#amber is a force of nature in many ways

[crew7811-b]

Is orange the sus?

According to Vermilion's hands-on expertise, Amber is 100% human. Can he really be trusted on the matter tho? Who knows.

Don't think Basalt is convinced.

[unstable-samurai]

Passenger

Nana x Male Reader

word count: 7.8k

A/n: special smut to celebrate Nana's birthday 🥳

You're sitting at the counter, glass half-empty. The bar lights are dim, casting a warm amber hue that makes the place seem imperfect, but in a comforting way. Most nights, someone else serves you, someone who never asks your name, and you never feel the need to say it.

But tonight, that person isn’t here. Instead, there’s Nana.

You’ve noticed Nana before. How could you not? She stands out like a wildfire in the middle of a forest. She has that kind of beauty that’s almost aggressive, as if every detail was designed to challenge the idea that perfect people don’t exist. Her hair is long, black like the night outside, and her body... Her body is like a work of art, covered in tattoos you try not to stare at for too long, but they demand attention. Her curves, her intense eyes. She moves like she doesn't care about the world, but you notice her every move, and although you haven't realized it yet, she also notices you.

Tonight, she's the one who walks up to you. When she stops in front of you, you can’t hide your surprise.

"Another one?" she asks. Her voice is slightly deep, velvety.

You nod, trying not to seem nervous, but you know you are failing.

"You come here every night," she says as she fills your glass. "But I never serve you."

"Yeah. It’s always that bearded guy," you reply, forcing a smile. Your voice feels smaller than it should.

"What brings you here every day?"

"I like the atmosphere."

"It’s not the best place to be every night, you know."

You let out a sigh.

"Still, you work here every night."

She raises an eyebrow.

"And that’s exactly why I know it’s not a good place for you. By the way, my name is Nana."

You grip your glass tightly, as if it’s the only anchor keeping you there. You do the formalities, say it's a pleasure to meet her and also give her your name, then continue: "Well, I’m new in town," you end up saying, not sure why you’re opening up to her. "I don’t know many people yet."

She pauses for a second, as if studying you. Something in her eyes changes. She doesn’t say anything, but the way her lips curve suggests she’s interested.

"New in town... and you’ve already chosen this hole of a bar to spend your time?" she teases, with a half-smile.

You laugh, a short, nervous laugh. "It’s what’s available."

She leans in a bit, resting on the counter. "And what are you looking for here? Besides cheap beer?"

You think about the answer. You don’t have one. Or maybe you do. Or maybe you really don’t.

"I don’t know," you reply.

She smiles. A smile that says she understands what you’re going through.

—

The bar is almost empty now, just you, Nana, and a few lost souls at distant tables. The conversation flows easily, slipping through words like the drink she keeps serving you. You feel a lightness in your shoulders that wasn’t there when you walked in, as if the weight of the day had melted away, dripping to the floor along with the drops of beer.

"I get off at midnight," she says, casually, as she dries a glass with a cloth. "What do you think about going for a drive with me?"

You almost choke. "Are you serious?"

She looks over the rim of the glass, one eyebrow raised, a small smile on her lips. "Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?"

You glance around, as if expecting someone to wake you from a prank. "I thought... I don’t know, it was just bar talk."

"Bar talk is usually full of crap, I know," she says, pushing the glass aside. "But I’m not the type to say things just to say them. When I need to clear my head, I go for a drive."

Now you’re more intrigued. "A drive?"

She leans on the counter, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. As if there were nothing strange about a bartender inviting a guy she barely knows to go out at night. "I have a hobby," she says, without rush. "I like to restore old cars."

"Old cars?" That catches you off guard. You didn’t expect that. Of all the things she could have said, that was the last.

She points her thumb outside, toward the street. "The Impala out there. It’s mine."

Your eyes follow her finger, and you see the car parked outside. A black Impala, classic, gleaming under the faint streetlights. You’ve seen it plenty of times, but you never imagined it was hers.

"You’re kidding," you say, with a half-smile. "I see it there all the time, but I didn’t know it was yours. It’s beautiful."

She smiles, a smile that feels more personal now, as if you’ve hit something you didn’t know you were aiming for. "I restored it myself," she says, with contained pride. "Took a few good years, but there it is, ready to take me wherever I want."

You can’t hide your admiration. She’s different. Very different. The kind of person who seems to have lived a hundred lives while you’re still trying to figure out your first. And she seems to enjoy keeping you off balance.

"You... seem like a one-of-a-kind girl," you blurt out, without much thought, and realize how foolish it sounds once it’s said aloud.

"I could say the same about you," she replies, with a wink.

You feel a little out of place now. She has this confidence, this raw energy that you’ve never had. And you, the opposite of everything Nana seems to represent, never imagined attracting someone like her. But, for some reason, here she is, inviting you out, asking you to get into her car, to see her world.

"So," she says, suddenly serious. "Are you coming or not?"

Your mind is still processing everything, but before you can overthink it, you respond. "I’m in."

"Then you’ll be my passenger for the night," she says, grabbing her car keys from her pocket and twirling them on her finger. She leans closer, the distance between you shrinking until you can smell her. "I’m gonna take you to places you’ve never been before," she murmurs, and the way she says it makes it feel like those places aren’t just physical.

—

You’re standing outside, arms crossed against the chill of the night that seems to grow colder by the hour. The bar has finally closed, and now you can hear the muffled voices inside, the last of the staff finishing up. The black Impala is parked in front of you, gleaming under the streetlight. You wait, anxious, unsure of what to expect.

The door to the bar opens, and she appears. Nana. This time, without the counter between you. You notice now, in a much more intense way, how her body fills the space. She’s all soft lines and yet strong, tattoos tracing her arms that you imagine extend to places you haven’t seen yet.

She pauses for a second, noticing your gaze, and smiles with a bit of amusement. "Like my tank top?" she asks casually, turning slightly as if wanting you to get a better look. "I think it fits just right, don’t you?"

You swallow hard, and suddenly, your words seem to have evaporated. "Yeah... it looks great on you."

She lets out a low laugh, tilting her head as she slips on her leather jacket. "You’re not very good at hiding things, are you?"

Before you can respond, she opens the car door and motions for you to get in. You walk to the other side, feeling the ground unsteady beneath your feet. When you settle into the passenger seat, the smell of the leather upholstery mixes with her perfume, something intoxicating.

She starts the car, the engine purring low, deep, like a beast waking up. Nana leans slightly toward you, offering a cigarette. "Want one?"

You hesitate for a second, but... why not? "Sure."

She lights your cigarette first, then hers. The car still parked, both of you smoking in silence. You cough twice before getting the hang of it. The smoke mingles with the cold air seeping through the slightly cracked window. She seems content with the moment, like the entire scene is unfolding exactly as she had planned.

"Where are we going?" you ask.

She takes a long drag from the cigarette before answering, blowing the smoke out the side of her mouth. "I was thinking we could head to the coast. There’s a cliff along the road where you can see the sea, the bridge, and the lighthouse... it’s beautiful at night." Before you can respond, she continues, turning her face toward you with that mischievous smile that seems to be her signature. "But honestly? The destination doesn’t matter much. What matters is the ride." She looks at you for a second longer. "The company."

The way she says that — the way her eyes linger on yours — makes you feel like, yes, you will understand.

“I’m in your hands,” you say.

—

The Impala rumbles softly as she finally parks on the shoulder near the cliff. The road seems deserted now, wrapped in darkness, except for the thin line of streetlights stretching ahead. You step out of the car, the night air cooler here, damper, with the salty scent of the sea rising up to meet you. Nana gets out on her side, slamming the car door and pulling the zipper of her leather jacket up to her chin. She glances at you for a moment, her eyes gleaming, as if analyzing your reaction.

“This way,” she says, her phone's flashlight on, pointing to a trail that winds down a small hill, overgrown with weeds. “Watch your step here. It gets slippery.”

You descend slowly, each step sinking slightly into the loose soil. The wind is stronger here, whipping through the leaves and Nana’s hair, which she pushes back carelessly. You follow close behind, focusing on each movement, trying to appear confident but feeling the vulnerability of walking along a dark trail leading to a cliff.

Finally, you reach the cliff’s edge. The view is breathtaking—the suspension bridge stretching across the gap, the sea below churning under the distant light of a lighthouse. Lights flicker in the distance, and for a moment, it feels like the whole world is just this scene, this moment.

“Wow,” you murmur, taking it all in. “I’ve never seen the bridge from this angle... but I’ve seen pictures of people here.”

“Some braver tourists come here,” she says. “I think it makes them feel alive.”

She turns to you, a mischievous smile on her lips. “Want to take a picture too? To mark the moment.”

You laugh nervously but agree. “Sure… why not?”

Nana raises her phone, positioning you against the dramatic backdrop. “Stand there, try to look... introspective.”

You awkwardly pose, crossing your arms and gazing at the horizon. She snaps the picture and looks at the result, chuckling softly. “Came out great. I’ll send it to you later.”

She shows you the picture, and yeah, it really is great.

She leans against a rock, lighting a cigarette and offering you one. You take it, inhale slowly, the bitter taste blending with the night. Silence hangs for a while, until she breaks the tension with a question.

“So… how’s life treating you?” Her voice is soft, but there’s something more behind it, a genuine curiosity, like she really wants to understand.

You hesitate, thinking about how to answer. “I’m not sure if I’m doing it right, to be honest.”

She laughs quietly, but not mockingly. It’s more a sound of recognition, like she’s heard that many times before.

“Knew you’d say something like that,” she replies, blowing smoke to the side. “Most people aren’t sure. Everyone pretends they know what they’re doing, but really, we’re all just fumbling in the dark.”

You look at her, waiting for more. She seems to be building up to something bigger.

“See… the problem is, we’ve been taught to measure happiness the wrong way,” she says, her tone turning more serious now. “They made us believe that happiness is about having things. Buying a new car, getting a promotion, finding the perfect partner. And all that’s just temporary bullshit. When you get it, it’s great. It lasts for a while. And then?”

She pauses, as if giving you time to process. “Then you need something else. Another goal, another prize. Happiness has become this trophy we’re always chasing. But no one tells you the race never ends. It’s like working on a treadmill.”

“You think we shouldn’t chase those things?” you ask, trying to grasp where she’s headed.

She looks at you with an intensity that catches you off guard. “It’s not that we shouldn’t chase them. It’s that we should stop measuring our lives by them. What really matters is right now. We spend so much time trying to build a perfect future that we forget the present.”

She exhales slowly, as if each word comes from some deep, lived truth. “What happens when you reach all those goals and still feel empty? Modern culture, capitalism, they sell you this idea that you’re incomplete until you have everything. But no one tells you that ‘everything’ doesn’t exist.”

You stay silent for a moment, considering. It feels like she’s saying something that’s been lurking in the back of your mind, unspoken.

“So, what should we do? Just give up on all that?”

Nana gives a sly smile, like she’s been expecting the question. “It’s not about giving up. It’s about redefining what ‘everything’ means. For me, it’s this. The journey. The company. Not the destination. What you do now, in the moment, with the people you’re with... that’s what matters. Happiness is in what you do along the way, not what you achieve at the end.”

She flicks the cigarette to the ground, crushing the tip under her boot. “Once you start living in the present, you stop worrying so much about achieving the future. Because, one way or another, the future comes. And most people don’t even know what to do with it when it arrives.”

You stand there, staring out at the horizon, feeling the weight of her words. It’s a philosophy that challenges everything you’ve been trying to do since moving to this new city, trying to fit in, trying to find your path.

“So, what now?” you ask, more to yourself than to her.

She smiles, looking at you in a way that makes the air around you feel heavier. “Now? Now you finish that cigarette, enjoy the view, and stop worrying so much about what comes next.”

—

On the way back to the car, Nana stops suddenly, spinning on her heels with a provocative gleam in her eyes. “Get in the backseat,” she says, her voice soft but with an authority that leaves no room for questioning.

“Why?” you ask, unsure of her intent.

She smirks. “Just do what I’m asking.”

You hesitate for a second, but curiosity—and something else—wins out. You open the back door and slide onto the seat. You barely have time to adjust before Nana climbs in after you, straddling your lap without hesitation. The warmth of her body against yours is immediate, electric.

“You’ve been waiting for this all night, haven’t you?” Her question comes as a whisper in your ear, her lips barely brushing against the skin of your neck.

Before you can respond, she kisses you, and everything becomes a blur of lips and skin, your heart pounding in your chest. Her hands move down your body while yours trace the curves of hers, feeling every inch.

“You’re so hot,” you blurt out, unable to hold back.

She laughs, a low, confident sound. “I know,” she replies, her lips barely leaving yours.

Her movements grow bolder, her body pressing into yours, her hips grinding provocatively against you, making you even harder beneath her. She notices. “I drive you crazy, don’t I?”

All you can do is nod.

“I’m going to take the lead tonight,” she says, sliding down without breaking eye contact.

“Lead on,” you answer, giving in completely.

She kneels in the cramped space of the backseat, shrugs off her jacket for more comfort, and tosses it to the front seat. Then, with swift efficiency, Nana unbuttons your pants, pulling them down along with your boxers in one fluid motion. Your hard cock is now exposed, throbbing under the dim light of the car.

She wraps a hand around it, pausing for a moment as if admiring her work. “Mmm, big and thick,” she comments like she’s appreciating a piece of art. She leans down, placing a soft kiss on the tip, running her tongue slowly along it, teasing. “Relax,” she whispers, her eyes never leaving yours, “because now, I’m taking you to the edge.”

She starts slowly, teasing. The tip of her tongue circles the head as if testing your limits. “Did you expect to get a blowjob tonight?” She smiles but doesn’t wait for an answer. “I’ll show you what it’s really like.”

Her tongue trails from the base of your cock, moving upwards agonizingly slowly, every movement deliberate. One hand grips you at the perfect spot, squeezing just enough to make you pulse, while the other fondles your balls, alternating between pleasure and pain in a rhythm that makes your mind spin.

You groan, the sounds escaping uncontrollably. “Fuck, Nana…” is all you can manage.

She pauses for a second, holding your cock against her face, rubbing it against her cheek. “This is what you’ve wanted from the start, isn’t it?” Her tone is a mix of teasing and command. “Seeing me down here, driving you crazy.”

Before you can answer, she takes you fully into her mouth, without warning, without preparation. Her hot mouth envelops every inch, the pressure perfect. She goes deep, as far as she can, not giving you a chance to breathe. You try to say something, but the sensation is too much.

She begins to move, her lips sliding up and down, with force and precision. “I want you to look at me,” she says, pulling you out of her mouth for a moment, her eyes locked on yours. “Watch what I’m doing.”

You obey, breathless, heart pounding in your chest.

She returns, this time more intense, sucking hard, obscene sounds filling the confined space of the car. Saliva drips down your cock, her hands working in sync, squeezing the base, each movement pulling you closer to the edge. She changes the pace again, speeding up, then slowing down, torturing you, keeping you on the brink of orgasm but not letting you go.

“You’ll only cum when I say so,” she declares, her mouth still around you, the words muffled but the command clear. “Understood?”

You can only nod, completely at her mercy. Every movement feels designed to extract the maximum amount of pleasure. Her hand is now firm on your balls, squeezing with precise control, while the other continues to guide the rhythm at the base of your cock. She speeds up again, sucking with a fervor that makes your vision blur.

“Fuck, Nana, I... I can’t anymore,” you moan, your whole body burning, muscles tense, pressure building.

“Not yet! Only when I allow it.”

Nana grips you harder now, almost brutally, her eyes locked on yours as she intensifies every movement. Her rhythm is relentless, no pauses, no mercy. Her hand squeezes the base of your cock as if she wants to wring every drop of pleasure from you. She knows what she’s doing, pushing you to the limit, not letting you breathe, not allowing you any control over what’s happening.

“Go on, I want to feel you lose control,” she whispers, her voice muffled as your cock slides deep into her mouth. The wet, filthy sound of each suck echoes through the car, mingling with your moans, now hoarser, more desperate. Her hand on your balls squeezes perfectly, making your vision darken at the edges.

She speeds up, her hot mouth sucking harder, her tongue swirling around the tip, teasing and pressing in all the right ways. Her other hand keeps your cock steady, controlling every inch that enters and leaves her mouth. You try to hold on, but she’s in command and won’t stop until she breaks you.

“You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you?” she says, her mouth still wrapped around you, each word making your cock throb more, pushing you closer to the edge. “I want you to cum now. In my mouth. I want to taste it.”

Your legs tremble, your whole body tense. The heat inside you grows, the pressure building until it feels impossible to hold on for another second. The control you tried to maintain disintegrates when Nana increases the intensity again, sucking with a force that makes you let out a deep moan.

“Nana, I’m going to...,” you can barely form the words, your entire body ready to explode.

“That’s right. Now you can,” she murmurs. Nana takes you all the way in, her throat tightening around your cock, and that sends you straight over the edge. Her hand grips your base firmly as she keeps sucking, drawing out every second of your orgasm. You have no choice anymore, your body gives in, and you feel the first wave of pleasure rip through you, your cock throbbing violently in her mouth.

You cum hard, your body shaking with intensity, muscles clenched as your cum explodes into her mouth. She doesn’t pull back, doesn’t hesitate. She keeps you deep, her mouth sealed, sucking every last drop, feeling every pulse. You feel the warmth of your own cum fill her mouth, and she doesn’t stop, still sucking, wanting more from you. She makes sure you give it all, every drop.

“That’s it... good boy,” she whispers between licks, her voice warm and husky, as the last spurt escapes, your body still trembling, exhausted.

She slowly pulls your cock out of her mouth, her lips sliding along the length in the process. Her eyes never leave you, dominant, satisfied.

“I told you I’d take you to the edge,” she says teasingly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, your taste still on her lips.

You’re buttoning up your pants, trying to process what just happened. Your mind is a whirlwind—everything feels surreal, like you’re watching from the outside. Nana is there, still with that lazy smile on her lips, as if she’d just done something casual, something she does with anyone. But you know that’s not true, she saw something in you. Though you’re not sure what.

“How do you feel?” Her question pulls you back to the car, to the moment.

You chuckle softly, a little incredulous. “Good... Too good, actually,” you answer, letting out a breath in a sigh that tries to release the tension.

“Great,” she says, reaching over the driver's seat to grab her jacket back. “That was the plan. And we’re just getting started.”

You look at her, confused. “Wait, there’s more?”

She laughs, tossing her hair back before sliding into the driver's seat. “Of course there’s more. I haven’t even had my turn yet.” She turns the key in the ignition, and the Impala roars to life like a beast awakening.

You join her in the front seat, grabbing another cigarette from the pack on the dashboard without thinking too much. The silence between you is comfortable now, almost conspiratorial. Nana glances at you from the corner of her eye, approving. “Light one for me too,” she says.

You obey, lighting both cigarettes and handing one to her. The smell of tobacco fills the car as the Impala rolls down the streets of the sleeping city. The engine hums, blending with the sound of tires on asphalt, a buzz that cradles the adrenaline.

Nana takes a long drag and exhales the smoke slowly, her eyes fixed on the road. “Ever gotten a blowjob in a car before?” The question comes casually.

“No,” you admit.

She smirks. “And how did it feel?”

You think for a second, the words swirling in your mind, trying to find something that captures what just happened. “Indescribable... Especially coming from someone as gorgeous as you.”

She laughs, a low laugh, like she expected that kind of compliment. “Thanks,” she says, with a hint of sarcasm. She shifts gears and speeds up a little more.

“Where are we going now?” you ask, trying to understand what else she has planned for the night.

Nana shrugs. “I don’t know. But there’s a gun in the glovebox, we could go out and rob some places... like Bonnie and Clyde.”

“Too bad I’m a pacifist,” you joke, playing along.

She pouts mockingly, as if disappointed. “Of course you are... The best guys always are pacifists.” She winks, taking another drag before leaning in closer, the smoke mingling in the air between you. “But maybe we’ll find another way to have fun, huh?”

—

The Impala roars down the empty road, slicing through the quiet of the early morning like a blade. The city lights flicker in and out of view, passing as yellow and red blurs, while Nana drives with one hand on the wheel and the other holding her cigarette. Each time she inhales, the glowing tip briefly lights up her face, showing the smile that never leaves her lips.

She’s been talking for minutes, maybe hours—you’ve lost track of time. Her words are like smoke, wrapping around you in a philosophical fog that seems endless. “Freedom,” she says, taking a deep drag and letting the smoke out slowly, “isn’t what everyone thinks. It’s not doing what you want, when you want. No. It’s knowing that you’re nothing, nobody gives you a purpose. You’re free to create your own.”

You watch the streets go by, the low buildings and traffic lights blinking green. “Sartre,” she continues, never taking her eyes off the road, “he had this view... that we’re all condemned to be free. Like, the freedom to have to make choices, to live with those choices. There’s no ‘fate,’ just the shit you choose to do.”

You nod, not saying much, but taking in every word.

“Real freedom is knowing that all of this,” she gestures widely with her hand, indicating the city around you, “is meaningless. You, me, everyone. And still choosing what to do with it.”

The Impala turns onto a larger avenue now, lit by an endless string of streetlights. “We live in this invisible cage, you know? Jobs, money, house, car. But none of it matters, because in the end... nothing matters.” She smiles sideways, as if she’s just told the most tragic and funniest joke in the world.

You stay silent, processing. You’re not sure if you agree, but something about the way she speaks, the intensity with which she lives, makes sense. It’s like she’s living everything with such urgency that you have no choice but to keep up with her pace. It’s terrifying and addictive at the same time.

Another turn and you pull into an alley, where a neon LED sign marks a convenience store. Nana slows down and parks the car. “Second-to-last stop,” she says, turning off the engine and turning to you. “Convenience store. Let’s buy something to celebrate this condemned freedom.”

You step out of the car with her, the cool night air hitting your skin. She pulls the zipper of her jacket up again. “Tell me something,” she says as you walk toward the store entrance, “if you could do anything right now, with no consequences… what would you do?”

The question lingers, heavy, as she opens the store door. You don’t know how to respond, but the truth is, ever since you got into that car, it feels like you’ve been living exactly that: a night without consequences, a blur of unexpected freedom.

She grabs a soda from the fridge and tosses it to you. “Cheap philosophy, right? I promise I’ll stop here. Wait for me outside. Don't worry, I'll pay for your soda and buy some things and be right back.”

—

You’re leaning against the car’s hood, soda can in hand, but not really drinking. Suddenly, the convenience store door opens, and there’s Nana, but now she's holding something. It’s not what you expected—no bottles of beer or another round of cigarettes. She’s carrying a cake. Nothing fancy, just a white cake with frosting. And as she approaches, you can read what’s written, a bit crooked, in pink and blue icing: “Happy Birthday.”

You’re confused. “Happy birthday to me,” she says with a smile that tries to be casual, but you can see a hint of something deeper there.

“Wait, is it your birthday?” The question escapes before you can process it.

Nana lets out a short, humorless laugh, as if amused by your surprise. “Yeah, it’s today.” She waves the cake in front of you, almost like presenting proof. “Surprise, I guess.”

You straighten up, the soda can dangling loosely from your fingers. “Damn, happy birthday!” You hug her, awkward but sincere. The cake almost squashes between you, but she laughs again, this time genuinely. When she pulls away, you're full of questions. “But why… why are you spending your birthday with a stranger instead of, I don’t know, your friends, family?”

She shrugs, her eyes drifting for a second before returning to yours. “I don’t think anyone’s awake now to celebrate with me. I’ve got the whole day ahead for that. Right now, it’s just… my time. I was going to do this alone, you know? But then, I saw you alone at the bar and thought… maybe it would be nice. Maybe we could keep each other company.” She makes it sound simple, and maybe it is.

You watch as she places the cake on the hood of the car, like it’s the most natural setting for a celebration. She opens the packaging of a plastic knife—the flimsy kind that could snap at any moment trying to cut through tougher frosting—and starts slicing the cake right there, no ceremony, no ritual. Just a girl and a cake in a convenience store parking lot.

“I’ve only known you for a few hours, but this is so… you,” you comment.

“Good. You can lose everything, except your essence.”

As you take your first bite, the sweetness fills your mouth, but it’s the bitterness of the early morning that still lingers in the air. You’re eating cake in the middle of a parking lot, yet somehow, it’s the most meaningful cake you’ve ever had. She’s eating too, her eyes fixed on the horizon where the city lights blend into the dark sky.

“Everything I’ve said tonight,” she begins softly, “was more about me than you. I’m getting older, and these dates always make me think… reflect on everything. The choices. What could’ve been different, what still can be. I guess I was just trying to reaffirm something to myself.”

You look at her, chewing slowly. There’s something vulnerable in that moment, something you hadn’t seen in her until now. “Nana, you’re doing great,” you say, your words feeling a bit silly, but somehow, they make sense. “Look at you—you’re killing it.”

She smiles, but there’s a melancholy curve to her lips. “Yeah, maybe. Who knows.” She sighs, not out of exhaustion—more like someone shedding a weight they've carried for too long. “I always get reflective on my birthday. Maybe I just need to stop overthinking.”

You smile back, and something inside you, a light sense of urgency, makes you promise, “I’ll get you a present later.”

“You’re already my present,” she says, and then, with a quick move, she swipes some frosting and gently spreads it over your lips.

Before you can react, she kisses you. It’s sweet and warm, the taste of frosting mixing with the heat of her lips. And for a moment, you think of nothing—not the cake, not the parking lot, not the wild world. Just her.

She pulls you a little closer, and for a second, you get lost in the rhythm of her breathing, in the way her chest rises and falls, pressed against you. Nana’s hair falls over her face, and you feel its softness brushing against your skin.

When she finally pulls away, just enough to look into your eyes, your lips are still wet from the kiss. She quickly licks her own, as if savoring the moment. “This night…” she begins, her voice low, almost a whisper. “It’s been really great.”

You try to say something, but your mind is still spinning from the kiss, so you just manage to say, “Thanks… for pulling me out of my comfort zone.”

“The night’s not over yet, we still have so much to explore, so much to feel. And if you think that was stepping out of your comfort zone… just wait.” She pauses, her eyes drifting to your lips before locking onto yours again. “There’s more where that came from.”

You chuckle, not because it’s funny, but because it’s all you can do. The weight of her words feels lighter now, the tension between you both like an electric current that keeps flowing, even when you’re not touching. Her taste still lingers on your lips.

“You have no idea how much I needed this,” you say, finally taking in a full breath, as if you’ve been holding it since the night began. “I didn’t know it, but… I needed it.”

She gives a small nod, as if she knew that all along. “I can feel the energy of the people around me. And when I saw you at that bar… you looked like you needed a different kind of night. Something… off the script. And now here we are.”

“Yeah… here we are.”

“But seriously,” she continues, her voice lower, almost confiding. “I wanted tonight to be good. And I’m glad you’re here with me. Truly.”

You run a hand through her hair, just a light touch, but it says everything. “I’m glad you chose me for this.”

“You were the best choice of the night. And now…” She glances around, as if looking for something, anything to pull you both back into the moment. “Let’s finish this cake before it melts on the hood.”

She scrapes a bit more frosting with her finger and brings it to her mouth, but before tasting it, she smears another dollop on your lips again, with a mischievous smile. “This time, I want you to kiss me.”

—

Nana drives in silence, the car gliding along the nearly empty road. The city lights fade behind you, and the cool night air begins to seep in through the slightly open window. You feel the freshness, the smell of asphalt and dew-covered grass. She doesn’t say much, just smiles occasionally, as if she knows exactly what's coming and wants to savor your curiosity. And you, lost in your own thoughts, can only wonder where she's taking you now.

"It's a place where we can really relax," she says, breaking the silence. "You'll see. I promise."

Minutes later, you pull up in front of a motel. It's not one of those seedy places you see in mafia movies, but it's no five-star hotel either. The neon lights blink in soft tones, and the sign above the entrance looks a bit old, but well-maintained. You recognize the place by sight, but you never imagined you'd find yourself here. Nana pulls the handbrake in a swift, almost automatic motion and looks at you.

"Shall we?" She doesn’t wait for an answer. She steps out of the car, and you follow.

Inside, the lobby is small and discreet. A receptionist behind the counter doesn’t even look up from the book she's reading while Nana handles everything. In minutes, you’re climbing the stairs, walking through narrow hallways with striped wallpaper. There's a strange calm in the air.

When you both enter the room, it’s... normal. No surprises, just a wide double bed covered with white sheets and a brown bedspread. A lamp in the corner casts a soft light, and the curtains are thick enough to keep the outside world at bay. In the background, a TV is mounted on the wall, a small fridge nearby, and the inevitable mirror above the headboard—a cliché the motel couldn’t resist.

Nana kicks off her shoes and jacket in seconds, almost like she's at home. She walks over to the bed and, without hesitation, jumps onto it, sinking into the sheets.

"Good," she says, looking at you lazily, "I hope you know how to make the birthday girl happy. You know what I mean, right?"

You give a half-smile, a bit awkward, and walk to the bed, sitting on the edge. The feel of the soft mattress under you eases some of the tension in your body. She reaches out and touches your arm.

"Relax," she whispers. "No need to rush."

She gets up and goes to the small light control on the wall. With a click, a soft neon glow, in shades of pink and purple, fills the room, replacing the lamp’s light. Now, the room has a warm, intimate, almost dreamlike atmosphere.

She returns to the bed, this time with two small bottles of tequila she found in the mini-fridge. She hands one to you, opening hers with a pop.

"Shall we toast?" She raises her bottle in the air. "To unexpected nights... and the best company."

You raise yours too. "To the most interesting birthday girl I've ever met."

You drink, and the alcohol burns its familiar path down your throat, spreading warmth through your body. She lets out a soft laugh, that laugh you know so well, and moves closer. The closeness between you grows, not just physically, but in a way you can’t quite explain. As if, with every sip, every exchanged glance, something deeper is being built.

"I like this," she says, her voice soft, almost melancholic. "Being here, now. With you. It feels like... like I've finally stopped running for a second, you know? Like life pressed pause so I could breathe."

You feel the warmth of her hand on yours and gently squeeze it. "And I like that you pulled me out of my own head for a night."

She smiles, her eyes glowing under the neon light.

The tension between you grows, but it’s not rushed. It’s slow, almost like a rhythm you’ve created together. She leans in and kisses you, this time with a softness that suggests it's not just desire—it’s connection.

She pulls back, looking into your eyes, as if she’s studying every part of you. "From now on, the birthday girl is all yours."

Then she sighs, looking at you with those eyes that, until now, always seemed in control. But now, for the first time, they seem to be surrendering to you.

She gently takes the tequila bottle from your hand and places it on the bedside table along with hers. Standing, Nana’s hands move to the hem of her tank top, and in a slow, almost ritualistic gesture, she lifts it over her head. The fabric slides down her skin like it's nothing, and suddenly, she’s exposed. Her slender body, the tattoos, her small, almost non-existent breasts, raw beauty without pretense. She sits at the edge of the bed, vulnerable for the first time.

"Do you like what you see?" she asks as she lies down on the bed. She’s not in control now.

For now.

You don’t answer. Instead, you stand up, just to be able to look down at her, feeling the power of the situation shift. She stays there, lying down, waiting, in a long, tension-filled pause. You want her even more because of it.

Nana looks at you, biting her lower lip, impatient but silent. And then, with a brief smile, you lean over her. Your hands go straight to her neck, firm but not aggressive. Just enough for her to feel that you're in charge. She closes her eyes, her breath quickening as you lower your head and begin kissing her skin—first her neck, then her shoulders. Your touch is slow, every movement deliberate, and she melts bit by bit. She moans as your lips trail down to her breasts. You open your mouth, teasing her skin with your tongue, tracing the outline of her small, dark areolas. Nana sighs, eyes closed, wordless now. She’s passive, completely surrendered, her moans soft and ragged.

"Keep going..." she murmurs, barely audible.

You obey, but at your own pace. You take one of her breasts in your hand, gently squeezing while sucking on the other, your tongue playing with her nipple. Nana arches her back, trying to move against you, but your hands on her hips keep her in place. She struggles, impatient, but you don’t let her. "Slow down, Nana," you whisper, your voice controlled, almost cold. "The night is ours."

She laughs, a short, shaky laugh. "You bastard..." she says, but there’s amusement in her voice, an acceptance of the role she’s now playing. "Are you going to make me beg?"

"Only if you want to," you reply, your lips returning to her breasts, alternating between them now, nibbling harder, your tongue circling the areolas. She moans louder, finally surrendering completely to the situation.

Nana lets out a long sigh, her fingers twisting into the sheets as you move over her with more intensity, and her breathing becomes erratic. "Damn, this... this is..." She can barely form a sentence. "This feels so fucking good..."

She tries to squirm, seeking more contact, but you hold her down again, keeping her in place. And for the first time, she doesn’t fight back. She accepts it, and that’s exactly what you wanted.

Then comes the moment. "Now I need you to eat me out," she says. And of course, you oblige. Her pants slide down her legs, and when you see it, there’s that wet spot on her white panties. You hold back the anticipation for a moment as you undress, there’s no rush, and that teases Nana in a fun way. Now free of any fabric, you trace your fingers over her panties, feeling the warmth, the moisture, while your lips travel down her thighs, following a path that leads you closer to what you really want.

She moans softly, but just enough to let you know you’re doing it right. Every second of anticipation is killing her, and she likes it. Until it becomes unbearable, and she squeezes her thighs around your head, whispering, "Lick me already. Come on, I’m about to explode."

When you pull off her panties, it’s like peeling away the last layer of something much deeper. The air in the room feels heavier, and her scent fills the space like a wild, addictive perfume. You kneel between her legs, the warm skin of her inner thighs pressing lightly on either side of you. Every breath she takes, every swallowed moan, brings you closer, deeper. Your tongue moves slowly, first lightly, as if testing, tasting the contours. The wet heat pulsing inside her precedes something big, something that’s going to break when you finally open the floodgates.

"Don’t stop..." she whispers, surrendered. "More... deeper."

You comply. Your tongue works as if following a rhythm only the two of you know. Its tip finds that exact spot, and Nana arches, her hips trembling, as if every muscle in her body is short-circuiting, rebelling. She moans louder now, unashamed, uncontrolled.

"Like that... don’t stop, fuck, keep going..." Her voice blends with her breathing, her moans becoming more spaced, almost suffocated.

You feel her taste growing stronger, the moisture increasing in your mouth, on your lips, and then, without warning, Nana’s entire body contracts. Her muscles tighten, her legs squeeze your head hard, and she cums, a muffled scream escaping her throat. Her body trembles, her hips spasming involuntarily, and you keep going, knowing it’s not over. Not for her.

"Fuck... this... my god..." She moans through gritted teeth, eyes squeezed shut, her whole body vibrating as if she’s in another dimension. And you continue, your tongue sliding faster, deeper, until she lets out a final moan, long, drawn-out, as if exorcizing everything inside her.

When you come back up, her taste is still fresh in your mouth. You kiss her, her tongue meeting yours, and she tastes herself on your lips.

"You... fuck... you drove me crazy," she says, her voice weak but still full of intent. She looks at you, her eyes bright, satisfied, then she smiles. "Now... fuck me. Fuck me like it’s the last thing you’re going to do today."

She turns over on all fours, her knees sinking into the mattress with that natural movement, without hesitation. The invitation doesn’t need words; it’s all in the gesture, in the way her hips raise, her spine arched just enough to drive you completely insane. The tattoos scattered across her slim body come alive under the soft room light, every line of the design blending with the shadows, while her desire escapes in small sighs.

You grab her hips, your fingers digging into the soft flesh as if trying to anchor her to the moment. The first thrust is slow, almost a test, and Nana lets out a low moan, something between pleasure and provocation. She loves feeling the tension building in you and pushes back, forcing you to go deeper.

"That’s it..." she murmurs through gritted teeth, "harder."

You obey. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, mixing with her moans, growing louder each time. The pace quickens, you pull her closer, burying yourself deeper, while Nana moves against you, her hips meeting yours with perfect precision at each thrust. The sheets bunch up beneath her, and her moans turn into something almost animalistic, a rough sound that makes her body tremble.

"Fuck..." she moans, her head dropping forward, hair falling into her face. "Fuck me faster."

You grip her hips harder, her body responding to yours with absolute submission. Every movement is an exchange—a silent request, an inevitable response. Her moans become more erratic, the bed creaking with the frantic rhythm you both reach. Her whole body tense, the muscles in her back and thighs contracted, almost falling apart under your hands.

Suddenly, she stops, breaking the rhythm, and turns around. Her gaze is wild, a mix of excitement and challenge. "Now let me do it my way."

She climbs on top of you, her knees sinking into the mattress next to your hips, and the sight is mesmerizing. Nana looks down at you, her eyes half-closed, lips parted, as she slowly lowers herself, feeling every inch of you filling her again. She lets out a heavy sigh and starts moving, first slow, controlled, her hips rising and falling with calculated precision, almost cruel.

"You like watching me like this?" she asks, her voice raspy, full of satisfaction.

All you can do is nod. And she smiles, that smile that says she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. Nana picks up the pace, her hips slamming against yours with force, riding you without a shred of inhibition. Her hands find your chest, nails lightly scratching your skin, her face twisted in pure pleasure. She leans forward, her small breasts pressed against you, her mouth close to your ear as she whispers, her voice broken by moans.

"You... are... perfect."

Nana's hands grip your shoulders, her hips riding your cock with the precision of someone who knows their body well. But it won’t last like this. Not for long. You need to take control. "My turn," you whisper against her ear. She lets out a low moan, a half-smile, like she was waiting for it.

She climbs off of you. You both adjust, lying on your sides, legs intertwined, and you pull her closer, your mouth on her neck, tasting her sweaty skin, the scent of desire mixing with the heat of the room. "Closer," you say, as your hands travel down her tattooed hips, pulling her into you. Nana doesn’t hesitate, grinding her hips, sinking deeper into you, her eyes half-closed, mouth open, moaning.

"You like it like this, don’t you?" you ask, one hand sliding to her neck. She turns her head to look over her shoulder, that same half-cynical, half-hungry smile.

"I love it," she murmurs, and then your fingers lightly tighten around her throat. Nothing violent, just enough for her to feel the pressure. It makes her moan even louder, her body reacting, giving in to the control you’ve taken. "Harder," she asks, eyes shutting like she's lost in her own satisfaction.

You squeeze a little more, controlling the intensity with the same precision you control the thrusts. Each time you bury yourself inside her, she grips the sheets, her whole body tense with pleasure. The heat of her skin, the way she moves against you, the sound of her moans muffled by your hand... all of it makes you lose track of anything else.

"You’re so fucking hot," you say, your entire body focused on how she’s giving herself to you. She moans in response, but her words are getting more fragmented, harder to get out. You release her neck for a second, just to let her breathe better. She swallows hard and lets out a short laugh, almost in disbelief.

"Fuck, you’re gonna make me come again," she confesses, and you realize you’re almost there too. You pull out of her, sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling Nana into your lap, and she climbs back on top of you. The heat of her skin against yours is instant, and you feel her entire body mold to yours like a second skin. Your feet are planted firmly on the floor, ready for the intensity of Nana’s hips. Her hands grip your shoulders, and her pussy sinks down slowly on your cock with a precision that’s pure wickedness.

The room is a mess of discarded clothes, crumpled sheets, and the scent of sex hanging in the air.

She settles in, adjusts, and then starts riding, slow at first, almost like she’s teasing, savoring the moment.

"Mmm, I knew you’d like it when I ride you… Mmm, yeah, I bet it has become your favorite position…" she murmurs, her voice low, while her nails lightly scratch your shoulders, her ass moving with pinpoint accuracy on your cock. The sensation is overwhelming, the tight, wet grip as if she was made for this.

You hold onto her hips tightly, fingers sinking into her skin, pulling her closer, deeper. "Fuck, Nana… You’re so good," you blurt out, not even realizing the words slipped out.

She lets out a little laugh, muffled by the sound of bodies colliding. "I know," she replies, and you can feel her ego swelling alongside the pleasure she’s giving you. She picks up the pace, and now there’s nothing gentle about it. No. Now it’s skin on skin, the sound of flesh against flesh, and her ass moving fast, faster, her moans coming in waves, louder and louder.

You feel everything. Her weight in your lap, her hips rising and falling in a rhythm only she controls. The way she moans when you pull her even closer, when you force the thrusts to go deeper. The sensation is brutal. You can barely think, barely speak, all you can do is moan along with her, your bodies drenched in sweat and pleasure.

"You like it when I do this, don’t you?" she gasps, her hair falling messily across her face as she rides you like she’s competing with her own pleasure. "You love it when I sit on your cock, right?"

You can only nod. Any attempt to speak would be a pathetic moan at this point.

She leans forward, her lips at your ear, her breath hot and ragged. "I’m gonna come like this… right in your lap," she whispers, like it’s a dirty secret. "And you’re gonna come with me. Together."

And there’s no escaping it. She’s pulling you along, dragging you down with her, every movement sinking you both deeper into this shared haze of raw pleasure.

Nana speeds up, riding with an almost desperate urgency now, her moans turning into muffled screams, her nails clawing at your back, leaving marks. With each thrust, you feel like you’re about to lose your mind, like the pleasure is tearing you apart from the inside.

Nana leans forward, her hair falling loose across her face, her hands braced on your shoulders as she picks up speed, and it’s like the world is melting around you. Each time she comes down on your cock, the sound of flesh slapping together is almost deafening. Her ass slides so perfectly in your lap it feels like you were made for this.

"Fuck, Nana…," you let out, almost without control, gripping her hips, pulling her even deeper, feeling your cock completely swallowed up. "I’m gonna come..."

She smirks, a wicked, crooked grin, as she keeps riding you with an almost violent intensity. "Come inside me."

Your hands slide down her sweaty back, fingers digging into her flesh, and you can only nod, speechless, your breathing ragged, your body already trembling, about to collapse. She leans in, her words a whisper against your ear: "Come with me… I want your hot cum in my tight little pussy."

And then it happens. Her body shakes, and yours follows, and everything implodes. You feel the spasm that grips her, her pussy tightening around you in a way that knocks the breath out of you, and that’s it. There’s no turning back. You come with a force that feels like it’s ripping your soul out of your body, filling her up, each thrust spilling more. Nana screams your name, or at least something that sounds like it, and she sinks down one last time, slowly, sitting fully on your cock, feeling every drop of your cum inside her.

"Fuck, Nana…" is all you can manage as the world comes back into focus, your body exhausted but still buzzing with the intensity of it all.

You stay like that, quiet, your bodies still pressed together, breathing heavy, trying to find a normal rhythm again. The room is drowned in silence, the kind of silence that only exists when the noise was so loud before it feels almost unreal now. You’re still inside her. You can feel the soft, steady heat of Nana’s body around your cock, a warmth that pulses slowly, matching the rapid beat of your heart. She doesn’t move, just stays there, relaxed against your body.

"It feels so good having you inside me like this," she says, almost like letting go of a secret, her voice low, muffled, without her usual brazen confidence. You smile, still catching your breath, and you feel a trickle of your hot cum running down your cock. "It’s your birthday, but I’m the one who got the gift," you reply. "Thank you. For this amazing night. For the conversation. For the sex. For getting to know you, Nana."

She stays quiet for a second, and you feel her body tense a little against yours. Like she’s embarrassed. Nana? Embarrassed? It’s almost funny. You can hardly believe it, but there it is, the slight blush on her cheeks, the way she looks off to the side. And before you can say more, she kisses you. A quick kiss, but full of urgency. Like she wants to stop whatever words you were about to spill.

"Shut up, idiot," she mutters against your lips, a little laugh escaping her.

You pull her a little closer, savoring the last remnants of the moment, not wanting to break whatever it is you’ve just created together. She sighs, relaxing even more, as if she’s finally let her body collapse after holding it all together for so long.

"This was a gift for me too," she finally says, letting out the laugh she’d been holding back. "And what a gift, huh? I didn’t think it’d be so... memorable." The word comes out with her typical sarcasm, but there’s a layer of real gratitude hidden beneath that tough exterior.

"I’d say the same," you reply, your voice a little lighter, your body finally slowing down, though still electrified by the feeling of being inside her.

Then, suddenly, she lets out a quiet, mischievous giggle. "Can you feel it?" she asks. "Can you feel how full of cum I am?"

She slowly climbs off your lap, placing one foot on the bed, her eyes locked on you as she spreads her legs. "Look at this," she murmurs, using two fingers to part her pussy lips, letting the cum start to drip out. "Wow, you really filled me up." The liquid drips down her fingers as she teases, "What’s better than a creampie for a birthday?”

—

You wake up to the soft light filtering through the motel curtains, making everything seem a little more golden, like the place was painted by an artist obsessed with warm tones. Your body feels heavy, but relaxed, your mind floating between dream and reality, the memory of last night still buzzing in your muscles, your skin, in the scent of Nana that seems to have fused with the air.

You barely move, and you can already feel it. She’s there. Pressed up against you. Skin on skin. Your naked bodies intertwined in a way that makes it seem like you’ve always known how to fit together, like you’re not strangers, like this isn’t the first time. And then, without warning, you feel her lips. First, a soft kiss on your chest, like she’s exploring the territory again, testing the waters. Then, the kiss travels up to your neck, and suddenly, her lips are on yours, warm and hungry. She doesn’t need to say anything. The way she kisses you says it all.

You finally open your eyes, your body starting to wake up, though you’re already fully awake where it matters. “Nana, you need to stop,” you joke, your voice raspy, trying to sound more relaxed than you really are. “You’re going to get me obsessed with you. And later, I’ll remember this and want more.”

She laughs, her lips still on yours, a quiet giggle that you feel vibrate against your mouth. “Who said we’re done here?” she whispers, gently tugging on your bottom lip with her teeth before letting it go. “Maybe I’m just getting started.”

“So, you want to see me again?” you ask, half-joking, half-serious, testing the waters.

She raises an eyebrow, like the question is ridiculous. “After a night like that? Of course I want to see you again. Many times, actually.” She bites her lip, her gaze a little challenging, like she’s already planning something, and you know she is. She always is.

Without warning, Nana reaches for her phone on the bedside table. She unlocks it and smiles, a mischievous smile. She opens the camera and points it at you both. “Let’s capture this moment.”

You frown, still half-asleep, half-disbelieving. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I am.” She says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “A night like this deserves a keepsake, don’t you think?” She doesn’t wait for your answer. Her finger is already on the button, ready to take the picture.

The idea feels strange, but you go with it. You snuggle up to her, both of you smiling for the camera, like it’s something you do all the time. She snaps the photo, the two of you grinning, with no pretense. Just warm skin, relaxed bodies. Then, she takes another. This time, you tilt your head and kiss Nana, the sensation more vivid, with a clarity that comes with daylight, when everything feels more real, less driven by the adrenaline of the moment.

When the camera’s click finally falls silent, she tosses the phone aside and leans back against you, eyes closed, body relaxed. “This is going to be a good memory,” she murmurs, and there’s something in her voice that makes you believe her.

She shifts, the sheet slipping slightly, and you feel the warmth of her skin against yours. Nana settles more into you, a slow, almost deliberate movement. She lets out a quiet laugh, more breath than sound, and you feel her smile against your neck.

“I can feel it,” she says, her voice warmer now, closer to a whisper. “You’re already hard for me.” And then, as if to prove her point, she adjusts her body again, rubbing against you like she’s discovered a new toy and can’t resist.

You sigh, half pleasure, half yearning. “Yeah, I’m horny,” you admit, no beating around the bush. There’s something about the way she’s pressed against you, the smell of her hair mingling with the room’s air, that erases any notion of self-control.

“Good,” she says, as if that’s exactly what she was waiting for. “How about a nice blowjob to start the day?”

You already know the answer, but you stay silent for a second, your mind processing the almost ridiculous simplicity of the proposal, the casual way she talks about it, like she’s asking what you want for breakfast. It’s something you love about this now not-so-strange girl. So finally, you open your mouth. “Yes, please.”

She giggles, the kind of giggle that’s full of mischief, of pure fun. She leans over you, her hand trailing down your stomach to your cock, her fingers cool against your warm skin. “I knew you’d say that,” she murmurs, almost to herself, as she starts to move slowly down your body, like she’s studying your every reaction.

Nana crawls down to your hips, her movements slow, lazy, like she has all the time in the world, and then lowers her head. Her lips touch the tip of your cock first, a kiss almost chaste, before she opens her mouth and takes you in.

—

The sun is already up, it's around nine in the morning. You're in the car next to Nana after a night that felt like it came straight out of a dirty and perfect dream. The motel is left behind like a distant memory, a blur of neon and crumpled sheets. Now, you're parked in front of your house, and reality is there, knocking at the door.

Breakfast helped you get your energy back. You had to insist on paying. It was the least you could do. Nana didn’t want to accept it, but at some point, she got tired of arguing. Though, you know she doesn't really care about that kind of thing. She doesn’t seem like someone who worries about small formalities. But for you, paying for breakfast was your way of thanking her for more than just the night. It was for a temporary collapse of everything you knew.

She leans against the steering wheel, her slender fingers drumming on it. "We’ll talk on Insta, I’ll send you the photos there too," she says, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.

You smile, still a bit dazed, your muscles tired from all the pleasure and exhaustion. "That’d be great." You smile, not sure what to say in these final minutes. "I really enjoyed meeting you, Nana. I mean that."

She turns to you. “I liked meeting you too, you’re a nice guy.”

The words come out with the casualness of someone who's been through this before, but with a sincerity that makes you believe that, even if it’s fleeting, it was special in some way.

You watch her, her profile illuminated by the morning light, and realize how something so simple, a chance encounter, can turn your day, your week, maybe even your life, upside down if you let it.

"Happy birthday again," you say, your hand already on the door handle.

"Thanks," she replies. “I hope the rest of my day is as interesting as it’s been so far.”

You laugh, unsure if she's being serious or joking. But then, just before getting out of the car, something pulls you back, a final question you have to ask. "But... what now, Nana? What do we do?"

She looks at you with that smile, the one you’ve already learned to associate with the unpredictable. "Now?" She pauses, starting the car, her eyes focused on the road. "Now, we just jump to the next night and see what we find."

Of course. You knew she’d say something like that. You nod, a smile forming on your face, because there’s nothing more to say. You step out of the car, feeling different somehow, even though everything around you looks exactly the same as before.

Nana waves slightly, and you stand there, watching the car disappear around the corner, knowing that last night was just one among many that could happen.

[dark-konohagakure2]

How about Sebastian nonconing a new maid?

tw: noncon, power imbalance, age difference, punishment, light degradation, manhandling

All characters depicted are 18+

While the gentleman doesn't show it on the outside, whenever he sees an incompetent servant, he just wants to wring their neck. Sebastian was already reaching the limit of his patience when it was just Mey-Rin tripping and breaking the fine china, but now that the estate has recently hired a second clumsy maid, Sebastian doesn't feel the need to hold back with the new hire.

He truly does attempt to keep up his suave butler facade in the face of her bumbling incompetence, going easy on her because she's new and only gently reprimanding her mistakes, but Sebastian's patience doesn't last very long.

Any pretense of patience is completely shattered however when she trips and knocks over a priceless vase that has been in the Phantomhive family for generations, now completely shattered due to one maid's idiocy. It's hard to tell that Sebastian is mad, he simply gives his usual closed eyed smile, the vein throbbing in his forehead only concealed by his dark bangs.

He'll maintain his sweet fake smile when he gently leads her away under the pretense of a normal punishment, such as a literal smack on the wrist, but instead of a fairly normal disciplinary measure like she expected, she pushed her into the broom closet and locks the door behind him, and she can swear that his amber eyes are now a glowing red color.

"There are limits to how much idiocy I can allow, little miss. Thanks to your foolishness I'm going to be scolded by our Young Master. I'll have to teach you a lesson..."

Sebastian won't fully expose his true nature to her, at least not physically, but he'll be truly demonic when he has his way with her, his sharp claw-like nails will dig into her hips through his gloves as he forces his cock into her quivering hole, having his way with her where anyone could overhear, being the distinguished butler he is, Sebastian won't make too many lewd noises.

He'll only occasionally make noises if he's feeling especially pleasured or if he wants to scold her again, chastising her for making him lose his composure and forcing him to discipline her in such a manner, while simultaneously acting like him using her body is just him going about his obligations as the head butler of the household, one of said duties being to keep unruly servants in line.

While not a quick shot by any stretch of the imagination, Sebastian doesn't want to dawdle for too long, she's little more than a distraction from his chores, so he's going to be rather quick with her, his bigger body pounding against her slight frame as he fills her up with his throbbing cock and demonic essence without any mercy or remorse.

Sebastian hates to make a mess, so he'll cum directly inside of her, not wanting to leave any unsightly stains or evidence of their encounter on her maid uniform, so he'll make sure that she doesn't spill a single drop of his seed before he pulls out and sends her on her not so merry way.

"There we go, maybe that will teach you to watch where you're going in the future. Now you're dismissed, go back to your duties, little one."

Sebastian's opinion on her will take a much different turn after their lovely little 'talk', while she's still his least favorite fellow servant, she is now his absolute new favorite toy.

[euniveve]

(𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐱 𝐆𝐨𝐭 𝐇𝐢𝐬) 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐫 - zhongli

pairings: zhongli x reader tags: angst & fluff (mainly fluff tho with sprinkles of angst), wife! reader, mentioned xiao w.c: 946 a.n: happy birthday my darling husband here's your birthday gift, the drabble that i rewrote; my fellow sibling spouses, enjoy

Your lashes flutter as you look down, your lips carefully pressed against the red paper to leave a cherry-red stain. A soft breath escapes your lip and your gaze shifts back to the jade mirror. Scenes such as this, remind you of your duty to your husband, to your nation– and yet as you glide your fingers, carefully blending the stain to your natural lip colour; your husband, Morax stood behind you and began parting your hair, his fingers already braiding it and arranging into an elaborate updo. 

This is a maid’s job – but the lord of geo has always insisted on doing this task himself; and how could he not? Another minute in your presence and feeling your being under his touch is another minute well-spent. His beautiful wife, his only love.

You watch his thick finger take one of the many golden hairpins on your jewellery box, the intricacies of the designs complimenting the placement of your bun– and your husband’s amber eyes gleam from the light cast by the metal, a soft smile sitting on his lips as he hummed a familiar tune. 

Your heartbeat skips, and you relish sight of his majestic form; his toned arm that’s dipped in gold, his glowing antlers that resemble the warm sun, his rich brown hair that so elegantly drapes against his shoulders and frames the sides of his face–

'Mirrors,’ you thought, breathless and lips parting, ‘really are great inventions', 

"Dearest?" His deep, sweet voice says; vibrating down your spine with warmth, hypnotizing you further into his hold. Ah yes, Morax, the man standing behind you, the god watching over you, is everything he is supposed to be and more.

"Not- Nothing!" You manage to say, flashing him a nervous smile before you shake your head, trying to save face in front of him– a wife should maintain some dignity after all.

Morax chuckled, his calloused fingers finally placing the last hairpin as you reached to take a brush from your vanity and dip it in the porcelain pot of red-stained beeswax. A personal gift from Morax's anemo yaksha, one he so offhandedly gifts after you flick your finger on his forehead, warning him to not take his duties too far. You worry over that boy– the more times he comes to the palace, the more scars riddle his body.

And yet he fights anyway. 

You could only hope that one day, the sweet yaksha will learn to smile again. A smile he once held, a smile like your husband's.

Morax's golden fingers soon find their way to yours, breaking your thoughts and submerging you deeper into his warm comforting embrace. 

"Let me help you, darling," he whispered into your ear, his hot breath hitting the tip, making you shudder from the sensation. Feeling your cheeks heating up from his declaration, you shyly nod and turn your back to face him. 

His finger makes contact with your face and you are instantly reminded of his domain. Like it, the colossus on his fingertips is rough; his hold unmoving despite being so gentle. But you close your eyes and with no hesitation, you place your face safely in his grasp. Morax, the God of Contracts, is capable of many things, but hurting you isn’t one of them.

You feel a cold touch on your forehead, knowing that with careful precision – your husband is drawing a plum blossom, your favourite flower.

"There," he said softly, planting a gentle kiss on your red-stained lips, making his appear to have a slight tint. You stifled a giggle at the sight, brushing your fingers against his lips, moving them slightly and forcing his smile to grow wider.

Morax raises his brow, thinking that you are trying to play with his face – he opens his jaw and tilts his head, breaking out a burst of unexpected joy-filled laughter from you.

"Here,” you giggled, remembering how Xiao too, acts like this when you try to force a smile at him, “lǎo gōng."

The brown-haired man hummed, watching as you tried to tell him what to do with just your face, urging him to mimic your movements. He surprisingly understood, fitting his face on the palm of your hand and closing his eyes; trusting you completely when he felt your fingers taking the brush from his fingers. 

‘Xiao,’ you recalled, ‘could really be his son..’

‘Bright golden eyes… same stubbornness…’

You giggle again, carefully painting the edge of the stone lord’s eyes, the same way as his warrior has his painted.

‘Same behaviours… same selflessness…’

"Open your eyes," you whispered and Morax instantly obeyed, his piercing amber gaze taking in your face inches from his. You smile, shifting from your seat and allowing him to see both of you in the jade mirror.  

And there it was, the both of you. Rex Lapis and his wife. You couldn’t help but widen your smile, blinking slowly as you whisper underneath your breath; "Xiao would love this.”

Then you snickered to yourself, already imagining the look on the yaksha's face when he had seen what you had done. It would probably hold horror and awe, yet still accompanied by subtle gratefulness he would display in between quiet murmurs. Indeed, you should probably talk to Morax about adopting him…

The geo god lets out a small chuckle as he wraps his arm around you, enveloping you back into his warm embrace. His lips kiss your neck, his face buried on its crook. With a nostalgic sigh he takes in the bliss this scene emits. A short pleasure in the inevitable long life of the Geo Archon.

"He'd have to thank you for that, my precious wife."

[crossfandomslut]

At Peace in Your Fire pt. 3

part 1 and part 2

Summary: Hewn City bs and lots of Eris screen time haha

Pairing: ErisxArcheron!reader

Word Count: 4k

Notes: I am so so excited that people are liking this story so far !!! I love all your comments and am so appreciative of the likes and reblogs ! For this chapter, I did use a big chunk of the direct dialog from ACOWAR for the Hewn City meeting with Eris, because I think its important context and I wasn't about to rewrite SJM's mastery. So disclaimer, I do not own any of SJM's characters or speak for her or them in anyway ! This is just for shits and gigs and I hope y'all enjoy this chapter ! Also please let me know how we feel about the Eris POV :)

Amber eyes and a pale face littered in freckles, framed by fiery red hair,  stared wildly at her. Eyes full of fear and confusion contorted his beautiful features. He was stunning, truly. Rakish, almost lanky, but toned muscles rippled under his well-fitted clothes as he fell to the ground gripping and clawing at his throat, trying to force air back into his lungs. Y/n did that to him. She made another being feel that pain and suffering. But he was hurting her sister. He was hurting Feyre. Y/n didn’t know why she had to remind herself of that fact so often to justify her actions that day on the frozen lake, but she had fallen asleep thinking about the male every night since.

Now that Feyre was home, things started moving pretty quickly. Hybern was making moves in the Spring Court to bring down the wall to the human lands, and thus putting Prythian on the brink of another war. Everyone was hard at work planning, coordinating, and scheming, but Y/n was told to just keep training. She wanted to be useful when the time came, so she was going to need to hone her powers and her physical abilities. She finally got to be a part of the plans when Rhys announced at family dinner that everyone would be taking a trip to Hewn City.

Y/n wasn’t afraid per-say, but she wasn’t sure what to expect. Feyre had told her that Amarantha’s ‘lair’ for lack of a better term, was designed after the city. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see that firsthand after hearing about everything that Feyre and Rhys went through. She was going to put on a brave face though. It’s not about her. It was about helping this court, her new family, and potentially the fate of the world as they knew it.

She studied herself in the mirror after selecting the right dress. Rhys had told her to wear whatever color she wanted, but she knew that this visit to Hewn City was all about appearances and she needed to help show that they were a united front. She had never been fond of black. It always looked so good on her twin, but Y/n preferred softer, neutral tones that helped her blend into the trees and underbrush. Tonight however, she would step out of her comfort zone. Adapt. Her constant mantra. So, she studied herself in the mirror, eyes gliding along her body that was no longer too thin, but now tones and showing real muscle. Her hips were wider, her arms and thighs thicker. A body to fill out such a fine dress. It was a floor length gown, as black as obsidian. It had see-through long sleeves and a modest neckline. Nothing flashy, she didn’t need to draw attention to herself, she just needed to blend in and help silently from the dais. But as she looked at herself, she thought that she looked quite pretty. She always thought she was the most plain of her sister, even now as Fae, but tonight, Y/n would try to wear this dress with confidence and that casual coolness that came so naturally to all the others.

 Eris’ POV

 That beautiful female on the frozen lake haunted him every waking and sleeping hour of Eris’ life. The way she literally took his breath away. If it weren’t for her power actually stealing the air from his lungs, her beauty alone would have stopped him in his tracks. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his many centuries of existence. He could help but laugh when she stormed up to him in the Winter Court wearing little more than pajamas. He shouldn’t have laughed. If the Illyrians thought she was important enough to bring along, he shouldn’t have underestimated her. He saw her face every time he closed his eyes. Her y/e/c orbs staring straight into his soul. It ratted him, which not much did anymore.

Eris hated Hewn City and he hated Keir. He was so tired of playing these court games and scheming behind the scenes. He knew Rhys liked to make an entrance, but he was growing bored and restless. Until he saw her. She was just as beautiful as the first time he saw her, but now, dressed in a night court black gown, she didn’t glow like she did when she was comfortable in her chestnut brown pants and a forest green sweater. Who is she?

Y/n’s POV

Stood atop the dais behind the single throne that Feyre and Rhys shared, Y/n scanned the room. Doing her best to keep her face carefully neutral, she stood there while Rhys addressed the court introduced Feyre as their High Lady, and coolly demanded that they kneel. After a long pause, the whole room on their knees before them, he released them to enjoy the festivities.

A man with blonde hair, that Y/n identified as Keir, Mor’s father only by blood, approached the dais. Then, the last person she expected to see approached as well. The male from the lake, with the glowing amber eyes and hair that reminded her of a maple trees falling red leaves. She swore her heart stopped beating when he made eye contact with her as he bowed. Not to Rhys or Feyre, but to her.

“Keir. Eris. So kind of you to join us. But don’t be so eager to get our meeting over with, go enjoy the evening. Azriel’s shadows will find you when we’re ready.” Rhys slid his bored gaze over each male and waved a hand in dismissal.

Eris. That was his name. Eris Eris Eris. The name clanged around her brain, and she had to choke back the desire to know how it felt on her tongue. She knew his name now and it made falling asleep to picturing his face feel like she was violating him in some way. She knew she shouldn’t have been thinking about him in the first place. He tried to kill her sister, or bring her back to his father who was a known tyrant and took brutality to another level. She should definitely not be thinking about him. But there he was. And gods damn he was even more devastating than she remembered. For starters, he wasn’t covered in blood, and she wasn’t choking the daylights out of him. But more than that, he had this air about him. He exuded a confidence that was purely Fae male and came from centuries of a life lived. Then she remembered the way that fire had danced from his fingertips. He could wield flame like an extension of his own body. It was beautiful. Y/n once again had to reprimand herself, because those same beautiful flames coming from his long, calloused fingers, were causing harm and pain to her own sister. That light and radiance that fire had was diminished in the context of it’s use. How dare he make Y/n fear something she loved so dearly? How dare her use fire, which is the root of all life, use it to hurt and destroy?

Y/n was snapped out of her daydreaming by the sound of someone clearing their throat. She realized Eris had not broken eye contact with her and was now starring at her expectantly. With no small amount of embarrassment, she realized she was probably just standing here gazing into his eyes while her whole family stood there and watched. He cheeks heated and Eris’ smirk grew.

“I asked you for a dance, lady…?”

“Y/n, you do not have to dance with him. Honestly, you don’t even have to talk to him.” Rhys said.

“Y/n...” She hated how much she liked her name falling from his lips. “Just once dance, Lady Y/n, and I’ll share what I know of the Spring Court in our meeting this evening.” Still smirking, he held out a hand.

“Fine.” Y/n unceremoniously slapped her hand into his. Just because she was practically vibrating with anticipation of being so close to the male, didn’t mean he needed to know that. And neither did her family. For all anyone else knew, she hated Eris as much as they all did. She certainly should if she knew what was good for her. Gods, what was wrong with her!?

That smirk turned into a cocky grin as Eris led Y/n to the dance floor. He tugged on her hand still held in his and pulled her close to his body. Not pressing against her, but close enough that she could feel the heat coming off his body. He was unnaturally hot being a fire wielder, but Y/n never minded the heat. Even found herself having to hold back from pressing every inch of her against the warmth. He stood close to a foot taller than her, and she had to tilt her head up to lock eyes with him. She was met with amber eyes dancing with amusement, and he was met with a cold hard glare.

Eris blew out a soft laugh and asked, “why, little dove, do you hate me so much? We don’t even know each other yet.”

Y/n tried not to linger on the ‘yet’ as she leveled him an incredulous glare. “You mean aside from the fact that you chased my sister across a frozen lake, blasting fire at her and then restrained her with said fire?”

He had the audacity to laugh again. “Yes, Y/n, aside from that. I would very much like to know you. You hating me makes that slightly difficult.”

Gods that smirk. Y/n was trying to think straight as he floated her around the dance floor like it was nothing. She hoped he didn’t realize she was using her magic to keep herself from tripping over her own feet or stepping on his. He was such a beautiful dancer. And the truth was, she wanted to know him too. But instead she said, “you use your gift of fire to hurt others. You use that delicate flame to inflict pain and fear.” She desperately hoped her voice was staying steady, but then he scoffed at her and the leash she had on her temper slipped from her fingers. She feels her voice raising and her cheeks heating as she goes on. “Fire is not meant to cause pain, Eris!”

He halts their movement. That was enough to make her blink and remember where they were. Her eyes and her voice soften as she tries to look straight into his soul and speak directly to it. Her hands drift to hold both of his in her much smaller ones. “Fire is beautiful and lovely and soft and warm. Fire is nurturing and breathes life into everything. Fire is a gentle protector and a kind companion. I am so sorry someone told you otherwise and that you’ve been told to use it as a weapon.” He just blinked at her for what felt like an eternity. Suddenly the music stops, and the room erupts into applause for the musicians. “Eris…?” Y/n sys his name as gently as she can, but he pulled away from her so fast and muttered an ‘excuse me’ before he turned on his heels and practically ran out of the ball room.

Y/n stands there until someone accidently bumps into her and jolts her out of her head and back into her body. Slowly, she makes her way back to the dais staring at her feet, still not totally present. She looks up when she reaches her family only to see them all with a hand over their mouth to choke back a laugh. “What?” Y/n’s brow scrunches and she tilts her head in confusion.

Cassian is the first to break, laughing so loud a few partygoers jump and glasses shatter. The next is Mor, and finally, Feyre asks through tears in her eyes and a barely concealed giggle, “What the hell did you say to him!?”

Y/n just took her spot on the dais next to Feyre and Rhys as they laughed and laughed together and resumed staring at the floor trying not to be eager to see Eris at the meeting later this evening.

Eris’ POV

He had to get out of there. Had to get out of that room that felt too similar to under the mountain and away from that female who was far too gentle and kind to be anywhere near him. ‘The Mother must really hate me’ he thinks as he reaches the city’s edge and can finally breathe again. He knew the shadowsinger would find him soon and call for the meeting, but before then he needed to regain his composure. Y/n didn’t need to use her power to stop his breathing and make his heart race.

He took a few deep breaths and the shaking in his hands and the ache in his chest eased slightly. His mind drifted to the feeling of her in his arms, how well they danced across the floor together and how lovely her hands felt pressed to his chest. ‘Fire is not meant to cause pain’ Y/n had said. The words had come from her mouth with such passion and determination that he almost believed her. He wanted to. Gods did he want to believe her and her kind words and her cold calloused hands that soothed his burning skin. There was no way for Y/n to have known his father had struck him across the chest just this morning. A show of power after his father bested him during sparring. The punishment for winning would have been far more gruesome. Y/n’s cold unassuming hand placed directly over where his father’s had left the flesh raw and painful. Her lovely hand placed there while she looked him in the eyes and told him that fire wasn’t meant to cause pain and that she was sorry. He couldn’t believe she was real, and his need to know her just grew tenfold. But he wasn’t good enough for her. He wasn’t good. He should keep his distance and save her the misery of his company again.

Eris was dreading the mask he would dawn in this meeting and the monster she would think of him as afterward. A shadow wrapped around his wrist and tugged. It was time. Eris schooled his features into the calm, bored, arrogant heir, winnowed back into the halls of the palace, and sauntered his way into the meeting.

Y/n’s POV

The meeting was nothing of what Y/n expected. Eris came in, and straight up avoided eye contact with her. She couldn’t lie, that stung a bit.

He sat across from Rhys, but looked to Mor with a knowing glint in his eye and said, “you look well, Mor.”

“You don’t speak to her,” Azriel said softly.

Eris gave a bitter smile. “I see you’re still holding a grudge.”

Y/n was so confused.

“This arrangement, Eris,” Rhys spoke, “relies solely upon you keeping your mouth shut.”

Eris huffed a laugh. “And haven’t I done an excellent job? Not even my father suspected when I left tonight.”

Feyre glanced between her mate and Eris. “How did this come about?”

Apparently, Feyre was just as lost as you were.

Eris explains that he caught Azriel’s shadows snooping around the Autumn court after they returned from the frozen lake, and that his brothers ‘mysteriously’ forgot about Feyre’s powers. He said that he had taught himself a few things about daemati powers and how to block them out. He says that he didn’t tell his father because he knew that Baron would want to hunt Feyre down and kill her for his belief that she stole part of his power. He doesn’t believe that Baron knows just how much of a threat Hybern is, but that he wont join forces with them if he finds out about Feyre’s powers.

“So what’s the asking price for you silence then, Eris?” Mor demanded. “Another little bride for you to torture?”

All the blood drained from Y/n’s face as her eyes darted between Mor and Eris. Her head hurt from trying to put this puzzle together without having all the pieces. She knew that Mor’s father had tried to marry her off and Mor took control of her own fate by sleeping with Cassian, but she hadn’t known the male she was sold off to was supposed to be Eris. The pounding in her head did not cease.

Something flickered in Eris’ eyes. “I don’t know who fed you those lies to begin with, Morrigan,” he said with vicious calm. “Likely the bastards you surround yourself with.”

A sneer from Azriel. And a sharp intake of breath from Y/n. If he had looked at her she would have seen the brief flash of guilt in his eyes.

Mor snarled, rattling the glasses. “You never gave any evidence to the contrary. Certainly not when you left me in those woods.”

“There were forces at work that you have never considered,” Eris said coldly. “And I am not going to waste my breath explaining them to you. Believe what you want about me.”

“You hunted me like an animal,” Feyre cut in. “I think we will choose to believe the worst.”

Y/n didn’t know how to feel. Couldn’t think of anything to say or do, so she just dropped her gaze to the floor. She shouldn’t come to Eris’ defense. She just met the male and apparently her gut feeling about him was wrong. Her family hated him and he hurt Mor. Something didn’t feel right, but what would she even say? There were literal centuries of bad blood between her found family and this male who for some gods forsaken reason, she couldn’t stop thinking about. This arrogant, spiteful, male who attacked her sister! Not just Feyre it seems, but Mor as well. Even if he didn’t have direct hand in harming her, he didn’t help her. Why didn’t he help her? Her head was still spinning trying to sort through all these conflicting feelings. She felt like she needed to come to Eris’ defense, but why? Maybe because she felt deep down in her soul that no one ever had. She could feel that he was good, so why were his actions such the opposite? The pounding in her head wouldn’t stop and she felt as if she might faint. The conversation starting to sound like they were underwater.

“I was given and order. And sent to do it with two of my…brothers.”

“And what of the brother you hunted down alongside me? The one whose lover you helped to execute before his eyes?” Feyre accused.

Eris slammed a hand on the table, which did nothing to help Y/n headache. No one seemed to notice her flinch and start to sway. “You know nothing about what happened that day. Nothing.”

“Indulge me,” was all Feyre said in response.

“How do you think he made it to the Spring border,” Eris’ voice had returned to its normal low and sharp nature. “I wasn’t there- when they did it. Ask him. I refused. It was the firs and only time I have denied my father anything. He punished me. And by the time I got free… They were going to kill him too. I made sure they didn’t. Made sure Tamlin got word- anonymously- to get the hell over to his own border.” Eris picked at a stray thread on his jacket, “not all of us were as lucky in our friends and family as you, Rhysand.”

Sharp, stabbing, shooting pain ran through Y/n’s head and it was so surprising that she let out a yelp as she dropped to the floor, and everything went black. The last thing she remembered hearing was the voice of Eris’ panicked voice crying her name.

Taglist: @abysshaven @myromanempiree @lilah-asteria @96jnie @ivy-34 @minaethrym

[noisyquokka]

October Eyes

PAIRING - Minho x GN!Reader

SYNOPSIS - Every inch of him is beautiful and captivating to you, always and forever. But his eyes. Oh, his eyes...

WORDCOUNT - 1.4k

WARNINGS - Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, kinda lovey-dovey, teasing if you squint, two (2) idiots hopelessly in love with each other

A/N - My little addition for Lino Day! Enjoy, Darlings!

It's somewhere between mid morning and noon with the way the sun bleeds light into the living room. Not that you care, oh, no. Not when you have the perfect view at this moment in time.

Your head is resting against his thigh, his current read propped up on the other. Your body has settled into the cushions beneath you, your heels digging into the fibers. Brown eyes flit across the page they're on, blinking closed every few seconds as if to hide from your adoring gaze. It's cat-like in nature; a contented half-lidded slip that has your fingers twitching to run through the dark tresses that frame his face.

"You're staring again."

He hasn't looked your way, but he can feel your eyes on him. Your lips twitch in a half grin.

"Am I?" 

Time almost comes to a standstill as you slowly drink him in. You know every detail of his face like the back of your hand; the way his brows sit above those amber eyes, arching higher when you make a snide remark or he's being cheeky. Feline eyes that carry an impossible intensity. How they shine like fool's gold when they settle on you.

Another blink. Slender fingers twitching between your own. Cat eyes shifting.

You look away, back to your own book propped up on your knees. There's always a sharpness to his gaze — so precise as to shatter you like glass. Brown eyes hold you in their focus and it takes every ounce of willpower to keep your eyes on the book in your lap, turning a page with your free hand.

Minho is a patient man, he could wait for your eyes to meet his again. He could wait for minutes, hours, weeks. Years. But he doesn't, not at this moment.

His novel closes, the pages whispering their inked words into the crown of your skull with the force. You blink but you don't look away from your book, turning the page as if you're properly comprehending anything your pupils sweep across. Fingers brush against the flesh of your jaw, tapping softly under your chin to get your attention. That move. That move always works on you, and it's no different now. Eyelids flutter open as you tilt your head back to meet maple and cinnamon. 

Your mind is somewhere entirely different now, as if Minho is the Sun and you're the planets that revolve around him. You breathe inward, the soft noises of the outside world seeping in but becoming nothing more than background static as your attention is captured once again. His body wash floods your nostrils.

"What's got you so enamored with me, Baby?" The way he asks is cocky in that signature Lee Minho way, a dark brow shooting up in question.

"Many, many things." You hum, letting your book fall between your thigh and the sofa. His right hand finds your left, fingers lacing together, wrapping over the skin in a sure squeeze. Your thumb grazes his knuckles in response.

"Enlighten me, would you?" His voice is a smooth, velvety croon, traveling through your ears. Messing with your brainwaves in the best way. His mouth curves into a smirk as he speaks, those tiny divots creasing at the corners of his lips. It's such a simple thing, small and inconspicuous when he smiles. But you notice it. You adore it.

"It's those eyes of yours," you murmur, your tone delicate as you study the man that gazes upon you. "Your eyes are like a deep forest, a mystery that pulls and pulls. Intimidating as a mountain lion. But lucky for you, I don't back down from a little mystery. Once you get through the darkness, they're the river that carries and cradles the forest's autumn leaves. They're dappled sunlight through a jar of honey. Just as warm and sweet. And that mountain lion? Just a tortoiseshell cat searching for a warm lap to curl up in."

You're rambling like a poet, passionately and ever longing for your muse. Every inch of him is beautiful and captivating to you, always and forever. But his eyes. 

Oh, his eyes.

Your heart flutters in your chest, your brows twitching as you study his face. 

Minho shakes his head slightly, and you have to suppress a gasp as he lifts you onto his lap, your hands clinging to him instinctively. Your words make Minho's stomach flip, a deep shiver rising up from it as your fingers twine tighter with his. He gives you a look, as if he's trying desperately to figure you out despite years of being together.

"I'd sell my soul to understand what goes on in that mind of yours." He says, voice soft, whispery. A crisp Autumn breeze on the lake, inviting goosebumps over your skin. Yet you feel warm having him so close to you, his hands running the span of your back. Your lips twitch up, fingers coming up to trail his jaw. 

"Why sell your soul when you can hear every little thought straight from the source?"

 "What else do you love about me, then?" His head shifts, a little light spark in those bourbon eyes at your gaze.

And you would. God, you would spill your guts just to see him glow with affection. But it seems that your little poetry session has ended because the words fail to come to you. You know exactly how much of your own emotions are written all over your face in this moment, and you make no attempt to hide it from him. You allow yourself to stare with soft eyes, smiling like a lovesick fool. Minho's hand runs along your back, fingers dancing down your spine.

"You."

The word is said with the utmost certainty, your eyes drifting to Minho's lips. "Every part of you."

Your lack of words are made up for with touches, hands caressing your Lover's skin with attentive care as they brush past a sharp jaw and collarbones. 

It's intimate. You're not pawing at each other in a sexual haze. This isn't about lust and desire. It's intimate in the way two souls weave into one another after lifetimes apart; deep and delicate and raw and heavy. Safe. Sacred.

Your heart thuds in your chest, your entire body feeling lighter with each brush of Minho's hand along your skin. Your fingers trail up the side of his face, the palm of your hand pressing against the skin as you gently caress his cheekbone with your thumb. You know that what you're doing would make most partners feel insecure, but Minho presses into those touches like a needy feline. Holds your gaze as if there's nothing else on the planet to distract him from you, unabashed by all the attention you're happily giving him. Your chest rises and falls with your breaths, his thumb drawing tiny patterns into the soft flesh of your hip.

"I feel it's only fair to ask what you love about me?" You say, lashes fluttering as you lean back in his hold, draping your neck over the armrest of the couch.

Minho smiles down at you, that half-grin he often sports in your company making its way onto his face. He shifts so he's leaning closer to you, his breath hot on your neck as he speaks just above a whisper.

"Everything. Your eyes… your laugh… that little grin you give me when I try to kiss you- there it is," He leans in to press his lips to yours, smiling into it when you laugh between kisses. He leans back just enough to lock eyes with you again, those browns all consuming. "...the way you look at me… like I've created the universe just for you. I love everything about you."

You're looking up at him with stars in your eyes, completely and utterly devoid of anything other than a soul shattering affection as Minho's words sink in. His freehand comes to rest on the back of your neck, pulling you up to press a kiss to your forehead. It's long and lingering as he breathes you in, your pulse steady under his fingertips. Your lashes flutter at the contact.

"Love you." You mumble, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

"I love you."

You lean back into Minho's embrace, basking in the heat of his body and the softness of his touch. His gentle smile is like a warm blanket, wrapping you in a familiarity that's as cozy as any real fleece. It's intimate, but not like before. There are no long gazes or deep sighs, just the quiet comfort of being near each other.

Minho's hand rests over your shoulders and you lean into the gentle affection, your forehead resting against his chest. His breathing slows as the two of you sink into each other's embrace, October eyes watching over you as you begin to doze off.

Psst!! If you made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read my work 💕 I appreciate you!

[zhonglis-little-slvt]

So.. Zhongli.....

If he's a dragon hybrid as many depict him to be, seeing as he's the former Geo Archon, with much power. Would he be able to control himself and his draconic nature in the heat of the moment with a small fragile human?

Two thick cocks stood before you, slightly weighed down from their length. You gulped, excitement and fear rising in you as you looked up at your lover from where you kneeled below him.

You were sat neatly on a silken pillow before the former Archon, while the male in question sat tall on the couch in front of you. His lithe index finger poked at your throat before his finely trimmed claw slowly and gently made it's way up to your chin to tilt your face toward his own, forcing your gaze to meet his amber eyes.

"What's wrong little thing?" He asks with a dark chuckle. Your legs shift below you on the pillow as you try to distract your nerves from becoming too much to handle, unknowingly avertingnur gaze.

With a snap of his fingers he regains your attention. Leaning down he places a festher-light kiss to your plush lips. "Talk to me sweetheart." He said, his tone slightly softer, but you could still hear the authority behind his words which made you shiver in anticipation.

"Not sure if I can do it." You murmured quietly. You had worried about having your first time in general but now? Seeing the length, the girth. Knowing how much it must hurt to stretch that far. You were intimidated to say the least.

He huffed out a soft laugh. "You can. I'll guide you through and we'll go gentle at first." The promise in his words had your heart melting. You knew you loved this man and you trusted him, so all you had to do was trust him one more time. "O-okay. Going slow. Got it." You replied, more so to yourself than to him.

He smiled as he watched you near his lengths with your mouth slightly agape. Hesitantly, you licked your lips before putting the tip of the first cock in your mouth. Just the tip was wide enough to have you open your mouth more than you had anticipated. A grunt sounded from above, making you look up at Zhongli to see his amber eyes... glowing?

Just as you were about to pull off to ask about his condition he suddenly spoke. "Fuck that feels so good. Think you can take me back a bit more baby girl?" You still wanted to ask but seeing the need written on his face made you quickly decide to hold off. After a quick breath through your nose you leaned forward a bit further, taking more of him into your mouth. Your gaze fell to his body as you saw what you were doing to him.

As pleasure consumed the former Archon, his arms turned black while his veins glowed a vibrant gold. The tips of his chocolate brown hair began to glow a soft orange hue as you saw his trimmed claws get slightly longer. Seeing the effect you had on him only empowered your actions, giving you a sense of pride as you began to lightly suck on the thick appendage the laid upon your tongue.

His hand raked through your hair as a growl rumbled through his chest. "Such a good girl- taking that cock." Your eyes roamed back up to his fave to see his pupils had turned to slits. His sharpened features had you rubbing your thighs together in need as you began to feel wet. "Can you take more? Just a little more? For me." He asked, his velvety smooth voice had you leaking as your tongue licked over a particularly thick vein it had found as you slid further down his shaft, causing his head to fall back with a loud moan.

His second cock was now in your face as you suckled on the first. Feeling a bit bad for ignoring the poor thing for so long you reached up to thumb at the tip. A sharp gasp had you looking up to see him arching his back with his head on the back of the couch. "Oh, oh my- Such a good girl." He praised.

He took your freehand and sat it upon his thigh as he held it while he smiled down at you, his fangs on full display for his special girl. "Look at you, making Daddy feel good like this." At that, you gagged and made him moan. "Oh? Was that a gag? Did I cause that?" He asked in a teasing tone.

Averting your gaze you focused back on his second cock as you smeared his precum around the tip. "Hey, good girls don't ignore their Daddy." He said as he made you look at him by lightly pulling at your hair, making ue softly whine. "You like that don't you?" Not able to pull away you huffed on his cock and sucked a bit harder which had him releasing your hair and squeasing your hand. "Oh yes you do!"

After you had gotten used to his length you began to bob your head and pump your small fist around him. His jaw dropped as his eyes rolled. You would be smirking with pride if your mouth wasn't full at the moment.

Your panties were soaked as was the pillow below you, and you knew he was close from how his thighs tensed. Tightening your grip on his second length you stroked him quickly and after a few swift pumps, you were gulping down dragon cum while more spilled over his abdomen.

You dropped your hands to your lap but your head remained in place as he came down your throat, the warm, white liquid stopping after a moment. Once his orgasm was finished you gave him one final suck before pulling away with a heavy pant. Getting proper breaths of air for the first time in minutes you took slow breaths with a prideful grin, you just made a dragon cum. Correction- you just made your dragon cum!

After he caught his breath, Zhongli sat up to look at you. "Hah- You ready?" He asked with a devilish grin. "Ready? I just finished?" You said confused. He only laughed

"You had me finish, now it's my turn." He growled out, sounding nearly feral as he leaned down from the couch and pinned you to the floor.

His forked tongue slithered over your collarbone and up your neck before delving into your mouth. You moaned softly as his teeth nipped at your lips whilst he explored your wet cavern. He was rough yet gentle and his actions have you writhing beneath him.

"Shh, patient. You'll get what you want soon enough." He soothed as his hand snaked down your body to pull off your drenched panties. His fingers slid over your folds, gathering your arousal before he found your clit. "Looks like someone's excited, hm?" He hummed into your ear lowly, resulting in a soft moan from you. He toyed with your clit, pinching, pulling, circling it with his claws, anything that had you arching your back.

Pressing a finger into your tight entrance, he began to thrust his digit in and out of you repeatedly. A lewd squelching sound resonating in the air as he adds another clawed finger overtime, stretching your dampened hole to take him. "Feeling good down there?" He asks? A teasing lilt to his voice. You can only nod, not trusting your voice.

Slowly he drags his fingers over your g-spot and pulls them from your core. A wet 'pop' sounding through the room. He takes the slick arousal from your leaking pussy and smears it along his cocks, sticking himself up before pressing both his tips to your core.

"Daddys little girl ready to take him?" He asks. You knew the question however, was rhetorical, as he already began pushing both lengths into your waiting hole, making you cry in ecstasy. "Oh my- Daddy!"

Your head fell back, expecting to be met with the hard floor but instead was met with the soft pads of your lovers fingertips. "That's it baby, let go." He sweetly cooed as he continued to push into your small hole.

Panting, you felt the wood peeling as your nails scratched at it. You felt as if he was trying to rip you in two in the most pleasurable way possible. It wasn't until you felt him stop moving did you breathe somewhat normally again. His tips were pressed against your cervix, hitting the deepest parts of your pussy and filling you full.

Without warning he began rutting into you. Thrusting into your small body as his clawed hands gripped your hips and kept them firmly held against the floor. His eyes were slides and his tongue was out. He looked like he wasn't even there anymore!

Despite your minor concerns for what was happening, you couldn't do a thing. Moans and gasps slipped from your lips as his twin cocks pummeled your insides without mercy.

♡▪︎•◇•▪︎♡▪︎•◇•▪︎♡▪︎•◇•▪︎♡▪︎•◇•▪︎♡▪︎•◇•▪︎♡

You laid on the floor panting as you came for the nth time that night. Zhongli was blissed out of his mind at the moment, his eyes were rolled back as he laid his head upon your chest. Everything was so peaceful despite the feeling of the pulsing in your core from his cocks still being buried balls deep inside you. But at the moment, you didn't care.

Everything was warm, you were content, and the moment he woke up- you knew you would be getting the best aftercare knowing to dragonkind.

This was a request but to anyone else who got this far. I hope you enjoyed it you fellow sluts <3

[no1heyyyyyyyy]

Sevika's tastes

Sevika is an old lady and she just wants to be left alone. She likes to look good but when it comes to clothes, Miss thing just doesn’t care that much. She always has practicality in mind. So, no dresses, nothing flowy, has to have natural fabrics so that her skin can breathe, and she requires that things are comfortable. Her shoes are always made for hardware with a strong sole and often reinforced. In the modern world, I see her working in metal working (specifically welding), so she has to have clothes that are multipurpose. Though, if she was forced to wear anything really nice, it would be a simple well-cut blazer and a button down with jeans or slacks that conform to her legs nicely. She prefers earthy colors, nothing too flashy. I think she’d really appreciate a nice dark green, or perhaps brown. I also feel that she would enjoy a nice flannel regularly.

With food, I’m afraid her palette is as unrefined as her clothing choices. She genuinely does not care what she eats, though she really likes chicken- loves hot wings, spicy food is her love. But, her comfort food will always be the food native to what part of India her family is from. I don’t think she’s the best cook, but she has a few family recipes that she knows so well (aloo gobi, chai, samosa, tikka masala, saag paneer). And, I think that on nights where she’s feeling really sad or lonely she always craves those foods. She’d love to cook with or for her partner, it’d be the best way to get to know her honestly. Because it allows for her to show vulnerability through actions and without words. She loves to take care of people and I think in modern times she’d mother her friends just a bit, always making sure they’re eating well, drinking their water, and sleeping right (if not she’ll give them some chai). She doesn’t eat beef or dark meats in general, and she isn’t the biggest fan of seafood or turkey. So, she sticks with her chicken and her paneer. She’ll eat tofu but it needs to be in curry or something similar.

This woman would love 80s hair metal, music is something that I genuinely believe she’d love so much. She’d play drums as a teenager, dead set on becoming the drummer of the next Metallica. She’d also love the old school heavy metal bands, Iron Maiden, Metallica, Black Sabbath, Pantera. She’d love them all. I think she’d like some old school 90s rap too, but none of the new-age mumble rap that’s going on. She wouldn’t really like Taylor Swift’s music, just because it didn’t vibe with her, but she respected Taylor’s ability to get a bag. She has had a huge crush on Adele ever since she heard the album 25 when it came out. She liked some of her music, but thought Adele was drop dead gorgeous and all mature and soulful and shit, hit her in the feels and made her whipped for this woman she didn’t even know.

For movies she loves shitty 80s slasher horror, nothing that makes her think. She’d sit back in her old recliner in her pajamas and house slippers whilst watching Slumber Party Massacre for the third time, and then put on Golden Girls because she feels that Dorothy Zbornak is her spirit animal. She likes a good sitcom too and a ridiculous drama (she loves Desperate Housewives), she likes the camp, the over the top acting and dumb plots, it makes her laugh and feel care free in a way she hasn’t been in a long time. She just wants to curl up with her pets (she would have many) and watch teen-based tv shows that revolve around crime or secrets (Pretty Little Liars, Riverdale, Vampire Diaries, even Buffy etc.). She likes how bad they are, but she gets so invested it’s ridiculous.

For personal scents she’d like more woody, alluring scents that are also kind of sweet. Think Amber by Rag n’ Bone (it smells so good), she doesn’t spray much, just a spritz, it wafts around her just slightly, just enough for women to fall at her feet. Her individual smell wouldn't be overpowering but it would definitely be clear. It’s grounding and soothing. Her sweat stinks though, every time she comes back from the gym, she goes straight to the showers because her own dogs don’t want to come near her b.o.

In general, Sevika is an old woman who couldn’t give less of a shit. She wants to be left alone with her life and her people and chill. Which is why, I feel like she isn’t that opinionated on much unless it’s boundaries or causes she cares about. She just doesn’t have the energy to be bothered with trivial things like which movie to choose for the night, or which restaurant to go to. She is tired and all she wants to do is eat good food with her partner and her pets in a little cottage in the middle of nowhere. She doesn’t like neighbors and she doesn’t like people in her business. She doesn’t need a perfect life, just one that’s hers.

for whatever reason the letters are being weird, it is killing me. Please ignore it.

[neve-rook-datv]

The Trouble Within - Neve Gallus’ personal notes - Part 1

Disclaimer : This story is inspired by fan critiques and discussions regarding the romance dynamics in Dragon Age: The Veilguard, particularly around the evolution of Neve’s relationship with Rook. Many fans felt some frustration with Neve’s hesitance to fully engage in the romance with Rook, and her reserved demeanor. This piece explores why Neve seems to keep her distance despite the intensity of her feelings and reimagines her interactions with Lucanis, whose light-hearted flirtation serves here as a facade to mask her true emotions toward Rook.

Arlathan Forest is a place that almost feels alive—ancient, watchful. The trees arch overhead, their leaves filtering the light into hues of deep green, amber, and burnt red. The ground is blanketed with fallen leaves that shift in color as the sun moves, and the air is thick with the earthy scent of moss and damp wood. It’s hauntingly beautiful, yet there’s a weight to the silence here, as if the forest is holding its breath, waiting.

And then there’s her.

Rook moves ahead of me, weaving through the trees with an ease that feels almost unnatural, like she belongs here in a way I don’t. The dappled light catches on her face, illuminating her profile in vibrant, natural hues, casting shadows that shift across her skin as she steps in and out of patches of sunlight. I find myself watching the way the colors dance around her, highlighting the quiet strength in her posture, the relaxed yet sharp way she holds herself.

Something about the way she walks—confident, steady, each step deliberate yet unhurried—makes it impossible to look away. Hints of amber and evergreen seem to cling to her, as if the forest itself recognizes her presence, drawn to her as much as… well, as much as I am.

I don’t know when this pull began. At first, I told myself it was curiosity, a fleeting interest in her reckless nature, in the way she throws herself into danger without hesitation. But now, watching her in this light, the forest colors framing her like some figure from an ancient tale, I feel something deeper—something I dare not name.

She turns, catching my gaze, and there’s that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, her eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. “Something on your mind?” she teases, breaking the silence and pulling me back to reality.

I force a laugh, a quick, dismissive sound to mask the way my chest tightens. “Just keeping an eye out. No harm in staying vigilant.” But the truth is, I’m mesmerized. The word Trouble slips through my mind again, and it feels like a warning—to her, to me. She’s trouble in every way, and yet… I can’t bring myself to look away.

The deeper we move into the forest, the darker and richer the light becomes, casting Rook in a way that feels almost deliberate, as though the forest itself is revealing something hidden in her. There’s a quiet strength in her gaze, a softness I rarely see, and each time she steps into a beam of light, she seems to command the world around her without even trying. I don’t think she realizes the effect she has on me, the way her presence keeps me unsteady, questioning everything I thought I knew.

Calling her Trouble feels like my last line of defense, the only way I have left to protect myself. It’s a label that’s meant to keep her at arm’s length, to remind me not to get too close. But as that barrier slips, I feel something inside me begin to unravel, like a cord stretched too tight, finally giving way. I can’t stop myself from looking her way, each glance feeding a pull I don’t fully understand, one that unsettles and captivates me all at once. The way she moves, how the light wraps around her, draws me in deeper, makes her seem almost otherworldly, untouchable. And yet, in these moments, I feel closer to her than I’d ever let myself admit.

Lucanis keeps things light, and I remind myself that’s all I need. His flirtations are easy, harmless—a game that lets me forget the weight of everything else, if only for a moment. With him, there’s no need to dig deep or question anything; we can laugh, exchange glances, play at something that never asks for more. It’s uncomplicated, a distraction that feels almost safe in its simplicity.

But even as I tell myself that’s enough, I can’t help feeling a pull toward something beyond that ease, something that makes my heart race in a way Lucanis never could. And that’s when I feel her presence, like a quiet tension at the edges of my thoughts, impossible to ignore. And I… I am left to watch, caught between the fear of what this means and the thrill of simply being near her.

I wanted to keep things simple, to call her Trouble and pretend that’s all she is—a distraction, an annoyance. But standing here in the heart of Arlathan, surrounded by ancient colors and silent trees, I can feel my resolve slipping, the walls I’ve built crumbling with each glance, each step.

She doesn’t know, of course. How could she? She’s focused on the path ahead, oblivious to the chaos she’s causing in my mind. But as the reds and greens cast their final light on her face, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m losing this battle—that “Trouble” is no longer a warning, but a confession.

Edit: Wording, phrasing, flow.

[leggerefiore]

I would like to request an uno reverse on the hcs where s/o misses the pokemen gone on a trip. This time their DARLING is away on a vacation/work/family business, how will they cope?? Can I also ask for giovanni for this too please? 🙏

since you didn't really request anyone else in particular, I did a few other assorted characters

cw: a little angsty in some of them, some comfort,

characters: Giovanni, Larry, Colress, Cyrus

An issue arose suddenly and unexpectedly. You had been caught completely unawares and felt stressed as you worked to make plans last minute to get where you needed to go. Your cell phone was in your hand as you tried to pack away required clothing and items into a suitcase. The hold jingle was echoing out in the room as your lover peered in. His gaze was a bit harsh, likely confused by what you were doing before realising. Whatever worry or panic he may have initially had faded when you explained the situation. Then, another emotion settled in, but you paid little attention to it. Your mind was entirely set on the task at hand. The evening drifted away into nothing but a memory for you both before it could even be realised. You were on a rushed leave the next morning to be gone for a few days.

🚀Giovanni🐈

🟥 Annoyance flooded his mind. He understood that his attendance to a sudden family emergency was unwanted – In fact, he had no particular interest in going himself, but he was very much annoyed. It was rare that he managed to find himself away from his duties as Rocket Boss to enjoy multiple days alone with you. Yet, it had been ripped away from him. He was not angry – no, that was useless aiming of his ire. He sat in his home office, petting his Persian and going over reports. There was little else for him to do.

🟥 At some point in his frustration, he found himself clutching your pillow as he lay in bed, trying to get some sleep one night. Your scent lingered on the fabric. Giovanni would grumble to himself that he felt like a man many years younger than he was as he held it to his chest. In the absence of his fierce irritation, he actually felt oddly lonely. Before you entered his life, he had barely spent much time at home, and what he did was spent lost in the indulgence of leisure and pleasure. With you, however, he found it more of a way to break away from his business facade and relax in a more healthy manner. Without you present… It felt odd. His thoughts drifted to you even as he attempted to do things that would usually keep him occupied. The frustration returned, and he gripped the pillow tighter.

🟥 Eventually, he forced himself to break his attention away from you as best he could. During a work call with Archer, you had been quite far away from his mind. (Though, perhaps, that was related to the nature of the call rather than actually working on having his attention go elsewhere from you.) It all felt unlike him. Being out of control unsettled him. He had been careful to manage every little thing he did, and now it was falling apart. What had you done to him? While his ego would typically prevent him from gaining such a realisation, the situation had laid out almost perfect instruction for it to unfold. You really had him completely wrapped around your finger. He could hardly believe that it was the truth, yet at any time, he could have headed back to the lounges that he used to frequent, he found himself waiting around for you. A shaky breath left him. The Rocket Boss was in too deep. All he could do was grumble and resign himself whatever fate he had apparently walked right into.

🟥 Whatever had happened back home was over, and you walked into a fancy dinner set up at the table. Giovanni sat at his usual chair, tracing the rim of a drinking glass with his finger. An amber liquid sat inside. His intense gaze shifted over to you as a smirk spread across his lips. Of course, he had been aware of your every movement, naturally. Even if he himself would not be joining you, elite guards had been assigned to trail you and make sure that nothing happened to you while you were away. The annoyance plaguing him instantly faded as you joined him at the table, gazing at the likely eye-bulging expensive array of dishes. He caught your chin in his hand and pulled you in for a quick kiss. “Welcome home,” was the only greeting you got before he suggested you eat up. Apparently, there was quite a night ahead of you.

💼Larry🏢

🍙 A sudden business trip was something he understood. He knew he could not accompany you and did not even bother entertaining the thought. Larry more than understood the situation. It was simply something a boss stuck on you and expected you to dance to accomplish if they did not already have anything in order for you. He sighed as he returned to work, head up in the clouds as he conducted battles, and handled the clerical side of things. It felt strange being in the apartment. The word to describe his feelings escaped him. So, he focused on work.

🍙 But working hours could only be so longer before even Geeta opted to cut him off and send him home. Opening the door of his apartment, he unconsciously called out a greeting, only to stop himself. The lights were off sans a lamp in the living room. Right. You were out on a business trip. The salaryman dropped his briefcase in the entryway and slid off his shoes before realising his error. Dinner. The meal had completely been forgotten. Trailing over to the fridge, he opened the door to see a single left-over container of something with a note on it. “In case you have a late night while I'm gone, eat before XX/OO.” Your handwriting. He heated the meal with a heavy feeling in his heart. He would need to remember to thank you.

🍙 Slowly, he realised that he felt oddly empty at home. The plain monotony he had previously followed before engaging in a relationship with you felt like a cold void. Sitting alone eating dinner as the Treasure Eatery, his mind would only wander to you. When had you become such an important piece in his life? The realisation sat heavy on him. Those previous feelings of wanting to just live peacefully and uneventfully felt unknown to him. Peace lied with you. Is that how you felt when he was gone? Suddenly, he felt even worse about all the trips his boss would assign. An urge to be more conscious of how you felt towards him entered his mine. Yes, this emptiness was almost too much to bear. Rika had even commented on him being out of it when he went to the League office over his gym first thing in a day.

🍙 Larry felt his heart race when he heard the door to the apartment open one evening. A voice called out a greeting. He wandered over. You had finally come back from the trip. Unconsciously, he found himself trailing closer to you to bring you into an embrace. The void inside him felt filled. You hugged him back and pecked his cheek. “Welcome back home,” he said simply as he pulled away, “… I had a day off yesterday and actually did a few chores.” You gasped. It was rare the man did anything besides sleep on his days off, but he had felt too restless. He felt himself staying near you as you worked to start unpacking and settling in. It was only after you joined him and the couch that he finally felt relieved. Everything was going back to normal.

🥼Colress🛸

🧪 A friend had asked you to do something last minute after another backed out. Colress thought on it. Did he really have friends in the traditional sense? Not really. You were a friend, he supposed. Those who hire him often could be considered friends in a sense. His find rushed to inquisitive reasons related to bonds. Human to human bonds were honestly a thing he was more deficit in. He understood the concept of friends, yet he never felt a reason to really pursue friendships. His mind fell into a research mode as he found himself reading into psychology and adjacent fields' studies online to pass the time. Perhaps a more thorough understanding of human relationships would help with his research. It certainly was not to distract him from the odd hurt in his chest when he walked into the bedroom to speak with you only to remember at the last moment that you were gone.

🧪 He felt odd as he walked through his home. It was quiet. Clean. Peaceful, all things considered. The perfect counter to the hectic nature that could quickly invade his laboratory depending on the situation. His mind simply expected to see you there, however. Logically, he understood that you were gone, but his brain seemed to want to place you to be curled up on the couch or doing something in the bedroom. Sleeping had become strange. His attention lingered on the empty space next to him. He reached a hand out quite often to feel you, only to touch the sheets. Panic would consume his sleepy mind and worsened by his obscured vision until he could get on his glasses and recall that you were just away and not taken from him. Colress thought it best to log and analyse these feelings for later.

🧪 As he read over his logs one day, his brain slowly began to comprehend the complicated nature of his feelings. Loneliness was the most apparent. Sure, he may have interacted with others in his field or possibly employers, but they were not deep, meaningful relationships. He missed you horribly. Colress felt as if he blinked, and suddenly, his feelings were much deeper and stronger than he could recall. All these reading about relationships resulted in nothing, but understanding his relationship with you was deeply important to him. He reported his finding to you over the phone when you called to chat with him later that day. His description that you are almost certainly the most significant person in his life and that he misses you is an ego boost without a doubt.

🧪 When you finally return home, you are greeted by Colress's Porygon. The artificial pokemon received a quick pet before you wandered to his laboratory. You found him asleep at his desk, a single pokeball having fallen off the table and apparently opening. Impossible to understand datasets were open on his computer still. Walking over to him, you lightly shook him awake, worried about the last time he ate or drank. He startled awake and looked up at with tired dandelion eyes, his glasses resting on top of his head. You reached a hand to bring them down. A genuine smile spread across his face. “Ah, welcome back,” he spoke with his usual cadence and an undertone of rasp. A gloved hand came to hold your own. You almost felt bad for leaving the scientist in such a state, but he was more than happy to see you.

🌌Cyrus🛰

☄️ A family emergency suddenly came up. You knew that he could not just take off work so abruptly, so it was your form of kindness to not include him and cause him any stress. He felt silently grateful that you did not hold his busy schedule against him yet oddly hurt that you felt he would not make time for you. He would have, had you requested him. But, you had not. And now you were gone for a while. Cyrus felt… empty. It was what he preferred, yet it never came in the spaces where you lingered in his mind. Coming home left him with far too many feelings alongside the emptiness he so craved, so he found himself essentially living at the office.

☄️ His work was never-ending, after all. There was always something to be done. Always. Research into various projects was happening, and development periods were constantly starting. He could find something to do, assuredly. Yet… He felt strange as his underlings stared at him. Mars asked if everything was okay at home, while Saturn expressed his concern about how much he was sleeping at the office. Cyrus shrugged them off. It was not their jobs to worry over him. If only to make them stop, however, he went home finally. Opening the door to the empty apartment, he felt strange seeing everything untouched. The air almost felt stale. No one had breathed in the home for a few days, after all. No signs of life since he had last left.

☄️ Sitting on the couch, he gazed around quietly. What had changed in him? Did he not view the absence of emotion as the best solution? Feelings only caused strife, yet the lack of any here left him far more distressed. His mind wandered to you. This was a shared home, after all. You were supposed to be here alongside him. Alongside him…? He felt strange considering the fact that the expectations in life had been shifted to keeping you at his side. The emptiness slowly faded into something more solemn and desperate. You were always there for him, yet he was forced finally to face a situation in which you were not. His cruel thoughts instantly went to attack him. His Weavile hopped out of its pokeball without his command and seemed to curl up in his lap to give him a distraction from his spiralling. He held on to the feline pokemon tightly.

☄️ Your return home was to Cyrus working quietly in his home office. Most of his pokemon seemed to be out around the house. Honchkrow roosted on a stand that you had gotten for it. Houndoom napped outside the door to his office. Crobat had found itself a cosy place in the bed to nap. Weavile was curled up in Cyrus's lap as he swivelled around in his chair when you stepped into the office. Dark circles hung under his eyes. It was not an uncommon sight, truthfully, yet… Your thoughts were interrupted when Cyrus embraced you tightly. The hug was consuming and tight– A rare initiation of affection, too. “Beloved,” his voice was low, barely above a whisper, “I've missed you.” You suddenly felt like unpacking could wait. There were more pressing issues.

[darkdemeter]

I keep thinking about hate sex between Wanda and wolf!R

Just an absolutely vicious battle for dominance with no real victor lol (in the morning they both look like they fought an army of feral cats, the whole room looks like a bomb went off, and the bed is just torn to shreds)

LIKE ANIMALS

◤✘WANDA MAXIMOFF COLUMN | Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader

WARNINGS! ↳ Depictions of (aggressive) SMUT, minors DNI — hate sex — marking — enemies (with benefits) — angst — dominance and power struggle — profanity — minor monster fucking — undisclosed smut variants — overstim — I think that's it?

✎ 1.2k ────────────────┘

  Hate is a very strong word. But it’s the most accurate depiction of yours and Wanda’s relationship. No, you weren’t a couple. Not by a long shot. You hate each other too much to let anything else intervene with what you have. 

  For starters, Wanda hates how much you bite. It gets to a level that she’s beginning to run out of excuses and ways to hide the many, many marks. At first, it started small with a few here and there, but now it’s grown into a full possessive display. 

  She hates how smug you are the following morning when she stumbles into the common area, no less with an audience, she has to make her way about as normal as she can; all the while, you adorn the largest, triumphant smirk. 

   She moans louder, the friction of your mound rubbing against her clit elicits a dirty sound passed her lips. Her legs wrap around your waist tighter as she pulls you closer, her fingers rake through the length of your hair and pull on your roots, whispering in your ear each and every little thing she hates about you. All the while, you mark her skin with darkened bites that fester with your conquest. 

  Your body pins her against the wall with nowhere to go, your claws tear streaks into the once unscathed wall, flakes of creamy white paint and drywall are discarded in a trail that follows you as you each bear into the other. 

  It’s an entertaining fight. It always is. You push and she pushes back, and the rhythm of that never vanishes. She shoves her shoulder up to keep you from laying another victory bite on her, and you in kind don’t take a liking to that, your teeth bare into a snarl.

  “You asked for this,” you growl. 

  She ignores the flare of amber in your eyes as she uses her magic against you, pushing you away. 

  You hate how she expects you to be something you’re not. Never can be. She tries to force submission into you, to train you into her little pet, when that is not what you intend to be. You’ve had enough of someone being the dictator. You’re done with letting someone else be the one in control. 

  You hate how she uses her magic to strip you down, hold you down, and have her fun with you. The games she plays with the scarlet figment dancing at her fingertips, tendrils of tainted unfairness that go against any law of nature, that take away any inhibition to fight back. 

  When she tries to storm away from you, your hand moves forward and latches hold of her, entangling your fingers in her hair. She cries out, back and neck arching, and you sweep in close to mark the column along her neck. 

  You chuckle at her resolve to fight back. Your other hand loops around her, trapping her to your front and grinding your hips into the curve of her arse that fits oh so right against you. 

  “Not so fun when you’re trapped, is it?” you rasp to the shell of her ear, breath hot and laced with the wolf’s longing hunger. 

  “Not really,” she admits, “but it is when you are.”

  She catches you off your guard, turning herself, she forces you backwards some feet away. Before you can close distance, her hands articulate just how she wants you; on your knees.

  She hates the way you hold her down on any surface and make her scream and writhe in pleasure. Everything gets destroyed the moment you both become engrossed in winning this game. The couch is torn to bits, the coffee table is tilted off its even axis and supporting one unbroken leg. The walls never mend completely from their scars, and the trail of destruction follows you into the bedroom. 

  You’re ruthless at this point. Your skin is clawed up, the angry paths of her nails leave red streaks like tattoos, only the fur can hide them when you let the wolf go. Her body grows hot with each orgasm you pull from her. In your hatred for each other, there is a give and take. One that you don’t particularly acknowledge or thank. 

  It’s a muted exchange. 

  You hate the challenge in her voice. “Is that all you got, Dog? I thought wolves were feral animals in the bed—”

  The unhinged roll of your hips against hers catches the rest of her words before she has a chance to bury herself six feet under. 

  Not that such a remark should faze you. She begs for more and then cries she can’t give you another one. That it’s too much. You hate the way she lies through her bliss, her clenched teeth biting down those moans you want to hear her scream until the compound’s foundations quiver and shake. 

  The headboard of the bed raps fast and hard, the wall behind it bleeding with crumbling drywall and the sheets are shorn into threads of fabric, bodies melded together, slapping in combined unison. 

  “Right there, Wolf,” she mewls, hands flying to grasp the bars of the headboard the moment she has you on your back. She hates how you try to lay claim to her time in control and you fucking hate how she moves like a goddess. Her hair sticks to her forehead and down the bend of her back, her skin riddled coldly with sweat that is only curable with the heat of your body and being close to you. 

  “Come on, baby, cum for me,” you groan, right on the precipice of your high. Her knuckles turn white from her hold on the headboard but its stripped away from her at the moment you flip her over, pinning her on her stomach and pulling her hips to you and her legs open. 

  “Y-you’re selfish!” she shrieks into the mauled pillow, panting with each motion. You pay little to the way she squirms beneath you, to get away from you. “So are you.”

  With a bellowing cry of your name, she cums. She’s been exhausted but even you don’t let your own exertions end things just there. The list is endless. 

  In the morning, the room still lingers with the scent of sex. She moans softly, lulled by the relaxation of sleep, unknowing of the thoughts that race through your mind. The only time your mind is safe from her is when she’s asleep. 

  Her skin is sinfully warm as it rubs against you, muscles contracting at the intimate contact. 

  Far too intimate. And you hate it. 

  Nothing more can come of this arrangement. It would ruin everything. You shuffle back, leaving her naked back as a lovely sight as you dress, your clothes tinged by the smell of last night’s affair. But it’s either to suffer with that or have everyone see the still present traces of Wanda’s handiwork marked into your skin. 

  Maybe you spare a final glance at Wanda before you promptly leave.

  By no time long after, Wanda stirs and finds the ruined bed vacant of you. Only the memory of last night to be her company as she assesses the damage, mind able to still envision what transpired. 

  She can still feel what you’ve done to her. Slipping into a pair of shorts and an oversized top, she slumps against the couch’s arm with a dreaded sigh.    There are a plethora of reasons from day one you and Wanda can both count on. But one recent addition is that you both hate that you’re falling in love with each other.

[yanderelinkeduniverse]

Yandere Legend Headcanons

For @numberonehere2008

Once upon a time I called Legend a “tsundere” which - while not inaccurate - doesn’t do Legend’s character justice. Legend isn’t unnecessarily cold and he doesn’t push away people he considers friends, he isn’t even as jaded as I originally portrayed him as.

But Legend does have some problems with being vulnerable and open that stems from losing so many people, and he’s quick to suppress romantic feelings.

This means that he’s one of the few in the group who takes a while to accept his overwhelming feelings for you specifically because he’s in denial about those feelings. He isn’t ready to admit that he’s fallen for someone other than Marin.

However, he will still act upon these feelings, even if in just subtle ways. After all it’s hard to act completely apathetic to your own feelings when being around a specific person leaves you on cloud nine.

For example, Legend has just found a new use for his large collection of items, specifically his rings. He’s already got so many, so why not give you one that has a defensive enchantment on it, like Wild’s amber earrings that increase defense. To him it’s a win-win situation because not only are you just that bit more safe but you’re also wearing something of his on your person all the time.

Yeah, underneath it all this man is possessive as shit.

Even when he hasn’t fully accepted his own feelings he’ll still feel his stomach coil with jealousy when he sees you chatting amicably with his fellow heroes. When he actually has fully accepted his feelings and have thus gone off the deep end, you can bet that possessiveness becomes more obvious.

He’ll be quick to threaten anyone who comes just a little too close to you in towns or villages. And that ring he gave you? Whenever he gets the chance he’ll subtly slip it onto your left ring finger. He’ll never admit it but having that claim over you makes him practically purr with contentment.

Since he’s actually one of the more touchy members of the Chain(though really they are all pretty touchy) his possessiveness can sometimes manifest as simply keeping a hold on you even in casual situations.

Hand holding, an arm around your shoulder or waist, this man will never pass up the opportunity to be holding onto you. And when he isn’t but wants to be, he’ll silently be gripping his tunic in an effort to trick himself into believing he’s holding your hand.

But going back to the tsundere nature, because Legend spends so long telling himself that he doesn’t love you and pulling away, he can actually be one of the more chill members of the group.

He has the ability to be self aware and lucid where the others are clouded by their own delusions. He knows that clinging to you and keeping you trapped with the Chain will only make you miserable, so he acts accordingly and forces himself and others to reel it in when you need space.

It’s why he’s the one who brings the Chain back together when rivalries have the group by the throat. He’s the one who makes sure they know that teamwork is the only way to keep you safe and cared for.

Don’t be fooled though, if he could keep you all to himself without jeopardizing your happiness he would, without hesitation.

Something else I had established once upon a time was that Legend and the Chain wouldn’t actually murder people, even if they crossed a line.

This has clearly changed.

Sure, they wouldn’t just randomly murder civilians, but if someone messes with you too much in the worst ways possible, chances are they’re not going to live to see the light of day again.

And I think Legend is the first to actually suggest that they straight up kill someone in a “fuck it, why not just do it?” kind of way. But to be fair, this suggestion doesn’t just come out of nowhere.

Legend is clever and he’s not half bad at reading people, even if he isn’t as good at it as the Captain. The only reason he would feel comfortable enough to suggest this to his still on-the-fence companions is because he can tell that they are feeling the exact same bloodlust he’s feeling.

They wouldn’t want to accept it, but he knows and he’s convincing enough to draw out these darker parts of his brothers.

So they’ll kill and maim and torture anyone who ever dares to speak crudely to you or lay an unkind hand on your person. And in the spray of blood and gore that comes with their justice, he’ll feel connected to his brothers in a way he hasn’t before.

All for you, of course, always for you.

[mystra-midnight]

Hi! I just came across your blog, and may I say, it's so professional, clean cut and put together, I am impressed!

If I may, could I request the 'Vanilla Slice'?

For the song, 'Better Love' by Hozier, and Geralt of Rivia for the character?

Honestly, so far, I'm loving your work!!! Thank you for your time! ☺

Babe, you're so incredibly sweet! I tried hard to ensure things were set up cleanly and simply but still super pretty, so I'm so glad you like it!

Thank you so so much for sending in an order, and I hope you enjoy your sweet treat! <3

A storm was blowing in, clouds dark and heavy, mirroring the turmoil inside your heart. You stood at the window, watching as sheets of rain cascaded down and lightning forked across the sky. The air was thick with the scent of the wet earth and something more — something that felt like a change.

Geralt was behind you, seated across the room. You could hear him sharpening his silver sword, the sound of the whetstone against the metal a steady rhythm. His presence was impossible not to notice; it was all around you, filling the room. Normally, it was grounding, but tonight, it was almost. . . oppressive. 

The years spent circling each other, bound by fate but torn apart by your own fears, seemed to be bearing down on you, ready to come crashing down like the storm outside. “Do you ever wonder, Geralt,” you began, your words barely above a whisper, much like an exhale. “If we could have had. . . a different life?”

You heard him pause mid-grind and imagined how he would be as still as stone and where the whetstone would be paused at the centre point of the blade. It didn’t matter that you’d spoken so softly or that the storm was loud enough to drown you out, he heard. And he was silent. Words weren’t his strength, especially concerning matters of emotions.

You didn’t dare look at him. His expression was stern, and his amber eyes traced the lines of your silhouette. He took in the way your hair fell over your shoulders and how your posture always held a fierce grace, even in moments like this one — moments of vulnerability.

“No,” he answered, simple and plain.

You thought that would be the end of it, but it wasn’t.

“What we have. . . it isn’t easy. It never will be,” he said, his voice deep and rough, making you shiver. You heard him place his sword down, yet still could not look. “But it’s ours. What we have is real. And real. . . is enough.”

You closed your eyes and wrapped your arms around yourself, fighting back the emotions that swelled inside you. For all the power you possessed and all your intelligence, love had always been the one thing that eluded your control. Its fragility frightened you, how it came and went so easily. Yet, you had never wanted anything as much as you wanted him.

“I — I don’t know if I can do this forever,” you admitted. At long last, you turned to face him, watching him from across the room as you opened your soul to him. “The fighting. The running. There is always something — someone — between us.”

Geralt rose and crossed the room in that silent, deliberate way of his. And when he stood before you, he was motionless, not yet touching you. The distance felt like a chasm where the air crackled with tension, as though the forces of nature collided in that empty space. 

“The world will always be what it is. Harsh. Unforgiving.” His voice was softer now, somehow more intense than if he was to growl or shout. “I don’t care how many times we get pulled apart. We’ll find our way back to each other.”

You searched his beautiful eyes, looking for some hint of doubt, some sign that he, too, might be wavering. But there was none. His eyes, those sharp, cat-like eyes, held the same steadfastness that you had come to rely on, even when you could hardly trust yourself.

“And if we don’t?” You asked, voice trembling. “What if one day we can’t?”

He finally reached for you, his large hand cupping your cheek, his rough fingers threading into your hair. The way he touched you was tender, but there was a possessiveness to it, too — a quiet insistence that you were his, and he was yours, no matter the cost.

“We will,” he said, simple and plain once again. “There is no better love for me.”

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes as his warmth seeped into your bones. This love you had for him, that he had for you, wasn’t perfect. It was raw, fierce, and often painful. But it was yours. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

—interested in joining? check out the menu and send in your order!

[literallys-illiteracy]

The floor of natural sciences:

I've been sitting on this essay for a long time and its finally up to the standard i want to start maintaining (at least somewhat) from now on.

As a preface, i am so sorry for how long this one is. No, its unlikely that the other realisation analysis will be this long, its just because of how many threads there are in this one, plus the addition of Jungian psychology and tarot cards.

i only have a tangent anywhere near as long as the tarot stuff in one other essay at most, at least for the floor realisations.

Magical girls:

The story of all four* Magical girls are intertwined, with all of them meant to represent virtues; the magical girls of Happiness, Justice, Love, and Courage, eventually growing to represent Greed, Despair, Hatred, and Wrath; each magical girl represents a dichotomy of human emotions.

The Queen of hatred, also known as the difficulty wall, is the magical girl of love, whose sole purpose in the world is to defeat villains, to act as a force against evil. If the world lacks a villain, if her purpose is null, then she shall fulfil it by becoming the villain herself, her neurotic obsession with justice leading to her coming to represent the hatred against villains in the world, and the love towards those who defeat them.

The King of Greed, the Magical girl who represents happiness, who seeks desires, who believes that the root of desire is the greed to claim more; The King, in seeking her desires, eventually fell, now trapped in the amber seal. 

The king Devours all, seeking more to consume for her desires, the sin of greed inherently seeks more, seeks for eternity, seeks to claim until it cannot anymore; The day the King’s hunger ceases will be the end of everything.

The Knight of despair, the knight dedicated to protect the kingdom, to protect what was right in the world, and her sisters, the king and queen (that felt weird typing). The faith and dedication she felt towards her country was betrayed. One who fought for good became evil, upon realising that there was no longer evil in the world. One who dreamed of happiness for all, a world where everyone could meet their desires was consumed themselves, and began to devour everything; All that remains of this kingdom is the Despair and pain of one who found that everything they had fought for, everything they had upheld, was for nothing, the knight, looking back, was never able to protect, nor uphold, anything at all.

The knight wishes to save others, to ensure that she could protect others in the world, otherwise her blade shall have no purpose, only to be turned against the world that she could not protect 

The servant of Wrath…. I'll be honest I remember absolutely nothing of wonderlab, all you need to know is that, after finding, and subsequently losing companions, the servant was consumed by rage, knowing only hatred and wrath against the hermit… I'll reread Wonderlab eventually and update this… maybe?

Tarot and playing cards:

The King and Queen are rather obvious in terms of playing cards, with the Jack representing both the Knight and Servant, and the Jester trumping them all as the Joker card.

Tarot cards:

This was probably not what you expected to be reading today was it? 

All of the Magical Girls have allusions to the Tarot in some way shape or form, most strongly tied to the Tarot are the Knight of Despair and the Servant of Wrath (and by extension the Hermit).

From the Major Arcana:

The hermit, when reversed, represents loneliness and isolation of a person, the person having lost their way in life, blind to all else; The Servant of Wrath being the opposition of the Hermit, thus, represents these traits, Blind rage against the Hermit, and the loss of companions to them, isolating them from the world.

Simultaneously the Servants themselves represent the Tarot of strength, showing bravery and courage, feeling strong compassion towards those who have been lost and finding the strength to stand against the Hermit.

Minor Arcana: 

The Suits of the Minor Arcana are more akin to playing cards, as in they each have 4 picture cards; The King, Queen, Knight, and Page (a royal or knight’s servant), which we may link clearly to our four magical cast.

There are four suits of minor arcana as well, akin to a deck of cards, the suits of Wands, Cups, Swords, and Pentacles, representing: the passion and the pursuance (meursault jumpscare) towards one's goals, the invigorating passion that drives oneself; the depth of emotion, especially emotions felt towards and directed at others, from love and compassion to hatred, the emotional complexities of one's heart; intellect and judgement, the ability to resolve through reason and ethics with a clear mind, being able to see your path and find balance within yourself; and finally the physical world, the tangible possessions that one may have, take, or desire, the importance of happiness and stability in the world. 

Each of the minor arcana may be linked to the Magical girls, the servant for wands, queen of cups, knight of swords, and king of pentacles.

As a final note i want to talk about a specific card in the suit of swords, i'm not aware if this was an intentional reference by project moon however; In the Suppression fight of the Knight of Despair, three enemies appear as the swords of a forgotten knight, additionally when in despair, all swords use a unique page; the heart-piercing sword, Heart-breaking Sword, and Heart-tearing sword; The Three of swords represents heartbreak, ones suffering, ones grief in life, the exact virtues which the knight represents.

The jester of Nihil

The jester of Nihil has a strange amount of nuance for an abnormality without a lore page to look through within Lobotomy Corporation, as it is one of the few abnormalities original to the game of Ruina, however the Jester makes reference to the tarot of the fool, to the meaning of the magical girls, and strongly links to the Floor realisation as a whole.

The Jester is a strange case among the floor, as it’s true nature is presented at face value, the magical girls all act as mirrors of themselves, showing their virtues and their flaws in all, yet Nihil is all that the jester represents, the Nihilism that all things in life are worthless, what good are virtues when the virtuous are never rewarded, when there is no true meaning in life why care to exist as a person, rather than indulge in your own flaws.

The jester acts as a mirror, the Joker being played as a trump card over the reigning achievements of the magical girls, showing their flaws, telling them that all they have done is nothing, the worthless greed, pointless hate, meaningless despair, and senseless wrath; The Magical Girls must each shatter this distorted reflection of themselves in order to defeat the jester, for greed to become happiness, for hatred to dissolve into love, for Wrath to uncover courage, for despair to make way for justice.

The internal battle to overcome one's nihilism in life, the expectation for the meaning of existence to come to oneself, the Magical Girls must overcome their flaws, realise and remember their purpose.

Back on tarot cards quickly:

The Tarot of the fool is a young man venturing across a road, joyful and unaware of himself, uncaring for any dangers that life may present. As he ventures further, the dog by his side warns him, about to topple over a cliff, and lest he become aware he will venture and fall. 

The Text of the Jesters cards makes allusions to the tarot, walking the road without the dog to warn the jester it has no purpose, a head of void, walking without a purpose or direction, simply walking. 

To add on to this, and to link it further back to the mirror that the jester is meant to be, the abnormality page “magical girls” reads: 

the jester retraced the steps of a path everybody would’ve taken. The jester always found itself at the end of that road. There was no way to know if they had gathered to become the jester, or if the jester had come to resemble them;

the road of life, the one which the tarot of the fool walks unaware of himself, the one that the jester walks without any intent or meaning, the path that all people take, always came back to the jester, those who walk the path began to resemble the nihilism of the jester, or perhaps those who walked before him imprinted upon him, now, driven by base instinct, the jester walks the path, speaking the names of all he has met before him.

As the magical girls walked upon their paths, blinded by obsession (ishmael jumpscare), consumed by their greed, lost to wrath, and broken by despair, their shared agonies led their roads to the same destination, to the jester who denied meaning in life:

In essence, the jester, and the tarot of the fool, represents all of the magical girls, they walked their paths in life, oblivious to what was in front of them, blinded by rage, driven forward by greed, complacent and unaware of the cliff they walked towards; the knight, broken by an endless cycle of betrayal, blinded through teardrops, and the queen, denied a purpose in life, left to aimlessly wander and create her own path, all walked, blissfully unaware of the direction they walk.

The expectation for the meaning of existence:

As should be fairly obvious, the nihilism portrayed by the jester in the floor's final act is in direct opposition to the floor’s theme labelled above.

In nihilism, a large aspect is the lack of drive, if one has no meaning in life, no set path before them to walk, left only to their intuition, then they may stray further towards a cliff’s edge, with no set place in the world, one can expect nothing in life; Tiphereth embodies the opposite of this viewpoint, mirroring the nihil of Roland and the jester, in Enoch’s final death, rather than despairing and giving into grief, Tiphereth (A) finds her path in ensuring that her brother’s death, and the countless copies within lobotomy corporation, were for a reason. Tiphereth, after Enoch dies, seeks to complete the seed of light with Angela, she finds her path, resolving to give her brother’s death a meaning.

In this we may mirror the jester to Tiphereth’s character, but we may also mirror the magical girls as a whole, who act as a foil; The servant of wrath, after losing a companion, gives into blind rage towards the Hermit, while Tiphereth accepts her loss. The king of Greed, in pursuing her desires, consumes more and more, before sealing herself away. Tiphereth, after her brother was lost in the pursuit of a better world, remained in wanting, rather than taking more. The Knight of despair, and the Queen of hatred, both losing a purpose in life, The Knight being robbed of one from another’s greed, and the Queen losing hers in obsession, mirror Tiphereth as well: Tiphereth, after working towards the seed of light’s completion, being her only goal in life to complete, watched as Angela took the light for herself, Just like the Knight, she was robbed of her purpose, finding that everything she had worked towards in the past was for nothing. However, Tiphereth join’s Angela, rather than falling to despair she seeks to ensure that all she did was not truly in vain, that she worked towards something tangible, that her life had a meaning. 

The Queen, is in essence the same, seeing the light germinated, if Angela was not to interfere, would leave Tiphereth without a meaning, to be left and powered down; The Queen, after completing her purpose, went forth to seek more, the obsession to have a meaning in life driving her towards destruction, rather than acceptance of completion

Magical Roland:

I have nothing but my sorrow, and I want nothing more. It has been, it still is, faithful to me. Why should I begrudge it, since during the hours when my soul crushed the depths of my heart, it was seated there beside me?

Each magical Girl’s link to Roland is quite obvious, with them each acting as a reflection of himself, through the looking glass of the jester, and portraying his past sorrows, channelling their shared agonies into one. 

"What is the reason I exist, when there’s nothing to look forward to… All I wished for was a peaceful world, what’s so wrong with that? ...In the end, I failed to keep one person safe… One person…"

The queen of hatred, as the name suggests, represents Roland’s hatred; Roland, in losing his wife, lost his purpose in life, he was no longer the ‘person’ Roland as far as he was the mask he wore, both Roland and the Queen, losing sight of the future, losing purpose to fight for justice, losing what defined them in the world, become beasts, destroying recklessly in their path in a desperately despairing attempt to create a new meaning for themselves, their purpose of love, leading to their rampage of hatred.

Both Queen and Roland sought to find a meaning to exist; If fighting villains was her purpose, then she must become the villain in their stead; if Angelica was his purpose, then his vengeance must drive him until it is done.

"I should have emptied out my heart, so I wouldn’t have to experience loss ever again."

In Return from an operation in district 25, Roland finds himself without a home, the pianist having ravaged district 9 - Roland finds the disfigured corpse of Angelica, reaching out in her last moments, now fused to the piano; Roland and Anglica had plans for life, they wanted to live a happy life free from the dangers of the city, they wanted to protect each other, and their child. They failed. In finding that all he had fought for was for nothing, that he was not able to uphold his virtues in the world, Roland fell into a pit of despair, having failed to protect, Roland turns his blade upon the world like the Knight does, his eyes too blinded by tears to know where his blade points.

"Only darkness resides here. How can I suddenly start seeing what I couldn’t my whole life."

Roland’s Connection to the Knight runs deeper into Roland’s past however, when Roland joined the smoke war, the moment he realised the machinations by which the city runs, the awful truth which remains concealed from vision, fueling each motion of the greater machine; Roland cannot fight to upstand a moral world, he cannot uphold justice in an unjust world. In realising this, Roland conceals himself in response, slowly becoming the mask he wears, an empty cold darkness.

 "The first bit of humanity's desire started with the bite of a sweet apple. We've been banished from Eden for that sin. And now we're standing inside a vast orchard. My basket is so large, all the fruits of the world can't make it full. But, is it so bad to lust for honey when there are flowers? After all, we are born to pursue happiness."

Roland, long into his existence, yet never having lived, experienced this joy meeting Angelica, she taught him to become a human, and, after all, Humans are born to pursue happiness.

While Roland’s greed was not a folly, he sought for more joy in life: he married Angelica, quit his work as a fixer, had a child, settled down in a home, he needed these joys in life to live, rather than just exist. Roland sought for more, to migrate to a nest – to do one last job as a fixer, seeking his friend’s connections. 

It is the Nature of Greed to hunger for more…

"...Sadness says: ‘Begone, pass away!’ But greed seeks eternity—seeks deep, deep eternity."

Much like the King, Roland began to devour everything in his path, the city… those responsible… everyone must feel the same sorrow that he had felt. In the hell which served as their one and only home, Angelica was no more, the city took from Roland, and he would take everything from the city.

Roland’s rampage was fueled by hunger, a hunger for revenge, a hunger for meaning, all ways to fill the void which took residence within him, the consuming abyss taking the place of his soul; His heart belonged to Angelica, and it was taken alongside her life. 

Though not the greed to gain what he hadn’t, it was the greed which compelled him, which caused him to fill the vacuum of emotions that Angelica had left behind, no matter how many were to die, the hunger never ceased, Greed seeks eternity—seeks deep, deep eternity

"That’s why I lost… Broke down because of someone I loved dearly…"

In his emptiness, Roland was filled with despair and hatred. Anger. Wrath. All the rage he had ever felt blinded him to the world. Like the Servant he was no more than a mindless monster destroying all that stood in his path—Roland was not a fixer, he was not the same Roland who led Charles’s office, he was simply a rampaging beast, directing his hate towards all who were near, friend or foe.

(listen i still haven’t re read wonderlab so i can't remember if there's really any more nuance to the servant’s story)

"Blinded by carnal desires and jealousy, he willingly walks to the edge of the cliff…"

The jester of Nihil represents Roland’s EGO in whole, not in the sense that it is him manifesting one, rather that it is the nature for all who walk the road of life without meaning to resemble the Jester; Taking the part of the fool, Roland is blind to his path ahead, expecting no meaning in his life past revenge; The Nihilism trumping the virtues of the Magical Girls, who Roland has walked the path of; Roland’s persona of the Jester denying the virtues which he has held, reflecting hollow shells of the magical girls.

The battle of the Jester acts to remind Roland of himself, in defeating Nihil, Roland confronts his past, knowing that, even if one loses themselves, it is not the past that defines a person; The road they walk leads back to the jester, but only the Fool continues walking blindly.

One must find themselves in order to continue in life, rather than walking blindly to the path's end.

In playing the fool, Roland’s life may be represented by the tarot itself, as many interpret the Major Arcana to be the path waiting before the fool, the journey and story of his life ahead, split into thirds.

Beginning the story as the everyman (expanded on in Chesed), the fool, Roland's life, and the first 7 of the arcana preceding him represent one's personal relationships, the bonds one forms and the knowledge or intuition gained from them.

Though I'm sure that someone more knowledgeable of the tarot could likely match these tarot to specific points, events, and people throughout Roland’s life, its not necessary for the understanding of the journey at large.

The journey starts with the fundamental balancing forces of the material world and human psyche, naturally.

The Magician and High Priestess, as mentioned above, represent the human conscious, and unconscious respectively. They represent the ego and the unconscious of one's mind, the current awareness, grounded in the present and holding the power to act, and the passive potential waiting to be called upon.

The reason I am discussing these two in particular is due to their connection to the mind and psychology, in which Roland is deeply linked, specifically to the concept of the Persona.

In Jungian psychology exists the concept of the persona, the outward mask that you present to the world and to others, the way in which you present yourself, on one hand, to make a definitive impression of yourself upon others, on the other hand, to conceal the true nature of the individual. 

The way in which someone presents themselves is vital to society, in order to communicate and function with others, the risk is, that if a person lacks a definitive sense of self, a strong ego in a sense, then they risk becoming, or rather, being consumed by their persona; if a person lacks a separation between who they are and what society expects of them they are identical to their persona, they have hidden behind a mask of what others expect that you no longer remember your face behind.

A persona may adapt, change, or be abandoned over time, if a person attempts to gain social reputation, they will hide more of their true face, limit their selfhood in favour of social acceptance; Should a person lack a persona, they are blind to the social world in a sense, seeing it as a playground without consequences, lacking social tact.

Roland and the jester are both connected to this concept; Roland’s defining piece of equipment being a mask which blocks all others from perceiving the real him, only shattered by Angelica, who gave him a reason to live as a person, rather than as the void hid behind.

The Jester can be understood as the mask itself, the nihilistic persona taken on by those who have no path forward, who continue walking the road ahead without reason, without a drive to define themselves by, to define them as a “Self” by. 

I look just like them, and they look just like me when they’re together

In order to prevent losing oneself to the mask they wear, it is important to have a strong ego to remain present; As mentioned above, the beginning of the fool’s journey represents the ego, the conscious mind which acts to maintain the self against the persona.

The remaining cards are not strictly important to discuss for understanding of this story; The Lovers could be understood as Angelica and Roland, the Hierophant as Roland leading/joining Chales’s office, but they aren’t integral.

Leading into the second stage of the journey is the chariot, representing confidence and stability and, when reversed, the loss of one's path

Losing sight of his path, the fool, our fool, retraced his steps back, and found himself at the start of the road, walking in the steps that everyone must have taken before:

From here, our fool(s) journey diverges, the second leg of this journey, faced by the fool who has faced, who has learned from those that he met along the path, is silent, bearing the weight of a man longing for death.

Losing his path in life, Roland’s story continues in his rampage; Though he has a reason to live, it acts as his drive to die, his desire for this suffering to end; Through the death of Angelica, he loses the ego that was found in the past, his conscious self, his human mind of the present blinded to emotion, Roland is no different than the fool at the beginning of the journey, approaching the cliff without care, simply walking along the path.

The second stage of the journey, following the discovery of oneself, represents the ordeals of life larger than yourself, beyond your personal sphere.

As with before, discussion of each card’s meaning is not needed to understand these legs, Roland’s journey is not one that has ended, yet he may be understood in the third leg as well, the search for meaning, for one's place in this world, for your own meaning in the universe.

Lacking the ego gained in his first leg, our fool; The Jester; Roland, continues travelling without purpose, retracting his steps, Roland returns to a road that everyone would've taken, finding himself lost at the end of this road.

Though finding the meaning that the fool sought from the hermit, the reason to live, Roland no longer has the answer to guide him, instead he is simply isolated, never able to live as a human again; 

Roland embraces the Devil, releasing his desires, acting on these urges, believing that they are the only thing that may bring him joy.

In the rampage which was the extent of his continued life, Roland eventually finds himself along the end of the path, this road which was meant to end his sorrow.

still, he finds himself lost.

Roland finds himself at the start of a path everyone would've taken.

He always finds himself at the start of that road.

He always finds himself at the end of that road.

In the end, Roland seeks his final completion, the end of his life’s journey, the tarot of the world, of absolution, completion, resolution.

Roland, seeking fulfilment, seeking his sense of self, he finds himself at the start of a path everyone would've taken.

He always finds himself at the end of this road.

Roland cannot find his self at the start of this road.

Roland can never find his self at the end of this road.

[the-masked-ram]

Never Late, Never On Time- Togame x GN!Reader drabble

A/N: this is the sfw festival drabble for @ficsforgaza sponsored by @sophiawhite0066 thanks so much for the sponsor and sorry for the slow post!

@interstellar-inn

Reminder I still have a lot of fics for gaza to available, tons of drabbles multichaps, and a couple drabble series. If you are interested in seeing a specific fandom I write for let me know and I might add a drabble to donation pile (this is not a request invitation)

CW: sfw, literally this is rare pure fluff from me(not even a kiss)

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The warmth of the night was unusual for fall, the humidity not necessarily as uncommon. However, neither was necessarily unwelcome. It was easy to slip into the festival mood with the heat and the sparkling lanterns and lights strung through the stalls. The smell of sweetened soy sauce for dango mixed wonderfully with the salt of the more savory offerings like meat skewers and dried squid. It was hard not to let your senses pull you into the wonderland waiting just in front of you.

But you forced yourself to hang back, forced yourself to wait. You balanced carefully on the geta you were not used to, and for a moment you were jealous of Togame who would be used to this atmosphere and the clothing that came with it. Jo, the man you were meeting here, and just the thought had your fingers tightening in the light silk of your yukata. You were honestly glad you had forgone the under-robes you would normally wear for fall because tonight was too hot, and you were too nervous. You’d have sweated through the layers within moments.

You frowned as you checked the time and realized Togame was making you wait again. He was only five minutes late, but it was just so him. He would show up with one minute to spare before it rolled into fifteen minutes, spouting some bullshit about how he couldn’t be truly late until that minute hand ticked into the fifteen zone. You rolled your eyes even as you smirked, because though this was your first date together, nothing had truly changed.

You were looking at some masks when you felt the presence at your back, when a hand that had begun to grow familiar with the subtle brushes you'd been experiencing the last few weeks, settled into yours. His fingers tangled with yours, and you took a steadying breath as your lungs seized and heart thrashed.

“Hello, Jo,” you whispered.

“Hey, darling,” he responded, the smirk audible in his lazy voice. “Wait long?”

His words were barely a sentence, all slurred in his usual way that showed he had hardly any energy for anything that wasn’t fighting. Yet here he was, looking at you with those sleepy and adoring eyes as he slowly blinked life back into them. He’d found time in his napping schedule to spend on you yet again. Like always.

The thought did anything but calm your rebellious chest. Instead, everything inside it seemed to shudder as you looked at him back and felt a swooping pleasure take over your gut.

“Think it was ten minutes this time,” you said with a pout that was fighting to unfurl into a grin.

“Not late,” he responded as if he knew the thoughts you were entertaining just moments before.

That smile you’d been holding back finally took hold, turning your puffy lower lip smoother as your mouth curled. He returned the expression, though his was relaxed and half-assed that look in his eyes, however, was anything but. The one that both pinned you down and raised you higher. You breathed, taking in his scent of amber musk and the sugary bubbles of Ramune that always seemed to cling to him.

“If that’s what you say,” you answered with a laugh.

Those calloused fingers that you had grown to recognize grew tighter as he drew you closer. This was a first date, but so many things were unknown were Togame. Would he rush this? Would you be the reason he quickened his pace? You looked at him with wide and affectionate eyes and his gaze flickered down to your smiling lips.

No, he wouldn’t, but not because of his relaxed nature. There was plenty of heated desire festering beneath the surface of his green eyes. He wouldn’t hurry it along because he wanted the ache growing so sweetly in his chest to bloom until he couldn’t stand it. He wanted to own everything about you and, if that meant stringing those things he wanted to do for you, to do to you, out just a bit longer then he would. He was used to taking it slow and though everything in him screamed to take your soft waist in his wide grip and kiss you senseless now, he would make you need him with your heart and mind long before he claimed your body. Since you’d already stolen all of him.

“C’mon, I saw some dango over there,” he tilted his chin toward a stall.

“Shouldn’t we have something more like dinner,” you chided but followed him with a laugh that lit up your entire face.

It was a laugh that would rival the fireworks the two of you watched later on in the night, chomping away at taiyaki as you sat on the edge of the river and pointed out your favorites. Even though your hand was busy the one clasped in his never left it the entirety of the night. Neither of you spoke about why, neither of you told each other that you were desperate for every scrap of a second to last a little longer in each other’s company. And for once, as Togame stood on your doorstep with his hands finally deep in his old Shishitoren jacket, he wished he hadn’t been ten minutes late. Those ten minutes now felt like an eternity. Maybe you could break his habit of never being on time. You and your firework eyes.

[oltammefru]

IS4 has the most fucked difficulty system in anything I've played ever.

Braving Nature 0 with no progression tree upgrades is about on par in difficulty with BN15 with the full tree.

Since the game gives you so, so many buffs for going up in difficulty, between more flairs on foldartals, the Musbeast's Hoard/Fowlbeast's Amber/Hornbeast's trail buffs, and the massive improvements on a pretty decent number of collectibles, BN0 and BN9 full tree are approximately the same difficulty. (When accounting for the fact that you are getting upgrades while climbing, so many people I've

IS4 makes you start out playing on a forced "easy" difficulty that severely nerfs your progression tree progress, while actually being incredibly hard without any upgrades (which you don't have since the rewards for playing on BN0 suck ass). It's made even more annoying by the fact that the difficulty curve between the first 10ish difficulties is basically totally flat, but later difficulties give way way more progression while not meaningfully being harder. BN9 gives nearly 2.5x the rewards as BN0 while being the same difficulty.

All of this combines for a really awful first impression of IS4, like if I were a new player that played IS4 for the first time, and not a player already very invested in IS as a gamemode, I would have just never touched the gamemode again. I had the fortune of someone else grinding to max tree/BN15 on the main account on played on, but now I've been grinding to max tree/BN15 on my own account and even with 50+ hours of IS4 experience under my belt still just kind of sucks.

I'm just really confused by who this early game experience is meant for. Is it new players, with the forced "easy" difficulty? Then why is the early experience, including the "easy" difficulty that doesn't do anything to make the experience an easy difficulty (unlike IS2/IS3 which had a perfectly reasonable and fine stat buff to everyone) so, so fucking hard? Is it meant for the more enfranchised players? Then why did they make the early IS4 experience force you to play BN0?