge hummed with low conversation and laughter, the air thick with the sweet, flavored smoke of hookah. As the group settled into their table, their waitress approached, a notepad in hand and a distracted smile on her lips. She glanced up and froze momentarily, her eyes lingering on Aurélien. Zuri noticed but didn't dwell on it, too preoccupied with the familiar ease between her and Aurélien.

Aurélien only had eyes for Zuri, his gaze warm and affectionate. "Get my usual, babe, and order whatever you want," he said, his voice soft and confident. Zuri smiled, ordering her drink and some tapas. The waitress took her order with an unmistakable edge to her voice, and although Zuri paid it no mind, she couldn't help but notice the waitress's semi-friendly attitude when taking Lila's order before stalking off, practically stomping away.

"What's her problem?" Lila muttered, raising an eyebrow. Zuri just shrugged, brushing off the weird interaction.

When the waitress returned with their drinks and plates, she dropped everything off with a hint of an attitude, her glare focused solely on Zuri. This time, Zuri raised a brow, confused but unwilling to let it ruin her evening. She and Lila took turns smoking the hookah, giggling as they attempted smoke tricks, laughing when they failed.

A little while later, Zuri excused herself to head to the restroom. Aurélien caught her hand before she could leave, pulling her in for a gentle kiss. "Don't take too long," he murmured against her lips, his smirk making her heart race.

In the bathroom, Zuri reapplied a fresh layer of lip gloss, taking a moment to appreciate how she looked in the mirror. As she stepped out, she nearly bumped into the waitress, who seemed to have been waiting for her. Zuri blinked, her confusion mounting.

"Uh…hi?" she greeted, the girl's persistent attitude finally starting to grate on her.

The waitress introduced herself, a smug smile curling her lips. "My name's Lia. Two months ago, I sucked Aurélien's dick, and he ghosted me."

Zuri's expression stayed neutral as she processed Lia's words, her slow blink followed by a nod. "And you think I care because…?"

Lia's confidence faltered. "Well… your boyfriend cheated on you."

Zuri let out a short laugh, shaking her head. "He didn't. And again, why do you think I care?" She tilted her head, a trace of amusement dancing in her eyes. "We weren't even together then."

Lia opened her mouth to say more, but Zuri had already had enough. "Look, I really have to get back to my man. Nice chat, I guess?" With that, she breezed past Lia and returned to the table.

Aurélien's face lit up when he saw her, but his smile dropped when he noticed the slight frown she wore. "What's wrong, ma belle?" he asked gently, cupping her chin and turning her face toward him.

Zuri sighed. "That waitress said she, uh… sucked your dick two months ago."

Aurélien's eyebrows shot up in surprise, confusion flickering across his features until something seemed to click. "Oh. Well, that happened before we were together," he clarified.

"I know." Zuri's voice was calm, her expression unbothered.

"Do you want to leave?" he asked, concern lacing his tone.

She shook her head, a soft smile returning to her lips. "No, I'm fine."

Her words melted away any lingering tension, and Aurélien's face lit up with relief. He kissed her forehead, pressing a warm, lingering kiss there before leaning back, his hand still resting at the small of her back.

The night continued, the girls laughing as they shared the hookah and sipped their mojitos, the boys ordering more tapas and joining in the fun. Lila blew a smoke ring, giggling as Zuri tried to do the same, their playful energy blending seamlessly with the laid-back vibe of the evening, but Zuri couldn't help the occasional glance toward Lia. Aurélien noticed and gently squeezed Zuri's hand, his eyes meeting hers with understanding.

As the evening drew to a close, Aurélien suggested they head out. "Shall we?" he said, his voice low and warm. Zuri nodded, and they bid farewell to Lila, making their way to Aurélien's car.

Once they were on the road, Zuri turned to Aurélien. "So, about what Lia said..." She trailed off, biting her lip.

Aurélien reached over and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "I should have told you about that," he admitted. "It was right when you arrived in Madrid. I'm sorry I didn't mention it."

Zuri nodded slowly, processing his words. "It's okay, I understand. We weren't exclusive then." She offered him a small smile. "I'm not upset, I just... wish you had told me, that's all."

"You're right, I should have been upfront," Aurélien said, his brow furrowing slightly. He brought her hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

Zuri's expression softened, and she gave his hand a squeeze. "I appreciate your honesty now. And I'm not bothered by what happened before we were together. I trust you, Aurélien."

He let out a relieved sigh, a warm smile spreading across his face. "You're amazing, you know that?" he murmured, his gaze filled with adoration.

Zuri chuckled, leaning in to peck his cheek. "I do now." She settled back in her seat, feeling the tension melt away. "Let's just enjoy the rest of the night, hmm?"

Aurélien nodded, his focus returning to the road, but his hand remained entwined with Zuri's, a content smile playing on his lips.

It had been a week since that evening at the lounge, yet the memory of Zuri’s unwavering trust was still imprinted in Aurélien’s mind, as vivid as if it had just happened. Her serene expression, the way she had dismissed Lia’s attempt to plant seeds of doubt without even a flicker of hesitation, spoke volumes about the faith she had in him. It was a moment that had shaken him to his core. Not because of the drama that Lia had tried to stir up, but because of the realization it sparked—he could no longer hide how he truly felt about her.

Their relationship had begun in chaos, a whirlwind arrangement neither had asked for, but somehow, over time, they had found something real. Something that felt like home. Aurélien knew he needed to show Zuri just how much she meant to him, beyond casual gestures and stolen kisses. He wanted to make her feel cherished, adored, and loved—because he did love her. Deeply, irrevocably, and maybe even a little recklessly.

Aurélien was never one to wear his heart on his sleeve, but for Zuri, he was willing to become an open book. Over the past few days, he had carefully laid out small, tangible reminders of how much she meant to him. In the bathroom drawer, he had tucked a handwritten note on delicate stationery that read, I love how you always steal my face cream. Your skin deserves the best. He had placed another note on her nightstand, scribbled in his neat handwriting: The way you laugh when you watch your favorite shows makes me smile every time. And in the kitchen, where he knew she’d find it when reaching for her morning coffee, he had left a third: Thank you for pretending not to notice when I dance like an idiot while making my smoothies.

But he hadn’t stopped there. He wanted to infuse their shared space with as much beauty and warmth as she brought into his life, so he’d filled their home with bouquets of her favorite flowers—vivid splashes of color that brightened every room. The scent of peonies and lilies lingered in the air, a fragrant reminder of his devotion.

This morning, he’d taken it a step further. A stack of crisp bills lay neatly on the marble kitchen counter, anchored by another one of his notes: Go spoil yourself today, ma belle. Get your hair and nails done—and maybe even buy a new outfit. I’ve got something special planned. The message was simple, but the thought behind it was anything but. Aurélien wanted Zuri to feel cherished, to know that she was worth every effort he could make and more.

As he stood in front of the mirror, running a hand through his freshly cut hair, his heart beat faster than he cared to admit. He adjusted his shirt, checked his watch, and tried to calm the nervous energy buzzing through his veins. His friends had given him no end of grief over how smitten he was, how utterly lovestruck he had become. But he didn’t care. This was Zuri, the woman who had turned his world upside down in the best possible way, and for her, he would do anything.

He wanted today to be perfect. More than that, he wanted Zuri to understand that she wasn’t just the woman he was forced to be with; she was the woman he chose, over and over again. He needed her to see that what they had wasn’t bound by obligation or circumstance. It was deeper, more profound, and every day, he found himself falling harder and faster.

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Zuri stood in front of her vanity, admiring the curls that cascaded down her shoulders, freshly styled and glistening with the perfect amount of shine. Her nails were painted a deep, sultry burgundy, and her outfit—a silky, elegant dress that hugged her curves in all the right places—was something she’d picked out with Aurélien’s note in mind. The anticipation of whatever he had planned made her stomach flutter.

When she found him in the foyer, his eyes lit up as he took her in. He crossed the room in a few long strides, pulling her into a warm embrace. "You look beautiful," he murmured, his voice filled with awe.

Zuri smiled, her heart doing a little flip. "All this pampering you insisted on has me feeling like a queen."

"Well, you are," he said simply, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Ready to go?"

She nodded, lacing her fingers with his as they headed out the door. The car ride was filled with soft music and the comfort of shared silence, and when they pulled up to the rooftop restaurant, Zuri’s breath caught in her throat.

Aurélien led her up to the terrace, which he had rented out entirely for the evening. Twinkling string lights and dozens of candles cast a golden glow over the space, creating a dreamy, almost ethereal atmosphere. A guitarist sat in one corner, strumming a soft, romantic melody that carried on the warm night air. The city skyline stretched out around them, glittering like a sea of stars.

Zuri’s eyes widened as she took it all in, her hand flying to her mouth. "Aurélien… this is… I don’t even have words," she whispered, her voice breaking with emotion.

He turned to her, his smile soft and full of adoration. "Do you like it?" he asked, a hint of nervousness coloring his tone.

"Like it?" she echoed, tears welling in her eyes. "I love it. It’s the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever done for me."

Relief flooded Aurélien’s features, and he guided her to their table, pulling out her chair with a flourish. As they sat down, the guitarist played a familiar tune, and Zuri felt her heart swell. They shared a meal of delicious courses—delicate tapas, savory entrées, and perfectly chilled wine—all while talking and laughing as if they were the only two people in the world.

Zuri couldn’t stop smiling, her cheeks aching with happiness. She watched Aurélien, her chest tightening with the sheer affection she felt for him. His eyes sparkled in the candlelight, his laughter genuine and infectious. Every time he reached for her hand, her pulse raced.

When dessert arrived—a decadent chocolate mousse topped with gold leaf and fresh berries—Aurélien set down his fork, looking suddenly serious. He took a deep breath, reaching across the table to hold her hands.

"Zuri," he began, his voice steady but filled with emotion, "I’ve been thinking a lot about us. About how we started and where we are now. I know this all began in a way neither of us expected, and it’s been… bumpy, to say the least." He gave a small laugh, and Zuri’s eyes softened.

"But the more time I spend with you," he continued, his grip on her hands tightening, "the more I realize how lucky I am. How grateful I am for every moment, every laugh, every little thing we’ve shared. I love you, Zuri. So much. And I want you to know that."

Tears spilled down Zuri’s cheeks, but they were happy tears. Her heart felt so full it might burst. "Aurélien," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I love you too. So much."

Aurélien’s smile broke across his face, wide and unrestrained, and he stood, pulling her into his arms. Their lips met in a kiss that was soft, lingering, and full of all the words they couldn’t say. The world fell away, leaving only the two of them, wrapped up in each other.

When they finally pulled apart, Aurélien brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "Ready to head home?" he asked, his voice warm.

Zuri nodded, her heart still racing. "Yeah. Let’s go home."

Hand in hand, they left the rooftop, their love shining as brightly as the candles that had lit up their perfect night. The drive back was filled with the kind of comfortable silence that spoke volumes, each of them basking in the glow of shared love and understanding.

Back at home, the night continued in whispered promises and soft touches, two hearts finally admitting what they’d known all along. Their kisses grew deeper, more desperate, as they stumbled into the living room, barely making it to the couch before their passion threatened to consume them.

Zuri found herself straddling Aurélien’s lap, her dress riding up her thighs as she settled against him. His hands roamed over her back, pulling her closer until their bodies pressed together, heat radiating between them. Their mouths met in a feverish kiss, all tongues and breathless sighs, as the room seemed to melt around them.

"It’s so hot in here," Zuri murmured, her lips brushing against Aurélien’s as she pulled back for a moment, her eyes dark and wanting.

Aurélien’s gaze burned into hers, his fingers finding the halter strings of her dress. With one deft tug, he loosened the knots, and the fabric slipped down her chest, revealing her bare, pierced breasts. His breath caught, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "You’re so beautiful," he whispered, dipping his head to take one of her hardened nipples into his mouth.

Zuri gasped, arching her back as pleasure coursed through her. The sensation of his tongue flicking against the cool metal of her nipple ring made her shiver, and she buried her hands in his hair, tugging gently. "Aurélien," she moaned, her voice trembling with need.

He hummed against her skin, his hands sliding down to grip her waist, holding her steady as he lavished her breasts with attention. "I’ve been thinking about this all night," he confessed, his voice husky. "About how much I wanted you."

Zuri bit her lip, her heart pounding as she felt his hardness pressing against her through his pants. Teasingly, she rocked her hips, grinding against him and earning a low groan that sent a thrill down her spine. "You’re not the only one," she teased, her smile playful.

With a mischievous glint in her eye, she hiked up her dress, her hands moving to slip her underwear down her legs. She tossed the lacey garment aside, leaving herself bare against him. Aurélien’s eyes darkened with desire, and his hands quickly moved to unbuckle his belt, the clinking sound mingling with the rustle of fabric as he unzipped his pants and freed his erection.

Their gazes met, a silent understanding passing between them before Zuri guided herself over him. She sank down slowly, taking him in inch by inch, and they both let out matching moans as their bodies connected. The sensation was overwhelming, and for a moment, neither of them moved, savoring the heat and intimacy of being so close.

Then Zuri began to move, rolling her hips in a rhythm that had them both gasping. Her hands braced against his chest, and Aurélien’s fingers dug into her hips, guiding her movements as she rode him. "Merde, Zuri," he groaned, his voice rough and full of longing. "You feel so good."

Zuri’s breath hitched, and she picked up the pace, her thighs burning as she moved faster, harder, chasing the high that built between them. "Aurélien," she panted, her head falling back, her body a perfect picture of ecstasy.

Aurélien’s hands slid up her back, pulling her closer as he thrust up to meet her, their bodies colliding in a desperate, frenzied dance. "That’s it, ma belle,” he whispered, his lips brushing her ear. "Ride this dick just like that. You’re perfect."

Their shared desire reached a fever pitch, and they clung to each other, whispering "I love you" between gasps and moans. The world around them faded, leaving only the feeling of each other, the raw, unfiltered connection that made everything else seem insignificant.

They were on the brink of release when a sudden beep echoed through the room, signaling someone at the front gate. The noise shattered their orgasmic haze, and they froze, still tangled together, their heavy breathing the only sound as reality crashed back in.

Aurélien’s eyes met Zuri’s, wide with disbelief and frustration. "You have got to be kidding me," he groaned, his hands still holding her waist.

Zuri let out a breathless laugh, leaning her forehead against his. "Talk about timing," she muttered, though her smile was bright, their love still glowing between them despite the interruption.

The beep echoed through the house a second time, and Aurélien kissed his teeth in annoyance. He pulled Zuri off his lap gently and murmured, "I'll be right back." She shifted to the other side of the couch, breathless and confused, as he tucked himself back into his pants, zipping and buckling them before heading to the foyer.

Aurélien moved swiftly, irritation building as he checked the security system. On the camera panel, he saw a police vehicle parked in the driveway. "The fuck?" he muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing. He pressed a button to speak through the intercom.

"¿Hola? ¿Qué está pasando aquí?" ("Hello? What’s going on here?") he asked, his voice thick with concern.

From the car, an officer responded, "Señor Tchouaméni, hemos sido enviados a hacer un chequeo de bienestar para Zuri Awanto Nchang. Necesitamos verificar que esté bien." ("Mr. Tchouaméni, we've been asked to do a wellness check on Zuri Awanto Nchang. We need to ensure she is safe.")

Aurélien’s jaw clenched, rage simmering under his skin. He had a feeling he knew who was behind this. "Fuck," he hissed before buzzing the police in through the gates. He exhaled a shaky breath, running a hand over his face as he went back to the living room.

"Fix your dress, bébé," he instructed Zuri, trying to keep his tone even, though it was taut with tension.

Zuri’s eyes widened in alarm. "Why? What's going on?"

"The fucking police are here," he said, his voice laced with disbelief.

"What?! How the hell—"

"ZuZu, I'll explain in a second," Aurélien cut her off, his expression a mixture of anger and worry. "Just please fix yourself, okay?"

Zuri quickly retied the strings of her dress, hands fumbling slightly as anxiety set in. She bent down, grabbed her discarded panties, and slipped them on, just as the police knocked at the door. Aurélien took a deep breath, then strode over to answer.

Zuri followed him into the foyer, standing tall beside him despite the whirlwind of emotions she felt. Two officers stood on the porch: a stern-looking man with broad shoulders, and a petite woman with warm, brown eyes. The latter spoke first, her slight Spanish accent adding weight to her words.

"Señorita Awanto Nchang?" Officer Gutierrez addressed Zuri.

"Sí," Zuri replied, nodding.

"I'm Officer Gutierrez, and this is my partner, Officer Perreira," she introduced. "We're here to do a wellness check. Are you okay, ma'am?"

Zuri swallowed and nodded again. "Sí, I’m fine."

Officer Perreira studied Zuri intently, while Gutierrez continued. "Is everything safe for you here? Do you feel threatened in any way?"

Zuri’s brows knitted together in confusion and anger. "No, I’m safe," she assured them. "Why would you think otherwise?"

Officer Gutierrez glanced at her partner before explaining, "We were informed that your father requested this wellness check. He expressed… concern about your well-being."

Zuri’s mouth fell open. The anger that had started as a flicker was now a blazing flame. "My father?" she repeated incredulously. "He and I had a disagreement about something trivial, and now he’s sending the police to my fiancé’s home?" She gestured to Aurélien. "We’re engaged, for God’s sake."

Zeus, their massive dog, started barking from the hallway, likely sensing the tension in the room. His barks were loud and insistent, as if ready to defend his home. Aurélien turned, his patience running thin. "Zeus, calme," he called, his voice firm but gentle. He crossed over to the dog and knelt to soothe him, then led him downstairs to his crate.

While Aurélien was away, Officer Gutierrez took a step closer to Zuri, her gaze serious. "Ma'am, are you telling us the truth?" she asked quietly. "If there is anything at all, we are here to help."

Zuri’s nostrils flared in frustration. "Yes, I’m telling the truth," she insisted, her voice shaking. "I love Aurélien, and he loves me. My father… he’s just trying to control me because he doesn’t like that I’m living my life on my own terms."

Officer Gutierrez exchanged a look with her partner. "Your father made some serious allegations, including claims of… abuse," she said carefully.

Zuri’s eyes flashed with fury, and she defiantly lifted her arms, then turned to show her bare legs. "Do you see any bruises?" she demanded. "Any signs of harm? Because there are none. I’m not being abused, and I would never let anyone harm me. I’m safe here. I’m loved here."

Officer Gutierrez seemed to consider this, then nodded, satisfied. Aurélien returned just as she did, and the tension in his posture was palpable. Officer Perreira gave him a hard look before Gutierrez spoke again.

"Thank you for cooperating," she said, her voice a touch gentler. She handed Zuri a business card. "If anything changes or you ever need assistance, don’t hesitate to call."

Zuri took the card, her hand steady despite her anger. "Thank you," she replied curtly.

The officers turned and made their way back to their vehicle, and Aurélien and Zuri watched from the doorway as they drove away. Once the patrol car disappeared beyond the gates, Aurélien shut the front door with a heavy sigh. His expression darkened, and he muttered, "I'm going to fuckin' kill your father."

Zuri let out a humorless laugh. "Well, get in line," she retorted, crossing her arms.

Aurélien shook his head, the reality of the situation weighing heavily on him. "Do you realize how bad this could have gone?" he asked, his voice low and laced with worry. "If I acted out of line, if I so much as made one wrong move, they could’ve arrested me—or worse." He stalked back into the living room, his jaw clenched, and grabbed his phone. "I’m calling my lawyer," he announced, pacing as he waited for the line to connect. After explaining the situation, he moved on to call his father, detailing everything with a level of fury Zuri had never heard from him before.

Zuri stood nearby, her own anger simmering. She couldn’t believe her father would stoop so low, jeopardizing not just her happiness but Aurélien’s safety too. When Aurélien finally ended his calls, he set his phone down and pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly.

"I love you so much, Zuri," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair.

Tears pricked at Zuri’s eyes, but she held them back, drawing strength from his embrace. "I love you too, Aurélien," she whispered. "Just tell me what I need to do, and I’ll do it. Anything to get my father off our backs."

Aurélien sighed, his arms tightening around her. "We’ll figure it out together," he promised. "I’m not letting him control us. Not anymore."

TO BE CONTINUED....Read Chapter 10

[sweetfictionalworld]

Bound For Life - Chapter 3

Pairing: OC!Orc x Human Female Reader

Story summary: Your life is nothing exciting. Until one day when you encounter a creature in the forest and your life is changed forever.

Chapter summary: You submit to fate and let your new mate claim you.

Chapter Warnings: Nsfw, Smut, Size difference, Size kink, Unprotected sex.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 4

You were still trying to process what was happening when Tarod removed his loincloth. Your gaze lowered, your eyes widening at the sight of the massive member dangling between his thick, muscular thighs, and you hated how your pussy clenched in response. How on earth would he ever fit inside you?

"Undress for me, little lamb," Tarod ordered in his deep, guttural voice.

Pulse drumming in your ears, you flickered your eyes over to Yolmar, who looked like a wounded animal as he looked back at you with guilt-ridden eyes.

"Don't look at him, human. Look at me. He can watch me claim you and once I'm done, he's free to join us. But for now, you're only mine."

A wave of heat rushed through your core at his words, at the thought of having both these enormous orcs inside you at the same time. You glanced at Yolmar again who gave you a quick nod, and you thought you saw a spark of interest in his eyes. Would he enjoy seeing you get fucked by another orc? The thought of him watching was strangely enough arousing for you.

Wetting your lips, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath to calm your nerves. What choice did you have but to obey? This huge monster could kill you with a simple snap of his fingers around your neck. Opening your eyes, you held your gaze on the floor as you started untying your girdle with trembling fingers, too anxious to meet his eyes.

Tarod smirked and sat down on his throne, his icy blue eyes watching your every movement as you undressed and revealed your naked body. His dick twitched at the sight of your soft and tempting form.

"Come to me."

Tarod watched amused as you approached him with flushed cheeks. So innocent you appeared, so fragile and small. Tarod had always found the muscular features of the female orcs attractive, but there was something about having such a delicate little thing that aroused him beyond anything he'd ever felt before.

"Look at me."

Your pulse quickened at his voice, and you swallowed hard as you halted at his feet. You lifted your gaze, your eyes widening at seeing his hard, throbbing member. Oh, dear lord...He must be close to the size of your lower arm...Your heart started beating faster, sending another wave of arousal through your core at the thought of him inside you, stretching you out and pleasuring you in places you'd never been pleasured before.

Tarod chuckled lowly. "Touch me, human. I know you want to. I can smell your arousal."

Licking your lips nervously, you looked up into Tarod's eyes, and a bolt of electric spark surged through you. For the first time you felt the same connection you felt with Yolmar when you met him, how easy it had been to give yourself to him.

As if your body was moving on its own, you lifted your hand and wrapped your delicate hand around his meaty cock, your fingers barely reaching around its thickness. Tarod grunted, and his dick jerked in your hand. Your pussy clenched in response, pulsating with need to have him inside you. Slowly, you started moving your hand, amazed by his size as he grew even bigger in your hand. A trail of bulging veins appeared on his length, and the bulbous head was aggressively reddish. Fuck, this was the most glorious cock you'd ever seen. Flooded with newfound confidence, you bent down and flicked your tongue across the slit of the head, earning a breathy growl from Tarod. Encouraged by his noises, you lowered your head and wrapped your lips around the head of his cock. Slowly, you started bobbing your head, sliding your lips up and down his length. With each bob, you took more and more of him into your mouth until you started to gag.

"What a good, little mate you've found for us, Yolmar," Tarod grunted and grabbed your head, his huge hand covering your entire scalp as he pressed you down on his cock and bucked his hips against your face. You choked and spluttered as his length pushed down your throat. Tarod growled and released the grip on your head, allowing you to breathe. Gasping for air, you stared up at Tarod and glanced over at Yolmar. A pang of heat rushed through your belly when you saw the cock in his hand, his yellow eyes focused on you as he stroked himself.

Tarod wrapped his calloused hand around your throat and forced you to look at him. You gasped and stared up at him with big eyes and a wicked grin spread across his face.

"See how much he enjoys seeing his mate's mouth wrapped around another orc's cock? I bet he's gonna love seeing me ravage you."

"Please...," you whimpered, squeezing your thighs together to lighten the throbbing arousal.

"What's that?" Tarod snickered and lowered his hand down between your legs, slipping his long finger through your wet folds and into your soaked pussy. You gasped and grabbed his massive arm, moaning with pleasure at finally having something inside your aching core. Tarod growled at the sensation of your spongy flesh gripping his finger and the sloppy noises your pussy was making as he moved his finger inside you.

"You're absolutely drenched. You want me inside you, little one?"

"Y-Yes, please...," you mewled, nearly sobbing as you desperately rode his finger.

Tarod chuckled and pulled out his finger. Wrapping his hands around your waist, he lifted you up on his lap like you weighed nothing.

"I'm gonna let you start, little lamb, let you adjust to my size."

You nodded, your face flushed with arousal as you lowered yourself onto his cock. Slowly, the round head slid between your folds, and you bit your lip as you sank your body lower. You gasped when your pussy stretched and gaped for him, and the head finally pushed inside with a pop. A surge of pleasure went through your core, and a tiny moan escaped your lips. Oh fuck, he was so incredibly big.

Tarod grunted as he felt your tight cunt around the head of his cock, struggling to keep himself from slamming into you. He needed to be patient, and let you adjust to him first. Then, he could pound this tight, little pussy all he wanted.

You held onto his muscular shoulders as you slowly moved on top of him. With each bounce of your hips, you sank deeper and deeper. Your pussy stretched around his length, more than you ever thought possible, as more and more of his cock pushed inside you. You gasped and stared down at the bulge on your belly, amazed that your body could adapt so easily to him. Biting down on your bottom lip, you gripped his shoulders tighter as you started moving. Lifting your hips slowly, you moaned softly, feeling every inch of his cock move against your inner walls as you sank down on him again. Tarod grabbed your hips as you started to move at a gentle, steady pace, gradually adjusting to his size. Slowly, a hot, swirling sensation started to build up in your core, and you began to ride him faster, chasing that overwhelming feeling mounting in your core. Then, suddenly, Tarod made the slightest upwards movement with his hips, and a spike of sudden pleasure went through your core. You cried out as the warm sensation spread through your body like a wildfire. Your entire body jerked and twitched as your orgasm rippled through your body, and your head became a cloudy mess from the overwhelming sensations flowing through you.

"Fuck!" Tarod growled, his cock twitching at the feeling of your pussy gripping him so tightly. This was it. He couldn't hold back anymore. Holding you in a firm grip, he stood up and turned you around, placing you on your hands and knees on the floor.

Your blurry mind was abruptly woken by Tarod's cock plunging into you from behind. Back arching and eyes widening, you looked at him over your shoulder, at the erotic sight of him crouching above you and pounding his enormous member into your now gaping, soppy count. You caught something in the corner of your eyes and suddenly remembered Yolmar was there, the sight he was giving you sending another wave of pleasure through your belly. He was still stroking himself, his pace faster now, matching the pace of Tarod's hips. Yolmar's mouth was half open, his chest heaving rapidly with breathy moans as he watched Tarod's cock plunge in and out of your pussy.

All of these impressions flooding your body and mind were too overwhelming, and you couldn’t control your body anymore as another gush of pleasure swept through your body. Throwing your head back, you pressed your ass back against Tarod's hips, rutting against him erratically as your orgasm rolled like waves through your body.

Tarod growled and threw his head back at the feeling of your fluttering, clenching walls gripping his cock. He slammed into you one last time, his cock swelling and throbbing as spurts of his thick cum released into your cunt. Your eyes landed on Yolmar just as he came, and a fountain of white semen erupted from his cock and landed on the floor. You mewled softly at the sight, your pussy gently clenching around Tarod's cock still lodged inside you as your body relaxed in post-orgasmic bliss.

"Come here," Tarod boomed and lifted you up, cradling you on his lap as he sat down on his throne. "You took me so well, little lamb. Now, rest before we both take you and make you our mate."

You smiled tiredly, barely registering his words as his warm cum seeped out of you and sleep claimed your body.

[adifferentsortofstrength]

Close to Her Chest

This is the first writing I have ever put out into the world, so please be kind ♥︎

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Elain x Azriel

Our story begins shortly after The Incident on Solstice. I'll do my best to be canon compliant/adjacent but it's been a while since I reread the whole series. I'm not sure how far I'll take this piece, but the only way to begin is to begin.

I'll add any pertinent tags below.

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Even in the dark of winter, Elain found it easier to breathe beneath the sky. The chill of the air had a lessened effect in this new Fae body of hers, leaving her numb but not immediately frozen to her core as it would have before.

More often than not, she found herself slipping silently out into the gardens once the family had taken their leave from the dinner table. She couldn’t stand the flickering firelight of the townhouse sitting room for more than a moment. Having to listen to her family, her friends, happily chattering away while she herself was all but decaying inside… it was enough to drive her mad.

Only a week ago, in the dark of the longest night of the year, the crackling fire in the hearth had been a comfort. A muted backdrop to what Elain had thought would be a pivotal moment in her life, the moment that she chose to take control of her fate.

But now the angry popping of the logs was just a taunting reminder of the silence that fell after.

This was a mistake.

For months, there had been a static building between her and Azriel. It was palpable in the air, clung to her skin after the briefest brush of their hands, was alight in the gazes they exchanged across a crowded room. And yet somehow, it seemed only she alone had sensed it.

That much was clear now.

This was a mistake.

In the aftermath, the pendant lying on her breast burned as though it was discharging all of that pent up static into her. When her trembling fingers unclasped it, placed it gingerly upon the lingering pile of Solstice gifts, Elain felt the static leave her. And ever since, there was nothing but numbness in its place.

This was a mistake.

Wandering amongst the burlap covered plants, her fingers trailing carelessly through the dusting of snow, the numbness of her heart now echoed in that of her skin.

Distantly, she could still hear her family talking and laughing together. Azriel had been noticeably absent from all gatherings this past week, and her stomach dropped at the thought that she was keeping him from enjoying time with the people he loved.

As if the embarrassment and shame around her behavior on Solstice wasn’t torturous enough, the sudden onslaught of guilt at the thought of depriving him of his family sent her knees out from under her.

A sob escaped her lips before she could bring an ice-cold hand up to muffle the sound. Elain had never wished for the ability to winnow more than she did in this moment.

If only she could disappear into the night, stepping out somewhere far from this cold garden path, maybe then she could grant her family a bit of reprieve from the burden of her presence.

A frozen gust of wind whipped around her, and all at once the now familiar sensation of her Sight sparked through her veins. As she felt herself slipping further from her body, Elain’s last coherent thought was a morbid hope that maybe no one would find her out here.

Maybe she could simply drift away, out here in this cold and desolate garden, surrounded by the corpses of the plants she had nurtured and cared for all year. It felt poetic somehow, because unlike her plants which would return vibrant and alive come spring, the feelings she had nurtured quietly within herself for the last year had little chance of surviving the final weeks of winter.

⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱

A week had passed since Solstice, and Azriel had barely slept at all. Immediately after receiving the order from Rhys to stay away from Elain, he had been sent to Illyria to gather intel on the rising unrest amongst some of the more isolated clans.

Having done all he could there, he flew now towards the townhouse. The sun had set already and he knew that his family would be finished with their meal, gathering in the sitting room for the evening.

As he circled lower over Velaris, his shadows began to rise around him, suddenly twisting and pulling against his skin, as if urging him to hurry. They led him not to the front door of the house, but instead deep into the frozen gardens. They whispered She is there! She is there!

Understanding immediately who they meant, he landed rapidly amongst the rows of covered bushes and trellises.

It took mere moments to locate her, and what he saw sent the chill of the night straight to his heart.

Elain, beautiful, lovely Elain, was lying along the edge of the garden path. She had no coat or cloak, no gloves or even a scarf to keep her warm. The snow had formed a halo around her, and as he approached he could see that she was lost in a vision, the whites of her eyes barely visible under her dark lashes.

She had clearly collapsed here, her legs curled beneath her, her hands resting haphazardly in the snow by her shoulders. He couldn’t tell how long she had been like this, but it was long enough that her lips were blue and a slight frost had gathered across her skin.

Azriel summoned a thick wool blanket with his shadows, and hurriedly wrapped it around her as he gathered Elain into his arms. Placing a scarred hand against her face, he leaned in, cocooning his wings around them, desperately willing the heat of his body to warm hers.

“Elain,” he whispered, not wanting to startle her, “Elain, please come back to me. Please open your eyes.”

Her pulse was sluggish, and though he could see her faint breath misting from her parted lips, she did not stir.

In a moment of rash indifference, not caring for what consequences may befall him, Azriel felt himself slipping into shadow, and stepping out in the middle of the sitting room.

“Azriel?”, Feyre was the first to acknowledge him, the others turning in surprise at his sudden appearance.

“Azriel, what-“, Rhys started, before his eye caught on the small figure clutched in his arms.

“I found her in the garden, nearly frozen. None of you noted her absence? No one thought to check on her?”, he was nearly growling now, and still Elain did not move beyond the shallow rise and fall of her chest.

“How long has it been since any one of you has seen her? How long had she been out there alone?”, he continued, simmering rage barely contained in his words.

He stalked over to the fire, his shadows piling on more logs and stoking the flames higher, and knelt before it. In truth, this was the closest he had been to open flame since his hands had been disfigured. While he had slowly grown accustom to sitting in those chairs closest to the hearth, kneeling here within arms reach was another trial all together.

But in this moment, he did not fall back, refusing to release his hold on the slowly thawing form in his arms.

“Everyone, out, now”, he vaguely heard Rhys command, drowned out by the boiling blood rushing in his ears.

“Azriel-”, it was Feyre, gently approaching and settling onto her knees beside them.

He couldn’t form a coherent thought, couldn’t speak aloud the words that threatened to spill from his mouth, lest he reveal the utter distaste and rage at their complete disregard for this most precious being in his arms.

Before Rhys could speak again, before he inevitably tried to take her from him again, Azriel once more placed his hand against her cheek. It had warmed slightly, a soft pink pallor now spreading across her skin.

Elain.

Elain.

Elain.

At this point, he wasn’t sure if he was merely thinking the word or speaking it aloud, reverently, like a prayer to whatever gods might be listening. He no longer saw anything but her face, felt nothing but the steady beating of her heart, and no one, not even Rhysand, could tear him from her in this moment.

Elain suddenly sighed, her eyes fluttering fully closed, as she shifted her body closer, curling against him. As her hand slowly found its way up his chest to the bare skin of his neck, he released a breath and clutched her tighter.

Her fingers were still icily cold, but they were brushing gently through the hair at the base of his scalp. Relishing this close contact, he would have been content to remain here with her in this moment forever. But the fact was that they were not alone, and even as he kept his eyes on her, he could feel Rhysand and Feyre’s on him.

“Elain”, he breathed, barely more than a whisper, tears of relief threatening to spill free from his eyes.

At that, Elain’s eyes opened again, still slightly hazed from her vision but once again warm and so richly brown they were nearly molten.

“Azriel?” It came out as a whisper, her hand stilling against his neck, as her brow furrowed in confusion.

Azriel, let her go now. Let Feyre check on her. Rhys spoke directly into his mind now, the words a clear command.

He spoke back, You can’t order me to do that, the words an echo of those he had uttered only a week prior, when Elain decides she is ready to get up, she will, and lowered his mental shield into place. If Rhysand had something more to say, he could say it out loud, in front of his mate.

“I found you, in the garden”, He dared to brush his thumb across her cheek, “You must have had a vision and collapsed. You had no coat, and were half frozen by the time I got you inside.”

At that her eyes cleared a but more, as if remembering what she had seen. Her fingers resumed drifting through his hair, and she whispered, “Oh…”

“Elain? Are you alright? We’re so sorry, we didn’t realize you had gone outside. I thought you had gone up to bed and-“, at Feyre’s voice, Elain started and pulled away from him, knowing now that they were not alone here.

She couldn’t quite get herself upright, so Azriel reluctantly rose and set her into the nearest armchair, taking just one more moment to tuck the blanket around her shoulders, before retreating. Her eyes tracked him across the room, and he suddenly couldn’t remember a time he had felt so empty, the absence of her leaving him feeling hollow and cold.

Rhysand once again tapped against his mental wall, and he acquiesced this time, bracing for what was sure to be more reprimand and orders.

We will speak about this later. Rhys’s voice sounded flat in his mind.

Fine. He replied, before slamming the shields back into place, shoving out his High Lord more aggressively than ever before.

Elain looked to Feyre then, a numb mask slipping over her face as she asked, “Can you take me to my room please?”

Feyre nodded only once before casting a look over her shoulder towards him and then her mate. Uncertainty shone in her eyes, but she grasped Elain’s outstretched hand and winnowed them away.

Before Rhys could start in on him, Azriel too took his leave, disappearing into his shadows, no sure destination in mind.

∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴∴

Authors note: I always felt that the both of them would be utterly miserable and despondent after Solstice. Poor Elain, suffering yet another rejection, not understanding where she had gone wrong. The feelings of loss and confusion consuming her, similar but somehow worse even than after Greyson. And Azriel, questioning where his true loyalties lie, rebelling against that sense of owing Rhysand for taking him under his proverbial wing as a child, torn between doing what he was conditioned to do and what his heart is begging him to.

I have many thoughts as to how their story could play out. This fic is acting as a sort of writing exercise as I work up to starting my original story that I’ve been mulling over in my head for nearly a decade. If I can keep it together enough to continue, this fic will probably find its way over to AO3 eventually.

Expect to find angst, secret meetings, chance run ins, pining, hidden trysts, and overdue confrontation amongst other things in subsequent installments.

[justaaveragereader]

10.26||GrimReaper!HongJoong

Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: MeanDom!Hongjoong, Sub!Reader, Scythe Play, CNC, Rough Sex, Degradation, If I Missed Anything👀👀Lemme Know!

A/N: Can yall believe we are damn near done with kinktober😭?! One more left and it’ll be finished🥹😭.

Kinktober Masterlist

“Plea-please..” you whisper out, sprawled on the stone path beneath you. Body riddled with sweat from the ungodly heat.

Hongjoongs eyes twinkle, hearing your pretty voice beg for him was enough to have him bricked up underneath his cloak. You had been escaping him for a while, constantly cheating death, forever out running him, but not today. He had finally caught up with you, and he was going to take whatever he pleased.

“Please what?” Hongjoong says with irritation, lacing his voice. Dropping the pitch of his tone. His pitch black eyes take over your body. The way the sweat drenched clothes cling to your body leave very little to the imagination.

“I’m sorry, Hongjoong plea-please.” You end your sentence with a hiccup, tears beginning to fill your eyes. Pulling his scythe out, he swings the blade swiftly down, shutting your eyes tightly you take a deep breath, accepting the fate that he was going to reap your soul. The soft zipping of the blade can be heard. Your skin immediately feels the heat from the fire pooling around you. Opening your eyes, you see Hongjoongs body covered with skin, he had morphed into his human state. Your eyes bore up to him, his eyes still pitch black, staring holes into you. You see his head slightly tilt down. Your naked body is on display for him.

Slicing your clothes clean in half. The heat from the ring of fire that you are in the middle of heats your skin even more. Slowly walking towards you with his scythe scraping against the stone. Causing small sparks to fly in every direction. He brings up his scythe swinging it toward your neck, stopping the blade right below your neck, standing still at your collar bone. Your hands slowly come to cover your top half. Just as you get closer to your skin, Hongjoong shoves the scythe further into your skin, pushing the flat slide of the scythe so it digs into your skin, avoiding your skin touching the edge of the blade. Not wanting to slice your skin.

“Take it off.” He whispers out, with his lack of pupil it’s hard to tell where his eyes are looking, yet just knowing he’s soaking in your body spreads a heat to your core. Moving your hands slowly you remove your shirt, refusing to break eye contact with him. Moving your hands down to your pants you peel the soaking fabric off your body, your panties are split down the middle he has an eye shot view of your wet cunt. You weren’t sure if you were just pooling with arousal by his authority or if you were just drenched in sweat.

Wanting to entertain the thought of proving it is just sweat glistening off your folds, you run two fingers through your folds, letting out a gasp you are shocked to learn it’s arousal and not sweat. Feeling the heat of embarrassment burn at your insides, you spread your fingers in disbelief, watching it stretch between your fingers, looking up at Hongjoong through your lashes, you feel heat spread across your face. Letting out a small chuckle, not believing what he’s seeing before his very own eyes. Removing the blade from your collar, he drops to his knees letting the scythe hit the floor with a loud thud, the tip of the blade right next to your head. The fear of it slicing your skin runs through your veins yet the excitement of seeing Hongjoong kneeling before your parted legs takes over your body. His cool, pale hands run over your burning body. Letting his finger tips brush over your inner thighs, he inches lower, your breath hitching in your throat.

Your eyes drift down to where his fingers are touching, while his eyes never move from your body, soaking in your desperate form. Desperate to stay alive, desperate to get fucked.

“How desperate are you?” He says while toying with your clit, your head falling back against the stones at the feeling of him on your body.

“Very.” You pant out, not even trying to figure out in what way he meant when he said desperate. That was your favorite part about cheating death. While he viewed this as a punishment, you viewed this as a reward. Moving his oversized cloak out of the way, lining himself up with your entrance. He wasn’t here for foreplay, nor did he wanna be sweet and take his time with you. Slowly bottoming out in you, your eyes slightly roll back, the mixture of sweat and arousal making it easy for him to slide into you.

“Fuckkk..” you moan out as he slid in, your hands coming up to grip his black cloak, stilling him in place. Grabbing his scythe from the ground, placing the blade against the pulse point in your neck. Your nerves shoot up, yet you can’t decipher if it’s the thought of him having the upper hand, or the fear of him being able to snatch your soul with one swift movement. His hips start out at a snail pace, as he pulls back you can feel every vein drag against your warm, snug walls. You can feel his cock pulsate in you. Digging the scythe further into your skin, you feel your heart start to race. As your heart quickens he picks up pace, the feeling of his cool skin continuously brushing your heated skin only makes you want him more.

With each quick thrust he delivers to your cunt, the ring of fire grows taller, burning hotter, blue flames engulfing the bottom where the fire started. The sound of wet skin slapping is ringing out in your ears. Pushing the scythe under your chin, the sharp blade nips at your skin, he lifts your head with the blade so you are looking at him, your mouth hangs open, panting as he’s hitting your spongy spot over and over again. Trying your best to keep eye contact with him, you can’t help but let your eyes roll back at the pleasure he’s bringing you.

“Ah, ah, ah, eyes on me.” He grits out, shoving the blade further in your skin. Biting your lip, you look up at Hongjoong through hooded eyelids. The way he towered over you, you could’ve assumed he was God. His head is always held high, with a firm look always on his face. He looks down at you like you are beneath him. Like you are absolute scum, yet the way he’s pistoning his cock in and out of you it’s hard to believe that you are on a lower level then him.

“I’m starting to think you only like to cheat me because you like when I’m balls deep in your tight cunt.” He says through a smile, that signature “know it all” smirk is constantly plastered on his face. Biting your lip, your toes curl slightly, trying your best to keep your eyes locked onto his. Letting out a fake coo at you. He shoves the scythe further into your skin, letting it sit dangerously close to your pulse.

“Go ahead and say it. Tell me how much you love the chase because you know it’ll end with me balls deep in you. Go on.”

Biting your lip, you feel your orgasm cutting close, yet your pride will not let you admit that you love when Hongjoong is rearranging your guts. You enjoyed this cat and mouse game with him. Letting out a low whine you cut your eyes at Hongjoong, refusing to stroke his God complex.

“Over my de-dead body Ki-Kim Hongjoong.” You stutter out as his hips continue to speed up, folding your body in half with his hand, your knees are practically kissing your shoulder. A smile so wide takes over his face, you’ve never been afraid of Hongjoong until this very moment. Removing his scythe from your neck, he effortlessly swings it back behind him. With eyes as dark as midnight, and a smile so dangerously sinister, his choice of words match his actions.

“Don’t you know darling, you always reap what you sow.”

Taglist: @abby-grace @petsuccube @maximofftrash @tunaasan @seonghwasslytherin @pearltinyy @bubblegumbird @araknoid @mingtina @oreoqueen @dani-is-tired @8tinytings @sunwoosbaby @acetruepunk @alliecoady98 @s-unflowxr @rxnexxi @mixling-blog @staytinyinmybpack @starryskiesthings @horanghaezone @realviviboss @mikaelless @scuzmunkie @tokkibleu992

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[dp-marvel94]

Real -Chapter 2

Summary:

While hiding from his parents in Gotham, an ill-timed encounter with his neighbor, Jason, has Danny pretending to be his own twin. Fortunately for Danny, the more he pretends the easier it gets. Until he is not pretending at all. Or: Danny names a duplicate and via ghost logic, said duplicate ends up becoming real.

Previous chapter here

Also on AO3

Danny stays duplicated as long as he can. He stays awake long into the night, talking at Jamie more than with him. Still, words do come, slow and few and unsure as they are. And greater still… somehow, impossibly, the conversation is not just Danny’s own thoughts repeated back to him.

“You can take the mattress if you want,” Danny offers, his eyes growing blurry, fighting sleep. “I’ll take the couch.”

Danny wakes some time later, alone in his apartment. Jamie is gone. Or… may his duplicate is not. 

The half ghost frowns down at his own chest, brow furrowed at a novel sensation. A tiny spot of cold, just below his core. It seems to swirl and pulse, dimming and brightening.

Danny gasped, an awed surprise. He can… feel Jamie. The other is still there.

But… for just a moment, anxiety steals his breath. The feeling almost reminds him of being overshadowed. Pointdexter pulling him from his body, contorting his face. One of Vlad’s clones forcing him to transform, electricity searing his veins. Fear stabs at his core.

And the feeling echoes back to him.

“Jamie would not.” The words are in Danny’s head but they are not his.

Despite the fear, the words also ring with sincerity. And as unsettling as the foreign thought should be, Danny is comforted, no longer afraid.

“I know you wouldn’t.” Danny tries to reassure. He rubs where the cold spark is nestled just below his sternum, as if he can comfort the… not a duplicate. 

The half ghost corrects himself. “You’re not a duplicate. You’re…” He speaks, knowing Jamie can hear. “A clone, I guess. Like Ellie. Just… not strong enough to have your own body all the time.”

A whisper of sadness, of disappointment comes at the words.

“Give me a bit of time to recover and we’ll try again.” Danny soothes.

The pattern continues. Danny duplicates again, pulling Jamie back out into reality. Each time, he feels one of the gossamer threads connecting them break. 

The two do chores and try to cook together. Jamie’s movements are slow, requiring much verbal instruction. The twins watch tv or read, though the younger’s understanding is slow and often incomplete, like a lagging computer. Danny and Jamie play card games like go fish. The clone often stares at the card with brow furrowed, as if struggling to connect the number on the card to its verbal partner.

And yet, each struggle is a joy as Danny discovers more of his brother. Jamie is growing more confident, more sure. His words and actions quicken as his personality takes shape. The clone has his own likes and dislikes, his own opinions. At first unsure, mild, emotions half-hearted. But… those too, those new found emotions, are strengthening.

About two weeks after that fateful conversation with Jason, their neighbor knocks on their door. Danny jerks his head at the noise, eyes fixed in equal surprise and panic; he hadn’t heard anything from Jason since that day, had half-thought that the man gave up on getting him to open up after that chilling conversation.

“Coming!” His voice cracked, stepping towards the door.

Frantic, Danny reached, mind and arm, to Jamie. It is easy and automatic, the impulse to put on the act, to prepare to pilot a duplicate,.

But the clone slaps his hand away, scowling. “Do not control.”

Danny blinks, realizing. He’d been meaning to puppet Jamie, like he was just an empty shell. His stomach twists with the violation. “Sorry.” He blushes, shamed.

“It’s fine.” The other just waved him off, though Danny can feel his annoyance buzzing through their connection.

And for just a moment, Danny marvels at it; earlier Jamie would have been afraid if he had tried that. But now… the response of anger, something so much stronger and solid. His twin’s ability to feel is growing. A thing of awe.

Jamie raises a brow, pointing at the door. And Danny shakes away the feeling. “Okay.” He breathes out. “Be cool. We’ve got this.”

Danny opens the door to let Jason inside and for the first time, their neighbor meets the real Jamie, though unbeknownst to him. 

Jason invites the twins back to his apartment, offering fresh tamales. And in turn, Danny and Jamie offer a version of the truth.

“What do you think of metas?” Danny starts hesitantly.

Jason raises a brow. “People are people. I don’t care as long as you aren’t using  powers to hurt other people or yourself.”

The older half ghost lets out a breath. “There was… an accident.” Danny bits his lip. “After I… we could do things we couldn’t before. We hide it from Mom and Dad.”

“They… aren’t good people.” Jamie adds. “Hate people that aren’t normal humans, alway think they’re right.” 

“They found out and did not react well.” Danny frowns, aimlessly rubbing his shoulder where his mom had shot him as he escaped.

“So we ran away. And ended up here.” His clone finishes.

For a long moment, Jason silently frowns, brow wrinkled with worry.

Danny’s eyes widen in alarm. “You’re not going to call CPS, are you? Or the police?”

“No.” The man shakes his head. “Damn kid. That all sucks.”

“Yeah.” Jamie shrugs, head falling.

“What are you going to do?” Danny swallowed.

Jason sighs. “I know someone that works at the Wayne Meta-human Support Foundation. Maybe they can get you some funds so you can quit those shitty coffee shop jobs and go back to school.”

“But it’s almost summer!” Jamie complains at the idea of going to school.

Danny tries to hide his side-eye, surprised at his clone protesting on those grounds of all things.

“You could start in the fall. Gotham schools are shitty but they’re better than not graduating at all.”

“Or they could attend Gotham Academy.” Damian’s scoffing voice cuts in.

The twins flinch at the same time, both looking towards the window where the boy’s voice came from.

“What are you doing here?” Jason’s voice carries a scowl.

Meanwhile Danny blinks, brow wrinkling in confusion. “Did you climb up the fire escape?”

Damian just tsks. “You were not answering your phone. Richard needs both of us for a project.”

The older brother sighs. “Give me a minute, Dames.” Jason turns to the half ghost and his clone. “Think about what I said.” He scribbles something on a piece of paper, handing it to Jamie. “This is Duke’s number. He’s Damian’s foster brother. B ended up fostering him through the meta-human foundation. He can tell you more about it.”

“Okay, we’ll think about it.” Jamie looks up, smile sincere through the palpable worry.

Jason gives an approving nod, then stood expression shifting. “I am glad you’re feeling better, kid.”

“What’s that mean?” The clone asks, nosing wrinkling with just a bit more plain confusion than offense.

“You were sulking the last time we talked, didn’t speak a word to me or Danny. But you look better today.” The man claps his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak this much.”

For just a second, Jamie hazards a look at Danny, a flicker of uncertainty. His eyes return to Jason. “It’s been an interesting two weeks. But we’re doing better.”

The man apparently catches the shared look. “I’m glad you worked out whatever that was.” From the window comes another tsk. “I’m coming, Demon Brat. And maybe this time let’s use the door like a normal person.”

Jason and Damian leave. Danny and Jamie return to their apartment. And Danny’s eyes soften, studying his twin with new eyes. 

“What?” The other raises a brow.

“You do look better.” Jamie looks more solid somehow, more present in a way that Danny knows is invisible to a normal human. The clone smiles softly, the crease of his lips unquestioningly real. And the light in his eyes… “I’m so happy you’re here.” The spark is brighter than ever.

Jamie shrugs. “This was your doing.”

“Yeah, I’m the one who made a duplicate. But,” Danny chuckles. “I have no idea how you’re real.”

For a second, an expression flickers on the clone’s face. It ripples through their bond, an emotion that Danny does not quite understand. Something like self-doubt…

“Can we watch a movie?” Jamie cuts in with unusual earnestness. “The one with the clown fish?

“Yeah.” Danny blinks, his twin’s subdued feeling dismissed by surprise; Jamie actually asking for something was a pleasant first.

Another afternoon and night with his twin. Jamie manages to surprise him with a joke. To bright giggles, Danny discovers where his brother is ticklish. The clone learns to reciprocate. But the separation still only lasts until Danny falls asleep. 

“We need to try something else.” The half ghost groans into his hands in the morning. “There’s gotta be some way for you to last longer than me nodding off.”

“It lasted longer than you falling asleep.” Jamie’s voice in his head answers.

“What?” Danny blinks in surprise, head jerking up.

“You fell asleep. Half an hour alone, then gone.” The words are said almost casually, as if the clone hadn’t thought to mention this until just now. He probably hadn’t.

“Jamie, it’s on your end. The problem’s on your end.” There is no annoyance in the words, just excitement, a newly blooming hope. “That’s it! Next time, you need to pull yourself away from me.”

“But… that’s not… not possible.” Jamie stammers the words, doubt radiating.

“Sure it is!” Danny stands, motioning emphatically. “Let’s try it now.”

For half an hour, Danny stumbles through an explanation of how to duplicate. The cold spark that is Jamie churns anxiously, flailing feebly and at random.

“Can’t do it.” The clone grits out, frustrated just as Danny’s body flickers intangible.

Danny rubs his sternum comfortingly. “Dude, you just managed to turn us intangible.” A proud smile quirks his lips. “Maybe we can start with basic powers. You can overshadow me, for the lack of a better word. We’ll work up to actually duplicating.”

Jamie does not respond with words. Still Danny feels his misgivings.

“It’ll work.” The half ghost reassures. Just then his phone alarm goes off. “Actually… I guess this will have to wait until after work.”

“Good.” The clone huffs. “Tired.”

The exhaustion is almost palpable, though distinct from Danny’s own energy level; he feels quite well rested. “Go to sleep then.” He encourages. “I’ll wake you up when I get home.”

Jamie hums a sleepy good night into Danny’s mind. His cold spark seems to condense, the churn of its energy slowing into something almost solid.

The half ghost hums questioningly, for just a moment wondering. Is that Jamie’s core, trying to form? Danny prods his own, a discrete spherical ball of energy in the center of his being. It would be solid, in the same place as his heart if he was in ghost form. Now though it is phased just out of reality, in the same dimension his body slips into when he turns intangible.

Jamie’s spark is just as intangible; he can’t actually feel it if he presses down with his fingers. But the energy is diffuse, always churning faster or slower in seemingly random circuits.

Danny’s phone alarm rings again and he dismisses the thought. He does have to get to work after all.

Danny does not have to wake up Jamie when he gets home, as the clone quietly mutters into his thoughts on the bus ride home.

“Did you sleep well?” The half ghost asks silently.

“There were pictures.” Jamie muses. “Riding a dinosaur, petting a kitty. Ice cream. Brain freeze.”

Danny just manages to hold back a chuckle. “You were dreaming.” This is an exciting first. “Do you remember what dreams are?”

A hum of confirmation. “Remember Danny dreams.”

“Do you remember some of my dreams?” That’s not surprising; talking to Jamie over the past two weeks had revealed that the clone shared many of his memories.

“Yes.” A fearful shiver. “Plasmius is scary.”

And now Danny feels guilty, his stomach churning with feeling. He’s giving Jamie his nightmares, his trauma just by the nature of what the clone is. And he made the decision to pull him into the mess that is his life.

“Want to exist.” Jamie reminds him, prodding his core with a measure of comfort, despite the lingering chill of fear.

“Yeah. We already decided, didn’t we Jamie?”

Another buzz of agreement.

When they arrive back at the apartment, Danny and Jamie get started on their practice.

“Don’t be nervous.” Danny reassures, already feeling Jamie’s hesitation. “I trust you.”

The half ghost coaxes his twin into the driver’s seat. “You need to stretch. It’s like… oh man, is this gonna sound weird… my body’s a suit of clothes and you need to stretch to fill it. Just… move it like it was your own body.” He chuckles awkwardly. “It should be easier than my first time overshadowing someone. We look exactly the same.”

Danny breaths, letting himself retreat into the back of his own mind. Anxiety pours from Jamie, buzzing across their connection. But the clone does as instructed. 

Vertigo overtakes Danny as the two seem to switch places. His body gasps without his permission. The body wobbles, falling to its knees. 

Distantly, Danny feels his chest heave. A moan rises in his throat, slowly morphing into stuttering letters. But his tongue is awkward. It clips his teeth, earning a hiss of pain.

Danny soothes the clone piloting his body. “It’s okay. Just breathe.”

Jamie does so. Slowly, finally. “You’re so heavy.” The shaky words exit his mouth.

The half ghost would blink in surprise if he had use of his eyes. “Really?”

The clone has no response. Instead, he shakily pulls the body to its feet. He stumbles a few feet forward, nearly falling over the kitchen counter. The hand pricks a knife Danny really should have put away before now. With a gasp, Jamie jerks the fingers away. 

Again, the body ended up on the floor. Overwhelmed, the clone pants. But… slowly, the anxiety shifts. A shakily hand rises to the face, eyes fixed on the red blood welling from the fingertip. 

“It’s okay.” Danny tries to reassure. “We’ll wrap it up and it’ll heal.”

But that was not what had the clone captivated. “Heavy. Blood…” Shakily, the other hand rises to the chest. “Heartbeat. Hu… human. This body… is human.” Again, Jamie looks at the sluggishly bleeding finger. “Danny is.. Is human.”

So much surprise, confusion screams into Danny’s mind. But he does not understand why; what has his twin so freaked out?. “Yes, I’m human?”

“But… Jamie doesn’t…. This isn’t….” The clone pinches his eyes closed, straining for words. “Jamie is… is a ghost. Yes? A ghost, not… not human.”

“Oh.” Understanding dawns. “I guess you are. A ghost I mean.” Anytime Danny duplicates, the secondary body is made of ectoplasm, a ghost even if the appearance is human. Of course Jamie is the same. “No wonder this freaked you out.” Guilt pricked at his core. “Sorry, Jamie. I should have thought about how weird being human would be for you.”

Jamie does not respond for a long while. A tangle of emotions vibrates through the twins’ connection. Too many for Danny to parse, but the strongest… 

Finally the eyes open, head shaking. “Is… is Jamie supposed to be human too?” Something like guilt rises through the words. 

The feeling of inadequacy is enough to break Danny’s core. “Jamie. Jamie, my baby bro, little twin, clone of my own core.There is not supposed to be here. You are supposed to be exactly what you are. Full ghost or halfa, I don’t care. I just want you here, by my side.”

Jamie nods, tears rising in his eyes. “Better practice then.”

“That’s my Jamie.” 

[askinkiskarma]

I have a lot of thoughts about arcane and rather than dealing with them on my own i thought i would try to write them out and see how other people feel and maybe have a conversation about it, because the beauty of art is sharing it and seeing it through your own eyes, as well as others’ - the beauty of art is its ability to ignite and spark a conversation… a change.

Arcane is very important to me, because of what it represents - humanity, in all its aspects and kaleidoscopic facets, in all its glory and in all its misery. What made it unique is how inherently relatable and universal the feelings and experiences the characters go through and how inherently human their problems are at their core, and whilst they were able to keep a lot of those sentiments in season 2, I feel by act iii they forsook a lot of what made arcane special.

Very rambly thoughts ahead, I do apologise, and please tell me yours, I would love to speak about it and process it.

To me arcane was always about class struggles, about oppression, about what happens to the oppressed when they are pushed to the brink, about how that affects a person’s journey and their fates, and putting faces to those struggles on both sides of the equation - vi, an orphaned child who was forced to grow up too quickly and parentified to the point she felt like she had no value outside of being a protector; jinx - a brilliant mind who fell victim to trauma because there was no one able to help her outgrow it or deal with it; silco - a man who has seen the oppression first hand and chose to fight it regardless of the sacrifice it took. I could keep going and going but Arcane was a phenomenal display of character and morality, and an almost perfect attempt at the shades of grey that make most of us who we are. No character was without flaw, and no character was unjustified in their actions in their own minds and due to their own particular set of circumstances.

I think most of the gripes I have with season 2 stem from two overarching themes: time and ambition. But before I go into this, let me praise it for a bit because despite all my grievances, I still think it is the best animated piece of art of all time and I still think it's better than 99% of anything I've ever been invested in. Although almost redundant to even talk about, I want to shine a light onto the animation. I have to give so much credit to every single person involved in bringing this series to life, because it is a spectacle from the first frame to the last, and the amount of talent, effort and passion it took to do this can never be put into words.

I will bring up things I loved about it as I'm talking what I didn't, because they are very much entrenched. My biggest complain about season 2 is that, the fact that it was only one season. I believe everything they've set out to achieve and every plot point they introduced could have been properly addressed and done justice in in one more season, and therefore, none of the problems I'm about to go into would have ever been an issue.

Imagine this: season 2 starts exactly as it did, with the first three episodes dealing with the aftermath of jinx's actions and the loss that drives Piltover into deplorable reactions, with Caitlyn and Ambessa at the helm, descending into fascism, Cait driven by blind rage and the prejudice she's been fed her entire life without an active effort into trying to overcome it, Ambessa driven by ambition and desperate attempts to one-up the Black Rose organisation. However, the season progresses differently - to me, this conflict and its consequences should have been what this season was about.

Simple yet deeply impactful, tackling the themes they set up in the last season, tackling the intricacies of what would lead the characters into their actions - for Cait, expanding on the way grief, fear and guilt makes you regress back to your most ignorant, primal, selfish self; for Vi, the way a lifetime of being told she's responsible for everything and everyone and her unbridled desire for love and family made her abandon her core principles and join the people she hates in order to kill the monster she thinks she's responsible for creating; for Ambessa, the way her deeply embedded and deeply repressed fear of the Black Rose coupled with the Noxian belief in strength and sacrifice and war made her give up one her core beliefs that warriors are forged through blood sweat and tears and not through magic and reach out to Singed, therefore becoming an almost caricature of herself etc etc etc.

That coupled with the overarching conflict between Piltover and Zaun, how Piltover's actions are the breaking point for Zaun, as well as the personal conflicts between Jinx and Vi, Mel and Ambessa, Vi and Cait, potentially Jayce and Cait once Jayce realises Cait has become someone she would have absolutely despised just a few weeks ago, would have made for a compelling and powerful season that kept to much of the themes of the first season and could have been the stepping stones for a larger conflict that could have been introduced but not expanded in this season - Viktor and the Hexcore, the bigger battle between humanity vs the arcane, the Black Rose and their involvement in everything.

Season 2 would introduce Isha as a positive role model for Jinx and a way that Jinx would be able to be rescued from the nothingness her life had become - Isha could have been a symbol for Zaun, and the reason Jinx would decide to become the face of the revolution for Zaun independence. Season 2 could have ended with the Jinx and Vander moment in the prison, or with her reaching out for Vi after her KO in the pits. Season 3 then could have dealt with everything else, and been a great way to introduce other characters and other conflicts (Mel and the Black Rose), which I assume will be part of the next series about runeterra.

I think this season and what it was trying to achieve was great, but its biggest downfall was that in its ambition, it fell short of what made it great. Because whilst the fighting and the animations and the moments we did get with the characters were great, there wasn't enough time to make them justified or fleshed out, and in that, we lost the essence of what people loved the most about Arcane - the eye to detail, the accuracy in character writing and portrayal.

I loved seeing Cait and Vi together and I loved seeing them get into conflict - I did not, however, love that Caitlyn went from being a dictator to redeeming herself in basically one episode with no consequences for her actions. Vi should have been mad, she should have been furious, she should have held her accountable and she didn't. I wanted them to have a much earned sex scene, but not in a prison, which overlooks the insane amount of trauma Vi has suffered in Stillwater and how insensitive doing it there comes across as.

I loved seeing Jinx and Vi reunited - but for a story that started and was always at its core a story about two sisters, there was not nearly enough done to explore their very complicated and tumultuous relationship and bring it to a satisfying conclusion. Not one scene in which they talked about their issues, where they opened up about the past, where they resolved anything before Jinx eventually died, and then, not even one scene of Vi mourning her or what her death represents to the overarching story or to Zaun.

I loved seeing Jinx get better, and her character was actually the highlight of the show for me this season, but a lot of it felt rushed and not properly explored - by the beginning of act 2 she seemed basically perfectly sane, and even after losing Isha, she seemed perfectly in charge of her emotions and was able to surrender herself and make perfectly rational decisions, which doesn't seem in line with all we know about jinx. Not to mention Isha was never mentioned once in the whole of act 3, and neither did Jinx becoming a symbol for Zaun amount to absolutely anything in the end.

I hated how much like the fandom, and the characters themselves, the writers seem to overlook Vi completely. She got the short end of the stick at literally every turn and I thought she would have gotten a semblance of justice in the end, but she didn’t. She forsake everything she knew and believed in because Jinx needed to be killed - Jinx was actually better and fixed herself without any of her involvement, so she betrayed herself for nothing. She finally opens up to Cait and cries in front of her, begging her not to change because she’s already lost everything - Cait betrays her like 5 minutes later and attacks her, abandoning her, then comes back like nothing happened and Vi doesn’t give a shit and forgives her immediately. Finally gets Vander and Jinx back? Loses them both again in the span of a few days. SHE EVEN FUCKING GOT A BAD ENDING IN THE HAPPY ALTERNATE UNIVERSE WHERE EVERYONE ELSE WAS HAPPY LIKE WTF. I could keep going and going about Vi and all the ways she was done wrong but I’d be here forever so let’s move on but #justiceforvi

I liked the Jayce and Viktor conflict and I actually believe everything they've done with that they handled well, since it was basically the main plot of the season, and I loved the way ekko's storyline intertwined with theirs, but this could have been handled even better in a season dedicated to it, and I wish it hadn't come at the expense of Jinx, Vi, Cait and the conflict between Zaun and Piltover. Watching this show felt a little bit like watching season 1 of game of thrones and then halfway through season 2 we're actually in season 8 and the white walkers are here and nobody cares about the iron throne anymore and everything that happened we're supposed to forget about and focus on jon snow vs the night king and it's so confusing cause I kinda cared about Ned Stark and who killed Jon Arryn and i’m kinda still mad that Cersei killed Lady and I’m still curious about Bran and his visions and Varys and the importance of choosing a leader who cares about the small folks and and and ???

This is such a long post and I’m very sorry and I’m writing it on my phone so it might not even make sense but I needed to get some of it out because this has taken over my life.

I probably will have more thoughts as I’m processing this more but for now pls tell me i’m not alone and pls tell me your thoughts 🤍

[biteofcherry]

To find the light, we must first touch the darkness

Please also check out @bluepinkangel​’s amazing hot moodboard for this universe 🖤

dark!mafia Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: When you unexpectedly are appointed to run a health center, you foresee many struggles along the way, but not one in the form of a merciless mob boss. Steve Rogers’ core aim is to own and he won’t take no for an answer. To any of his demands.

warnings: dark!Steve Rogers; manipulation; death threats; power imbalance; forced relationship; brief mention of choking kink; 

I did warn you this Steve is dark 😜

word count: 5.3k

Touch the Darkness Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Chapter 3. In the eye of the storm

~ * ~ 

You didn’t fight Rogers when he dragged you toward his car. For one, you were no match for him physically, though maybe you could treat his calf with your heel as you did your previous attackers. 

Secondly, you didn’t want to be strangled right away, or - if you chose the positive thinking route - have a chloroform rag pressed over your mouth. 

Your brain suffered enough for one day, losing extra brain cells due to unprofessionally used sedatives wasn’t something you’d like to experience.

You almost sighed in relief as you sank into the buttery soft leathers of the backseat. Closing your eyes, you inwardly checked off answers to basic questions - what was your name, what was the date, who was the current president, deducting seven from one hundred. 

You were at seventy two when strong fingers gripped your chin, tilting your head up and to the side. 

“Eyes on me.” Rogers commanded.

You opened your eyes instantly - not because he ordered, but to glare at him. At least that’s what you told yourself. 

He stared at you for a long moment, occasionally moving your head side to side. You realized he was watching your pupils react in the dimmed light. 

“I think I’m the one more equipped to be assessing neurological damage.” You snorted, trying to bat his hand away.

Rogers’ grip on your chin tightened as he caught your wrist in his other hand, forcing your hand down into your lap. He inched his face closer. The blue of his eyes were a brilliant splash of color in the otherwise dark surroundings. They almost made you dizzy all over again.

“Out of the two of us, I have more experience in immediate reactions. You deal with patients already stabilized.” He pointed out.

He released you, but didn’t move away; hovering so close his breath caressed the underside of your jaw. 

“Immediate reactions-” you huffed under your breath, “you check vitals of all the people you’ve beaten to the ground? Make sure they last a little longer before you’re done with them?”

“No, Princess.” Steve’s voice sounded light, contrasting with the heavy words he spoke: “I watch the light leave their eyes.” 

Jesus. If it wasn’t for the adrenaline still pumping fresh in your system, you’d curl into a ball and break out in sobs that your fate was at the feet of someone so ruthless. The fact he didn’t say it with glee was the only sign of a very thin line separating Rogers from a psychopath. 

Though indifference to something so cruel wasn’t a sign of empathy either. 

“However,” he finally leaned back a little, his eyes not once straying from your face, “I wasn’t the one who beat you to the ground. And I’m quite pleased the ordeal didn't chase away the sparks from your eyes.” 

As much as it irked you that Rogers found some amusement in your defiance, you clung to it, since it meant he wasn’t set cold on disposing of you. 

“Who was it then?” You asked, turning your head to peer through the window. 

“I told you, others will come for you.” One of his hands curled into a fist for a short moment, a muscle in his jaw twitching in tension. “I hoped they wouldn’t reach you until you said your words to me, but I forgot how rash and stupid some of my so-called opponents are.”  

At the start of the day you were blissfully oblivious to the existence of men like Steve Rogers. And by the end of it you had not only him barging into your life, but other mobsters too. 

You felt nauseous just from the thought of it. 

“They’re stupid for wanting the same thing you do?” It really wasn’t your aim to irritate your captor (posing as savior), but you gave yourself permission to be annoyed with this whole situation. 

“Nah, Princess. They’re stupid thinking they can take it from me.” 

Cocky words, but spoken with calm conviction of someone honed in fighting. Someone who won each fight he participated in.

It dawned on you that Steve’s previous warning of others coming to you with offers was only to manipulate you. Sure, as proved, others did come. But Rogers not for a second planned on giving you the opportunity to take sides with any of his rivals.

Which is probably how he got to you so fast - because he had someone watching you. No matter who, or how, tried to reach you, Rogers was going to intervene one way or another.

“Well, I can.” You muttered defiantly, resting your head back against the seat. “I still can say no.”

“Sure you can.” Steve’s tone held no anger, nor amusement. He sounded rather bored. 

And it fucking annoyed you! 

That he was indifferent to you putting up a fight, as if he could easily sway your decision with a snap of his fingers. 

The only thing stopping you from an outburst (and maybe trying to scratch his stupidly pretty face) was the voice of reason that your self-preservation instinct screamed at you. Because if you did any of those things, you’d probably end up dead. 

The front passenger’s door opened and a man slid in. Few strands of his dark hair escaped the tied bun. He made a single motion with his hand and the driver, without a question, started the car. 

“Rumlow’s goons?” Rogers asked, meeting the other man’s gaze in the rearview mirror. 

“Yep.” Came a dispassionate reply. “Widow’s gonna wait for the cleaning team then scoop the rat out of his hole. Should she bring him to the pit, or-”

“Bring him first to me.” Roger’s voice was like a slowly unsheathed sword.

When his eyes shifted to look at you as he spoke, you felt the heaviness of that blade settling on your shoulder, inching to cut off your head. Something told you that Rogers wanted you to witness the bloody spectacle, as if his words alone didn’t terrify you enough. 

As the car pulled out of the center’s parking lot, you caught a glimpse of your own car through the window. Rogers still had your keys. 

“Should I give your driver my address, or assume you know it already?” You asked Steve.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling cold creeping up your skin despite warm wafts of heat distributed in the mobster's fine car. 

Adrenaline was slowly dying out, allowing the shock of the day’s mad events to take over your body. You considered yourself resilient, but it didn’t mean you were immune to stress and anxiety. 

“You know that I know it already.” Steve’s hand slid beneath your chin, cupping it surprisingly gently and turning your head so you looked at him. 

It provided a surge of warmth and comfort, despite the logical part of your brain recognizing its source as the most dangerous threat to you at the moment. 

“You’re also smart enough to know that you’re not going home tonight.” 

Steve’s words, if spoken by someone else, may have elicited a sense of security and comfort. But his intention wasn’t to care for you after a traumatic event and you wouldn’t fool yourself by projecting sympathetic traits onto him. 

Recklessly, you lunged for the side door, ready to jump out of a moving car. It wouldn’t be that bad, since you were already battered and the car was still moving quite slowly. 

Your fingers barely grazed the door handle when Rogers caught your wrists in a painfully hard grip. 

He yanked you backwards, your side bumping into his wide chest. Crossing your wrists together, he clasped them in one of his large hands. His other arm snuck around your back, hand slipping beneath your hip to hoist you up and over Rogers’ lap. 

“Now that,” he gruffed into your ear once he had you settled against him, “was purely stupid, Princess.” 

You sat frozen still, shocked from the way he positioned you and scared of how he’d answer your escape attempt. 

He held your crossed wrists to your chest, his other arm wrapped around your middle to ensure you sat in his lap and not try to flee again. His encompassing heat and strength overwhelmed you, spurring your heart into a rapid beat. 

“Be good and stay still, or I’ll tie you up in knots so intricate you’ll sweat with the shallowest breath.”

Fuck. You clenched your eyes shut, forcing your body to calm down.

If this was a threat of torture, Rogers sure made it sound like a dark promise of a more carnal nature. 

Then again, weren’t some of the worst medieval tortures the slow, seemingly harmless ones? You remembered learning of the one where a victim was bound down and had water slowly drip on their forehead. But it was continuous and from a height that made each drop feel like a little rock. Until it drilled through the skull. 

The way Steve handled you was messing with your head, too.

Cords of muscles in his arms, constricting you tightly, held the strength to cause immediate pain. They also lifted you up from the asphalt, provided security and support. As false as the sense of it was, you believed the protection of Rogers’ possessiveness. 

His thick thighs beneath you felt hard, definitely less comfortable than the leather seats. Your skin seemed to feel the coarse sturdiness of them even through the fabric of your pantsuit. 

It was humiliating. 

Especially with the way a spark of heat flickered to life in your belly. 

Women your age sat in a man’s lap for sexual purposes. Intimate purposes. 

A part of you knew that many assholes in a position of power - like a mobster - would push the situation further. Threats of physical violence, of rape, worked the best, right? 

And yet, Rogers wasn’t groping you. His hands didn’t stray much as he held you in place, while continuing to talk with his man in the front seat. 

It was a smart manipulation - making you thankful that he didn’t violate you, thus making you more comfortable and pliant to what he further demanded. 

When the car finally reached its destination, Rogers’ henchman stepped out to open the side door for you. Steve, with an annoying ease, lifted you off his lap and moved you closer to the exit, so you could step out. He quickly followed after, his fingers immediately circling your wrist to tug you along with him. 

Your heels weren’t that high, but they still wobbled on the gravel driveway in front of an impressive, Tudor style house. You felt more stable once you stepped onto a stone step at the entrance, but no matter the surface beneath your feet you definitely didn’t feel secure in the whole situation. 

Rogers released your arm once the door closed behind you, so sure of you following him obediently without him prompting you. 

It wasn’t like you had any other choice, anyway. 

You could spontaneously attempt an escape, but it would be stupid and pathetic since you didn’t even know where through the house you’d find an escape route, and the men keeping guard on the other side of the door would be as movable as a brick wall.

Besides, you had no certainty that Rogers wouldn’t simply take out his gun. 

Even if you didn’t see one, it didn't mean he wasn’t carrying. 

Steve led you through the spacious living room toward an open kitchen; motioned at you to sit down at the big, wooden dining table in the dining area next to the renovated but still rustical kitchen. Light, quite cozy space threw you off a bit. You’d first expect some dark office in which the mobster dealt with his business, where he’d once again make you an offer you couldn’t refuse. 

Instead, he ventured to the kitchen and put a kettle on the massive stove. 

“How do you take your tea?” He asked, so casually you were starting to wonder if you did not in fact have a brain damage and it was all a hallucination.

“Excuse me?” You stared at him. 

“I know you drink tea. It’s what you had in a cup on your desk earlier today.” He didn’t even glance your way as he opened a cupboard and took out a cup. “So, how do you take your tea? Black or green? Sugar?”

“Green,” you replied. You definitely needed something calming. 

“Are you hungry?” Steve leaned his hip against the counter of the kitchen island, arms crossed over his chest as he looked your way. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” You raised your voice, feeling exasperation and utter confusion. 

Combined, they made you more anxious. 

A muscle in his jaw twitched, the only sign of displeasure at your outburst. He slowly moved, taking off his leather jacket as he walked towards you. Once he placed the jacket over the backseat of one of the dining chairs, you noticed the gun holstered to his side. 

Undoubtedly, a purposeful showing of the threat he still posed, despite offering you tea. 

“We’re going to have a chat, which will make you even less happy,” he declared, towering above you. “It may take time. After today’s events, I suspect you may be down on energy, so I’m offering you a meal.”

“Well, my cook is off at this time, so you can’t hope for anything fancy-” he shrugged, turning his back to you and walking away to brew your tea- “but I make a mean grilled cheese sandwich.” 

“No, thank you,” you gritted through your teeth. 

It was hard to fight the urge to throw something at him, preferably knocking him out, then running away. You noticed french doors, probably leading to the garden, but something told you that you wouldn’t be able to get far before Rogers catches you.

A few moments later Steve placed a cup of steaming tea in front of you, with a fucking cookie on the saucer as if he was having you over for friendly chit chat. 

He sat opposite of you, on the other end of the table. You doubted it was because he was truly scared of you throwing hot tea at him. Rather wanted to maintain his level of power, seating himself at the head of the table like a king.

Tudor style house, taking dominating positions, rings shining on his fingers - he truly carried himself like a modern, dark king. 

He had the sleeves of his henley slightly pulled up, revealing more of the tattoos you noticed earlier. His other forearm was covered in swirls of black and color, as well. A protruding vein slithered beneath the ink, surprising you that it was still visible under tattoos. 

You wondered for a brief second, where else on his body the ink spread. 

Where else veins lead to nooks and dark discoveries…

A glint of his gun, when your gaze brushed over the wide span on Rogers’ chest, pulled you back to reality.   

“This is the part where you tell me you were right and that you can protect me from others?” You peered at Steve over the rim of your cup. 

The fact Rogers saved you, in a way, from a kidnapping and potential further pain, didn’t mean it was an act of genuine chivalry. There was also nothing indicating he couldn’t have staged the whole thing.

You’d be naive not to consider that scenario, especially since Rogers proved to be a very smart, subtle manipulator (though you also had a feeling he’d shed that subtlety in a blink of an eye, exposing the ruthless brutality of his rotten core, if you stepped too far). 

“This is the part where I show you not only I can protect you, but I will erase anything that poses a threat to my accouterments.” 

There was something in his tone that elicited a shiver of fear. The use of word erase, which suddenly transformed your concept of defiance’s consequences of pain and torture into ultimate death. 

There was also the other word that drew your attention. 

“Accouterments?” Slowly, you set the cup back on the saucer. 

“That what belongs to me-” Steve’s eyes bore a cold flame of a monstrous dragon daring someone to steal a single coin from his treasure- “and those who are of use to me.” 

An invisible fist clenched around your heart. 

As much as you hated the implication of being someone of use to Steve Rogers, it was a tad less scary than him labeling you as something belonging to him.

Belonging meant forever bound. It meant no escape.

Before you dared to point out you may not be of use, since you still wanted to refuse his deal, the door opened and multiple footsteps echoed. There was some shuffling, too. 

Your gaze flicked up over Steve’s shoulder, while he didn’t even flinch. He kept his eyes on you as you took in the scene unfolding behind him. A true horror, making the previous events of this day a merely inconvenient struggle. Cold dread spread through your limbs, washing away even the crackling anger that buzzed in your chest a few seconds ago.

Rogers’ henchman - called Bucky, if you heard right - pushed forward a battered and bound Felix.

Felix, who looked smaller and weaker next to these men in his posture alone. You still remembered how terrified he looked when Rogers first came into the center, you couldn’t imagine the damage the brutal treatment had to cause. 

His clothes were rumpled, his hair matted with blood that still slowly seeped from the gash on his forehead. His hands were bound with a zip tie.

“Oh my God!” You jumped to your feet.

You were itching to rush to him, rip him away from the grasp of the man looming right next to him, but you were aware there were a few obstacles in your way. The main one being Rogers. 

“Sit down, Princess,” Steve commanded calmly. 

“Let him go!” You demanded. Your eyes stung with tears, but you kept your gaze on poor Felix. “Haven’t you done enough? He plays no part in this!”

Your leg twitched, right foot taking a hesitant step forward. The sound of a chair scraping against the floor froze you in place. In your peripheral vision you saw Rogers stand up. 

He crossed the floor to you in a few long strides and stood in front of you, blocking your vision of Felix completely. Strong, long fingers curled around the front of your neck. The hot power radiating off of them and the feeling of cold, hard metal of his rings pressing into your skin caused your breath to hitch in your chest.

Your eyes flew up to Steve’s face in an instant; pupils widening and lips parting on a choked gasp. 

Cold blue depths of his eyes ignited with a triumphant recognition at your reaction. 

“Sit down, Princess.” He repeated his order, still calmly, but his tone was sharper. A snap of a whip to remind you of your place. 

Your knees weakened, bending obediently at his command. His hand remained locked on your throat as you sat down in your chair. He held you in his grip a moment longer, thumb brushing down along the column of your throat to chase the wicked pulse beneath your skin.

Then he released you, moving only a step to the side and half-sitting on the dining table. He motioned at Bucky to come a little closer with their victim, so that both you and Steve could see Felix and what was about to unfold. 

“Your dutiful employee plays a bigger part in all of this, than you think.” Rogers addressed you. 

“Do you know,” he rested one of his hands on the table, fingers slowly rapping against the sturdy surface (rings on his fingers caught wicked flickers of light), “that the men who tried to kidnap you today are a part of Brock Rumlow’s pitiful mob? They call themselves Hydra.” 

As if on cue, Bucky gripped Felix’s shoulder with one gloved hand and with his other hand yanked up the blood-stained fabric of his shirt. 

Exposing a tattoo on Felix’s ribs; one presenting a skull with some kind of tentacles. 

You assumed it was supposed to be the symbol of the aforementioned Hydra. 

“Felix here,” Steve tilted his head slightly your way, “has alarmed them of my visit and the importance of getting to you, even though he doesn’t really understand what I want.” 

Rogers’ fingers stopped their motion against the table and you sensed it’s bad when he goes still. He stood up once again, straightening to his full form. With your eyes somehow glued to Steve’s impressive form, you didn’t notice Felix gulp nervously and try to lean away from the approaching predator. 

“I understand dutiful soldiers. I appreciate them, truly.” Rogers gave a small nod of acknowledgement. “Especially when they remain loyal even when pissing their pants out of fear.” 

Felix current, as well earlier trepidation was true. People who heard of what Rogers was capable of dreaded any contact with him, especially people like Felix who was only gathering and bringing information. He wasn’t an enforcer who’d clench his teeth and try to shoot his way out of the mess. 

“Pity it wastes on someone like Rumlow.” Steve snorted, his eyes showing distaste as he looked Felix over. “Who won’t even retaliate for losing a pathetic rat like you.” 

“To the pit with him.” He declared, not an ounce of mercy in the heaviness of his voice.

Bucky dragged Felix away, despite the man trying his best to struggle against the clearly stronger opponent. No one even paused at your cry of protest. 

“Don’t! Don’t kill him.” You begged Steve when he turned to you.

The hard set of his jaw warned you that he was becoming annoyed with you. He kicked back the chair that was the closest to you and dropped down onto it. Placing his elbow on the table once again exposed the gun at his side.

In a sick way, it was a display of mercy that he hasn’t used it yet.

Not on you. And not on Felix, killing him right in front of your eyes. 

“With your spitfire personality, I didn’t take you for such a softie, Princess.” Steve studied you, though you weren’t sure if it was a shard of fascination or further annoyance with you. 

“He relayed information not only now, about you. But also about Howard when he lived, as well any important person who ever crossed the threshold of the health center. Important not only in terms of social position, but of potential usefulness.”

Privacy and confidentiality were one of the most important aspects of your line of work, you respected it to a point of becoming difficult for a few people in your former workplaces. Learning of that breach would turn you merciless, too, but you’d only fire Felix, not kill him. 

“Say that the son of one of your patient’s is a border guard.” Steve mused, though you had a feeling it wasn’t just a hypothetical example, but actual truth. “People like that are useful in my line of work. Approaching him around the center is so much more convenient than staging it elsewhere. Plus, there’s also the aspect of his father’s rehabilitation that can be used as a motivator.”  

“And how do you know that?” You spat bitterly.

Your anger was simmering anew. At Rogers, at Felix, at the whole fucked up world your reality suddenly turned out to be. 

A slow, wolfish smile curved Steve’s lips; sinister as well as tempting to come closer.

“Maybe two more heads grow when you chop off someone from Hydra, but a few of their vital organs are transplants from me. Their head is stupid enough he doesn’t expect it.” He revealed.

Perhaps Hydra was depicted as having tentacles all around, but it seemed Steve Rogers’ ties reached deeper and further. 

You strongly believed he had an ear at every institution, on every street, at every company. Seeking out help, in any desperate form, would sooner bring you to your doom. And now that you were on his radar, it was best to remain in moderately good grace than face the terror of seeing someone else you care for at the end of Rogers’ barrel. 

“You could’ve spared me that,” you frowned and bowed your head, your focus on the cooling tea in your cup. “Seeing Felix like that. Or anyone else.”

“Why do you think I had him taken out from here? So you didn’t have to see it, Princess.” Steve’s casual voice boasted a twisted kind of mercy. 

“But it's something you should get accustomed to. It’s the world you’ll be living in from now on.”

You shook your head, crossing your arms over your chest (mostly to hide the trembling in your hands). Rogers has forced himself into your life, leaving a red stain of blood in his wake, but you wouldn’t allow him to dirty up all of your space. 

Compartmentalizing was your salvation. At least you hoped to hone that skill. 

“No.” You swallowed and dared to lift up your head, meet his gaze. “I may sign over the health center to you, but I don’t need to dip my fingers into anything else that has to do with you.” 

There was no point in claiming you won’t give up the center, he proved there would be only sorrow and despair if you tried to defy him. You didn’t want to see anyone else executed, not even hear about it being done in retaliation for your stubbornness. 

No, you’d give him that bloody ownership of the place, try to maintain as much good work as it could provide (if he still allowed you to run it properly), but not cry over a scrap of land, because life was more important than it. 

“A little too late for that, Princess.”

Something dark gleamed in Steve’s eyes; not a sign of an immediate danger, not even a threat, but it raised the hair on your nape. 

“We’ve established that you want to continue the center’s work,” he said. “I have nothing against it. In fact it will serve me well that you keep the center running impeccably. You remaining its owner, serves me even better. Takes the attention off of me.”   

There should be joy at the implication you’d be left alone to run the center and help people, but Steve’s choice of words - and knowing now that he was always two steps ahead, scheming - made you even more wary.

“You want me to work for you? Run some seedy business under the guise of the health center?” You narrowed your eyes.

“No.” He didn’t smile, but his face glowed in smug victory. “You will take my last name.”

You gaped at him. 

Soundlessly, unmoving. Just blinking as your brain refused to process the words he had just spoken nonchalantly. You tried to re-hear them, replaying the sentence in your head to seek for a different meaning than the one which was obvious. 

Steve cocked his head to the side, amusement forming cute crinkles around his eyes as he watched you. 

“Now, say yes to me, Princess. And eat your cookie,” he motioned the untouched cookie on the saucer. 

A second passed. Then another.

Suddenly, you grabbed the cookie and threw it straight at Rogers’ face. Jumping up to your feet rapidly, you didn’t even notice Steve caught the biscuit in his hand. You were aiming for the door, not once glancing over your shoulder.

“Hell the fuck no!” You cursed as you stomped to the exit. “I’m so done. Done with this fucking bullshit! What the fuck? The actual fuck?!” 

You didn’t even care if a scuffle with some bodyguards awaited you when you reached the door; you were ready to claw some eyes out. The sound of a chair moving behind you only added to your pace, accelerating your heart rate. 

But there were no heavy steps following you. No one grabbed you. A fleeting thought that he could simply shoot you, crossed your mind. 

No pain spread through your body yet. 

There was no one outside when you opened the door. Not a sign of any goons, not a sign of a car either. You wobbled a bit when your feet sunk into the gravel of the driveway, but you kept on marching forward. Adamant on getting the hell out of here and out of any deals with Steve fucking Rogers, you were ready to walk through unknown woods and empty roads. 

“Who inherits after your death?” Steve called out after you, his voice so calm and swift it was a blade that stopped you mid-step. 

He didn’t run after you; didn’t yell at you to return to him. He merely spoke words that pierced you harder than a rain of bullets.

“Is it your parents? I reckon they’d be agreeable to pass the center to the benefactor’s hands, especially being so grief stricken after losing their only daughter.”

Slowly, you turned on your heel. Rogers stood in the doorway, leaning against it, with arms crossed over his chest. 

“If they wanted to hold on to the center as a last thread connecting them to you, I guess I’d have no choice but to help them out of their misery.” 

He was a devil, you were sure of it. A fucking devil, with a face of an angel so eager to sin he’d burn the world down just to satisfy his hunger. 

Steve uncrossed his arms and crooked a finger at you, beckoning you to him. Swallowing hard, you took a tentative step forward. Then another. Everything inside you still screamed at you to run, hide from him under a rock in some God forsaken lands, but the pull he had over you didn’t let you retreat. 

His gaze didn’t move from you even for a second, watching your approach with growing satisfaction. 

When you stepped onto the threshold, Steve reached his hand out and stroked a single digit along your cheek. Which was surprisingly dry, though you expected yourself to be drowning in tears.

Despite knowing how lethal he was, despite hearing death threats from him just seconds ago, you didn’t flinch away. Somehow knowing that now, as you reluctantly accepted the fate he forged for you, he wouldn’t hurt you. 

Or maybe it was a fool's hope. 

“Say yes to me, Princess.” He tipped your chin up with his finger.

“Yes,” you gritted out, hands clenched into fists at your sides.

“You will marry me.” He wasn’t even asking as he moved his hand to cup the side of your face.

“I will marry you, you fucking bastard.” You had to agree, didn’t mean you had to be nice about it. 

Steve grinned, ice in his eyes bursting into deceiving sunlight. 

When his mouth took yours in possession, surprise ripped a gasp out of your chest (which melted against his lips). Your eyes closed - perhaps instinctively, or maybe in the rush of chaotic feelings that lulled your adrenaline spike with suddenly evoked endorphins. 

His scent, his heat, his strength, surrounded you. They drew you in, trapping you in some sort of a wicked wonderland into which your body was eagerly melting, despite your brain’s awareness of the calamity it meant. 

Steve’s kiss posed the same threat - a ruthless demand of your complete surrender, led by soft, quite sweet tasting lips. 

Your hands fell to his shoulders when he pushed you back against the doorframe. Your pulse skyrocketed as the hand on your cheek slid down, ringed fingers curling around your neck. When his tightening grip made you moan, Steve chuckled against your lips and pulled back. 

“We have a deal, Princess.” 

It sounded as much an iron decree it was, as also a promise of life for you and those close to you.