#and contains the glorious lines

[joeyfromthetrack]

The Breakup Pact - OB⁸⁷

Oliver Bearman x bestfriend!reader

Summary: Ollie and his best friend made a pact to not date anyone for at least 6 months after some terrible relationship fails but Ollie's PR desperately needs fixing. The solution? Fake dating.

Contains: fluff, some social media

Oliver Bearman was the king of the overtake and the king of bad decisions—off-track, at least.

His best friend stared at her phone, snorting at the headline: “Ollie Bearman: Fast Cars, Faster Breakups?”

"Honestly, do they think I’m collecting heartbreaks like podium trophies?" Ollie said, sliding into the seat across from her at their favorite London café. His baseball cap was low over his eyes, trying and failing to hide the fact that he was one of the most recognizable faces in Formula 1.

“I mean,” she said, handing over her phone with a wicked grin, “statistically, you’ve had more breakups than wins this season.”

“That hurts.”

She sipped her latte. “Truth often does.”

They’d made The Breakup Pact three months ago. Over tequila and takeout, sitting in sweatpants on her couch after she came home from what may have been the worst date she had ever been on and he had been dumped 2 days prior.

​​So they swore off dating. Six months, no exceptions.

No rebounds. No late-night texting flings. No feelings. Just friendship. Glorious, uncomplicated, platonic friendship.

And it worked.

Mostly.

Until Ollie started getting dragged by the press, and his PR team begged for a reputation fix.

Until she walked into the café that day in a sundress that made him forget what breathing was.

Until he slid his phone across the table and said, “Want to break the internet?”

Phase One: The Soft Launch

It started with a single Instagram post.

A blurry photo, posted on his Story. She was next to him on his boat on the lake, enjoying strawberries and chocolates. Her face wasn't visible, it was a perfect way to begin a soft launch.

Olliebearman posted a story

Caption: Not pictured: her 4-hour playlist of sad girl anthems.

Immediately, the F1 fandom lit up.

“WHO is she???”

“Y’all this feels personal.”

They said nothing.

Two days later, she posted a mirror selfie of the hotel room they were sharing for a Grand Prix weekend.

yourusername posted a story:

Caption: Slightly clingy xx

The comments came fast:

“Soft launch confirmed.” “Is this actually her?"

Phase Two: The Public Appearance

“You sure about this?” she whispered, looping her arm through his as they enter the paddock at Jeddah

"Yeah absolutely." He gives her a reassuring smile, his eyes shining when he looked at her.

The cameras went insane. Ollie Bearman with her on his arm.

People noticed. Social media really noticed.

And so, like all rational, emotionally mature adults... they leaned into it.

He was staring at her. Really staring.

And then he blinked, cleared his throat, and turned to face the cameras.

They smiled. They posed. They laughed like people madly in love. And somewhere, somehow, a line started to blur.

yourusername posted:

Caption: He made me match, 0/10 boyfriend

Olliebearman posted:

Caption: She called me bossy, 10/10 real girlfriend.

Over the next few weeks, “fake dating” became more real than either of them admitted.

It was subtle at first.

He started texting her “good morning” and “get home safe” like it was muscle memory. She began sitting through entire F1 practice sessions just to watch his onboards, making inside jokes about his cornering style.

During a race weekend in Austria, she found a note tucked into her hotel pillow. It was scribbled on the back of a tire compound chart, in his handwriting:

“If I crash, tell the world it’s because I was thinking about your smile. —OB”

She rolled her eyes. And yet she kept the note. Folded it neatly and slipped it into her wallet.

Phase Three: The Blur

It started as fake.

She knew that. He knew that.

But he still made her coffee every morning exactly the way she liked it.

She still memorized his qualifying times and texted him “your car deserves you” every race day.

He let her fall asleep on him during flights. She stole his hoodies. He never asked for them back.

And then there was the night in Barcelona.

He’d crashed out in Q2. A dumb mistake. His fist had slammed into the garage wall, and the media had been brutal. The words washed up and distracted were trending.

She found him hours later on the rooftop of his hotel.

"You okay?" she asked, sitting beside him on a pool chair under the stars.

“Fine,” he muttered, and then, softer, “I was supposed to be better by now.”

She took his hand. "You're still you. That’s always been enough."

He looked at her like she’d said something sacred. And then he kissed her knuckles, like she was breakable. Like he wanted to be careful.

And just for a moment, she forgot it was fake.

Phase Four: The Realization

It happened in Tokyo.

It wasn’t a big race weekend. No podiums. No press frenzy. Just a mid-season break and a getaway they booked “for the aesthetic,” according to Ollie—sushi, neon lights, cozy bookstores, and zero pressure.

It was supposed to be downtime. A break from pretending.

And that was the problem.

Because without the cameras, without the posts and the performance, there was still something between them. Quiet. Constant. And impossible to ignore.

They were walking through Shinjuku at night when it hit her. He was wearing a hoodie she'd "borrowed" months ago, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders hunched against the breeze. She had just finished telling him a ridiculous story from her uni days, and he was laughing so hard he actually tripped on the curb.

And then—just like that—he looked at her.

And it wasn’t teasing. Or calculated. Or staged.

It was soft. So unbearably soft she nearly forgot to breathe.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, heart thudding stupidly.

Ollie slowed, eyes crinkling. “Like what?”

“Like…” She gestured vaguely. “Like you’re not faking it anymore.”

He didn’t answer.

And maybe that was the answer.

Back at the hotel, everything felt heavier.

He’d booked them a suite—two bedrooms, of course. They always kept up the illusion of separation, even when the walls between them felt thinner than ever.

She sat cross-legged on the floor, flipping through photos on her phone. Most of them were blurry. Candid. One showed him mid-laugh with his head thrown back, sunlight catching in his hair.

She stared at it longer than she meant to.

He came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, towel slung over his shoulder, damp curls sticking to his forehead.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said, drying his hands on his shirt.

She didn’t look up. “I’m thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

“Shut up.”

A pause.

“Want to tell me what about?”

She hesitated. Then: “This is starting to feel real.”

Ollie didn’t respond right away. He dropped down beside her, close but not touching, their knees barely brushing.

“I know,” he said quietly. “It does.”

Another beat.

She tilted her head. “So… what do we do?”

He exhaled a shaky breath. “I don’t know.”

They sat in the quiet for a moment. Long enough for the buzz of city traffic outside to hum between them. Long enough for her to feel the gravity of his presence, the warmth of him beside her, the way his pinky finger kept twitching like it wanted to find hers.

“I don’t know when it happened,” she said finally. “I just looked up one day and realized you weren’t a bit anymore. You were the best part of my day.”

His eyes closed. “God.”

“And the stupid part?” She laughed, but it cracked halfway. “I wasn’t supposed to catch feelings for someone pretending to love me.”

Ollie turned to her, really turned this time. His voice was raw when he said, “I wasn’t pretending.”

Her breath hitched.

“I thought I was,” he said, softer now. “But then you started noticing the small things. Like how I tap the wheel when I’m anxious. How I can’t sleep before qualifying unless someone’s talking to me. How I eat gummy bears by color even though I swear I don’t.”

“I noticed,” she whispered.

“I know.” He gave a small, crooked smile. “That’s when I knew it was real. Because you weren’t looking at the driver. You were just… looking at me.”

She swallowed hard, her hands curling into the hem of her oversized shirt. “So what now?”

He reached for her hand, finally, intertwining their fingers with a kind of certainty that made her chest ache.

“I don’t want to fake anything anymore,” he said. “Not the hand-holding. Not the late-night calls. Not the way I look at you and forget there’s a world outside of you.”

Tears threatened, but she blinked them away.

“Me neither.”

They sat like that for a while—just holding hands, forehead against forehead, wrapped in something they didn’t need to perform.

It didn’t matter how it had started.

It only mattered that somehow, in the middle of all the pretending, they’d fallen into something real.

And neither of them wanted to get back up.

Olliebearman & yourusername posted:

Caption: The Breakup Pact failed. Gloriously

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Word Count: 1.5k

[fangswbenefits]

Appreciation

Summary: Miguel catches you staring at a very specific part of his body…

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

That 🎂 needs more appreciation! Mildly suggestive. Innuendo. Just having some fun. Inspired by this amazing fanart!

“You’re drooling.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

You gave Jessica Drew a side-glance. “Peter, tell her I’m not drooling.”

“You’re drooling.”

Resting your chin in the palm of your hand, you heaved a sigh.

Miguel O’Hara had his back turned to you, and you just couldn’t tear your eyes from his glorious ass.

It should be illegal to wear something so tight around it, leaving nothing to the imagination.

“Do you need some tissues just in case in?” Jess leaned in with a devious smile.

You growled in annoyance drumming your fingers on the table, which was enough to catch his attention. He turned around, facing away from the orange screens floating around his platform.

“Can you pay attention?” he asked, hands on his hips and crimson eyes narrowing.

The three of you nodded instantly and you straightened in your seat, inwardly mourning the loss of visual contact with his backside.

Peter was the next one to sigh, and Miguel scowled. “It’s important we go through these procedures. The fate—”

“—of the multiverse is important,” Peter then yawned from beside you. “Yeah. We know, we know.”

You giggled and saw Miguel scowling. “Leave. Go get ready for your reconnaissance mission, then.”

Jess and Peter didn’t need to be told twice and rose to their feet, heading towards the exit.

You were about to follow suit when Miguel’s voice was heard, “Not you.

Oh?

“You stay.”

Peter turned briefly and mouthed a ‘good luck’ before exiting, the door sliding shut behind them.

But what he didn’t know was that you had just struck gold.

You cheered inwardly, barely able to contain your excitement, as you sat on the table behind you, dangling your legs playfully.

Miguel paced slowly in your direction, face as serious as usual.

When he stopped right in front of you, you parted your legs, waiting for him to settle in between, which he promptly did.

“You are so frustrating.”

“Hmm?” you rose an eyebrow playfully.

To an outsider, it might seem like he was beyond annoyed.

He always strived to look serious and intimidating.

But you knew better.

“You you were supposed to be paying attention to what I was saying,” he whispered.

“In my defense, it was staring at me first,” you rose both hands in defense. “Not my fault.”

His eyes fell to your lips. “Ah. So you were staring.”

“Your ass is magnificent, Miguel,” you said with a click of your tongue. “What do you expect me to do?”

“Be more professional.”

You scoffed. “Says the man wearing a suit so tight we can see every single line of muscle.”

He chuckled and you did the same, enjoying the sound of his carefree voice.

“Can I touch it…” you asked with a devious smile.

He answered by grabbing both of your hands and setting them on his hips. “You don’t have to ask.”

You let your fingers trail down slowly behind him, grazing the material of his digital suit. Once you moved past the generous curve of his ass, you gave each cheek a gentle squeeze.

Everything was firm and in place, and you couldn’t stop yourself from massaging him with the palms of your hands.

“Does your suit need to be this tight?” you asked.

He slid the back of his index finger from your neck to rest under your chin, tilting your head back to meet his gaze. “Aerodynamics.”

“You’re such a tease,” you mumbled.

He craned his neck to match your height. “Me?”

The pads of your fingers traced patterns along his taut muscles, and you were reminded of how lucky you were to have this all to yourself.

“I need your workout routine.”

He leaned in even closer. “I’ll show it to you, then.”

You hummed, his lips almost touching yours. “And is it hard?”

The pun didn’t go amiss and Miguel chuckled softly. “Depends on the position.”

“And then I get to have such an amazing ass?” you asked, squeezing him again with both hands.

His warm breath fanned your skin. “You do.”

You then narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re not scamming me, are you?”

Miguel’s lips grazed yours. “Scamming?”

Giving both his cheeks a few more squeezes, you straightened up.

“You sound like those shady fitness gurus from Earth-1610,” you feigned seriousness in your voice.

He surprised you by planting a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I would never scam you.”

Then another kiss.

“What you see is what you get.”

Your fingers curled harder this time into his hard muscle, drawing his lower half closer. “That sounded so shad-”

Miguel interrupted you with a kiss, bringing both hands to cup your face, rubbing his thumbs along your cheeks.

You melted into his touch, smiling but not breaking the kiss.

He was so easy to love.

Eventually, he managed to tear himself away with a genuine teasing smile. “Was that shady?”

You patted both of his cheeks lightly, enjoying the slapping sound. “I may need more convincing.”

Masterlist

[zhaobear]

a perfect match

PAIRING : sung hanbin x fem reader

GENRES : fluff, crack, college au, barista au, mild enemies/rivals to lovers au, sick fic

WORD COUNT : 4310 words

SUMMARY : you and sung hanbin complement each other perfectly, whether it's behind the coffee bar or during late nights in your dorm building. however, companionship quickly turns to competition as the end of the year approaches — and with that, the glorious title of employee of the year. but when hanbin falls sick, you decide you can put your feud aside for one day.

WARNINGS : profanity, brief mentions of drinking, one slightly heated kiss, mc is competitive, hanbin is messing with her, jiwoong is just there, injeolmi toast reference, there are interspersed flashbacks in italics & one tense change!

AUTHOR'S NOTE : helloo making my zeroseblr debut!! thank you so much to anyone who reads i hope you enjoy <3 a huge huge thank you to @jayflrt and @s7toru for the support and encouragement, i don't think i'd be publishing this without them!

“HANBIN DIDN’T COME IN TODAY,” Jiwoong says in lieu of a greeting as soon as you enter the back of the store. 

You flip through the café’s records book, noting down your time of arrival. Jiwoong can yap about Sung Hanbin all he wants, but you won’t let that stop you from getting paid. 

“What does that have to do with me?” You shoot back, tying up your apron.

Jiwoong shrugs. “You guys are close, right? I thought you’d know what’s up.”

You scoff. You and Hanbin may have been close once, but that was before he started coming for your position.

“Keep it up, Hanbin!” Jiwoong claps Hanbin on the shoulder as he finishes taking a customer’s order. “Engaging with customers and making them feel connected to the store is one of our most important values.” 

“Thanks, Jiwoong,” Hanbin beams, the sight of his dimples causing butterflies to take flight in your stomach, for whatever strange reason. That is, until Jiwoong’s next words. 

“With how much improvement you’re making, you might just be up for Employee of the Year.” Jiwoong winks. Your jaw drops to the floor. Jiwoong doesn’t notice your mouth hanging open and simply returns to making drinks like he didn't just shatter your entire world. 

“What the hell!” You call out indignantly. “Why would he get Employee of the Year?”

Jiwoong turns to look at you like he’s just remembering your presence for the first time. 

“Well, Hanbin’s been learning very quickly since he joined. He’s made a lot of improvement and the customers love him.” 

“He served a frozen sandwich the other day!” You cry out. You remember it clearly — the customer had approached you with a furious glint in her eyes, demanding to know why her sandwich wasn’t heated. Hanbin had popped up behind you to apologize for his mistake, and a blush immediately overtook her face as she shoved the sandwich into her mouth, claiming she preferred it frozen anyway. 

“That was last week! I’m a changed man now,” Hanbin insists.

“The award should not go to him,” You splutter at Jiwoong. “I can talk to customers too!” You shove Hanbin away as the next customer in line approaches the register. 

“Hi, could I please get an iced matcha latte, and a—”

“Hi, how was your day?” You interrupt loudly. Jiwoong slaps a hand to his mouth to stifle a poorly-contained laugh. The girl’s eyes go wide as she takes in your expression, her gaze flitting nervously between you and the door, like she’s considering bolting out of the shop. 

“Sorry, don’t mind her. She means well,” a smooth voice interrupts. Hanbin slides back to his position on the register, his hand circling your waist as he gently eases you to the side.

You huff. “I can handle myself on register!” 

Hanbin’s hand shifts to your lower back as he leans over to whisper to you. “You’re staring the poor girl down like she just murdered your family. I got this.” 

True to his words, the girl visibly relaxes when Hanbin takes over and begins to make conversation. Your cheeks grow hot at the gesture. You should be angry, but Hanbin’s hand is warm on you and his shoulder is knocking into yours and you can’t seem to think straight. 

Hanbin leans close again, and your brain short-circuits.

“I’m coming for your award,” he breathes cheekily into your ear. 

The giddy feeling in your chest immediately dies on the spot. 

You scowl at the memory, your knuckles turning white as you tie the strings of your apron tighter. Jiwoong raises an eyebrow, reminding you of his question. 

“I’m not speaking to him anymore.” You have to hold back from crossing your arms like an angry child. 

“You were fighting him over the register on Wednesday,” Jiwoong points out.

“A lot can change in three days.”

Jiwoong sighs. “Seriously, do you know what’s up? He hasn’t called or texted at all.” 

That makes you pause. Ever since your current feud with Sung Hanbin, he became particularly more committed to “beating” you at work, whether it was clocking in earlier than you, going beyond the necessary opening requirements, or covering more shifts than usual. For him to not show up to work without any prior notice or explanation — maybe there is something wrong. 

You relent. “I’ll go check up on him after my shift, okay?” 

A Cheshire grin spreads across Jiwoong’s face. “So much extra effort,” he muses. 

“We live in the same building,” you deadpan. You check your hair in the small mirror on the wall before heading to the front of the store for your shift. 

“I didn’t even tell you to go check up on him!” Jiwoong calls to your back. You give him the finger in return. 

“Hanbin, open up!” You yell, pounding on his door for what feels like the millionth time. You press your ear to the wood, but hear absolutely nothing. 

“I can see your Snap location!”

Then, a rustle. 

You hear the creak of a bed, and the sound of soft footsteps gradually approaching closer. The door swings open, revealing Sung Hanbin in his pajamas. 

“You were in bed the whole time?” You shriek. “Jiwoong was worried sick! He was acting like you dropped off the face of the Earth when you didn’t contact anyone!” 

Hanbin wordlessly turns around, making a beeline away from the door. You huff, following him inside his dorm without another thought. 

“You’re just going to leave when I’m talking to you? Look, I get it if you don’t want to interact with me, but you shouldn’t ghost your manager. Isn’t that—”

Hanbin stumbles into the bathroom and slams the door shut on you. Realization dawns upon you when you hear retching from the other end. The puzzle pieces slot into place — his glazed eyes, paler-than-usual face, and complete lack of energy. 

“Hanbin?” You ask, your voice softer than before. No response. “Do you need any help?” 

“No,” Hanbin whispers faintly behind the door. 

“Okay,” you respond uneasily, “but I’m staying here until you come out.” 

You take his soft sigh as affirmation, and immediately pull out your phone to text his roommate. 

you: wya??

taerae: staying w my aunt for the weekend taerae: why whats up?

you: hanbins sick

taerae: oh shit taerae: well. gl to him

you: 😭 you: do you have medicine

taerae: no 😂 taerae: wait actually taerae: check the bottom drawer on my desk

you: found it ty

You gather whatever medicines look helpful from Taerae’s drawer, then grab water from the fridge. Soon enough, you hear Hanbin moving behind the door, followed by the flush of the toilet and water running from the sink. He emerges from the bathroom, his face glistening with water droplets. He looks tired in a way you’ve never seen before as he trudges past you and collapses at the foot of his bed. 

He groans softly at the hard surface, but makes no move to get up. You crouch down to the ground, pressing your hand against his forehead in concern. 

“Hanbin,” you gasp. “You’re burning up.” 

Hanbin makes a pitiful noise, shifting so he’s pressing his flushed cheek to the cold tile. You loop your arms through his and haul him to his feet. 

“You missed the bed,” you try to joke, but even you can hear the terribly masked worry in your voice. Hanbin slumps onto the mattress, and you carefully pull the covers over him despite his small sounds of protest. He’s clearly not concerned enough to do anything more, so he mutters incoherent nonsense under his breath and then closes his eyes. 

You can’t help the minuscule twitch of your lips at the sight, but you turn back to the medicine bottles before you can allow yourself to dwell on it. 

Once you’ve arranged an assortment of pills and the water, you gently shake Hanbin, whose eyes are still shut. 

“Sit up,” you urge, tapping his shoulder. Hanbin cracks open an eye, sulking. Regardless, he complies, sitting up and fully opening his eyes. “Take these.” 

His frown deepens, but his gaze scans your face and he obeys without another word. 

“How long have you been sick like this?” 

Silence. 

“When’s the last time you ate?” You try instead. Hanbin pauses, like he’s taking a moment to genuinely think about it, then shrugs blankly. “Hanbin, you have to eat!” 

“Not hungry,” he mumbles. 

“This isn’t up for debate,” you shoot back. “I’ll go grab you something, so stay here, okay?”

Hanbin nods, sinking back into bed. You shoulder your bag and search for his phone and keys, finding them on his desk. 

“Here,” you say, tucking his phone under his pillow. “Call me if you need anything. I’m taking your keys so you don’t have to let me in. Take a nap, and I’ll be back soon.”

Hanbin only buries his face further into the pillow. You refill his water and adjust the room temperature before slipping on your shoes at the front. You helplessly turn back to look at him once more, like a compass straying north. Then, you leave. 

When Sung Hanbin first walked into Say Yes! Coffee with a stunning resume and even more stunning smile, you recognized him instantly. 

You had met Hanbin in the beginning of your sophomore year on a Thursday night, when the noise from the room above yours was becoming unbearable. 

You had stormed up the stairs in your pajamas, too tired to care about appearances as you incessantly knocked on the door. When the door opened to a man clad in all black with an unnervingly handsome face, you faltered slightly. However, the sight of the dim lights and red solo cups behind him rekindled your anger, and you immediately began to tell him off. 

He was holding a party on a Thursday night, for god’s sake, couldn’t he at least have waited until the weekend? As you continued on about the lack of consideration for those with Friday morning classes — however small the number may be — your voice got stuck in your throat when the man responded with a dazzling smile. 

“Cute,” he had said, causing you to flinch in shock. He agreeably promised to keep the noise down, and with your face heating up from a mixture of embarrassment and surprise, you turned around and left without another word. 

You didn’t see him again after that incident, but true to his word, the noise was considerably softer in the following parties. When you saw him again at your workplace, you weren’t even sure if he’d remember you. 

However, Hanbin’s eyes had instantly lit up. “Pajama girl!” He’d exclaimed, and your smile dropped. 

From then onwards, your relationship had taken a turn. Jiwoong began scheduling the two of you for almost every shift together, allowing you to witness every step of his journey — from training, to slowly taking over register, to becoming a pain in your ass. It almost made you sentimental, thinking about how much you’d gotten to see. 

With the increased shifts came increased shenanigans during breaks, from ridiculous drink concoctions to espresso shot chugging competitions. Eventually, these were followed by unexpected knocks on your door and boba runs between classes. 

Hanbin would let you into the dance studio, smirking at your reactions in the mirror whenever he caught you staring as he practiced. You allowed him to tag along on your trips to the library, even though he would use the soundproof study room to loudly poke fun at you while you would fret over your lab reports and problem sets. 

Despite the vast differences in your majors, you still had the common denominator of a shared dorm building. This was clear every time Hanbin would knock on your door to drag you to his upstairs parties to expand your social circle, or when you would knock on his to deliver successful baking experiments. 

In your second semester, he joined you in a General Education class that he absolutely did not need to take, and you started going to his open dance classes despite your severe lack of coordination. 

So perhaps Jiwoong was right, maybe you were incredibly close — until the possibility of Hanbin winning Employee of the Year became real enough to scare you, until you decided it would be easier to hate him. (Was it Employee of the Year that you were afraid of, or something else?)

You reenter Hanbin’s dorm with a giant thermos of steaming hot soup, an extra blanket, and an assortment of items from the nearby drugstore. You dump the contents onto the table, wincing at the amount. You may have gone slightly crazy and swept nearly everything off the shelves at the pharmacy, but you convince yourself they’ll be necessary. 

When you enter his room with the food, you’re surprised to find that he’s already awake. His brows furrow slightly at the sight of you.

“I brought you soup,” you explain, nodding at the bowl in your hands. “Eat.” 

While the Hanbin 30 minutes ago was so sluggish he could barely keep his eyes open, this Hanbin is uncannily alert. His eyes dart back and forth between you, the soup, and the medicines scattered across his desk. He opens and closes his mouth, like he’s searching for the right words. 

“Why’re you doing this?” A strange question to settle on, but you smile at him softly. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t understand,” he replies, his gaze wary. 

You frown. “You’ve done the same for me. Remember when I got super drunk at Matthew’s and you brought me home?” 

Hanbin goes silent. 

Things like this between you and Hanbin are never questioned — they always go without saying. He threatens you at work, but he still picks you up when you drink too much. You fight him over the register, but you still sit next to him in class and watch him from the back of the dance studio. You’re still here, because you know Hanbin would be no different. 

“You don’t owe me for that,” Hanbin blurts out, red creeping up his cheeks. 

“I don’t think of it like that. I’m here because I want you to get better,” you say, holding out the bowl of soup to him. A peace offering. 

Hanbin hesitates, then accepts it, blowing on it to cool it down and taking a sip. He hums in satisfaction, then shovels the rest down his throat within a minute. You gape. 

“Slow down,” you scold, remembering the vomiting from earlier. You feel a pang of guilt realizing how hungry he must’ve been, motionless in his bed without the energy to eat. 

Hanbin grows more lethargic on his second bowl, his eyelids beginning to sink. He catches himself just before he can allow himself to doze, and you frown. You can’t help but wonder why he’s fighting sleep when it’s what he needs the most — his half-lidded eyes stay focused on you, and then it hits you. Maybe he wants to be alone. 

You take the bowl back and pull the covers over him, noting with a twinge of satisfaction that some color has returned to his face. 

“I’ll clean things up and then head out so you can get some sleep,” you tell him. Although something deep inside you longs to stay, to stick with him until you’re sure that his fever is gone, you stand up from the chair. 

However, Hanbin grabs your elbow before you can fully turn away. When you look at him, there’s a plea behind his eyes that he doesn’t seem keen on voicing. Even when he’s sick, he’s strong, tugging you back towards him until you’re sitting at the edge of the bed. 

“Do you want more soup?” You ask, unsure of what he needs from you. 

Hanbin shakes his head. “Stay,” he mumbles, so faint that you barely hear it. 

Oh. 

“Sleep,” you coax him gently, your heart squeezing at his request. “I won’t go anywhere.”

Hanbin searches your face with a hint of desperation, and your breath hitches in your throat at the sparkle in his eyes. (Did Sung Hanbin always look at you like you had hung the moon and stars?) 

You don’t have to think about it for too long because Hanbin seems to find whatever he’s looking for in your expression and finally closes his eyes. Sleep pulls him under within minutes, evident in his deeper breathing and the loosened tension in his body. 

You brush some of his hair away from his forehead, softening at the lines of his face, more youthful and relaxed with the rest. 

In a few minutes, you know you’ll have to clean up, restock the fridge, and find a damp washcloth to reduce his temperature. But you allow yourself a moment to stare, brushing his thumb with your cheek. 

Even while asleep, Hanbin leans into the touch, like a flower searching for sunlight, and you flinch. You return to your chair next to his bed and watch him until the sun rises, your heart a jumbled mess. 

“Jiwoong.” Hanbin calls out one morning towards the end of his training, when the three of you are opening the store. 

“Hmm?” Jiwoong shoots Hanbin a brief glance before going back to busying himself with the espresso machine.  

“Why do you always schedule me and Y/N together?”

You turn at the mention of your name, perking up with curiosity. Jiwoong’s brows furrow, almost as though the answer is obvious. 

“Y/N is efficient, in pretty much all ways possible. She can make the most drinks in the least time possible, without compromising quality. She’s also great at responding to unexpected situations,” Jiwoong explains. You grin at the compliment but stay silent, sensing he has more to say. 

“Hanbin, you’re slower and sometimes you freeze up during mishaps. But you’re good with customers. You know enough about coffee to make recommendations. You’re perceptive, so you’re first to know when we need to restock. All of which Y/N tends to fall short on. Which is fine, of course, because neither of you is perfect.

“But what one of you lacks, the other one makes up. You’re imperfect separately, but a perfect match together.” Jiwoong puts a pause to his grandiose speech to fish for the keys in his pocket. “Anyways, I’m going to unlock the door now.” 

You shoot Hanbin an incredulous look, despite the warm feeling spreading throughout your chest. Hanbin looks equally confused, but his gaze softens when you make eye contact. The smile he returns is so tender that you have to look away, your face burning like a star. You go back to wiping down the counters, and avoid thinking about Sung Hanbin and how incredibly red his ears were. 

When Hanbin wakes up, you’re reminded of his training days from all those months ago, of his shy but earnest demeanor, unafraid to reveal his struggles and ask for help. 

This Hanbin is similarly vulnerable, allowing himself to be open and show you weakness. Allowing you to help him. 

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” Hanbin’s voice interrupts your thoughts, and you flush, shaking yourself out of your nostalgia. You press the back of your hand against his forehead, sighing in relief. 

“Drink this, it’ll help," you say, avoiding his eyes as you hand him a glass of orange juice. “Your fever finally broke.”

“Yeah, no shit. I’m sweating balls,” he rasps, kicking off the blankets you’d piled on top of him. He chugs down the juice and rubs at his eyes. “What day is it?”

“It’s Sunday evening. You pretty much slept through the whole day,” you grin.

“Did you stay since yesterday?” A hint of guilt flashes across Hanbin’s face. 

“It’s fine, I got some work done,” you wave it off, gesturing to your computer propped open on his desk. “Taerae’s gonna be back soon, so I’ll head out, okay? I texted Jiwoong for you, so you’re not working tomorrow. There’s some extra soup in the fridge, so heat that whenever you want.” 

You start to gather your things, but Hanbin catches your wrist. His expression is abnormally serious, his eyes piercing holes into yours. 

“What’s wrong? Do you need something?” You use your other hand to check his forehead again, but he stops you.

"I need you."

Your mouth falls open. “What?” 

Hanbin quickly catches himself. "I need you — to drop this Employee of the Year thing. Jiwoong already told me he's giving it to you."

You're still stuck on the first three words of his sentence, but when the gears in your head finally turn you gasp. It's a lot to process and you shake your head, wondering if you even heard him right. How long were you fighting for an award that was already yours?

"I thought you wanted to win," is all you can think of saying.

Hanbin smiles, warm and soft in a way so familiar that your heart aches. “Y/N, I don’t care about Employee of the Year. Go out with me.”

You find yourself at a loss for words, but Hanbin doesn’t seem to mind as he continues.

“I know I still have a lot to learn, and I didn't even care about the award that much. I was mostly just teasing you, so can we please stop fighting over it? Or else I’ll seriously think you hate me.” 

“I don’t hate you,” you choke out. 

Hanbin chuckles. “I figured that now. No one spends this much time and effort on someone they hate.” 

“Shut up,” you say halfheartedly, your heart hammering in your chest. “Are you serious?” Hanbin tugs you by the hands, enough that you’re sitting on the edge of his bed. All traces of humor vanish from his face as he stares at you intently. 

“Y/N, I like you. I thought you were cute ever since you showed up at my doorstep in your pajamas. And I’ve been hopelessly obsessed with you ever since we started working together. Does that answer your question?” 

Fireworks explode in your chest as you think back to Jiwoong’s old words. 

What one of you lacks, the other one makes up. 

When Hanbin is sick, you take care of him. When Hanbin forgets to eat at the dance studio, you bring him food. And despite all your incessant fighting, Hanbin covers for you at the register. Hanbin invites you to parties when you’re cooped up in the library for too long. Hanbin sends you his notes when you doze off in class. 

Your heart thumps in your chest as you begin to put together the little moments of your relationship. You were a perfect match the whole time, just as Jiwoong said, only you hadn’t truly realized the weight of his words. You itch with the need to do something, but your hands are still tightly grasped in Hanbin’s and you can’t think of much else to do than to lean down and press your lips to his cheek. 

Hanbin makes a small noise of surprise at the contact, his hands slackening around yours. You flush at the warmth of his skin against your mouth, feeling as though you’re floating somewhere above the stars. When you pull away, Hanbin’s eyes are closed, lashes fanned against his cheekbones and face tilted upwards like he’s hoping for more, or savoring it. His eyes are glassy when they finally open, eliciting a giggle from your throat. 

“I like you too,” you grin, “if that didn’t make it clear.” 

Hanbin smiles then, so wide that you can see his whisker dimples. He pulls you down and on top of him, burying his face in your neck. 

“Let me kiss you properly,” he whispers into your skin. You separate from him enough to read his expression, eyes widening at the sudden sharpness in his gaze. His eyes flicker between yours, before darting down to your lips and fixating on them. 

“Won’t your mouth taste horrible?” You tease, but you’re already leaning in. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” he murmurs against your lips before closing the distance.

A thousand firecrackers flare up in your body when his mouth meets yours. You gasp when his tongue slips into your mouth, leaving behind the pleasantly surprising taste of orange juice. 

Sparks fly where his skin touches yours, multiplied by a thousand when he cradles your cheek and deepens the kiss. Your hand moves to the back of his neck, tugging lightly on his hair. The soft groan that emits from Hanbin causes a jolt of pleasure to shudder down your spine, and you instinctively tug harder.

You pull away far too soon to catch your breath, breath hitching at the string of saliva between both your lips. 

“Gross,” you lie, but Hanbin’s eyes only darken. 

“I wanna do that again.” He leans in again, but you veer away before you can allow your judgment to blur. 

“You have to focus on getting better first!” You swat at his hands. 

Hanbin pouts. “I’m way better. Stellar, actually.” 

“You can kiss me in two days.”

Hanbin’s answering smile is blindingly bright, even though you didn’t say anything particularly funny. 

“What is it?” Your pulse races at how he looks at you — like you’re made of every precious thing in the world, like you’re a dream made alive. 

“I think this might be the happiest day of my life,” he answers. As he grins at you with the warmth of the entire sun, you realize the fluttering behind your ribcage was never a new feeling — you were just as enamored with him when you first met. 

You smile back, bigger than you’ve ever smiled at Hanbin, watching his gaze turn awestruck as a red-hot blush creeps up his cheeks and neck.  

“I think it might be mine too.” 

[lou-struck]

For Little You

Keigo Takami x reader

W.C: 1.9k

~ For the first time in his life, Keigo gets to feel like a kid in a candy store. 

"Are you sureeee you don't wanna split this soft pretzel with me?" Keigo asks with a teasing smile as he holds out the last little piece of the snack he got when you first got to the mall. Outings like this, where the two of you can walk hand in hand, going about your day as if you were normal civilians, are rare. Usually, you would've been stopped by Keigo's numerous fans due to his eye-catchingly glorious red wings, but thanks to a nasty run-in with a villain, he has only a few feathers hidden under his jacket. 

"Nope, that's all you," you say. All he had been talking about leading up to your mall expedition was getting his hands on a soft pretzel. 

"Suit yourself." he humms tossing the last piece of the pastry into his mouth. Now, with his hands free, they sneak through the open space to latch onto yours as you continue walking. A soft smile on his face as you continue having a peaceful day off. 

"Hey, what's that place over there? "you point at the giant teal and gold striped columns of a shop you certainly haven't seen before.

"Isn't that where the exotic rock shop was?"  He comments, taking a sip from the thick straw of his bubble tea. "What was it called? Something like Rocks and Roads?"

"Your guess is better than mine, I never went in there," you say. "Did you ever go in there?" 

"I have a few times, "he admits with a chuckle. "One of the sidekicks who worked at my agency a few years back was able to eat rocks and crystals and things like that and make armor out of it. So I got them for a Secret Santa year and got them a really cool one."

"Oh, are you talking about Rock Muncher?" you say, enthusiastically recalling the Geo Hero. "Whatever happened to her?"

"Got a new cushy job overseas and transferred, but I heard she is doing really well over there." 

"Wow, that's great." you smile as you get a closer look at the new store. "It looks like they replaced the Rock store with a candy store."

"A candy store?" Keigo parrots, his eyes lighting up at the prospect. As much as he tries to hide it, Keigo has a wicked sweet tooth, one that he rarely has the chance to indulge in due to his strict upbringing at the hands of the hero's commission.

"Wanna check it out?" you ask hopefully; you could definitely have a sweet treat right about now, and judging by the way Keigo's eyes scan the decorative gummy bear statue in the shop's window, he is too.

"Am I that transparent?" he chuckles as you tug on his hand, guiding him into what many people call heaven.

The smell of chocolate wraps around you in a loving embrace as you step into the warmly lit store.  Large plastic containers of different types of sweets line the shop's walls like wallpaper. "Wow, I have never seen so many different types of candy before." You exclaim, fascinated by the variety.

"I-it's unreal," Keigo says, a slight waiver of a motion in his tone; you turn to look at him but are unable to catch his eye. His gaze fixated on a mother and her child picking out sweets from the largest display case by the cash register.

"What ones do you think we should bring home?" the mother asks her starry-eyed child.

"All of them…" they murmur dazedly, unable to stare at any one treat for too long. Although their interaction is cute, there is a distant look of sorrow in your boyfriend's eyes, and you realize that this may be a new experience for him.

Keigo never had the kind of childhood that most children had, even before he started training under the hero commission. You have a feeling that he never got the opportunity to pick out treats at the candy store. 

"Maybe we should get a few things," you say giving his hand a squeeze to let you know that you are still with him and those bad memories are things of the past.

"We should?"

"Yes. for uhhh quality control," you say jokingly. "It's our responsibility to test out some of the products and make sure nothing is poisonous."

"Can't argue with that logic," he laughs, grabbing two large baskets and handing one to you. "Let's go crazy then."

"You don't have to tell me twice," you laugh, your hands tingle in anticipation as you wonder which mouthwatering corner of the shop you should start filling your basket in. 

~

You aren't sure when you lost Keigo among the sugary aisles, but you first noticed his absence when you found a large gummy snake; you held it up like a goofball and turned to show him, only to realize that he was no longer following behind you. 

Knowing he would never just abandon you, you continue your browsing, becoming fascinated by just how many types of candy exist in the world. 

Some treats you remember vaguely from your childhood, but the wrapping has changed a bit over the years, and some seem to be from completely different countries.  But where they come from doesn't matter; they all find their way into your basket.

The weight of your basket grows heavier by the second, but that doesn't deter you from wandering through the store aimlessly. The smell of freshly made fudge hits the back of your throat, and you make a mental note to consider flossing your teeth when you get home. 

At an endcap across from the drink fridge, you stumble across a brightly colored display of chocolate bars; each one is wrapped in a different colored wrapping; upon closer inspection, you realize that all the different colors are used to represent the wide variety of flavors. 

Minty green for Chocolate Chip Mint.

Purple for Ube. 

Gold for Fried Chicken

Black for Dark Chocolate Raspberry…

You pause and slowly backtrack. To get a closer look at the golden wrapping of the Fried Chicken flavored milk chocolate bar. 

'How does that even work?' you murmur to yourself. 'Was the chocolate mixed with chicken broth or something?"

You curiously pick up the packaging just to see what exactly is in the chocolate to make it chicken flavored and can't find anything. 

An unnerving shiver shoots down your spine as you set the bar down in favor of some candy that does not represent a dinner entree. 

The next thing you know, your basket has miraculously filled with not only your favorite sweets but tons of things you want to try out, as well as some things that you know Keigo likes. 

Holding the full basket is painful and you have to put all your focus on not dropping it to the floor. A bead of sweat drips down your brow as you trudge over to the cash register, only to accidentally bump into someone. Apologies are already flying off your tongue as you lock eyes with Keigo. 

His is even more full than yours is. A big smile is on his face as he takes in both you and your basket. He must've really needed this sugary retail therapy, and although you know that no amount of money can undo the pitfalls of his childhood, getting to share these sweet, special moments with you is more than worth it.

"It looks like we did some damage," he says, taking your too-heavy basket from you with ease. You smile at him gratefully and look down at your stinging,  slightly indented palms. 

"We sure did. But do you think we have enough?" you tease as Keigo sets both containers on the countertop with a thud. 

"Barely, but I think we will manage." he grins, taking out his credit card and handing it to the cashier, who is looking at Keigo suspiciously. You have to hold in a laugh; it's the same look of muddled recognition he gets while in public without his big red wings. Apparently, most people can't seem to put their finger on what about him is so familiar without them. 

After paying way too much for basically a year's supply of candy, the two of you drag your enormous, triple-lined shopping bags out the doors and into the bustling mall.

You do well for a while but once you reach a less busy area of the mall, you become aware of just how heavy your load is.  Your muscles ache as you try to keep up with Keigo's chipper steps. And you have to stop to readjust your hold.

When he notices that you are no longer walking alongside him, he pauses and turns back to look at you confusedly. "What's the matter Angel? Is your bag too heavy for you?"

You look at the four bags he is carrying and then back at the one he gave you. "No." You lie casually, setting the bag on a wooden bench for support. "I was just thinking that we should each try something before we get home."

"To lighten the load?" he teases, joining you over on the bench. 

"Fine, maybe the bags are a little heavy." you relent, "but I still want to try something."

"Works for me. There is something I really want to test out." he laughs, reaching across your lap and digging into the bag you have been hauling. He pulls out a familiar-looking paper-wrapped chocolate bar, and you wrinkle your nose in disgust. 

"Really Kei? Out of everything we just bought from freaking candy palooza, you choose the Fried Chicken chocolate bar?"

"I sure did," he grins, unwrapping the chocolate right in front of you. "C'm on. Aren't you at least a little curious about what it would taste like?

"Curious, yes. But I'd rather eat something that tastes like fruit, not poultry," you comment, selecting some sour cherry gummies from your bag instead. 

"More for me then," he laughs, holding out his bar towards you; now unwrapped, your nose picks up the slight aroma of chicken and honey flavorings. "Cheers."

You bump his chocolate bar with your little candy packet and take a bite. The sweet, sour taste of the gummy explodes over your tongue and crackles pleasantly against your taste buds. The addicting taste has you immediately reaching for another coin-sized gummy. 

You notice Keigo has fallen silent and you look over to him. His expression is unreadable as he stares down at his chocolate bar with a furrowed brow.

"What's the matter, Kei?" you ask. "Does it taste bad?"

"No, it's just interesting," he says back finally. "I think I like it."

You are dumbfounded, shook, stunned.  "You do?"

"Yeah, want to try a little bit?" he waves the bar in front of you again, and you catch a glimpse of little golden specks in the chocolate. 

"Fine, just a little piece," you say, reaching for the bar. 

"Ah ah ah," he pulls the bar away and presses his lips to yours. The taste of honey, and savory chocolate still dancing on his lips as he kisses you. 

After indulging in your oxygen like its candy, he pulls away and gives you a coy little grin. "Now that wasn't so bad, now was it y/n."

"Hmmm, I don't know," you respond, your lips curving up into a syrupy sweet little smirk. I think I'll need to have another taste just to be sure."

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network @sleepyyshroom @isaacdaknight @qardasngan @dog55teeth @atigerandabear @anjodedesgostoeerros

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Zoro's Story - 12

Source for pic

Trouble 12

Word Count: 4430

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Protective!Zoro; Soft!Zoro; Sexual Tension; Teasing; Flirting; Mature Audiences (I'll always tag the NSFW chapters); Modern Day AU; Reader is being stalked; Fear; Paranoia; Angst; Rom-Com Vibes; Mild Gore-like Descriptions; Blood; Reader in a terror-like state; Dead Animals Mentioned; Fluff; Romance; Banter; Manipulation; Miscommunication; Frustration; Reader is very clumsy;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Zoro are slowly returning to your easy friendship filled with banter and flirting and you actually begin to glimpse a future with the green-haired cop. But then you start to receive weird gifts. They quickly escalate to manipulative texts. And now you're stuck in a spiral of terror and there's no way to get help because the Stalker, whoever he is, is threatening something other than just your life.

Notes: As I said before, I really didn't want to finish this chapter with a cliffhanger... but I had to! Not only because it feels right, but also because I wouldn't have a good place to break the chapter after this and it would be REALLY long! Confession time: action scenes are my nemesis... I always feel like they're not real enough, or not strong enough, or they just... lack something... But I tried! Hope you like it... Also, fair warning: non-consensual touching occurs in this chapter. Thread with caution, please and thank you.

Masterlist

The moment you step through that old wooden door is glorious. He can feel the tips of his fingers tingling in anticipation. You are coming to meet him. 

Willingly. 

Well… the willingness is debatable, but you are still here. And he's waited for this for so long. 

Years. 

And now, you'll finally be his. He can barely contain his excitement. 

“Finally, Kitten. Come to me.” His voice sounds uncharacteristically high-pitched, but he doesn't dwell on that thought for too long. The moment recognition dawns in your beautiful eyes, he snickers. 

You haven't forgotten him. 

“You? Why?” He's a tad disappointed that you don't seem happy to meet him, but he'll let it slide. You are being manipulated by that meddlesome cop, you have no idea how you should feel. 

But he'll fix that. 

He'll fix you. 

“Because I love you, Kitten. And you will too. Soon. Soon.”

He watches in glee as you take a small step back, stumbling on your own feet - such an adorable klutz you are - and the door closes behind you when you bump into it. 

He can see fear in your eyes. He's revelling in it. The way he's been doing it for weeks. He once thought it was enough to simply watch you smile. Until the day he watched you tremble and whimper. Then, he became addicted. 

Your fear, no, your terror grips him in a way nothing else ever could. It excites him. And he can't get enough. 

“You're sick.” You spit out, eyes glinting with fire that is trapped there. Your fierceness gets lost in limp limbs and shaking members. 

And he grunts in amusement. 

He takes a step forward, and you stumble back. A wicked grin contorts his features and he can barely contain the itch in his hands. He needs to touch you again. 

He's been waiting for so long. 

Another step forward and another step back from you, a dance you play out for two more steps before your back hits the wall. 

You're trapped. 

And he seizes the opportunity. 

Your pulse is aflutter beneath his grasp, irregular and fast, like a little fly caught in a spider's web, flapping its wings without a chance of escaping. A sob rises in your throat and he sees panic in your eyes when he presses his body into yours, pinning you helplessly to the solid wall. 

The way you wiggle against him fuels his fire, and he snarls, his chest rumbling with the primal sound that escapes his lips. Your mouth opens and he's expecting a cry, a whimper, a plea, or a prayer. But your lips utter that damned cop’s name, just the first syllable, an intimacy that makes him snarl again, this time dangerously. 

“Wrong name, Kitten!” He barks, his forehead almost touching your face. “What's my name?” You shudder and shake your head, fat droplets of tears slipping through your lashes and spilling against his hand. Your fingers rise and claw incessantly at his hand and he realises he's stealing your breath - squeezing too tight. 

So he loosens his grip and you take a deep inhale, your chest expanding as you gasp for air. He lets the tattooed side of his face caress yours with affection as he coos at you. “Shhh, Kitten, shhh. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you.” You whimper as he lays a wet kiss against your temple and presses his body closer, one knee parting your legs so he can slot himself even nearer. “You'll learn to behave, it's alright.”

A shiver makes your body jerk and tremble as your hands feebly fight against his hold. His smirk takes up half his face as he effortlessly stops your struggling. You stand no chance against his massive size. 

“My name, Kitten? Do try to remember… I spent two years near you, have I been so insignificant to you?” The way his voice hardens is involuntary.

Then, he watches as your eyes dart around, looking for an exit, a way to escape his clutches, so he presses harder, his hand squeezing your neck tighter again. 

Then, you freeze. 

You stop gasping and your hands cease their futile struggle, falling limply near your pockets. Your eyes find his, and your determination makes his smirk falter. Your lower lip trembles as you open your mouth to speak, and then he feels it. 

The cold press of a gun barrel against his gut. 

“King.”

You whisper. 

And then, you shoot. 

-*-

King barely remembers his interview with the Vinsmoke prick. He knew he'd get the job. He was overqualified, over-diligent and overall, the best in the business. He knew he'd get to pick and choose where he wanted to work - Vinsmoke Enterprises sounded alluring. 

The Vinsmokes’ elder child was sure to have all sorts of criminals chasing him and his fortune, plus Queen, one of his team members, was behaving like a kid in a candy shop just thinking about gettting access to Germa technology, so the bodyguard gig seemed interesting. 

Far more interesting than protecting rich, spoiled brats or celebrities. Those jobs were boring as fuck when all his team had to do was swat paparazzi like flies or guard a hotel door while somebody fucked someone. 

He was wrong. 

The Vinsmoke wasn't being harassed by criminals but by fans. King found that out on the first day of his job, and he was about to call it quits when he saw you: showing up in your gala dress, looking so out of place that it was clear in your expression, then tripping helplessly over the train of the gown and almost diving face-first to the floor. 

King caught you effortlessly by the elbow, and when your gaze locked with his to thank him, he knew what it felt like to truly want someone. He wanted you. He needed you. 

You were perfect. 

You were everything. 

But you didn’t give him the time of day, looking at your fiancé’s bodyguards as if they were mere background noise and not people - not that you were unkind, never unkind, but he knew he would never be more than staff in your eyes. 

And he had to endure the Vinsmoke’s hands all over your body, the way he kissed you possessively when someone’s eyes caught your figure and lingered too long, the way that prick controlled you: where to go, what to wear, what to say, who to speak to…

Sometimes, he heard you rebel. He heard the screaming and the accusations behind closed doors, and those were the times he wished you would just dump the fucker’s ass and be free. 

But you never did.

So he endured his boring job with the spoiled Vinsmoke brat. All because it meant he could be in the same space as you, hear you, smell you, and watch you. What was an infatuation turned to admiration, to fascination, and then… something much more profound and meaningful…

Obsession. 

He knew every step you took, every person you spoke to, everyone who looked at you. He knew the way you liked your eggs in the morning or the junk food you craved when it was that time of the month. He knew the kind of perfume you liked, the books you read, the music you listened to, and all of your habits. 

He knew everything. 

He also saw the way that bastard treated you as if you were a mere accessory - something pretty to flash at a party. He cheated, he flirted with other girls in front of you and, worst of all, he blamed you for all the attention you got when you showed up as the prettiest of girls at his dull parties. 

He observed the way you twisted your jewellery to hide your nervousness or the way you avoided making eye contact with anyone remotely interesting just to keep the asshole appeased - it made King’s stomach churn. 

No one would ever deserve you, that was a fact, but Vinsmoke Ichiji was the least deserving person of them all.

So, it was quite easy to plant evidence right under your nose for you to find his cheating habits: a hotel key, a credit card bill, incriminating notes… the works. And that did it easily.

You were finally free.

And so was King. 

He immediately left the Vinsmokes, not caring a bit about breaching his contract. Queen followed suit - he’d gotten all the secrets he could wish for in those blissful two years - as did most of his team, though they went separate ways after that.  

Two years of enduring an asshole’s employment just to get a glimpse of what perfection felt like. If not for you, King would’ve left long ago. But it was the small moments, the way he could smell your shampoo lingering in the air after a bath, or the way your smile lit up the whole room, that made him stay.

You.

All for you.

His Kitten.

You were sad when you left, he could tell. That’s why he watched you closely, kept you safe, kept you unharmed. You reconnected with your friends, and the way you smiled made him become obsessed all over again - this was a genuine smile. Not the fabricated bullshit you used to throw at that bastard - a smile that never even reached your eyes. 

King thought he should give you some time to adjust, to settle into country life, to change your high heels for boots and your dresses for jeans. It suited you perfectly. He could almost see you both taking care of horses, riding together into the sunset in bliss… you just had to see it too.

Soon.

You’d still need some time.

But then he came along. That cop bastard, always watchful of you, always keeping you safe from little things. That was King’s job! Not his! He kept flirting with you and - worse! - you flirted back.

And every time King managed to stop things from escalating to intimacy, it just seemed to deepen your connection to the cop. He had to act faster. 

So, watching you from afar was not enough. Besides, he was used to having you right in front of his nose, even if he could never touch you when he was guarding Vinsmoke, you were always just right there. And now, you seemed so far away.

Luckily, Queen managed to create an app that could access your phone. Texts, calls, camera, audio, you name it. It was very simple to snatch your phone when you were adorably drunk at that yacht party and install it. He also took advantage of the fact that you were away to have Queen to install cameras all around your house. 

Now he could watch you everywhere. 

Still, the fucking cop never relented. And you just seemed to be more and more drawn to him. The number of times King had to intervene just so the cop wouldn’t kiss you was more than he was willing to count. He even had Queen hack into the police systems just so he could be drafted for a training retreat.

Truth be told, King was planning to deal with the cop then. Maybe ask Jack, another one of his trusted team members, and a known brute, to end his miserable existence and make it look like a training accident. 

But King knew you needed your friends to be happy. He was addicted to that genuine smile that lit up your eyes when you were with them. And that was the only reason he held back. For you.

Always for you.

He’d admit he went a bit too far when he took out a man’s eyeballs and another’s hands, but they needed to learn that you were untouchable. Unattainable. His.

Just his. 

He’d also admit that he took out all of the anger he harboured for the cop on those two assholes. Because he kept having to hold himself back, repeating in his head the reason why he was keeping the cop alive: you; you; you; only you.

But he warned you. You just had to stay away from the cop. Nothing else. 

It almost worked. And you were even more beautiful when you were cowering in fear, trembling at every sound, shivering at any moving shadow. King wanted you to feel terror, so he could come and protect you.

You just needed to learn. 

To behave.

To be his.

When he finally held you in his arms at that club, showed you how much he loved you, marked you, and told you that you were his, he thought that had done it. That you had finally learned that you belonged to him.

You were almost ready.

And then you went and fucked the cop. 

Oh, he was so mad. Utterly enraged. There was no more reason to keep that bastard alive, not when he could hear you moan his name like a slut; not when you kept asking for more and harder. 

That was supposed to be King.

You were supposed to moan his name, ask him to go deeper and thrust faster. Not the fucking cop!

But it’s all right. Because you came to him.

You were here now. Right in front of him.

And this time, King would make sure you learned your lesson thoroughly.

-*-

You’re shaking. 

Your hands tremble as you hold the gun and press it against King’s stomach.

He flinches, his grin faltering for a second as you hold your breath, waiting for him to scream, to grunt, or to fall to his knees.

Instead, he remains still. 

Time seems to slow down, each second taking an eternity to roll into the next. And then something happens.

He laughs.

The breath you were holding turns into a whine as your eyes fall on his stomach: there’s no blood. 

“Oh, sweet, sweet Kitten…” He coos, one hand caressing your face, taunting you, and this time, it’s you who flinches. “You didn’t even check to see if the gun was loaded, did you?” He tuts in disappointment and mild amusement before he snatches the gun from your hands with no effort whatsoever. 

You barely have time to let out a relieved gasp when he takes a step back, yet instead of the distance giving you a breather, it just makes you feel even more trapped, because now he’s holding your gun. 

King tuts again and flips the gun with practised ease, tilting it to the side and pulling the slide back to check the chamber: empty. He chuckles under his breath and shakes his head, his eyes falling on you, berating you silently.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he grabs the slide and yanks it back in one smooth motion. You hear the sharp crack of the bullet sliding into the chamber, and when he releases it, you know the gun is now ready to fire. 

His lips curl into a grin as he turns the handle of the gun back to you, a throaty laugh escaping him as his brows arch. “There, love. Now it’s ready.” He moves the gun closer to you, urging you to grab it. “Want to try again?”

He’s toying with you, messing with your head. Making you think there’s a way to escape when you’re actually trapped.

A silent sob shakes your lips, and you press harder against the wall, trying to create more distance between you. 

“No?” He teases. Then his grin disappears and he throws the gun carelessly to the ground, not bothering to look where it landed. “You disappoint me, Kitten. I thought you were ready to meet me, to realise who I was. I thought that seeing me would make you happy. Instead, you try to shoot me!”

King’s voice raises as he snarls and growls, regaining the distance he created when he took the gun from you, his hands slamming with such force against the wall that it trembles beneath his rage. 

“If you don’t come to me willingly, then I’ll have to make you.” King’s hand grabs your chin as he lifts your head, and your body freezes again, much like it did back at the club. All the earlier bravado is gone, thrown carelessly away like the gun you thought would bring you safety. 

Your mind screams for Zoro. Why did you think you could do this without him?

Your lips start to form the word again, his name whispered to insanity against the back of your teeth. You can’t say it. It will only make him angrier. 

King lets go of your face just so he can grab your wrists. Then, he pins them above your head with one hand, easily holding you in place without any meaningful effort. You’re pathetic. 

When he growls again, you feel it. The rumble of his chest against yours as he presses further. You can feel how hard he is against your stomach, and you close your eyes, a lonely whimper breaking through the barrier of your shut lips. 

“Yes, Kitten, whimper.” He sticks out his long tongue and licks from your neck up to your ear with a lewd groan. “You’ll moan my name now.”

King’s hand roams everywhere, and you are powerless to stop it. He’s too strong. No matter how hard you try to squirm, the action only makes him press harder - only excites him further. His teeth graze your jaw, then his lips trail kisses down your collarbone. You go rigid and he chuckles against you, feeling your powerlessness, your terror gripping you and stopping your movements.

His hand slithers beneath your clothes, roaming your bare back, and you shudder violently. “You’re trembling for me, sweetheart?” He hums softly against the hollow of your throat and you feel desperation sinking its claws into your chest. “I’m eager too, you know?” Then he locks his lips around the pulse of your neck and sucks harshly. You sob and he chuckles as he releases your neck with a loud plop. “I can feel your heart racing for me, love.”

King pulls back to look into your eyes, to savour the way your body trembles and then, suddenly, he stops. His hands stop roaming and his eyes linger on your chest. You’re heaving, fighting back sobs and trying to remove your hands from his hold, not willing to give up so easily, but barely mustering any strength to keep fighting.

It takes you an extra second to realise what has gotten such a hold on his attention. 

Zoro’s sweater. 

King lets go of your wrists only to grip the neck of the sweater with both hands, and with a primal growl that has you gasping and shaking, he tears the fabric in two, removing it from your body as if it personally offended him. 

“I’ll erase his fucking existence from your mind. You’re mine. Mine. MINE!”

His hand flies to your neck, and he squeezes, another hand groping your breast, and you sob, your legs thrashing, hitting him but making no dent on his rock of a body. 

This is it.

There’s no escaping him.

BANG!

The front door trembles on its hinges as it’s kicked open, splinters from the lock flying around as thunder crashes outside, the storm raging relentlessly, but nothing like the tempest you can see reflected in Zoro’s eyes.

“Get the fuck away from her, you fucking bastard.”

Zoro’s name, the one you’ve been keeping trapped, floods out of your mouth like a prayer. King barely has time to register what happened before Zoro grabs him by the scruff of his sweatshirt and yanks him off you. 

Your legs shake, and you lose balance, falling to your knees as your hands brace your weight against the wooden floor. Heavy gasps leave your lips as you take in the scene before you.

The two men are sizing each other up.

Zoro is smaller than King. Both in height and in build, and that’s saying something, because Zoro is already a massive man. King has a snarl of disdain pressed upon his lips as he glares daggers at Zoro, whose body is visibly vibrating with fury, a dark, murderous aura rolling out of him in waves as he clenches his fists. 

“You.” King roars, cracking his knuckles in anticipation. “I’ve been waiting to get my hands on you, hero.” He spits disdainfully, clearly upset that he was interrupted. 

Zoro grins maniacally, his eyes darkening as he too cracks his knuckles. “I can say the same, you fucking bastard. I won’t let you lay a single finger on her again.” They stare at each other so intensely that you find yourself holding your breath. “You alright, Trouble? Did the fucker hurt you?” Zoro asks without breaking eye contact with his opponent.

“I-I’m fine. I’m fine!” You croak miserably. You can’t help the powerlessness coursing through you. You brought this upon Zoro. It’s your fault if he gets hurt.

“Good.” Zoro’s voice is low. He’s focused - lethal. “Stay back. And if things go south… run.”

Never. You’d never leave him. But you still nod with a noncommittal noise so that he’s appeased. 

Then the fight starts. It’s not like it happens in movies, nobody rings a gong, there’s no soundtrack to the battle, no atmosphere change or dramatic camera movements. They just clash. 

The sound of fists hitting flesh and bones cracking is sickening. You flinch every time King hits Zoro, you whimper everytime he falters, but you can’t seem to rejoice whenever Zoro’s hits land, because King barely stumbles. 

He’s so strong. 

Zoro’s fist hits King’s jaw and you hear the bone crack as his head whips to the side, blood splattering the dark wood of the floor as the man stumbles against the bookshelf. He chuckles darkly, wiping the blood with the back of his hand and spitting the rest on the floor. Then he lunges and tackles Zoro, both falling against the end table, glass shattering on impact as you swallow a cry.

The scent of blood and sweat lingers in the air like a thick, sickening fog and you fight back a wave of nausea. 

“Zo…”

“She’s mine!” King snarls as he lands a punch against Zoro’s jaw. When he raises his hand for the second hit, Zoro deflects and King hits the floor, glass crunching beneath his fist as he growls through the pain.

Zoro shoves him with a kick to the stomach and, as he gets up, drags King up by his sweatshirt just to knock him back down again with another lethal punch. 

“Say that one more time, fucker!” Zoro’s arm coils back for another punch, but King’s larger hand wraps around his fist and holds Zoro in his grip, a sickening, bloodied smile spreading on his face.

“Mine!” He claims, holding Zoro’s left hand the same way when Zoro tries to go for another punch. Then King headbutts Zoro with such a force that you gasp, springing to your feet, not knowing what to do as King releases him and Zoro stumbles back three paces, trying to steady himself on his feet again with heavy gasps.

He leans against the back of the couch, breathing heavily, blood trickling down his temple and his split lip, his chest heaving up and down. Then he wipes the blood away from his good eye and grins maniacally again. 

“That all you got?” Zoro wheezes, clearly out of breath, but so is King. “You hit like a little bitch.”

King’s grin matches Zoro’s: unhinged, deranged, and disturbed. 

And then they collide again. Flesh against flesh, bones against bone. The dry thuds and the wet splotches of blood make your chest ache as you sob and shudder. 

“Just die already, cop! I’m going to claim her and truly make her mine. She’ll moan my name like the little slut she is and–”

King doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

Zoro sees red.

He lunges forward, his fist flying with such force that it has King stumbling against the wall, a muffled grunt trapped between his teeth. But Zoro doesn’t even let him breathe. A right hook; a gut punch; a knee to the ribs; a left uppercut.

He doesn’t relent. Punch after punch, hit after hit. He only stops when King is lying unconscious, his body slumping down against the wall in a heap of blood and cuts. 

Zoro breathes heavily, his body still taut, still ready to act and finish the job if he needs to, his eye locked on his enemy. 

Until he hears you cry out his name. 

Then he turns, stumbles, and falls to his knees.

You gasp and rush to kneel beside him, your shaking hands cupping his cheeks gently, trying to smear the blood away so you can see how badly hurt he is. “Zo, Zo, oh my God, Zo.”

He smirks, his hand rising weakly so he can push a strand of hair away from your eyes. “Hey, Troublemaker.” He says softly. “I know you're tough, maybe you could’ve handled this on your own, but I wanted to give you a hand.”

You laugh through the tears and sobs as you lurch forward and hug him tightly against you, ignoring his pained grunt. “Thank you, Zoro.”

He pulls back to stare into your eyes, his hand gently wiping a tear from your cheek, another one clasping the back of your neck to bring you closer. “Anytime.” He leans his forehead against yours and you raise your lips to bring them to his, to make sure he’s real.

But before they collide, you feel Zoro stiffen, a muffled groan escaping his lips as his hand grips your nape tightly.

You pull back, trying to see what’s going on, and you freeze. A cry slowly climbs up your throat, though it gets trapped before you get the chance to release it.

Blood.

So much blood.

“Fucking die. Nobody wants a hero.” King snarls and you see it: a knife protruding from Zoro’s back, where King has stabbed it. Then, with  a low growl, King removes the knife with a twist and kicks him forward, against your arms again. 

“T-Trouble… run.” Zoro whispers weakly against your neck, the bloodstain spreading as you pull back to slowly see colour drain from Zoro’s face.

“No! No! Zoro, Zo!” You cry desperately, fingers clutching at Zoro’s back, trying to stop the bleeding with sheer will. “Zoro! You can’t leave me! No!”

King comes up from behind you, weaving his fingers through your hair and gripping tightly. Then, he leans down to whisper in your ear. “Too bad, sweetheart. But now you get to see him die.”

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000 @chibinasuu @my-name-is-heartache @laidenbreecatchall

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|Chapter 13🔞|

[violet-eng]

fem!reader studies Neuviotter! | Fluff 🧸 with Otter Neuvillette… 🔞with Human Neuvillette.

Summary: You're a Sumeru's researcher obsessed with Fontaine otters. So you basically adopt one... unfortunately it looks like that isn't an otter at all...

Warning: 🔞 MDNI. ALL SMUT IS WITH HUMAN NEUVILLETTE! Somnophilia, oral (fem! Receiving), p i v. Unprotected sex.

1.8k words.

Not edited.

⏜︵⊹︵⊹︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜⊹︵⏜︵⊹︵⏜

The prestige of your research precedes you. A diligent student with a flamboyant gait, brilliant ideals and precise knowledge. You arrive at Fontaine from the Sumeru Academy with a precedent never seen before, with your lively, attentive eyes and your notebooks covered in leather the same color as your eyes.

Word spreads immediately that the wise y/n, scholar of the Academia, has come to Fontaine to study a creature that has captured your attention to leave the green land for that of the primordial sea. Could it be that you want to study a mythical creature that lives in underwater caves? Or perhaps a glorious bird has captured your thirst for knowledge?

How surprised your guides were when you shouted with excitement, unable to contain your joy like a little girl, when you spotted a little otter poking its head out of the crystal clear water. You jumped up and down, unable to contain your happiness, exclaiming how amazed you were to see one so close.

Alone, you photograph the otter and go so far as to dive underwater with it, surprised more by how clever it is than by your new curious ability to breathe underwater. What a joy it is to find a group of creatures frolicking with a clam in their midst, spinning in the water and turning to look at you. You may have been down there for an hour.

Back on the surface, sitting on a rock with your feet in the water, you jot down the details in your notebook, tracing with the vague lines of a sketch the elusive shape of the little animals. Concentrating on your task, on defining the details of its snout, you notice on the other bank an otter, different from the others, grooming its head with its small hands.

You watch it carefully, the creature seems a little larger than the others, slender and almost like a gentleman...

"A gentleman otter," you whisper, enraptured by the delicate and magnificent figure grooming itself in front of you. 

The otter makes sounds as he wipes his own face, lying on the surface of the water, carving his features and nose, while his two gnawing teeth peek through his pearly fur. Its small hands wash its own belly, almost ironing its fur as if it were the robe of a great lord. Deeply adorable. You hastily sketch the picture in front of you, not missing a tender detail of the cuddly toy floating carefree on the calm current.

The otter watches you with a lost look, black eyes that seem not to contain a single thought. The bliss of the ignorant. And you wave at him from your rock with a smile.

The otter swims toward you, and when he's within striking distance, he watches you, as if studying you. 

"How smart you look," you say, clutching your notebook to your chest, "and very adorable. Look at you," you show him the drawing.

The otter stares at the paper with a certain analysis, but his unmistakable expression doesn't change. Then he seems to comb an invisible curl out of his furry head and approves your sketch with a formal nod.

"What a gentleman," you squeal, climbing down from your rock and returning to get your things. The otter emerges from the water, shaking his body to dry himself from the water, though he remains fluffy.

"I thought you were waterproof," you laugh at the sight of the expressionless furball, seemingly oblivious to his adorable embarrassment, "you're different, aren't you?" you approach him with a rag, trying to dry him.

You pull him onto your lap, paws up and his belly exposed as you dry his chest with your cloth, as if he were a baby. Then you wipe his little hands and then his paws. His face is now dry. The otter played with your bracelets, making funny noises and showing his little pearly teeth.

"Do you like it?" you ask, putting it down. The Otter nods enthusiastically. "It would look very cute on you," you add, taking off one of your bracelets and placing it around his neck.

The elastic of the bracelet is lost in his white fur, and the pendant stands out as if it were the clasp of a breastplate. 

"You're missing a hat, and you could pass for another Fontaine gentleman," you exclaim, pleased with the result, as the otter poses like an elegant gentleman, his small chest puffed out, almost proud of how adorable he looks.

"It's getting dark, I should get back now. See you another day, Mr. Otter," you say, slinging your bag over your shoulder and waving your hand.

The otter hurries to follow in your footsteps, prancing subtly near you, his wet nose brushing against your ankle.

"You want to come with me, huh?" you kneel before him, and he touches your nose with his paw. "Fine, fine. We'll have a sleepover."

The place you're staying in is small but cozy, and it gets even cozier when you turn on the heat and put food on the table. The otter sits in a chair across from you, on a mountain of books, and tastes several of the snacks you've served him, though you see him going crazy over some consomme purete and the big glass of pure spring water you've served him.

"You like that, I noticed," you say.

"Burp," the otter replies with a burp that he seems to regret immediately.

"You have more manners than many people," you tell him, wiping his whiskers with a napkin.

"Okay, I'll brush your teeth and then off to bed," you say happily, with the idea of reading to the little animal before bedtime.

You sit him on your sink in front of the mirror, lift his jaw and brush his teeth with your toothbrush and toothpaste, first one side and then the other, make him drink some water and then spit it out, although he swallows it.

"Not your thing to waste water, apparently."

The otter nods.

Then you brush his head, chest, back, and tail, letting him groom himself, and when you try to remove the pin, he hides it in his small hands.

"Okay, okay... I'll leave it to you," you smile.

And then you lie in bed with him in your arms, illuminated by the dim light of your lamp, holding a book with an adventure story in it. You read aloud to him, stopping when you hear him whistling and snoring. 

"Good night, Gentleman Otter," you kiss him on the forehead before turning off the light and going to sleep. ....

You're not one to dream, not at all, but ever since you came to Fontaine, you couldn't help but have these nightly fantasies about Iudex Neuvillette. That stoic and serious man, how good his face would look contorted with pleasure as you sucked his cock.

You had dreamed of a similar situation many times, you had dreamed of him against you as he pinned your frail figure against his desk and thrust into you, biting your lower lip. You had had your first fantasy after a trial, thinking how manly he would look behind you, his cock buried in your ass....

All those dreams had been vivid fantasies, and tonight's took the prize.

You lay on your bed, him biting your neck as he rests behind you, his hands playing with your breasts at his whim, his tongue sliding over your skin, enjoying the nectar of your pure complexion, his cock swollen against your clothed ass.

"Mmmmhhhh, Monsieur~" you moan, writhing in his grip.

The wonderful thing about these dreams is that you don't know how you get into these situations, but you know how to enjoy them. Because from one moment to the next, the oh so taciturn Iudex Neuvillette has his face buried between your legs, tasting your folds and your clit with his trained tongue.

"Right there~" you moan, arching your back as you feel the desire well up from his mouth, his tongue drawing lustful strokes across your sex, his deep sighs stoking the fires of your passion.

His hands wrap around your legs, and for a moment you swear it's real, the way his nails dig into your skin, leaving reddened marks in their wake, and his thumbs sink into your thighs, anchored to you with no intention of letting go.

Then you feel him thrust into you, opening your silken walls in his wake, his thick cock making its way to your center, molding your walls to his erect, large form. You feel him rub against you as your insides embrace him with little restraint.

You hear him moan and feel your legs rise up over his shoulders, his cool hands at your ankles pressing down on you, thrusting slowly but deliciously, almost as if you were made for him. 

"Monsieur Neuvillette~" you moan, clutching the pillows, your hips bucking at the growing warmth in your belly, your hands seeking your own pleasure.

"Warmer than I thought," he whispers, "

it is almost like n your dreams... though this time it feels so real...

You look at him for the first time, his face sweaty, his cheeks flushed as his locks of white hair fall down your legs. His strong arms hugging you, his pecs rising and falling, holding breath... lower down, his chiseled abdomen twitching as his cock buries itself relentlessly inside you.

The sound of his balls against your skin blows your mind and makes you realize that it's not a dream, that Iudex Neuvillette is really fucking you (and very well, much better than you expected).

"Monsieur..." you try to sit up, but he has touched your cervix with his cock, and you do nothing but collapse under him, filled with the pleasure of his gentle thrusts.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks you reverently, in a tone of sublime courtesy and lofty superiority, as if he were not mercilessly fucking you at his whim while you sleep.

"Don't stop," you whimper between words, not wanting to waste the opportunity you've been dreaming of since the first time you saw him, "damn it," you exclaim at the wave of heat surging through your chest and legs as you hear him chuckle under his breath, quite pleased with what he's managing to make of your body.

The orgasm hits you warm and rough, just as Neuvillette did with his cock, careful not to leave his seed inside of you. And your breath comes back as you feel him caress your back as if to reward you.

You feel his lips on your forehead, and the way his arms hold you beside him as your eyelids droop at the inevitable.

"How did you get here?" you babble, half asleep, caressing his chest as he draws soft circles on your arm. 

"You invited me," he whispers as he brings your hand to his neck where your bracelet encircles his skin and the charm falls to his chest.

"You'll explain it properly tomorrow," you murmur between confused shuffles...

[bakugoushotwife]

kinktober day eleven: monsterfucking kink

>>> guys this one may be my fav day ngl...as you can tell by my blog's entire theme that this is my biggest and most violent fantasy i need dragon king bakugou in the worst way please oh my god please

>>> EDIT 10/11: MHA LEAKS OMFG THIS DROPPED THE DAY MHA LEAKS BAKUGOU IS BACK MY GLORIOUS KING!!!!

>>> starring: dragon king!bakugou x curvy!fem!reader >>> cw: monsterfucking, bakugou is a hybrid, no prep, creampie, breeding, biting, blood, dark content, kinda forced marriage? mating bonds, uh, i think that's it. >>>wc: 2.9k >>> event masterlist

it was the new king’s coronation day, and as tradition demands, he shall have his pick of the finest women in his lands. you were brought forth amongst a host of other ladies deemed pretty enough for the young king to choose from. you were the only one of them that seemed irritated by the prospect, all the other girls were tittering and combing their hair while discussing their chances of being picked to be the dragon king’s new bride. he examined you all in a line, sneering at all the smiling and fluttering lashes—sending them crying from the room. he pauses on you, his gaze was stern and fiery but you didn’t hesitate to square your shoulders and meet it. he’s surprised; you don’t smile or extend your hand for him to kiss. you challenge him, you tell him with that strong set jaw and steel stare that you won’t be easy. he feels a pull on his heart, something he cannot yet explain. he likes you. 

you tilt your chin up, almost like you’re the one sizing him up. you’re so regal and amusing to him that his mind is made up instantly, but he gives you a few more minutes of looking him over, hoping to see some semblance of interest on your face. king bakugou was a hulking form of a man, towering above everyone in the room. they always were bigger than the normal humans, but he was larger than any of the dragon shifters you had ever come across. the room almost didn’t seem big enough to contain him, and it was his castle. his burlap trousers balloon around his lower half, but it seems there were not shirts big enough to fit the new king of dragons, only a long fur cloak that fastened with a golden dragon broach stretching across the broad expanse of his chest. he was tanned and scarred from years of flight and battle, and muscled even more so. he had hints of sparkling scarlet scales trailing along his collarbones with pointy teeth that alluded to his other form. his biceps bulged as he folded his arms across his chest, admiring you as you admire him with a satisfied smirk on his face. you didn’t throw yourself at him like the rest, and he doubted you would yet still, but you weren’t shy to let your eyes linger on him. he likes you. 

he smirks your way, grunting his approval. you were the perfect match. you certainly were the most beautiful creature of his kingdom, and your womanly figure assured him that he would sire several successful heirs with you. you captivated him and you had not yet spoken a word, though the young king could feel that fierce tugging on his heart again, something he now recognizes to be his mating bond the longer he looks at you and the stronger the feeling grows. 

“mine.” he says simply, nodding at you in content. his right hand man and fellow dragon shifter steps closer, handing his friend and king a fur pelt similar to the one he wears before retreating back into the onlooking crowd. the king unclasps the matching golden dragon, swinging the covering over your shoulders and snapping the jewelry back into place with a surprising nimbleness. this was the first of many gifts the king would dole out for his mate and queen, but this is the first one to mark you as his. you’re shocked to be chosen, convinced he would take your surveying for disrespect and brutalize you here to send a message— but alas, the most explosive dragon ruler in all the lands chose you as his bride. “you are my mate. we will marry in two moons. dismissed.” 

he looks over your head when he says this, ending the celebrations in favor of alone time with his chosen. his gaze has a hint of boredom to it as it glides around the room, red and fiery with unspoken strength and power behind them. you straighten yourself under the weight of your new cloak, bowing your head out of respect, albeit so quick it made the king exhale heavily through his nose as if to chuckle. 

“you are amusing, mate.” he says, extending a warm battle-worn hand to push your hair away from your neck. he lets it rest against your shoulder, smirking at how small you were compared to him. it was overwhelmingly apparent that he could do anything he wanted to with you, and you weren’t necessarily opposed to the concept. you started this day with immense rage and dread at having to go before the king and be selected like a prize horse. but he surprised you, even being every bit as brute and brash as everyone said he’d be, his eyes sparkled when they came across you. he declared you his mate—-a huge deal for a dragon shifter, and shrouded you in the engagement cloak without so much as a second thought. there was no arguing with the king, nor his mating bond. your soul was created to nurture his, and vice versa. he felt this snap into place instantly, as a mortal, you probably wouldn’t feel the strength of your connection for several days to weeks. it was an honor, one you couldn’t believe was bestowed upon you—but you certainly weren’t complaining anymore. “i like you.” 

you feel your body warm a bit from something as simple as his touch. he’s rough around the edges, and certainly doesn’t know how to be gentle or verbose, but his statement makes you smile warmly anyway. “thank you, my king. i’m quite amused as well.” 

he lets his hand slide from your shoulder all the way to your hand, clutching it tight as he brings it to his lips, giving it a chaste kiss. your scent makes his heart skip a beat, and he wonders if he can make it through the next two months without ravaging his sweet maiden. 

the days pass, slowly, but they pass. your king brings you several gifts and trinkets, filling your new chambers with tokens of his affection and fondness for his mate. the dragons were known for this, and your mate was the brightest and biggest of them all. so never did he go out to fly without returning with a clutch of presents. he was always so proud of himself as he showed them to you, shoving all the perfumes and jewels in your hands with a boastful grin. 

“i found these for you. wear them.” he grunts, roughly pulling you into his arms for a crushing hug. he was working on it, but he manhandled you on accident a majority of the time, not used to interacting with women. you were getting used to it anyhow, only giggling and nodding your acceptance, cooing at how beautiful all the gifts were. he preens in your praise, eager to earn the deep affection that the bond produces. 

you couldn’t deny that the bond was starting to affect you, as if you needed any help falling for the monster of a man meant to be your husband. he was kind and loving to you, and you couldn’t ask for much more. he was feared and revered, if you were dumb enough to cross him or his kingdom—soon to be your kingdom, then you earned the punishment of his hellfire tenfold. you wouldn’t find yourself begging for lives to be spared as you stand in the crowd while watching the king dole out sentences. he was brutal, and scary, vicious and primal in every way. his servants tremored in his wake, and though his people loved his protection, they feared his wrath. you were truly the only exception, and it was mystical for everyone to see the fierceness that abounds for his soon to be wife, his forever mate, his queen. and they could only hope your loving tenderness would tame the wild king. 

he took meals with you, showed you around his dreary and plain castle, easily agreeing to your every decoration suggestion and insisting you do whatever you want—this is your home now too. he even took you on rides in his gorgeous dragon form, letting you see how beautiful the sun setting over the kingdom was, flying you to different nations, journeying close to the seawaters so you could feel the salty wind on your skin. he forced himself to sleep in his own quarters at night, trying and struggling to abide by common decency. 

when your wedding day finally arrived, the king was more than ready to make you his queen officially—and then cart you to bed where decency would be the last thing on his mind. the ceremony is gorgeous, the image of you in your wedding gown was never to be forgotten on him, even though he couldn’t wait to rip it off of you. his brain had already geared into the darker side of things by the time you were being shown to your now shared chambers, and he could not resist his mate any longer. 

you weren’t faring much better. however this mating bond usually affected mortal women, it had you ready to climb your king like a tree. as soon as the doors were closed, he was on you, shoving you backwards while hastily tearing at your dress. you assist him in getting it over your head with only minimal rips in the fabric. you can’t bring yourself to care as you fall back on the bed with his body covering yours like a blanket. he’s snarling, but he’s not angry, just eager and too impatient to think about all the lessons he’s learned in being gentle. he scoops you up and tosses you up towards headboard, and you swear you can see steam billow off his form as he eyes you down, watching you lay and spread for him. 

“it’s been hard…waiting for you.” he complains, unfastening his cloak and letting it fall to the floor. the moment is so intense, you can feel the air thicken, smell the need permeating the air. he’s breathing heavily already, tugging at the weaving strings keeping his pants closed. your breath hitches when you see his scales glisten in the moonlight, the outline of his cock pressing against the troublesome burlap material. you pant out and nod, knowing the growth before you was only the first hint of what he had to pleasure his mate with. dragon shifters are larger than mortal men in every way, reflecting their dragon status in several different physical markers along their bodies, scales along their collarbones and spines, long mane-esque hairstyles, and of course their cocks. he steps out of the clothing, his massive leaking dick slapping up against his abs with a loud smack, you moan. 

his ashy patch of hair and the scarlet scales glistening against his hip bones direct your attention to the monster cock you married. he’s long, thick, curved, lined with veins and a throbbing pink tip leaking his pre-cum in droplets on the bed. it was easily half the size of his thigh, both length and width wise. he fixes himself on the bed, shredding your panties with sharp talons and eyeing your tiny hole. he has all the intentions to stretch you a bit, to get you soaked to accommodate him but when he looks back up at you, you’re drooling. 

you can’t imagine how good that’s going to feel inside you. all the times you had touched yourself out of curiosity or even genuine horniness would hardly compare to this, to the man it’s attached to—the way he watches you like a predator tells you there was nothing in this world that would prepare you for what he was about to do to you–what you wanted him to do to you. “i know…” you say after taking a deep breath, reaching for his face. “i’ve had to wait just as long.”

you squirm in place, lidded eyes flickering from his endowment to his eyes and then back again. “just wanna feel my king…i know you’ll fill me up so well.” you coo, batting your lashes. 

he’s not in the right mind to banter with you, the only thoughts crossing his brain at the sight and scent of you was to ravage. he grips your hips tightly, trying to will himself to be stronger and give his new bride the treatment she deserves. he should prepare you like a gentleman, but unfortunately the young king is unable to will himself to be gentle. you seem to read his mind, nodding and spreading your legs a bit further, allowing him to get settled in the space you provide. he wastes no time in lining up with your entrance and bottoming out. he knows it’s sadistic that he enjoys the way your eyes cross at the sensation, the burning and splitting stretch ripping a sob from your throat. you clutch at his arms, the natural slick you produced just from your own anticipation aiding him in the glide. he stays still for a moment, letting you adjust to him so he can also adjust to the feeling of your virgin pussy gripping him like a hand-tailored glove. he can’t fight the groan that leaves his lips, mindfully keeping his talons retracted as he rakes his hands over your plush stomach and wide hips, stopping to paw at your thick thighs and fat ass. he’s already rendered speechless, only able to grunt and groan as he starts to move, putting your legs up to his shoulders as to not face any resistance. you cry out at the new angle, absolutely feeling the searing heat of him splitting you apart, but you love it. you move your hips against his, head digging back against the pillow at the newfound pleasure.

it’s so hard for him to go slow, especially as you fuck yourself into him and cry out for more. your body takes him so well, as it was designed to, but he still didn’t expect it to feel and look and sound so good. he can see himself in your stomach, the spikes along his base curling into you and hitting every spot so well. you didn’t even know it was possible to feel this good, his cockhead drilling into your womb so hard it has the corners of your vision turning white. 

he’s growling, unable to repress his animalistic side completely. he leans forward, snapping his hips to yours as your wanton moans fill the room. he lets his tongue lave over your neck, making you gasp out at the feeling. “mate–i need to mark–bite..” he rumbles in your ear, goosebumps rippling over his body when you whine out and nod. 

“please! bite me, got those teeth f’r a reason—” you plead, your small hand guiding his face to the crook of your neck. your eagerness makes his cock twitch, your enjoyment paramount to him just as much as claiming his mate for the first time. he abides by your wishes, sinking his teeth into your flesh and clamping down, feeling you do the same around his dick. you moan out, clawing at his back with your own kind of talons. he can’t stop, driving bruises and bloody spots all along your neck and chest. he’d never go too deep even in his lusty haze, his primal instinct to protect his other half would never allow him to cause permanent harm. he admires his work, “pretty mate, my teeth marks.” 

he grunts out, gripping your hips and roughly turning you over, grabbing a fistful of your hair to yank you into a deep arch. you scream at the new angle, some blood trickling down your neck and pooling between your breasts. he’s entranced by the shape of your body beneath him, how his hands take up your entire waist and the way your ass ripples as he hammers into you. you’re struggling to hold your body up under the force of his thrusts, gripping the covers beneath you for dear life. he reaches around your hip, locating the sweet bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. your hips falter when he presses his touch to your clit, a little sob coming from your lips as you begin to fall apart. 

“pretty. coat my cock.” he grunts, cock jumping again as you nod and fall forward, your pussy spasming around him like crazy. he feels the rush of you, sending him shuddering towards his end too. “g’nna take my heirs.” he groans, slamming your hips back into his as he spills into you for the first time. 

he pulls out quickly to gather you up in his arms, laying on his back with you protected by the expanse of his chest. you’re incoherent as his seed trickles out of you, and as bewitching as the sight is, he wants you to give him several warrior princes and princesses. so he slides his hands between your legs and chuckles as you jerk when you feel his fingers stuffing his cum back inside. you whine, so sensitive but yearning for all of his touches. he grunts a bit, leaning over to smooth your tousled hair and gently kissing the bruises and shallow wounds he gave you. his kindness touches you, and you relax into his body with a grin, knowing he would hold you to his heart’s content and then have the servants run a bath for the new dragon queen.

[yearofthesnape]

I am having Thoughts about the famous "I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death" line. Specifically the last phrase.

The whole line works to emphasize "even stopper death"; the first two phrases are parallel in contents and tied by the alliteration of "bottle" and "brew," making "stopper" stand out more. (Not to mention how Snape uses "even" to leave no doubt about where he wants the focus.) It says something about Snape's character, I think, that he brings up fame and glory (beloved by both Gryffindors and Slytherins) to his audience only to skim lightly over them. Snape works without personal recognition. He knows how to work with fame and glory, but being a potion-maker and a spy means pulling the strings of the famous and glorious, not becoming one of them. When celebrity walks into his classroom in the form of Harry Potter, rather than respond enthusiastically, he immediately starts trying to teach Harry that fame is something to be contained ("bottled"); something to use and not be used by.

For what his sentence does value, though... it seems the movies changed the last phrase to "even put a stopper in death," and I understand why; "even stopper death" is a confusing, elliptical way of saying it. At least to my ears, it's unfamiliar to use "stopper" as a verb in everyday speech. To "stopper death" evokes an image of closing a freshly-made vial of death with a stopper; Snape could just as easily have simply said he could show the class how to make lethal poisons. (Being eleven years old, they would likely have found that enough of a draw.) But he chooses instead to speak of abstract concepts — fame, glory, death — in defiance of his audience's level of interest, to use poetic speech whether or not they go for it. Some have noted that his subsequent questioning of Harry shows Snape still holds out hope that Harry could prove himself by knowing the answers, and his speech to the class is doing the same. He will be a philosopher, will hold to the high realm of theory, will look at the stars from the gutter of Hogwarts (to misquote Oscar Wilde).

Back to the verb choice — "stopper death," as I said, could mean making potions that cause death and then storing them for future use. But it could also mean holding back death as though with a cork, being handed a vial of death you did not brew and yet being able to close it anyway by the force of your potion-making skill. The movies are tipping their hand a bit with "even put a stopper in death," showing more clearly that this is what's really going on, that Snape's real interest is healing, not killing. I don't remember Snape ever teaching his class how to make a poison; the closest he comes is a sleeping draught that could go wrong, but he intentionally tells them not to do that. Instead, we see Snape teaching antidote after antidote. Bezoars in this class. Poison antidotes in GoF. Venom antidotes in OotP. We ought to have known this; from the moment he's introduced, Snape's abiding desire is said to be teaching students how to fight the Dark Arts.

But here, as ever, his speech obscures what it elucidates. It will take Harry seven years to realize what Snape can teach him about putting his own glory on a shelf, about the way to truly bring Voldemort's campaign of death to an end. Those lessons had been available, however, to anyone able to see them — to the rare students who look below the surface, who, in Snape's parlance, "aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as [he] usually [had] to teach."

[chishiyasbiscuits]

naked! || kyuma x reader xo

[3.2k words.] [Warning: Lovely smut. Public-fucking. Kyuma's so sweet. Wholesome, basic sex apart from the fact they're on opposing sides of a death game😕 Slight, slight bit of angst at the end, because...yeah.]

I wasn't too sure how I had reached this exact moment. Where the lights around me seemed to dim, with every passing minute, and with every sharp ding from the looming boards above us. As if I was already being granted death. Straight on a silver plate, gleaming with an array of not meat, but misery. 

Silence coated our once enthusiastic cluster. It had seemed almost like the calm before a storm, and my pessimistic self couldn't help but wonder if our party were bound to exit this game...or not. "There's still a way.." Usagi breathed. Whether she was speaking out to a particular person, the entire group or herself I wasn't sure, but her words were slicked in a sympathetic amount of wavering hope. Her frantic gaze met Arisu's in an awkward staring contest. He swallowed, before averting his gaze all while pulling his chapped lips into a thin line. "Come on.." Her voice became drained. Battered by the lack of interaction we bestowed upon her. 

Her straight posture slipped up, and her shoulders melted into a somewhat lazy position. "Arisu?" She questioned lightly. The male shrugged, and her breath caught the air as she exhaled. The deep sensation of dread within me had began to bubble down, and now I believe I had come to terms with my fate. Ever looming in both the present and future. It was bound to happen amidst these treacherous territories anyway. In a game, mixed with the members of a band - one of which, was extremely attractive - out of all likelihoods. 

My simple mind flickered back to those recent memories. Kyuma Ginji, or known to the participants as the King of Clubs. Being classed as royalty was attractive enough, but the man also had his appealing nature to add to the alluring mix. He appeared to us ass-naked, and showing off every inch of his glorious body. Tanned skin, luscious and gleaming against the glistening sunlight. Flexed muscles, with every subtle movement. The way his abs were so defined, and his features were so striking. Not to mention his captivating locks - medium length, dark and draped around his neck. The urge to knit my fingers within the strands was irresistible. There was also, of course, the mere and plain fact that although he possessed such bewitching beauty, this man was also charming. Polite, well-mannered, a gentleman, undeniably good in bed...

My eyes tore themselves from the concrete I had unknowingly set them on. Instead, flicking up to meet the one's of Usagi. Her lashes fell in the form of a few blinks, before she flashed me a downcast smile. Her spirit had been dampened, as I could tell by the way she questioned aid from the others, while being demoralized. "Y/n.." She whispered. The others glanced at me - their expressions dejected. 

"I'll help." I replied, and her forlorn look tilted up into a shocked, but also relieved grin. "Really?" She breathed in disbelief. I hummed, lowering my head into a nod. After all, I still had a good portion of my points, and so out of us all, I was least likely to be caught out in a battle. "Thank you, Y/n." She bowed, before twisting her energized body toward the maze of shipment containers. "I'll look for items." She explained, pausing to catch her increasing breath. Much as a result of excitement. "Would you mind finding any way to obtain points?" She questioned, eyes meeting mine for a split moment. "Any way?" I asked, wetting my lips with my tongue. I uncrossed my arms, and lifted my back into a straight, more engaged posture. "Yeah, okay. Good idea." 

It had been what felt like hours. Though in reality, as I had expected, the time I had spent searching neared to about...five minutes. My thoughts continuously drifted to the bare skin and flesh of Kyuma. His pecs, his biceps, his...

My lip entered the space between my teeth, while I captured my thought process and brought it back into the game. My body reached an area, where the containers seemed to have already been searched. A blue one, darkened by use and shades of coppery rust, sat in my vision. 

I was mere seconds away from entering the shadowed space, when the gorgeous, bare skinned man of my daydreams appeared from the shade. Kyuma Ginji. Fuck. My chest tightened almost instantly, and any words or breaths I could have dared let out were caught - pathetically - in the narrow of my throat. I swallowed desperately, in an attempt to clear the contracting my body was set on doing. 

The man gifted a kind smile. While he walked, confidence in his painstakingly slow step. From the way his eyes turned crescent-shaped, and his lips pulled further up his face, I knew he could clearly see my prying eyes. Dragging down his physique, and landing on his cock. So obvious, between his legs. Thick, big, tanned - like the rest of his glowing frame. A shameful gulp brought words to my ears, and I cursed, tearing my gaze from his length. "There's no need for you to be nervous." He spoke, casting me a knowing glance. I could have melted. I felt so miniscule beneath his stare. It was almost arousing - being in the presence of his godly anatomy. Who am I kidding, it was arousing. 

"Do you wish to battle?" He questioned, after he was met with puzzling silence. I flicked my gaze between his eyes. "Yes." The word slipped, almost without my intention. To be fair, I didn't really know why I had agreed to the offer. After all, if I screwed this our team were more than likely to be left limp and lifeless. Lost in this maze. Simple reminders to the next visitors that life was only short, and easily cut. He seemed amused by my enthusiasm to fight, even if all I had to do was set my palm on any expansion of his skin. 

"Very well then." He smirked. Moving into position with so much grace, I had started to think this entire plan was fucked. Why the king? Was I fucking dumb? Stupid? My mind returned to the heated moment, when he breathed out. Setting his arms in a simple fighting stance. "Are you nervous?" He questioned, and I arched my brows. "No." I muttered, positioning myself in return. My foot slid in front of me, against the smooth, grey concrete. His smile stretched, and my chest rose. Still feeling cramped beneath the anxiety I had first felt when I set my eyes on him. "Do I make you nervous?" He repeated. His strong, deep voice circled my ears, dripping against my mind like a sweetened honey. "Stop distracting me." I spoke abruptly. His brows raised and he slipped himself closer. Strutting toward me like a cat, about to pounce on it's well-deserved prey. 

"Am I not supposed to?" He questioned. "You're on the opposing team. Do you expect me to just give it to you, so easily?" 

I inhaled, breathing out the air through my teeth. My arms fell to my sides, and I lifted my head. Locking my glare with his patient eyes. He was in close proximity now, and any part of my body was accessible to him. Kyuma could have easily reached out and softly flattened his palm against my arm, but no. He hesitated. Plainly standing, centimetres from my figure, and caressing my form with his teasing eyes. So near, yet so far. "Why aren't you touching me?" I whispered, brows furrowing in complex confusion. Kyuma raised his thin brows, lips rising into a taunting smile. "Touch you?" He repeated. "Do you want me to?"

 I averted my gaze, searching my surroundings while I thought. "What if I do?" I smiled, and flicked my eyes to his once more. A slight sense of shock tainted his face, but really, his features seemed to light up at the straightforward reply. "You're a nice guy.." I started. My mind was brought back to Usagi's pleading stare. Her yearn for survival. It was us who deserved to win, however much it appeared as selfish. These were people who had the choice, surely. They wanted to be royalty. Citizens of this land. It was in no way my fault, nor Usagi's. I was going to get this information from him, and the points of course. For her, for me, for us. 

"Do you mind doing a deal with me?" I asked, feigning innocence through both my eyes and misleading smile. His gaze narrowed, just slightly, before he tilted his head - letting his stygian hair brush his well-built shoulder. "Interesting." His lowered face morphed into a smirk. "What might this deal be?" He asked, even when he was smart enough to know the answer. 

"I'll let you fuck me." I said sincerely, watching the tint in his eyes switch. His modest smile slipped to an unchaste smirk. "In exchange for both points and information." I finished. Hope flushed my features while he paused. Tilting his chin up to the sky, as his palm landed on his hip. He intentionally dragged out his reply, puffing air from his parted lips. Glistening with saliva. "That was unexpected from you." He returned, twisting his jaw and linking his stare with mine. "But?" I cut. "Deal." He whispered, softly bringing his arm to his front. His fingers were splayed, and waiting patiently for the warmth of my palm. I smiled in satisfaction, proudly lacing my fingers through his. Squeezing his skin, and shaking his calloused hand. 

The subtle chime sounded, and the board displayed the shameful point extraction. I, however, didn't dare shy away from the man's gaze. Too wrapped up in his bare beauty. I had the very clear option of removing myself - unambiguously stealing his points, and leaving the king in the dirt - but I didn't. Lust had completely bulldozed my common sense, and his body - flush against mine - was all I ached for. 

My hands buried themselves in his silky locks, while his palms found my desperate waist. He brought me against his pelvis, before dragging his fingers up my back and bringing them to rest on my heated cheeks. Kyuma never paused for a second too long, delicately pressing his smooth lips to mine. The act of lust turned ruthless, as if the desire was only just setting in. I gasped and my fingers folded through his hair. Clutching at the strands, where his tips were dampened by sweat. I could feel him. His muscles tensing, his heartbeat pulsing...His cock, growing harder by the second, and straining between the thin space of my stomach and his abdomen. 

Kyuma pulled away, taking a finger and softly sweeping any loose hair behind my ear. His head drifted to my jaw, and his breath pricked against the sensitive skin - sending shivers across my spine. "I'm surely making you nervous now." He whispered rhetorically. A smile formed against the skin of my neck, and I forced the build-up of saliva down my throat. 

"Are you enjoying yourself?" He questioned. His thumbs found my sides, and as his hands cupped my hips, they drew circles across the skin. I held my breath at the close proximity. How he continued rubbing the flesh, while trailing his soft fingers to my inner thighs. "If you wish for me to stop, do say so." Kyuma whispered, and when he earned a faint whimper, he moved on. His index finger - long and slim - trawled between the folds of my aching pussy. Still clothed, and begging for his bare cock. He then gripped my thigh with his hands, holding me up against his chest, and taking me cautiously toward the container. I was dropped, and my back met with the cool surface. The gentle cold only greeted me for a second before I was being handled once more. By strong, caring hands. Large and veiny. His long fingers wrapped across the skin of my thigh, and I was brought towards his pelvis, where my longing legs curved around the sides of his waist. 

Kyuma's hard cock pressed against my abdomen. Pulsing on my skin, and leaking with pure arousal. Pre-cum dribbled from his sensitive tip, and landed against the flesh. Painting me with his lewd pleasure. I tempted the thought before grinding down on his girthy length. Giving his patience a hard time, as I rolled. Bucking softly across him and smiling in bliss at the cute twitches his cock granted me. The strands of his hair were now slick with sweat, and they dangled across his eyes like darkened curtains. Shielding the thirst in his sensual glare. 

"Is there a way out of this place?" I asked between strangled breaths. Pushing my dripping core against his cock. He exhaled lowly, tossing his head back and clearing his vision. His head fell back. "Perhaps." He grunted lightly. I swallowed dryly, lowering my hands to tug on my clothes. Kyuma assisted, as the gentleman he was - lifting my t-shirt over my raised arms, and guiding my hands down my calves as the material was stripped from my skin. I was now bare, pressed against his golden skin. Gleaming brightly in the blinding sun. "Tell me." I commanded, throat swelling as his cock pulsed on my clit. Bringing me almost to a moaning mess. I was already leaking on this man's dick, and he was so composed. Back straight and muscles flexed with every movement he took. His hand dropped to stroke at his base. I bit my lip, and resorted to watching. Following his fingers as they folded around his shaft and positioned his swollen tip at my entrance. The head slipped between my folds and I whimpered impatiently, brazenly throwing my head back against the metal behind me. Kyuma slid himself inside, stretching my walls with his thick girth. His cock filled me so well, gifting me both the pleasure, and the soft twang of pain that came with his length. 

His hips moved forward, after allowing me to adjust, and his dick slid further, gracing my walls with it's smooth movements. "You're wise. Do you not already know?" He grunted. "I want to hear it from you.." I stated, letting my hands find his shoulders. I stabilised myself as he pushed into me. Rutting and bucking. Filling me to the brim with each thrust. Sweat glimmered across his perfect complexion, and my eyes scanned his focused features. Taken by concentration as he fucked into me. Our hips connected with each jolt of his lower body, and his cock was beginning to bury deeper. "You're correct." He breathed. "Whatever you believe you must do."

"Complete all the games.." I murmured, before tensing at the way my words became caught in my throat. I moaned lightly, and his bliss-taken face was enough to tell me he was enjoying the show. "Yeah.." He whispered, too caught up in the way he stroked my insides, catching my spot with his tip. "Fuck.." I cursed, moans muffled by my lips. "Don't stop.."

"Oh, I'd be ignorant if I did." The man replied, head dropping near my neck and shoulder. "You look so irresistible when I'm inside you.." Kyuma whispered, hair tickling my cheek while I gasped. My eyes flickered, and the pleasure was starting to rush through me, in waves of electric ecstasy. Shooting into my stomach, and twisting a knot against my organs. I was so close, and the deep breaths against my ear were orgasm-inducing. Just as much as his cock was, sinking into me repeatedly. He groaned, and the sound reached my head instantly. The pleasing sound went straight to my aching pussy, and I cried out. Feeling overwhelmed in the presence of this gorgeous man. In this dirty, lustful, sexual act, where he fucked me shamelessly in the middle of nowhere. Against nothing but a shipment container, and with every ram the metal shook. 

"Just like that." Kyuma whispered. His voice low and appreciative. "You take me so well.." 

"Kyuma, please!" I moaned, almost whining under the sensation of my oncoming high. My stomach tensed and I unintentionally clenched around his pulsing cock. He grunted, plunging deeper as I started to string out my pleasure in the form of high-pitched moans. "Ssh, just a little longer, love." He spoke calmly, still mindful of our location. "Good girl." He praised when I complied his gentle words, and held back the rushing moans that attacked the small of my throat. I hummed in bliss. Closing my lashes at both the name and the undoing thrust of his dick. The hum dragged out while I came on his cock. Dropping myself against his balls in desperation as I released and milked the remnants of my pleasure. 

Kyuma let slip a delightful groan. His hair fell, once more, across his eyes, and his lips were forced together. I could see the veins in his neck flex, and the expanse of his skin flinch with how hard he had been focusing. His cock slid in and out of me, bringing waves upon waves of gratification. Until he snapped. He released a soft, extended groan, which melted against my ears, and with that his cock twitched and spilling inside of me. My insides were undeniably painted white with his warm arousal, and even when his flaccid cock was removed from my soaked entrance, the cum slipped like pure slick down my thighs. 

The man swallowed, catching back his lost breath. Spent on fucking me useless. His glistening chest, and pecs heaved from the lack of oxygen. I followed his actions, slicking back the loose strands of wet hair, that blurred my already foggy vision. "I'm sorry." I blurted, back flushed against the container while I rested. "There's no need to apologize." Kyuma smiled. His features warm and not in the slightest condescending. He granted me his soft eyes, which I frowned at. Sympathy lined my tight lips. "You only wished to survive." He continued, dragging his hot palm against my neck. It landed on my damp cheek, where his thumb rubbed the skin of my face. "It's admirable of you." He praised before taking in my constant expression. Like a guilty picture, plastered to my phony smile. "You earned it, didn't you?" He asked and my lips twitched. "I want you to live." He brought our faces closer, and whispered. "I liked you, you know." I looked off, speaking between harsh breaths. "It wasn't...it wasn't just me wanting information.." 

"I figured." He released a breathless laugh at my confession. I smiled, and cast my eyes to the concrete floor. Kyuma gently set his thumb on my chin, lifting my head up with his forefinger. "If only we had somehow met in a different life."

I hummed, getting cut off by an update on the time our both teams had remaining. Kyuma raised his head to the side, showcasing his sharp jawline. He sighed softly. "You best meet with your teammates." He spoke, looking back to meet my firm nod. "When you are given the chance, choose to leave this world." He instructed, loosening his grip on my cheek, and slipping his warm touch from my skin. "Thank you, Kyuma." I smiled, stepping from his body, and casting his godly form one last glance. He dropped his head, smiling at my mannered response. 

"No. Thank you, Y/n." 

[everythingisamazing]

In defense of Jayces words & the true intention behind them

There is valid criticism of Jayces Quote in the astral plane:

“You’ve always wanted to cure what you thought were weaknesses. Your leg. Your disease. But you were never broken, Viktor. There is beauty in imperfections. They made you who you are. An inseparable piece of everything I admired about you.”

I didn't like it at first. But I have since found an interpretation that I believe honors the positive intention behind it. Let me explain:

1. Jayce, for a long time, doesn't understand Viktor: Especially in S1, he fails to truly empathize with him. He cares for and obviously WANTS to do right by him but remains egotistical (as V points out), while deluding himself into thinking he isn't. The ultimate example: Breaking his promise about the hexcore, not because of what Viktor wants, but because Jayce can't stand losing him. 

2. Viktor lacks empathy for himself: Arcane writing is not black and white, but shades of grey. Viktors goal of helping is not purely good, cause it contains the seed of what turns it destructive, via his disregard for his own imperfections: He constantly overworks, denies himself the spotlight, pushes away Sky, downplays his achievements, hurts himself and, most importantly, never openly asks for help. So if Jayce needs to be less egotistical, I’d argue that it would have served Viktor if he had been more so. 

3. Falling down the ravine is the turning point for Jayce - he recognizes his failings (depending on interpretation alongside the true nature of his feelings) and regrets them deeply. He wishes to fix everything and that's when he meets the Mage:

4. I am going to have to fill in some gaps here. As we know Mage Viktor succeeded in the glorious evolution, only to find out perfection is not all it's cut out to be, then travelled to other timelines, looking for a way to a) stop his alternate selves from dooming the world and b) finding out that Jayce is the key to this. But how could he tell Jayce is the component that changes everything? My assumption: There must be "good" time lines, where Jayce treated Viktor right earlier. This is why the emphasis of the scene is on "Only you can show me this." and not "Go kill me in the commune" - because the latter is not the final step. Mage Viktor saw how everything would turn out, up to the point where Jayce gets pulled into the hive mind - hence the calm resolution on his face when it happens.

So we get to the quote. Considering everything mentioned, I’d argue it’s actually deeply empathetic: Jayce voices and tries to take away Viktors unspoken insecurity which the hexcore preyed upon. 

“You were never broken” is essentially saying: I understand why you did this - but you never needed to in order to have my love/admiration. It’s not implying "you should not want to cure your disease" but that Viktor is beautiful to him, all flaws included. It’s “I dont admire you in spite of but BECAUSE of them.”  Because Jayce did not fail Viktor by not helping him enough - he tried to, saved his life and even brought him back from the dead. Where he failed was not showing Viktor, that wether he was cured or not, did not change how he felt about him. And thats what the quote is trying to convey.

At least that's how I see it. Maybe if the writers had dared to use the word "love" or if Jayce verbally acknowledged his shortcomings, it would have been less easy to misinterpret. Maybe they felt it wasn't necessary because of the voice overs in the ravine or they wanted to avoid making it seem like he is choosing to die with Viktor out of guilt, which brings me to my last point:

5. The beauty of Jayvik (and why it’s a love story at its core) is that their separate journeys reach the same conclusion: That the other one is the answer to what they have unconsciously been looking for. What Viktor needed was to let Jayce in - to stop trying to carry everything alone, but let another person share the burden (As it is literally shown by them holding the rune together, with Jayce putting his hand over Viktors). And what Jayce needed was to (re)discover that magic was never about feeding his ego, but about who first made him experience the beauty of it - Viktor himself. 

And if that isn’t a thematically satisfying climax, then I don’t know what is.

[jester-k4rd]

To Tame the Tamer

𓂀 The beast tamer, Smoked Cheese Cookie, requires a stern talking to.

Pairing: Smoked Cheese Cookie × Fem!Reader

Note: He's Affogato Cookie but likeable (not like he isn't but SC is just better).

WC: 817

Graphics: orange 1 + 1.1, orange 2

The beast tamer could not suppress the scoff that emerged from the thought of his "Golden Sovereign" refusing to act, and that she continued to cling to a fallen kingdom. It has been years since the Dark Flour War has passed, and still she fears what can no longer threaten her. The kingdom he has pledged his undying loyalty to, is frozen in a certain period of time, neither evolving or devolving. He, too, is but a mere husk, a cheap imitation of what he once was. 

A figment of her imagination.

And that is the worst insult of all. He, the once great beast tamer of the Golden Cheese Kingdom, reduced to nothing but a mere soul, wandering the ruins of the fallen kingdom. How pathetic. Even the great Gate Guardian is but a soul and nothing more, his strength limited by the coward that insists on continuing this tasteless façade.

She is hopeless. Completely, utterly hopeless. And the mere fact that Mozzarella Cookie and Burnt Cheese Cookie continue to stand by her side and even encourage her delusions is nothing short of infuriating. If only he could get his hands on her soul jam, free everyone of this miserable charade. Yes... He could return this kingdom to its former glory, better it even. The people would be grateful of his deeds, they would all be free of Golden Cheese's delusions, they would no longer have to live as husks, and he would—

“I know that look.”

Curses. Of course someone had to interrupt his line of glorious thoughts. Who would dare to approach him in his private chambers? The Smoked Cheese Cookie? Who—?

“Your greed, Smoked Cheese Cookie, while great, requires its limits. You know what happened the last time you attempted to overthrow Her Radiance.”

Ah... Her. The only one who could, eh, calm him in this state. The only person who could understand his vision even if she disagreed with his ways of going about it. Perhaps that is why he loved and cherished her so, why he would forsake his duties to the kingdom without a second thought for her if she only commanded it. Yes, the love of his life.

"Yes, I remember it quite well, my jewel..." Smoked Cheese Cookie responds, eyeing his beloved from the side.

Ever the gleaming woman. Not even Her Radiance compares to the greatness that is his jewel—his treasure. He could feel himself getting lost in her visage. His eyes that were once filled with a barely contained rage were now calm, the fire in his eyes subdued for only a moment by the only one who could tame him by her mere presence.

“My, you never cease your admiration. Am I truly a sight to behold?” she chuckled into his ear so suddenly.

He had not noticed her move from her spot. Smoked Cheese Cookie was so enthralled by her, so enchanted, that he never once took notice of her walking towards him. She never ceased to amaze him. It is as if he is a beast and she is his tamer. And he is more than willing to comply.

He turned around to face her, feeling his simmering rage die down fully, if only for the time being. “You are more radiant than Golden Cheese Cookie herself, my jewel. You are more radiant than this entire golden kingdom and any jewels or treasures in this cruel world,” he murmured, hand raising to cup her cheek. She smiled at his gesture, her own hand coming up to overlap his before she spoke, her voice soothing the last remnants of his frustration and snuffing out the flames of his fury.

“You tell me that often.”

“For it is true.”

She hummed in response to his words, staring deeply into his eyes, her smile never fading. Pathetic as this façade was, seeing her made it... bearable. She made it bearable. She always did and that is why he would never let her go. He refuses to. Not like how...

No. The war is over. It is no more. All that remained was him and her, alone in his private quarters, her lips closing the distance between his, and then, her taste. His grip on his staff faded, the staff falling to the pristine floor as the hand that held it reached up for her face to pull her closer. She, too, grasped onto him, arms wrapping around his slender but toned waist, pulling him closer.

Her touch was intoxicating, like the finest cheese from the richest cheese fondue. He was losing himself in that richness, his hands roaming her body, and slipping beneath her robes. His hands roamed her body gracefully, his touch filled with need and frustration.

Perhaps this façade isn't so bad after all if it meant having her like this. Perhaps this façade isn't bad at all if it meant having her…

[grunklejam]

ONLY THREE DAYS LEFT TO PRE-ORDER THE A-FORD-A-BILL COLLECTION!

In history, there have been many cases of manipulators and manipulatees. Edison and Tesla, Rasputin and Nicholas, Donkey and Shrek (trust me, that donkey is EVIL!) - but none have gone down in modern history quite so much as a psychotic evil triangle and old man in a smelly trenchcoat.

Introducing the A-Ford-A-Bill collection, capturing the magic of an interdimensional demon trying to twist and turn a genius scientist to suit his needs. This is an exclusive capsule collection of incredible collectables, only available for preorder from Studio Bad Egg from February 14th to March 14th!

What does the collection contain? Well…

Ford-Saken Mind: 8" tall vinyl figure, $250

An exotic 8” vinyl figure of Bill reshaping Ford into one thing he’s never truly had - a friend just like him. While Ford remains in meditation, Bill Cipher adorns him with all manner of accoutrements to create his sole goal - an ally, a friend, and somebody who can join him on his journey - whether he wants to or not. This figure showcases Ford in his younger, more studious years, lost in the mindscape, complete with glow-in-the-dark eyes and mindscape pencil.

8” tall vinyl figure

Glow in the dark eyes, pencil and Bill Cipher

Concept by Studio Bad Egg and Jordan ‘Grunkle Jam’ Mooney

Designed by Kyri45

Modelled by The Last Goldfish Toys

With the kind permission of Alex Hirsch

You’re Acute: 8" x 10" Art Print, $25

A high quality 8” x 10” print showcasing Bill and Ford’s ever-manipulative, tenuous relationship - drawn by the legendary Kyri45 and inspired by our A-Ford-A-Bill concepts.

Chaos Will Do: 8" x 10" Art Print, $25

A high quality 8” x 10” print showcasing Bill and Ford’s ever-manipulative, tenuous relationship - drawn by the legendary Kyri45 and inspired by our A-Ford-A-Bill concepts.

~~~

Ford-Ever at Odds: 8" tall vinyl figure, $250

A dashing 8” tall vinyl figure of Ford in possession, manipulated by the strings of fate, worked from within. This beautifully spooky figure showcases Ford as we know and love him, with a dark glow in his eyes. Through crooked limbs and that beaming smile, it’s obvious that something isn’t quite right…

Perhaps he shouldn’t have shook on it.

8” tall vinyl figure

Glow in the dark eyes and strings

Concept by Studio Bad Egg

Designed by Kyri45

Modelled by The Last Goldfish Toys

With the kind permission of Alex Hirsch

My Rival in Rhyme: 8" x 10" Art Print, $25

A high quality 8” x 10” print showcasing Bill and Ford’s ever-manipulative, tenuous relationship - drawn by the legendary Kyri45 and inspired by our A-Ford-A-Bill concepts.

Parallel Lines: 8" x 10" Art Print, $25

A high quality 8” x 10” print showcasing Bill and Ford’s ever-manipulative, tenuous relationship - drawn by the legendary Kyri45 and inspired by our A-Ford-A-Bill concepts.

~~~

Checkmate 3” Stained Glass Pin, $35

You can tell your dynamic is broken when every conversation feels like a game of strategy. Where the board seems to bend and malform before your eyes, and pieces seem to exchange and intermingle colours, who knows if you can ever truly win…

A huge stained-glass effect pin, sitting at 3 inches wide and boasting a glorious stained glass effect to the chess-board laden mindscape. Complete with glow-in-the-dark effect, Studio Bad Egg backstamp and rubber clasp.

3” hard enamel pin

Stained glass effect background

Glow-in-the-dark detailing

Concept by Studio Bad Egg

Designed by Kyri45

With the kind permission of Alex Hirsch

[eliza-and-her-monsters]

the tortured poets department

Info Post

Moodboards

Part I

Prev Part < - > Next Part

Contains/TW: omg lesbians guess what?? WE MADE IT Y’ALL!! this chapter WILL BE NSFW and you should know the drill by now but STILL- MINORS DNI! you are FINALLY getting smut… glorious beautiful wlw lesbian sex 🙏 it IS millie’s first time however she is not infantilized or completely clueless about sex and i’m trying to not make her overly innocent as well. this chapter will also contain some texts in the beginning/smau type shit, brief discussions of self harm/scars, anxiety/panic attacks, and a good old fashioned menty b! also some brief 3rd person/ellie pov at the end of this?? anywaaaaays… hope you enjoy! <3

WC: 5.9k i was a yapper in this soz 😭

Part VII

false god

I was still shaking as I clicked my phone off and peered at my reflection in the mirror. Vi’s shirt was way oversized, the sleeves easily hitting my elbow and the edge easily brushing my mid thigh. Ultimately, I was still mostly covered and I think I would’ve been okay with it. If it weren’t for the fact that she hadn’t seen all the scars yet.

“Ummm… hey Vi?” I questioned, cracking open the door just a mere inch. “D-Do you have a jacket or-?”

“Are you still cold?” She wondered, eyebrows furrowing as I saw her approaching the door. “I turned the heat up for you before we came in, can you not feel it yet?”

“Well, I mean- I can it’s just…” My voice shook as I seemed to trip over every word, barely even able to string them together. But thankfully I didn’t have to do much before I felt her hand slipping around my wrist, and the tiniest instinctive flinch I felt myself do was very telling.

“Baby, you don’t have to hide those in front of me, alright?” Her thumb just barely brushed over the scarred skin as I felt the door to the bathroom naturally swinging open, tracing over the individual lines that were slowly fading yet still clear and raised ever so slightly. “You’ll talk to me first if you ever wanna do this again, right? Or it doesn’t even have to be me… me or Ellie or Caitlyn or Jinx or- literally anyone-“

“Violet, I promise.” I spoke, feeling like her full name would add some sort of strength to it. The stronger a promise the more of a reason I would have to not break it. “I- I promise. I-I haven’t even done it in like a month. There was an incident over the summer after I got out of the hospital but Ellie caught me and hasn’t let me be alone with sharp objects since so… her and Caitlyn definitely have precautions.”

Vi let out a heavy breath and nodded, she didn’t want to linger on the subject or pry but I could tell it scared her. And I hated it. How I even managed to scare somebody like Vi. “I just… I really really- really care about you, Mills.” She spoke, stuttering over her own words like she wanted to choose different ones. Nevertheless though she didn’t bounce back to change them or anything. She just simply placed her hands on the side of my face as she pulled me in to place a firm kiss to my forehead. “I know you don’t need it,” She spoke next, arms slipping around me to pull me back into her. Her arms always feeling like such a safe space now, soft but tight all the same. The way she would hold my head against her chest every single time. It felt like a war could be raging on outside and as long as I was here, wrapped up in her arms, I would be safe. “But I just have this overwhelming urge to want to protect you. You’ve been through enough and I just… I want you to finally not have to worry about any of that shit while you’re here. I- I want you to be happy.”

“I am though.” I stated with softened eyes as I peered upwards at her, lifting a hand to softly lay against her cheek. A curious thumb drifting outwards to trace around her light scattering of freckles across her nose. “I am happy. With you. Right now.”

A light smile tugged on her lips, my heart almost feeling like it was skipping in my chest as I felt her hands sliding around my waist once more. “Promise?” She questioned, closing the already small gap between us as she pressed me to her body. And I caught myself hoping she couldn’t feel my racing heart beneath my ribs.

“Promise.” I felt breathless as I stood up to my tiptoes to place my lips to hers. All of the air sweeping out of my lungs as I encircled my arms around her shoulders, Vi always meeting each kiss with equal or more enthusiasm. And each kiss feeling more and more like the first one all over again. Though this one was stronger. Fiercer. Deeper.

“Are you sure you want this?” She seemed to breathe into me as I felt her hands drifting lower, already bringing up that same frustrated ache in between my legs that had only seemed to fester.

I nodded, barely able to choke out a ‘please’ before her arms encircled around my thighs and she lifted my legs to hoist around her waist with ease. “Vi-“ I stammered out with instinctive nerves as my arms tightened for dear life around her shoulders.

“Shhh, I’ve got you. I won’t drop you.” She whispered in a soothing voice before connecting her lips back to mine. Fingers brushing along my bare thighs almost causing me to whimper before she pressed me to her unmade bed where she crawled over top of me with ease. Her hips fit so effortlessly in between my spread legs finally drawing the softest moan from my lips at even the lightest friction. “Hey,” She halted, gentle eyes peering downwards at me as my trembling hands gripped her shoulders for dear life. “Tell me if you want me to stop, okay? At any point.”

I gulped an anxious lump down my throat with a nod, almost feeling like my thighs were only tightening around her waist at the uncontrollable ache that seemed to form in my lower abdomen. Our bodies almost seemed to mold together as her hard muscles pressed into my own, flexing around me nearly causing me to let out a breathy moan all over again. Her hands gripping my hips and holding them to the mattress below. “You’ve never been touched before?” She whispered against my lips, the statement causing me to tense up in response. Vi’s expression softened, laying a delicate hand against my cheek as her eyes never left mine for a second, “It’s okay, you can tell me.”

I brought an anxious hand up to my lips as if to latch on to one of my nails again as I shook my head in response. “Have you ever touched yourself before?” Another shake of my head as I slipped my nail in between my teeth, cheeks red with embarrassment as I prepared for the absolute worse. Insecurity almost rivaling the unbridled want that seemed to course through every inch of my body. What if she didn’t want this or me? She was so experienced so why on earth would she want me for anything that lasted more than a night? “Hey�� Hey, doll, it’s okay.” I heard her soft voice once more, a warm hand brushing underneath my cheekbone just before a small tear could stream down it. “That doesn’t change anything. If you still want this… just tell me. Talk to me.”

The only thing I could hear was the thumping of my heart, the heavy breaths still pushing through my lungs as she stroked my cheek. Her eyes didn’t leave mine for one second, as if searching for any hint of an answer. “I’m just… I-I’m just really scared.” I blew out a long sigh from my tight lungs, leaning into her bruised hand that had never seemed so delicate before. “But I want this- I-I really do I- I want it to be with you.”

“You promise?” She whispered, pressing her forehead to mine as her thumb softly brushed underneath my eyes. “Swear to me?”

“I promise, Vi, on everything, I promise.” I muttered just as I let my arms slip back around her shoulders, answering by pressing my lips to hers once more. I almost whimpered the moment she pressed me back to the bed, her hips slotting perfectly in between my own spread legs. Her hands toying with the hem of my shirt as if asking for silent permission.

My body shivered as I gulped an anxious lump down my throat and nodded. Her eyes were soft as she gingerly lifted the fabric from over my head. On instinct I lifted my quivering hands upwards to my chest as if to cover them until I felt Vi’s careful hands slipping around my wrists. “Let me see you, baby.” She whispered, slowly pulling them away, more silent asks for permission. Giving me the ability to change my mind if I wanted to. But somehow I never wanted to. “So… goddamn… beautiful.” She murmured as her eyes seemed to scan down my body with the look of someone who had never seen the female body before.

“Fuck, doll, you’re way too good for me, you know that?” She spoke with a half smile and a shake of her head before reaching for the back of her wife beater to yank it over her body. I don’t know what I was expecting to be fair, I knew she worked hard on her physique. I could’ve gotten lost just tracing the curves of her muscular arms, her biceps, the darkened lines of her tattoos. But to actually see the entirety of her body, it almost left me choking. The toned markers of her ab muscles and pectoral muscles, the way her back tattoo peeked out from behind her broad shoulders giving way to her hourglass figure. And were those two distinct silver bars poked through her nipples? Her body looked like a work of art itself. Carved and sculpted by only the most talented individuals.

“Ummm, I-I don’t know I- I think you might be too good for me.” I stammered with widened eyes just as I saw her lips lift in a smirk.

“Nah, I think you’re fucking perfect.” She muttered underneath her breath before pressing her bare body to mine as she caught my lips on her own. A soft moan broke through in between kisses, the cool metal of her piercings causing my back to arch against her. Seeking even more of her out as our lips seemed to mold together in a perfect sync. The ache in between my legs only spiraled towards unbearable as my hips bucked upwards, desperate for contact.

Vi let out a low chuckle against my lips before letting her own trail back towards my neck. “Patience, pretty girl, you know I’ll take care of you.” She murmured as I felt the expanse of her hand wrapping around my thigh to give it a faint squeeze.

“It hurts.” I spoke through a quiet whimper, squeezing my arms around her shoulders.

“I know… I know I’ve made you wait too long tonight just hold out for a little bit longer, okay? I wanna savor this.” She whispered, pressing a soft kiss to my pulse point before letting them slowly drift lower. Inching towards my collarbone, down my chest, each kiss I swear making that ache in between my legs get stronger and stronger while my breathing grew heavier and heavier by the moment.

Her lips wrapped around one of my perked out nipples, my jaw dropping with a sharp gasp as she ran her tongue around the sensitive area and her hands worked their way down my squirming body. “Can I, doll?” She whispered, lightly tugging at the flimsy pair of underwear still attached to my body. The only piece of clothing still attached to my body.

“Please… please, Violet.” I answered, finally giving up on my attempt not to beg. But her hand was so close. Carefully slipping it underneath the fragile fabric, a heavy moan spilling from my lips at the overwhelming pleasure that finally hit all at once as she brushed a calloused finger against my clit. My nails sunk into her back as I clutched onto her for dear life, “Vi-”

“You’re so sensitive, princess, I barely even touched you.” She whispered, her hot breath against my sensitive breasts causing my chest to arch against her. “You’re soaked too, doll, is all this for me?” I whined in need, probably nodding like a fucking bobblehead as another hand slipped downwards to delicately caress my hip bone, “You wanna let go of me so I can go down on you, baby?”

My arms seemed to squeeze even tighter around her broad shoulders, barely noticing how I had burrowed my face into the crook of her neck. I was terrified to let go of her, even though it felt like a throbbing wet mess in between my thighs. Even though I needed her so bad… so desperately… so intensely I wasn’t even sure what to do with myself. “I’ll still be right here baby, I’m not going anywhere and if you wanna stop you just tell me, okay?”

“Okay.” I finally let out through a long and airy breath with a nod. “Okay.”

“Atta girl.” Her praise brought about another soft moan as she let her lips trail back down my body, immediately causing me to spring upwards onto my elbows with a loud whimper once they reached my lower stomach. Vi’s expression shifted into a more stern one as she lifted her arm once more to wrap her hand around my chin and press me back towards the bed. Gentle, but still firm all the same. “No, you lay back and relax. Let me take care of you.”

“Okay… o-okay.” I said through the same shaky breaths as she inched the now probably soaked underwear down my legs. All hints of nerves seemed to be replaced with need the moment I felt her soft lips brushing along my inner thighs, her hot breath dancing along my core right where I needed her the most. “Violet.” My hips bucked upwards, a shivering hand stretching downwards as if begging for her to take it.

“Shhh, I’m right here.” Vi whispered, lacing her fingers through mine with a tiny squeeze as she placed a line of kisses up my thighs.

My jaw fell open with a cry of pleasure though as I finally felt the warmth of her tongue running upwards through my wet slit. Lapping at my folds I could already feel a sense of euphoria creeping through me as she sent the vibrations of a moan through my body. “Fuck doll, you taste so fucking good. I don’t know if I’m ever gonna get enough of you.”

Her hand reached for my thigh, wrapping her arm around the circumference to hoist it over her shoulder with ease. A gasp slid from my throat as she pressed her face closer to my core, parting my continuously slick folds with her tongue, mouth seeming to envelop the entirety of my cunt. My moans grew louder, heavier, my hand practically squeezing the life out of hers at her breath on my clit. Soon replaced by the soft tip of her nose nudging it ever so slightly, with the utmost gentleness like she didn’t want to work me up so quickly. However we were already long past that.

“Vi…” I whimpered, a cry of pleasure sounding from my lips at the stimulation to the sensitive area. My hips bucked almost painfully, rolling against her face almost looking like it was causing her eyes to roll back.

“Good girl.” She whispered, the praise covering me in goosebumps as my leg curled around her head. “Keep moving your hips like that, doll.” My hands tangled into sheets below, back arching all over again as her tongue seemed to move in sync with my hips. A sea of pleasure that made my own eyes roll back. My jaw fell open all over, desperate and erotic moans seeming to take over the entirety of my breaths.

The moment I felt her tongue curling around my clit I nearly shot up once more, massaging the bundle of nerves with just the right amount of pressure. Just enough to make me see stars but not enough to rush through it. This wasn’t a matter of her seeing how quickly she could make me finish. This was a matter of her wanting to savor it, take her time, as long as she possibly could. “Vi… V-Violet- oh Violet.” I could barely recognize myself, speaking her name like I knew no other word as she ran a torturously long lick around the circumference of the sensitive bundle of nerves right through my wet folds. A motion that seemed to hit every sweet spot, like she didn’t want to leave an inch of me untouched, untasted. “J-Just like that- o-oh my- just like that, p-please don’t stop.”

“Feels good, baby? Right there?” She whispered, the vibrations of her voice nearly driving me up the wall before diving back in. Increasing the pressure with each lap through, I swear I squeezed her hand so tightly I almost thought it was hurting her. But she didn’t seem to mind, just kept running her thumb along my knuckles in a soothing motion.

“R-Right there… right there… o-oh fuck- Vi!” I practically squealed at the vibrations of her own moans, her soft lips running along my clit that throbbed in pleasure. Another cry of euphoria bursting through my lips as she flattened her tongue against the swollen bundle. Lapping at my center as if she was starving, dying of thirst even.

Closer and closer she drew me towards the edge, my breathing quickening as the pressure in my lower stomach seemed to build to heights I almost couldn’t handle. “Violet… Vi- I- I think I’m gonna cum.” I could barely get the words out at the sensations, the heavy build-up that made tears burn at my eyes.

“Let go for me, baby, just let go. I’m right here.” The high felt neverending, hitting me like a shattered dam as my eyes rolled back for the millionth time. My body felt like it was encased entirely in goosebumps, leaving me nearly breathless. Vi worked me through every bit of it though, lapping up every bit of the mess like it was the sweetest nectar she had ever tasted.

The moans turned into sobs not long afterwards, the pleasure reduced to a racing heart as my entire body seemed to shake in the aftermath. “V-Vi?” I stammered through her name, like my brain had almost completely forgotten she was there until she was right in front of me. Hands cupping the sides of my face, soft powder blue eyes coming into view as she smoothed out my messy hair, strands probably soaked in sweat.

“Right here, doll, I’m right here.” She whispered, her voice a soothing symphony over the roar within my head, and I caught myself curling my trembling hands around her shoulders as if in some attempt to ground myself. I burrowed my face into the crook of her neck while the white noise of her shushes slowly drowned out the feeling of my racing heart. She didn’t pull away until the shaking stopped, soft thumbs stroking my cheeks as she wiped away every bit of the tears.

“You still with me, princess?” She whispered, the softest hand of all time gently curling around my chin and pulling me to face her.

“I- y-yeah, yeah, I’m okay.” I said through a long and heavy breath, almost trying to match them up with Vi’s, making it just the tiniest bit easier to catch my own. “I’m sorry I- I should’ve anticipated that that was gonna happen. Th-That was amazing a-and I don’t want you to feel like it wasn’t-”

“Baby girl, you don’t have anything to apologize for. And you don’t have to explain yourself to me, okay?” She said with a shake of her head, brushing scarred lips against my temple. The weight of her body felt like a warm blanket, a soothing embrace as I wrapped tight arms around her broad shoulders, probably clinging to her like a damn koala. “Do you need me to get you anything, princess? Something to eat maybe? I live with a fuck ton of jocks but I’m sure I could find something you like.”

“I… like you.” I murmured, cheeks as red as roses as I let my pointer finger gently trace along the curve of her jaw.

“Doll, I know, you already have me though. What else can I get you?” She chuckled lightly, pressing her lips to my forehead this time. Sweet little delicate kisses that only made my smile grow. I had definitely thought about what I’d be into during sex, but never really put a ton of thought into what I’d want during aftercare. I guess I always assumed I’d probably be high maintenance due to sensory overload and so on… but with Vi, I found that in a lot of ways her arms were enough. Still, I didn’t want her to think I was too clingy.

“Do you by any chance have a weighted blanket? And can you tie my hair back… maybe?” I questioned, nervously chewing on my bottom lip and hoping it wasn’t too much. Vi only cracked another small smile as she nodded.

“Yeah, I think I can do that, and I’ll see if we have one.”

Moments later after a few more forehead kisses and cleaning myself up in the bathroom, she was gently running a brush through my long hair as my eyelids fluttered with exhaustion. She of course wasn’t very well-versed in hair care. Not in the way that Caitlyn would always braid it in different intricate styles whenever we were growing up and Ellie even being surprisingly good at it whenever we were in the psychiatric program over the summer. I didn’t mind though. It was soothing, feeling her take her time running the brush through the long strands, getting all the knots out.

“Is this your love language? Letting people play with your hair?” She finally spoke up after a moment of comfortable silence.

The corners of my lips quirked upwards in a little chuckle as I felt her twisting the thick strands into a loose ponytail, though I wouldn’t have minded letting her run her fingers through it for a fair bit longer. I guess that answered her question. “Caitlyn started it I guess you could say. I’ve always liked my long hair and felt really pretty with it so I never wanted to cut it short but… sometimes having it down would just make it so much easier for me to get overstimulated. And my parents never had time to, well, do a ton of nurturing stuff like do their daughter’s hair so- Caitlyn learned how. I swear almost every day from year 5 onwards she would do my hair every day before school. She had like a dozen different girls asking her to braid theirs at some point too for like, school dances and formals and stuff.”

I rambled on, my cheeks only heating in response as I fiddled around with the edge of Vi’s shirt that I had slipped back on. “Sorry- i-if I talk about her too much, I know she’s sort of your ex, she’s just- she’s like my best friend, you know?”

“She’s hardly my ex.” Vi almost snickered with a shake of her head. “And I get it, she’s a big part of your life… and in all honesty I can’t blame her for being at least a little bit wary about, you know,” She took in a deep breath as she lounged back against her bed, arms stretching upwards to rest her hands behind her head. A moment of hesitation passing, as if she was afraid to say the words. “Us.”

Something felt like it was blooming in my chest as she said those words. A deep flush creeping back up into my cheeks that I ultimately tried to ignore as I cautiously moved to lay next to her. “How come?” I wondered, curling up onto my side as I watched her eyes sweep over to meet mine.

“You really wanna see the good in everybody, don’t you, doll?” She questioned, the dodge of the question causing my chest to tighten for a brief moment.

“Not always.” I muttered with a tiny shrug, “I’ve found that humans are vastly complicated beings. They’re rarely entirely evil, and even then… we rarely actually think we’re entirely evil, and then whenever we do- it’s rarely true.”

“You sure you’re not a philosophy major?” She questioned with a lifted brow, a tiny giggle breaking through my lips as I let myself inch closer to her warmth.

“Definitely not, but I am an english lit major which is… kind of the same thing.” I suggested with another shy shrug as I curled up to her side, immediately feeling her muscular arm sliding around my shoulders to pull me into her chest. Surprisingly soft, those same damn pheromones drawing my eyes shut as I draped my other arm around her body.

I barely even noticed it at first, my fingers accidentally brushing against the lines of a few slightly raised scars etched onto her side. Though I almost jumped whenever I heard Vi’s breath hitch and her hand wrap around my wrist to pull it from the area, instead letting it settle against her chest. “I-I’m sorry.” I stammered, shoulders tucking inwards in an instinctual wince.

“No, it’s okay, doll… it’s just a sensitive spot, you didn’t know.” Her hand loosened on my wrist at the reaction, brushing a soft thumb along my knuckles as she did so. “I’m sorry if I scared you.” She added with a slightly guilty sigh as she lifted my hand upwards to brush her lips to my knuckles next.

“I feel like-” I began, cautiously tossing the words around in my head as I rested my cheek back on her chest. Weighing them in my head, still approaching each interaction with caution. Because I was raised in an environment where asking questions was seen as an act of defiance. “You know everything about me but I don’t know anything about you.”

“You know everything that matters.” She spoke with a sigh that almost sounded exasperated, brushing her fingers underneath my chin to tilt my head upwards to meet her eyes. Still gentle, still careful, but firm in her stance nonetheless. “I’ll tell you more eventually, okay doll? But for now I really need you to get some rest, alright? I’ll be here whenever you wake up.”

I caught my bottom lip in between my teeth, fighting back my stubborn and anxious protests with a nod. “Promise?” I muttered, finally drawing another tiny smile from her lips, nearly causing me to sigh in relief at the sight. She isn’t angry, she isn’t angry at you. You’re fine.

“I promise.” She answered, brushing a soft pair of lips against my forehead before I could snuggle back into her chest.

I almost wished I could say sleep came more difficult that night, in a new environment wrapped up in the arms of someone who clearly wasn’t just a friend. I wished I could’ve said that so I could convince myself I wasn’t falling too hard too impossibly fast. But it came so easy… and I was clearly well and truly past the point of just falling.

~

The empty locker room after the break of dawn was usually the best place to breakdown in private. Especially with Jinx being a known snooper, Ellie being a known introvert, and Jinx also not being the best person to wake up without landing yourself a black eye. And in Ellie’s defense, it’s not like she could sleep. So she had originally drug herself to the 24-hour gym attached to the hockey rink first to blow off some steam which later… of course- resulted in her breaking down where she was today. Her face buried into her knees, sketchbook open in front of her and headphones latched over top of her head playing music that absolutely was not going to make her feel better.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had cried to this extent. Certainly not while she had been here, and if she had she couldn’t remember. But this wasn’t a cry she could easily forget. It was one that made her entire head ache, and even more so the space behind her red eyes. The type of cry that you could feel in your chest, a crushing ache that almost made you think your heart was actually physically breaking.

It was ultimately a selfish reason to cry, brought on by her own co-dependency. And maybe partially a feeling she wasn’t quite ready to admit yet.

The feeling of someone tugging at her headphones nearly made her jump out of skin. Probably letting out a supremely embarrassing squeal as she dropped them around her neck. “Geez? Crying alone in the locker room? Not even the lounge? You must be on some serious self-deprecating shit.”

“Jesus Abby! A warning would’ve been nice!” Ellie huffed as she immediately dug at her eyes with the heels of her hands in some attempt to hopefully dry it all up before she could make a fool of herself even more than she already had.

“I said your name like 5 times and snapped in front of your face. This was a last ditch effort.” Abby said with a shake of her head before whirling around to face her locker. “You look like shit, what’s up with you? Boy trouble? Girl trouble? Whatever you’re into trouble?”

“Definitely not boy trouble.” Ellie whispered, bringing out her phone to pause the song still raging in her headphones.

“I figured but- didn’t wanna assume.” Abby said with a shrug, already setting to work with undoing her lock as she shrugged the oversized backpack from her shoulders. “So… girl trouble then?”

“Why are you acting like you care?” A slight crack crept into Ellie’s voice as she peered over at her, and she hated herself for it.

“Oh… I don’t- don’t flatter yourself. Sometimes that’s easier though… talking about it with somebody who doesn’t care.” Abby added casually as she began to unpack, shooting another nonchalant look Ellie’s way with another simple shrug. “Up to you. You can of course let it fester if you want, seem like an expert at doing that anyways.”

“I don’t let things fester I- not anymore. I just can’t talk to people about this.”

“You mean you can’t talk to Amelia about this.” It wasn’t even phased as a question because she already knew. Ellie was easier to read than she liked to let on. In fact whenever she was in the hospital one of the first things she was called out for was her ‘resting sad face’. Whenever it was blotchy and tear-stained it probably didn’t make it any better.

“She would hate me.” She muttered to herself, not even knowing why she was even talking to Abby about this. But regardless she was. “I would blindside her… right whenever she’s finally happy. Right whenever she’s finally making connections with somebody who isn’t me. I can’t- I can’t do that to her. I would look so fucking selfish!”

“My god, you’re such an opposite of a piece of shit it drives me crazy.” Abby huffed as she dropped the remainder of her backpack load in the locker before whipping around to face her. “Do you hear yourself right now? You’re bawling your eyes out to Taylor Swift alone in a locker room at 6:30 in the morning, currently spilling your guts out to your bully instead of any of your actual friends because you’re worried about how your pain affects other people. Do you not realize how ridiculous that sounds, Williams?”

“Because I don’t want my pain to be the cause of other people’s pain because I don’t know how to control it, Abby! I’ve spent 20 years of my life being a piece of shit and not being able to control myself and you wanna know how the universe responded? By giving me a fucking gun!” Her voice cracked as she flew up to her feet, eyes burning and blurring with incessant tears and fury chipping away at every single bit of sanity she had worked so hard to finally develop. “I can’t- I- I’m sorry. I-I should go.” She sniffled, lifting a shaking hand as she quickly shoved the sketchbook back into her backpack. She barely could understand the words that came out of her own mouth, the tremble seeming to take over her entire body.

Fuck, what had happened to her? She was unstoppable in the army, her gun like an extension of her hand. And there she was, the youngest person in her platoon yet simultaneously the best shot her lieutenant had seen in a while. But now, here she was, breaking down alone in a locker room, overtaken by the shakes.

She had become so weak. So defenseless. So everything she promised herself she’d never be.

“It’s a shame.” Abby spoke up with a carefree sigh and a shrug, “We were finally starting to get somewhere.”

“Listen, Abby-” Ellie huffed as she hoisted her backpack onto her back before whirling around to face her once more. “I know you think you have me all figured out but respectfully, you really don’t, okay? Wh-Whatever version of me you created in your head… she just isn’t real. I-I’m not a good person, Abby.”

“So ask yourself, is my version of you the one that isn’t real or is it the version of you that you had no choice but to be?” She took a step closer, Ellie’s breath almost hitching in her throat the second she had to tilt her head upwards to meet her eyes. It was only a few inches of a difference, three minuscule tiny inches, but lord did it feel like so much more than that. Her broad frame that felt like it could’ve covered Ellie’s entire figure.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Ellie stammered, arms slipping around herself in a makeshift hug or a shield either one. She didn’t know which one she needed more. “You throw my face into the ice one day and get your shit rocked by Vi trying to defend Amelia’s honor and now you’re talking me down in the locker rooms the next? D-Did she seriously have that much of an impact on you?”

“Vi’s a pretty good mediator believe it or not. She’s not just a dumb jock who only thinks with her fists.” Abby added, taking a step backwards only to start unbuttoning her many layers to protect herself from the cold. And Ellie couldn’t help but to gulp a dry lump down her throat the moment Abby finally stood in not much other than a simple grey wife-beater. Just in time for Abby to glance her way and catch her eye. “Are you just here to ogle now or-”

“In your dreams, Anderson.” She scoffed, quickly turning away from her to grab her half-drank water bottle. “I’m not into ‘roided out mascs.”

“Your blush says differently but go off, Williams.” Abby stated, eyes briefly giving Ellie a once over which only causing her cheeks to burn even more.

“That’s only because it’s cold.” Ellie brushed off, a hand flying upwards to her face as if in some attempt to wipe away the flush. “Anyways umm, I-I should go. Thanks for the pep talk… I think.”

“Oh you absolutely should thank me for the pep talk. Will I see you at training later?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Ellie forced out, almost wincing as she pulled herself from the locker room. Not letting out the frustrated groan she was currently feeling until she was completely out of the building.

A/N: i’m so sorry it’s taking me longer to pump these out 😭 mental health has not been killing it lately but i’m still trying hard to put out good content i just might need a bit of a break occasionally 😅 regardless though i have so much fun shit planned for this story so i hope you enjoy it nonetheless! also… brief hint of ellabs at the end?? thoughts?? 😌

Credits: main divider by @saradika-graphics mdni divider by @adornedwithlight 🤎

Taglist: @sawaagyapong @autisticgirlkisser @macamilarofe @nombreuxx @snowbunnyboo @lils-1979 @myrrusstuff @baylegend6 @withyou-withoutthem @lil7-I @cloudy-fay @liliwritin @primarina-diamandis @soodle-noup @livil589 @riches-expresso @deepobservationcherryblossom @pixieolives-blog @roseannih @fernanda-2022 @clefairysoup @cherrybomb2298 @purplerose418 @sharklover331 @lizzielovee @rocknr0ll @nomarksonelegance

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[iloveaustinelvisandmannymore]

Forever, mine

Pairing: Astarion x reader.

Warnings: Dark themes, Angst, Concubine!Reader, Yandere! possessive, obsessive Astarion, Forced relationship, One-sided love, Gore, Murder, Bloodsucking, Turning. Part 1.

Summary: You should've known you'll always be his.

You sighed softly as you stared out of the window, the burning star above brought beautiful rays of sunlight into the dark bed chamber. Happy, and gleefully birds of all kinds chirped to a love song of their own.

You wonder what that was like.

To be happy and free.

You were weighed down by his arm laying on your hip as he slept so peacefully while you wallowed in self-pity and misery. Rustling of the slik sheets told you that the day would be another torture. "Good morning, my darling treasure." Astarion's smooth and elegant voice greeted you, a little tired rasp enlaced within. You turned around to face him, a practiced smile playing on your lips, "Good morning, my love." You greeted in return, swallowing down the rising venom as you called him your love, a pet name he rained hell to be called.

He will never be your love.

nevertheless, you melted as you looked into your master's crimson eyes, Love, and obsession swirled around in his iris like rippling wine as he looked into your own, his normally pristine white curls a mess, and his pale skin seemed to sparkle in the light of the sun, and the soft yet smug smile he wears, he looked like an angel. immersed by his beauty, you didn't feel his tender touch upon your forearm till he spoke "As much as I want to stay in bed, and cuddle you into my arms. We have work to do." Astarion sighed dramatically, running his fingers through his hair, and gave you a wink before sliding out the bed.

The throne room was a glorious sight, ceiling high above your head, a story painted of love, betrayal, and vengeance embosom in the round walls. Shining gold and marbled white beams run down to the smooth wooden floors. A rose gold arch separated the thrones from the rest of the ballroom, maroon with dark patterned curtains drape to the sides, showcasing the vampire Lord and you on your thrones. Astarion held none back on his. Different shades of gold, black, and red designed his large throne while yours was a bit smaller and with only colors of silver and white.

You fought back the urge to roll your eyes as another devoted follower praised and stroked Astarion's ego before moving on to her problem as others lined up behind her, waiting for their turn. Your butt began to ache as you sat for what must have been hours. Since Astarion had learned of Soren, your day started and ended with him, your old chamber was now one of the many guest rooms as your stuff was moved into your master's chamber. You rarely were able to leave his side.

It was getting harder and harder to sit still, harder to blur Astarion and his loyal subjects out. Laying your cheek on your hand you looked around, looking for anything to keep your attention until you spotted a familiar man, frantically waving at the entrance of the ballroom. Soran! You quickly looked to your right, your master was still focused on his task to notice your reaction.

You cleared your throat.

Astarion head turned slightly to you, holding his hand up, effectively silencing the blubbering woman. "Yes, my treasure?" He finally looked at you, his crimson orbs filled with happiness."I must excuse myself," you stood up and feigned a desperate look, "Nature is calling me." Astarion stared at you with an unreadable expression before he simply dismissed you with a wave of his hand and returned his attention to the woman.

As you walked down the small stairs and out of the ballroom, you grabbed Soran's arm and both of you ran down the halls, almost unable to contain the laughter bubbling in your throats. Finally, you reached the vast, colorful garden and your backs hit the grassy ground.

"You're positively insane! He could have seen you!" you laughed as Soran crawled on top of you.

"No one can keep me from you," he grinned, his teal eyes putting the sky's blue shade to shame. Everything in the world felt right when you were with him. The birds chirped a special song just for you, and the fragile breeze carried the sweet scent of the flowers around you. The light from above beamed down on Soran's back, and it seemed like a halo appeared on his head. He's an angel, and he is yours. You talked about everything and anything, time flew by before you could stop it.

"My lady!!" Lyra shouted, out of nowhere, her long blonde hair flowing behind her as she rushed to you, "My lady." She repeated after taking in a few shakily breaths, her forest greens finally looked up at you, and a glint passed through her eyes and then the look of panic settled in. "What is it, Lyra?" You spoke calmly, hoping it helped her. "Master Astarion calls for you! He wants to throw a ball and he said he aides your expertise." She said frantically, pulling you up and began to drag you away. You got one last glance at Soran as you were dragged pass the corner.

"What do you think of this, treasure?" Astarion hummed, holding up some (f/c) fabrics, his movement was nonchalant yet still elegant. You tilted your head slightly, eyeing the individual pieces, and then pointed to the darker shade of the color and he handed the satin to the seamstress. "What is this ball about?" You asked with a falsely happy smile, your arm hooked on his as you both moved on to the next set of items. "You'll simply have to wait to find out, curious little minx." He purred mischievously.

The ballroom was splendiferously decorated, with colors of (f/cs), and your master's colors involved some of the decorations. The floors were polished to perfection, and the lights made it seem like a magical dream. Your gown swept the dancefloor as you were guided and twirled along by Astarion and before you could stop it, a genuine smile graced your lips. "You look exquisite." Astarion smiled back as he twirled you once more and finished off by dipping you. The crowd that was watching applauded, the music stopped for a bit then played another song. "There is something I must ask you." He said seriously, despite his tone and intense eyes he gently moved a stray hair behind your ear.

You watched him get one knee, frozen in place, and eyes widened as he pulled a ring that must of been crafted by the hand of a god, out of his pocket. "My treasure..I haven't always been the best of lovers. I was torn by my past, clinging to the first person I loved in all my 200 years of living. I thought you could be just a replacement but you were more. You made my cold, dead heart feel alive once again. Will you marry me?" He asked, but you both know he wasn't asking, if he truly was too, he'd do it behind doors. he wanted an audience, a guarantee that you'd say yes unless you wanted to face his wrath like never before. You did the only you could do, "Yes!" You smiled and your eyes began to water as the ladies and noble clapped, some laughing heartily thinking this was all a romantic display, and your tears were of joy. How wrong they are.

The click of your heels and tge sniffling of poorly hidden tears echoed through the elongated halls of the palace as you rushed to the servant headquarters. You had to find Soran and leave this place while you could.

Something felt off when you reached his room, it was too eerie, and as you opened the door time slowed down as you took in the view before you. The furniture was knocked over and broken. Pieces of flesh, blood, and bone spread across the walls and floors, and in the middle of it was Astarion. Dripping in the crimson liquid, his pale hands dyed red and coated in ripped bits of flesh, his steamed-to-perfection garments rustled and soaked in the same red that lingered in his hair, on his face, lips, and hands.

"Ah, there she is, the woman of the hour. We were wondering when you'd show up," Astarion chuckled sinisterly, kicking the body he stood above. The mangled form turned more your way, and horror flooded your veins with ice. Soran.

"You truly figured I wouldn't know of your treacherous actions? Treasure I thought you knew me." Astarion sneered, stepping over Soran. You step back. "Astarion, please I-" You tried to find anything to say, yet words failed you because, for the first time in a while, you were terrified.

Astarion shushed you gently as he continued to back you up against the wall, "Nothing you can say will save you pet." His fingers gripped your locks and pulled your head to the side, exposing your neck. "M-master! Please, don't" you begged, one hand struggling to release your hair from his grip and the other pushing against his chest, it made no difference. "You will be mine, for eternity." His pearly fangs pierced your skin, every gulp of blood he swallowed, your life slipped away from you. Just as you gave into the darkness, a warm, iron-tasting fluid dripped into your mouth.

You never should have taken his hand.

Taglist: @horizonstride, @xxmaddhatter39xx

[tikosblogg]

Who Am I..?

Warnings: drug use, verbal abuse. I think that’s it for this chapter.

A/N: IM SO EXCITED THAT IM ABLE TO GET THIS POSTED TONIGHT!! WE HAVE BEEN TALKING ABOUT WRITING THIS STORY FOR MONTHS. @millersgirl80 IM SO EXCITED WE GET TO WRITE IT FOR YOU GUYS❤️

Taglist- @lacy1986 @theanarchymuse95 @lyschko666 @rumoured-whispers @pathion @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @xxkatsatwatwafflexx

Lemme know if you wanna join the tag list!!❤️

ALICE

The bass drum thumped through the soles of my worn combat boots, a seismic pulse that vibrated right up into my chest. Mayhem. The name itself was a promise, a beautiful, glorious lie about contained chaos. We’d finally arrived, me and my band Nightfire. The 2025 Mayhem Festival, the field a sea of black leather, ripped denim, and enough piercings to set off a million metal detectors. A year ago, we were scraping by, playing dive bars where the air hung thick with stale beer and desperation. Now? Now, we were here.

Sweat already beaded on my forehead, not from the heat, but from the electric buzz that simmered beneath my skin. I am a walking, breathing contradiction, covered head to toe in ink that told a story I'd lived. Each one a reminder of a moment, a feeling, a fight that made me who I was today. The small woman with the voice that could shake the rafters.

We trudged through the throngs of fans, the energy palpable. I could feel it thrumming around me, Ben, my Best-friend and drummer, bounced on the balls of his feet, practically vibrating with excitement. Jett, my other Best friend who played guitar for us, kept his usual stoic face, but I saw the glint in his eyes, the one that said he was just as wired as the rest of us. We were a family… and this was a milestone.

Then I saw it. The stage. Ours. It was colossal, a metal leviathan rising above the crowd, bathed in the harsh glow of the midday sun. Banners bearing the Mayhem logo flapped in the breeze, a herald for the day's carnage. I stopped dead, the noise fading, replaced by the roaring in my own ears. It was more than I had ever imagined, more than I had ever dared to dream. Eight years of late nights, broken strings, and the ever-present doubt that came with chasing something this big, and here it was, tangible as the sweat on my palms. We’d made it.

A wide, involuntary smile stretched across my face, a grin so big, I probably looked like an idiot. In that moment, I felt like I was floating, suspended somewhere between my past and the future we were building. Then, the bubble burst.

“Let’s go, you gotta get ready.” Ryan, his voice sharp, slicing through my euphoria like a rusty knife. He was looming over me, his six-foot frame casting a long, unpleasant shadow. He was handsome, in a harsh, sculpted kind of way. Dark hair, sharp jawline, the kind of guy that always looked like a disappointed Roman statue. My boyfriend turned manager of eight years.

My smile plummeted, the knot in my stomach tightening. I forced a roll of my eyes, trying to hide the jolt his words always gave me.

I started walking towards the back of the stage, the excitement replaced by a dull ache. Was I ever going to be good enough for him? Ever going to meet his suffocating expectations? I tried to shake it off, focusing on the show, the crowd, the music yet to come. But the air felt heavier, the energy dimmed.

His long fingers wrapped around my arm jerking me to a halt. His grip on my arm tight. The warmth of the sun suddenly seemed miles away. He stared down at me, his eyes intense, his mouth set in a hard line. "You got something to say?"

My heart hammered against my ribs. Why? Why did he always have to do this? To chip away at every inch of joy I managed to scrape together? My voice was caught in my throat, a knot of fear and resentment. I shook my head, the word "no" dying before it could reach my lips. The back of my neck prickled with irritation.

He released my arm, but the damage was done. The heavy feeling clung to me, a weight that dragged on my already frayed nerves. I didn't meet his eyes, turning and finally escaping to the backstage area, Ben and Jett looking at me. Jett wrapped an arm around my shoulders with a soft squeeze. “Fuck him. We got a festival to play.” The brief moment had been enough to drain me, a reminder of the quiet war I fought everyday.

The backstage area was a controlled chaos. Roadies were rushing past, tuning guitars, arranging equipment. The air buzzed with anticipation and the clatter of metal on metal. I forced myself to focus, to breathe, to find that spark again.The guys were watching me with concerned looks, Ryan’s actions towards me being nothing new, but they knew better than to ask. This was our life now. The constant battle between the music and the man.

I dropped my bag, pulling out my pack of cigarettes and lighting one up. I took a long drag, the familiar weight settling in my lungs, grounding me. I ran my fingers through my hair, my anxiety rising. This was it. This was what mattered. The music, the energy, the chance to scream my heart out, even if it was in front of thousands of strangers.

Turning my head, I glanced out towards the crowd. The seemingly never ending crowed of faces was a kaleidoscope of expressions, all eager, all hungry for the music. It was a beautiful rage , waiting to be unleashed. And we were ready to conduct the storm. The knot inside me loosened, if only by a fraction. I would do this. For me, for my band, for the dreams we’ve chased for so many years. I'd find my fire, even if Ryan, wanted to snuff it out. We are Nightfire, and tonight, we were going to fucking burn.

Jett nudged my arm, making me look up. “we’re going back to get ready, you coming?” I nodded, putting out my cigarette and handing him my bag.

“Yeah I gotta go to bathroom real quick, I’ll catch up.”

He nodded throwing it over his shoulder, as they all made their way to the green room. I made my way down a long hallway, ducking into the cramped, dimly lit backstage restroom, the fluorescent hum a stark contrast to the roaring outside. The smell of piss and disinfectant hung heavy in the air. I leaned against the grimy sink, staring at the reflection staring back at me. The girl in the mirror was a stranger. Black choppy layers, framed a face that was both too pale and too heavily painted with black eyeliner. I saw a mask, a performance piece carefully constructed over the years. But beneath the smudged mess, the wide, almost manic eyes, I couldn't find Alice. Where was she? When did she disappear? I ran a hand over the cold, damp countertop. Twenty-five. Twenty-five years old, and I felt like an empty shell, all edges and no center. "Get it together, Alice," I muttered to my reflection, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears. It was always the same pre-show pep talk. A robotic mantra I'd repeated countless times.

Then came the banging. Loud, insistent, a fist hammering against the door. "Get your ass out here, Alice! We got shit to do!" Ryan's voice, thick with impatience, ripped through the thin metal door.

My jaw tightened, frustration flaring. "Give me a minute!" I yelled back, slamming my hand against the door in response. The energy of the festival was seeping into my own, and it was not calm.

Turning back to the mirror, my gaze fell upon my necklace. It was a simple silver chain with a heart-shaped locket. A stupid little thing really, but it grounded me. Before every show, I would do this, my own ritual, a way to clear my mind. With trembling fingers, I twisted the top of the locket, revealing the tiny spoon nestled inside. A quick dip, a small scoop of the fine white powder, and a barely audible sniff. I did this quickly, in one fluid movement. The rush hit me, a sharp prickle tracing its way across my skin. A brief moment of numbing blankness. Then I was fine. Better even. I rubbed my nose, making sure there was no evidence left, and put the locket back together, the heart resting against my chest. The heavy weight was somehow comforting. But the banging came again, much louder this time, almost violent.

"ALICE! OPE-"

I took one long breath and plastered a wide smile on my face, almost psychotic if I was honest. Showtime. I yanked the door open, almost hitting Ryan in the face as I did so.

"What the fuck?!," Ryan said, stepping back. He stood tall with a perpetually annoyed look. It was one of the things that had once drawn me to him, that rebellious edge that mirrored my own. But now, it just felt like another layer of the performance.

"Ready to rock, baby?" I said, my voice dripping with false enthusiasm, and wrapping my arms around his waist, reaching up to give him a quick kiss. I couldn't even feel it.

He grunted, his eyes narrowing. He grunted, gripping my face with his hand, staring into my eyes, "what the fuck did I tell you about snorting that shit?" He released his grip, pushing my face away in the process. “You’re gonna fuck everything up tonight.”

I rolled my eyes and stepped back. "I’m fine Ryan." I said, forcing a smile. "Now, let's get this show on the road."

I pushed past him, heading toward the green room a strange sense of disassociation washing over me. My heart was pounding, but not with nerves. It was almost like a motor, revving higher and higher, waiting to be unleashed. I could feel the powder seeping into my bloodstream, washing away everything but the performance. The hallway felt like a sweaty, vibrating tunnel. Bass thrummed up through the floor, a physical reminder of the craziness simmering just beyond the cinderblock walls. My boots echoed a dull rhythm against the linoleum as I navigated the swarm of stagehands, and other musicians all heading in different directions. It’s starting. The Mayhem Music Festival of 2025 and my heart was doing a goddamn drum solo of its own.

I pushed through a heavy door marked "Green Room" and found a relative oasis of calm amidst the storm. Well, as calm as it could be with a dozen half-eaten pizza boxes and discarded water bottles scattered across every available surface. A couple of guys from another band were slumped on the threadbare couch, nursing beers, but otherwise the room was mercifully empty.

I ignored the low murmur of chatter and headed straight for the corner where my stage clothes were waiting, a battered canvas duffel bag with more character than half the people I knew. Ryan had insisted on hiring a whole team to handle my hair, makeup, and wardrobe. “Image is everything, Alice,” he’d sighed. “You have to look hot out there.”

The thought of letting some stranger touch my face, let alone dictate my entire look, made my skin crawl. Besides, I preferred my own interpretation of ‘hot’. The kind that looked like I’d just wrestled a bear and won.

I unzipped the bag, spilling its contents onto the floor. Black fishnet stockings. An old as dirt oversized band shirt that had definitely seen better days. A simple black pair of leather shorts that probably cost five dollars at a thrift store, but always made me feel… me. Everyone else had already left the room as I tugged them on, the familiar fabrics a welcome comfort against the nervous flutter in my stomach. Finally, I laced up my boots, the leather worn soft from years of stomping on stages far smaller than this one.

I caught my reflection in the mirror on the wall. My hair, a mess of black angles, needed a little more… life. I ran my fingers through it, ruffling the already unruly strands, and added a final swipe of thick eyeliner, carefully smudging it just so. Yep, that felt right.

Ryan’s voice boomed from somewhere outside the door, “Alright, stop wasting time let’s go!”

I rolled my eyes, ignoring his presence entirely to keep from absolutely losing my shit on him. “Ready?” I asked the guys as they came in, and gathered their things. Jett gave a nod. Ben was already vibrating with nervous energy, practically bouncing off the walls. We'd been playing together for years, these two were my brothers.

We walked out of the green room, each step resonating with mounting tension. The roaring of the crowd hit me like a wall of heat, a primal sound that made my skin prickle. The backstage area was a blur of frantic activity - stagehands scurrying, technicians fine-tuning equipment, and the air thick with the smell of sweat and spilled beer.

As we approached the stage, I could feel the adrenaline and drugs fully starting to kick in. I watched as the sound crew busied themselves connecting me to my mic, slipping the in-ear monitors into place. The sound of the crowd amplified through the monitors; a roaring beast, hungry to be fed.

We mounted the stage to a deafening roar. The lights hit me, blinding for a moment, and then I could see them. Thousands of faces turned towards me, a sea of humanity pulsating with anticipation. I grinned, a genuine, wide-mouthed grin that felt like it was splitting my face in two. I raised a hand and gave a wave, a small rebellion against stage fright, against the fear of being exposed. It was our moment.

I adjusted the mic, the cold metal a welcome touch against my lips. I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears, a rhythm that seemed to match the heavy bassline thumping from the amps.

“Hello, Mayhem!” I shouted into the mic, my voice amplified and distorted. Another roar erupted from the crowd, a wave of energy that surged through me. “Y’all ready to fuck some shit up tonight?” I smiled, lightly laughing at the crowds animalistic screams.

I felt a surge of confidence. This was where I belonged, where I was truly alive.

“I’m gonna start tonight with a new song I just wrote,” I announced, the crowd quieting slightly, a collective breath held in anticipation. "It’s called..Fire, Fire.”

The first chord of the song ripped through the speakers, sound that set the stage ablaze. Ben's drums crashed in, Jett’s guitar a low, undercurrent, and then the melody – a raw, emotionally charged melody that poured out of me like a confession.

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the music wash over me, the sound vibrating through my bones. Fire, Fire wasn't just a song, it was a release, a cathartic explosion of everything I felt simmering inside. It was about the burning anger, the frustration, the lies, fire that pushed me forward, the fire that threatened to consume me. It was about power and vulnerability.

I opened my eyes again, my voice rough and raw, and as I sang I looked out into the crowd. People were jumping, singing along to the lyrics I hadn't known they had learnt, screaming their own stories along with mine. The energy was electric, a physical hum that coursed through the air, connecting us all.

The song built to a crescendo, the guitars screaming, my voice pushing to its limits, and the drums pounding like a heart about to break. I threw my head back and let out everything, feeling the music surge through me, a wild, untamed force.

Then, the song ended, abruptly, leaving a moment of breathless silence before the crowd erupted into cheers. They were with me. They understood.

I grinned again, that same wide, genuine smile, a little less nervous this time and a little more empowered.

The roar of the crowd still echoed in my head, a dull hum overlaid with the frantic rhythm of adrenaline. Cocaine jitters danced under my skin, a manic energy that both fueled and threatened to unravel me. Jett, Ben, and I were a sweaty, grinning mess, limbs tangled in a celebratory hug after our set. It was amazing.

Suddenly Ryan's hand clamped down on my arm, a vise grip that yanked me out of the moment. “What the hell?” I snapped, pulling away. His face was tight, eyes blazing with a possessive rage I was growing to despise.

He grabbed my face, fingers digging into my cheeks, forcing me to look at him. “What did I fucking tell you? Your voice was off tonight.” His voice was low, venomous. "Nobody likes watching a fucking junkie screech into a microphone!"

The words fucking stung. He never missed an opportunity to tear me down any chance he got. "Fuck you, Ryan!" I ripped my arm from his grasp storming away, back to the guys when I was stopped again.

But not by Ryan. Standing there, radiating a quiet intensity that cut through the post-show frenzy, was Noah Sebastian. Noah fucking Sebastian. The man whose voice had haunted my headphones countless nights, the lyricist who’d ripped his soul open and laid it bare for the world. The lead singer of Bad Omens.

My heart stuttered. He extended a hand, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Hey I’m Noah. You guys were fucking incredible. Definitely a fan."

My brain short-circuited. “Wh-what?” I stammered, eloquence completely abandoning me. I managed a weak smile, the coke and adrenaline warring for control of my facial muscles. "Alice. And…we’re huge fans too. Seriously.”

A genuine smile touched his eyes. We stood there for a beat, suspended in a shared appreciation of the art that consumed us. A strange feeling flickered in my chest, he said he’s a fan. He likes my music. 

“You guys are seriously talented. You have a really unique voice, I like your writing style. It’s fucking deep. I really connected with them.” My smile grew bigger, my lips struggling to form words. 

“Wow..that really means alo-“ my words were cut off when an obnoxious ear-splitting whistle ripped through the air.

Ryan swaggered over, scanning Noah with blatant disdain. He threw his arm around my shoulders, a territorial gesture that made my skin crawl. "You can get her autograph later, man." The condescension dripped from his voice. Noah let out a quiet chuckle, but not responding.

My eyes widened in horror. "What the fuck, dude?!" I elbowed him hard in the ribs, but the damage was done.

I could feel my face burning with embarrassment. I offered Noah an apologetic smile. "I’m so sorry. It was great meeting you Noah. Can’t wait to watch you guys perform.”

Before I could say anything else, Ryan was pulling me back towards the direction of the green room. I shot one last curious glance over my shoulder, catching Noah’s eye. He looked… disappointed. But there was something else there too..

[le-chevalier-au-lion]

cannot dream of returning to dust: marcnaia [m]

Marc dabs the corner of his mouth. It’s blood—stark, rusting, red.

He looks at Pecco. Startles after a disjointed moment like an old, whirring computer, too little hardware to contain the leaden software of his racing instincts and the bike data. And his soul too, but Pecco isn’t one for theatrics as much as he is for punishment.

“You alright?” He prods clumsily. He can’t not.

Marc shrugs—a disquieting thing to watch. Everything is half a second off, and his body jerks unevenly. “’s fine,” he spits, sharp, all at once. “Long day. But it is good.”

It was, technically.

He won.

Pecco doesn’t know how, exactly, but surely he’s long past asking that. Staring at Marc’s data is like staring at that little phial of fresh, millennia-old blood in the Naples Cathedral. And worse yet, if they tear the wiring out of Marc’s veins, Pecco thinks he’d still be Marc. Miraculous, except their kind isn’t in the business for that.

It’s not flattering. Being close to him at all isn’t flattering.

Marc keeps watching him. The whites of his eyes are too white. His fingers—carbon fiber, dented, dusted—spasm at his side, with a staticky hiss. There’s old blood on his upper lip.

“Here,” Pecco says, automatic. Hands him the towel wrapped around his neck.

One day, it won’t rake its nails through his nerves and sensors, the sheer fucking suffocating awkwardness of existing close him. Marc picks it up warily, wipes down his face twice. Pecco wants to twitch. The hardware embedded in his flesh feels like it’s groaning, overwhelmed, overheating.

“Thanks,” Marc mutters. Then: “I'm fine. You don't have to worry.”

Probably not. And probably impossible. Pecco huffs out a noise that can pass as a snort—reedy as it sounds. “Ok.”

It doesn’t settle anything.

Marc’s motorhome seems three sizes too small for them. Walls scraping against his shoulders, the ceiling too low, Marc everywhere he looks. Marc, Marc, Marc—distrusting, cagey like a kicked dog down to the hard line of his shoulders. Pecco picks at his cuticles until they bleed. The tips of his fingers ache, swollen.

The podium champagne is heavy in his stomach. He feels nauseous—faintly. Maybe they downloaded nervous puking along with his first riding augmentations.

Pecco crumbles on Marc’s sofa. He feels gritty, slow. Like there’s circuit rot in the hollow of his chest, melting his wires together and getting the signals to blur. Marc follows. Sits so close he might hear semantic errors piling up, the stutter of ram processors in overdrive.

He’s a pitiless thing through that—grabs Pecco’s hand and puts it on the crook of his elbow. The flesh one. When Pecco runs his fingers over the skin there, fragile, there’s only the faint knob of a sensor port, as familiar as the shape of his bones.

It’s too much, suddenly.

“You are excited for Sachsenring,” Pecco says. An abrupt, lumbering way out. Next weekend, more racing, easy stuff.

Marc barks out a laugh. Light, airy. “Of course.”

Of course.

“King of the ring. Right.”

It comes out—strained, maybe. Settles all under his skin with a red-hot kind of humiliation, of awe. The fans in this frenzied delirium. Ducati whispering among itself, that he’ll be splendid, glorious, like Pecco hadn’t been winning for them. As much as he humanly could, even.

The problem is that Marc might not be human—Valentino said it first, he remembers. After Argentina. That Marc is too much chromium and stainless steel and copper wirings and doesn’t care for the rest of them. There was a hanged cardboard robot in one of the Misanos, once.

Or he’s too human. The last great thing of real meat and real talent. A modern rider Agostini can admire. A rider from before the current, palatable bikes and the seamless lines of seamless implants.

“Pecco,” Marc says, urgent, gravelly.

When Pecco turns his head, Marc is right there, blinking up at him, looking miserable—pale, wan, cheeks gaunt—and handsome about it.

They’re both very good at miserable. In opposite directions.

Pecco doesn’t see it happening. It’s like an overtake—he only breathes out when it’s done and doesn’t ask questions. He curls his palm around the back of Marc’s head and kisses him. Chases the coppery bite pooling on his tongue with his own.

Marc makes a noise, hard, wanting. Then he’s on Pecco’s lap, wrangling him like a Ducati on the corners, all ten fingers digging into his shoulders. Those little flashes of pain scramble his thoughts, makes his systems fumble in every direction, frizzing.

“Can you,” Marc trails off, sighing against his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah,” Pecco mutters, halfway to delirious, the taste of blood and naked wires clinging to the insides of his cheeks.

He flips them around, presses Marc against the couch, boxing him with his knees. He knows what Marc wants—and doesn’t want to say why he knows. This is a terrible idea, but it was a terrible idea the last ten, eleven times too.

Pecco splays his thumb on the sharp cut of Marc’s cheek. He grins, waggles his eyebrows. It’s ridiculous. Doesn’t make it any less devastating when he turns his head to the side and sucks his finger into his mouth.

He tries to not think about spraying champagne on his face. Fails. Tries to not think about Marc, on his knees, lips spit shiny, and—

Fails too.

So Pecco kisses him again to stop himself, reckless, feverish, and Marc’s hands go under his shirt, the horrible red of it. He fucking hates it. The heat of Marc’s touch, how it flays him open. The mortification and amazement sizzling in his throat. The jealousy.

That Marc gets to be a mechanical haunting and still—still win. That he got bishops calling him a freak, and the Pope pleading sports to cease their fiddling into God’s own most beloved creatures, and Valentino branding him an enemy, and he just keeps going. Keeps winning. Godless twice over, and yet.

That Pecco—sleek carbon fiber, updated processors, the new deal—can replaced by an ugly, bleeding Frankenstein of wrong parts and outdated code.

“You are thinking,” Marc hums, face flushed pink and lovely, the bite of his prosthetic fingers unyielding on Pecco’s waist. It lilts like a question. “Francesco.”

“Hmmm,” he manages to pry out. He hates it a little less now. “About you.”

Marc laughs. “All bad things, I hope.”

And so Pecco laughs too—almost unwillingly. Chokes on it when Marc rocks up, grinds their cocks together.

That close to him, Pecco is washed out. Perfect, passionless.

But at least Marc is also less. There’s an electric hiss, and his entire body jolts. He’s in pain, probably. Parts two generations ahead of him and ancient wires misbehaving together.

If Pecco opened the panel on his back, he’d get to see what massacre of limits stripped and repeating signals is acting up, he thinks. What is hurting him.

Marc clings to pain like he’d cling to a naked razor, though—all maniac glee. When Pecco hesitates, hovering above him, he surges up for the kill. Bites down on his bottom lip, licks hotly into his open mouth. He’s fumbling—greedy and insistent—with his jeans.

“Marc,” Pecco tries protesting, tries slowing him.

The name breaks into a groan. Marc flattens his palm against his cock, eyebrows scrunched in concentration, his tongue between his teeth, sweat gathering along his forehead.

Fine.

Fucking fine.

He has to be in pain, and Pecco is—wired and nauseous and waiting for the moment when the spiral over second place will sharpen him. They are—it has been said—very good at their own types of torment.

Pecco gets to work on Marc’s pants, shoves his own down unceremoniously. He spits on his own palm and wraps it around both of them. It’s smooth, the good synth stuff over his ports and sensors—and, ha, isn’t that a win.

Marc relaxes a fraction. Lets out this tiny, breathy sound. He buries his face against the hollow of Pecco’s neck, his nose brushing against the small, closed panel there. His hips sway in odd lurches, rub them together anyway.

It’s good. Pecco would like to say he’s above liking it, but he isn’t. Can’t lie.

Christ.

His tongue is plastered to the roof of his mouth. He tightens his fist, sinks into the sensation of the head of his cock rubbing against the patch of rough hair between Marc’s legs. Into the absurdity of this, Marc quiet and wanting and greedy under him. Wide-eyed.

“Pecco,” he whispers, clumsily, and then cuts himself off. Kisses the wild flutter of his pulse on his neck rather than speaking.

“It’s fine,” Pecco shushes him, runs his thumb over the vein on Marc’s cock so he stops talking. He has no idea what else this could be.

Proof that they’re human, maybe. They act outside their code and don’t grind to a halt.