#and it suits their purposes much of the time to be dismissed as tiny and harmless

[comatosebunny09]

Inspired by @sserpente’s The Sunwalker’s Gift.

Imagine being a shopkeeper, selling heirlooms and antiques in a quaint mom-and-pop shop.

Business is incredibly slow. You find yourself flipping through the worn, deckled pages of a book, your chin cradled in your palm. There is nary a customer in sight. Not since that new, mainstream jewelry store popped up down the street.

You’re about to close up shop early to enjoy what’s left of the day—it’s lovely outside. Too pretty to be tucked between these browning walls. But the jangle of the store’s bell lures your attention to the door.

Finally.

You look up as you prepare to greet the store’s newest occupant. But you forget how to talk—forget how to breathe—rooted to the floor like a basilisk has petrified you.

He’s ethereal amid the sunbeams pouring into your tiny store. All wintry-skinned, thin, and tall, dark lenses perched on his sharp nose. Rounded cheeks, petal-pink lips, and foxlike features.

His hair is what entrances you. Swaying like snowflakes in the breeze, and you wonder if it’s as soft as the snow it resembles. Vaguely, you register it sifting through your fingers, smell it exuding the faintest hints of rosemary and firewood.

The stranger surveys your shop, one hand tucked in his pants pocket, the other holding onto an oversized coat. Even his stance is princely. Nothing captures his attention for too long as he peruses through your wares, feigning interest in your rickety things.

You suddenly feel insecure; small—he strikes a picturesque figure amid the dusty antiques lining your shelves. The store across the way would probably suit someone so devastatingly beautiful better.

Nevertheless, you remember how to speak. Square your shoulders, plastering on your most welcoming grin despite your nerves exploding like solar flares beneath your skin.

After smoothing out the wrinkles of your attire, you offer the customer a warm, rehearsed “Welcome!”

He perks up at the sound of your voice. Lips twitch into a half smile, silver brows lifting slightly. Your heart hiccups at the sight.

The stranger saunters towards the counter, carrying with him the scent of bergamot and brushed sage. It’s a homely scent. Somehow nostalgic as he leans towards you, tilting his shades down to ingest you with eyes the color of smoldering coals.

“Good afternoon, love,” he drawls, his accent thick with regality. The purr of it causes your body to flood with warmth. It’s almost dizzying, the ground shifting beneath your feet.

You swallow, your throat thickening with your voice. “What brings you in today?”

“Actually.” He looks thoughtful, a long finger tapping his chin. Suddenly, he snaps his fingers like all the world’s secrets bare themselves to him. “Maybe you can help me with something.”

You watch with bated breath whilst the stranger retrieves something from his coat pocket. It catches in the sunlight. Glints a pretty ruby red as he places it on the display counter with a resounding clack.

“I’ve been trying to part ways with the damned thing for ages. Yet somehow, it always finds its way back to me.” His gaze is far off for the barest of seconds before he replaces it with a nonchalant shrug, waggling his hand dismissively. “It’s long since served its purpose. An antique, if you will. I wondered how much it would go for if it still holds any value.”

He speaks of it so contemptuously. As if it’s been a burden to carry all this time. But it’s beautiful in its simplicity. Tarnished gold, carved with intricate runes you can’t quite decipher. It houses a gorgeous crimson stone that seems to hum and swirl with energy—with power. Perhaps it’s a trick of the light or your nerves causing you to hallucinate.

You’re delicate as you hold it against the sun’s rays, further studying its design. In your peripheral, you capture the stranger’s eyes, regarding you with something you can’t quite place. Disdain? Curiosity? Fondness? Whatever it is, it unnerves you. Makes your mouth fill with sand as you clutch the ring in your palm, intending to scrutinize it some more in the back. It radiates against your flesh despite it being so frigid.

“I’ll have to take a more thorough look at it,” you conclude, masking your shakiness. You muster another smile. “Would you like some tea in the meantime? It may take a while to appraise it properly.”

“No thank you, darling,” replies the fair-skinned stranger, leaning against your counter in an easy slouch. His smirk is back, boasting what you mistake for a fang, peeking through the plushness of his lips. “Never had a taste for the stuff.”

“Coffee your thing?”

“Gods no.”

“Water?”

He waves you off with a quiet scoff, venturing away to prod and examine the other little trinkets in your shop.

“Take all the time you need, love. I’ve nothing but time to spare. And, by the looks of it, so do you.” He eyes you over his shoulder with mirth gracing his countenance. A flash of affection colors his gaze before he busies himself again.

You huff a laugh at his peculiar mannerisms, disappearing behind the curtain of the back room to fetch your jewelers loupe. All the while, your mind swims with wistfulness.

You can't help but feel like the handsome stranger who’d fatefully wandered into your shop is watching you, burrowing deep into your soul, even through the thick veil of your curtain.

masterlist

[paraextant]

Declined, an unquestioning 'ah, alright' loose shrug of a shoulder and slight nod of his head, then he slips the pack of cigarettes back into his suit jacket's inner pocket. The mild upturn of his smile skews a lopsided right in the corner of his mouth, fastening around the cancer stick as he reaches into the same pocket for a lighter. He doesn't quite look at her yet – only seeing her face from the impressioned edges of a brief half-lidded glance – but he's listening. Humming a low, noncommittally considered pause to her question. A thumbed, rote click and flicker of the silver lighter sparks up the cigarette, and a tiny pinpoint glare blinks at the end as he draws in a deep, decided drag. Considering her question again: it's an unexpecting one, less genial and more courteous, something you expect a variation of over shuffled papers. He's got nowhere to be, so he's patiently receptive.

"Well," Kristian turns his head away momentarily to exhale, a wispy arc of thick smoke trails after the languid motion as he looks back at the crowd, the lighter tucked back into his jacket. Nothing's changed, just the perspective distance and the balcony's columned doorway framing a vast and tedious tableau he'd secluded himself from. Unreal in its familiar mundanity, as if he's at some distant relative's party; formally aware by invitation but altogether disinterested in presence. "I just found myself here, is all." he says, dismissively dry in tone, hinting to a sense of an even, willing humour when he does finally look at her, smiling purposely this time. The cigarette drooped halfway towards the center of his mouth now.

"Liena." he says her name, in a faint thrum of his voice. It's a delayed greeting and recognition. "Come here alone too?" he asks, though he knows the answer. Without much to do, he may as well act familiar.

Attending functions this grandeur had been part of the requirements over her time spent working for the table. her attire matched the elegance that spread across the bastion. stepping into a time warp where for a night, there would be peace, and all that would be gone within a blink of an eye come morning.

Liena weaves through the crowd, no real destination in mind, but following the path her steps may lead her. a greeting uttered to those she had the pleasure of meeting, and those, that relied on the business her area provided. she took pride in her abilities.

The heat that came from the crowd led her off in the direction of a balcony for fresh air. she was not surprised to find another standing there. her head shakes at him, a smile spreading across her lips. "no thank you." liena did not smoke, it was a habit that never appealed to her. "how are you finding the night?" the last real event at the bastion was the death of the antonini.

[crescentsteel]

When in Brazil - Sunshine

pairing: Hinata x f!reader genre: SMUT wc: 6.6k warnings: fingering, oral, body worship, praise kink, hinata with big dik

[a/n]

I said to myself, lets make this quick and short. lol yea sure

No beta. This is Spartaaaaa 

My brain went bzzt bzzt after this. 

Let me know if you want to be part of the taglist for this mini series

Beach || masterlist

  “Are there any more deliveries for me, y/n?” The ginger asks while beaming at you like he hasn’t been delivering orders under the heat of the sun across Rio the whole afternoon. 

“We’re all good, Shoyo.” You smile back. He’s such an earnest part-timer that your mood just lifts up whenever you see him. You rarely find anyone like him. Even though he’s just delivering orders for the diner, he’s so dedicated to it. He’s not like one of your previous delivery guys who grumbles before and after work as if they’re not getting paid. Shoyo is different. His eyes are full of life, full of purpose.

You like seeing him around because his sincerity and politeness makes you feel like you’re not just some dumb waitress in some small diner. Aside from pleasing to talk to, he’s also pleasing to look at. He’s like a cute boy-next-door kind of guy.

“I’ll be going ahead then!”

“Wait!” He turns around with an inquisitive look on his face. You want to keep him around longer for tonight. It’s been a rough day for you and you could use some sunshine. “Actually, I’d appreciate some help closing up. I’ll serve you something for dinner in return.” His face brightens up at your request. There it is. Mr. Sunshine, indeed. 

“Sure, y/n! Just tell me what to do.” 

He’s an efficient help to have. What you usually do in 40 minutes or so was done in just 20. 

“Wow, I should ask you to help out more often,” you say jokingly. “No problem, y/n! I can help out after deliveries.” 

You wave your hand frantically. “Oh no no no. I was just kidding, Shoyo. I can’t always give you dinner. The owner would notice when we do inventory.” You laugh apprehensively.

“You don’t have to! I don’t mind staying for a few minutes to help out after deliveries.”

You stare at him with an appreciative smile on your face. Bless his pure heart. Boys in Brazil could learn from him. “Alright. I’ll be in the kitchen to prepare your food real quick.”

He seats himself in one of the vacant lounges, grinning at you as you enter the kitchen. Since it was just him, you get it done in ten minutes or less. When you get out of the tiny room, he’s like a puppy salivating at the tray you’re holding. 

“Here you go, sir.” You jokingly say.

He doesn’t respond as his eyes twinkle at the food you laid out in front of him. Poor Shoyo. He must have been starving or maybe he’s just glad for the free food.

You decide to clean up the kitchen and the counter while you wait for him to finish, but he ate so fast that he’s done before you are. 

When he sees you still occupied, he takes it upon himself to get his used cutleries and wash it. He easily finds where to put them and he even wipes the table he sat on. If ever he asks you for another job, you’d instantly recommend him to the owner to replace one of the staff who’s basically a sloth. 

You two almost finish at the same time. 

“Thank you so much for the dinner, y/n.” He bows. You’re thrown off at first, but you remember that he’s from Japan. 

“Thank you, Shoyo. Seriously. The help is nothing compared to the food.” You get out of the cashier and get your bag. You remove your apron and shove it there before leading him out of the diner as you lock it up. 

“I’ll walk you home, y/n.” 

You wave your hand dismissively. He’s done so much already. “No, it’s fine. You must be tired.” 

He shakes his head in disagreement. “Not really! I wanna walk a bit too, but if you’re uncomfortable with it, I-”

“It’s okay!” You interrupt him. You do appreciate it if he’d accompany you home. You just thought he’s doing it to be kind and polite. “It’d be nice to chat with someone on the way home.” You tell him. He keeps his bicycle at his right while you’re at his left. 

Even as the night is fully settled in, Shoyo’s energy is still soaring as he narrates why he’s here in Rio. No wonder his eyes are always gleaming vividly. He wants to accomplish something badly that he traveled halfway across the world in a foreign country. And as you get sucked in his story, you don’t notice you’re at your apartment already. 

“I live right here. Do you wanna come in for tea or beer or whatever?” You invite him, wanting to hear more of his Volleyball journey. He seems glad from your invitation. Maybe he wanted someone to talk about it too.

“I’m okay with just water.”

You open your door and hold it out open for him. “You sure?”

He nods sprightly which makes you smile at the pure innocence he exudes. He eyes your whole place when he gets inside. “Wow. You live all alone, y/n?”

“Uh huh. I don’t like having roommates.”

“I think I’d get more homesick if I lived all alone,” he remarks.

From being awed, you begin to feel bad for him. It must be really tough to be so far away. “Well, you can always come here if you feel like talking or stuff,” you offer earnestly. You don’t mind him visiting every now and then. He’s such a positive energy amongst the dread of your everyday routine that’s constantly draining you. Also, You can’t imagine him being one of those guys who just hang out to get a slice of action. 

Since then, he frequently came over. 

On the days when he had deliveries for your diner, he’d help you close up. Instead of getting him dinner from the small diner, you two would get something on the way to your apartment or you’d fix him a quick meal when you get there.

He’s a comfortable company. Because he’s quite the talker, he never runs out of things to say. He not only talks about his life in Japan, but also here in Rio. You practically know all his friends here just from his stories.

“Didn’t they say anything when you wanted to leave?” You prod when he opened up missing his family. “They did, but they still pushed me to do it. They know what’s it for, and they know I’ll be back.”

“What about your girlfriend?”

A soft blush surfaces on his cheeks as he chuckles nervously. “I don’t have one.”

“Oh? Who’s the cute girl in your wallpaper then?” You’ve seen it several times when he looks at the time with his phone.

“She’s our Volleyball manager and a really good friend,” he explains as he gets his phone to show you something. “She’s been with the team since I was a first year.” He shows you a photo of him, a black-haired guy who’s probably Kageyama, and the cute blonde girl. 

Your attention all goes to him, his innocent beam at the camera while his arms are sprawled in the air. “Oh my God,” you exclaim while staring at the photo.

“You were so skinny!”

You look back and forth from the screen of his phone to him, comparing how he looked like then and how he looks like now. You pull your chair closer to him so you can scrutinize him more. He looked so young and pure back then. Literally, just a kid.  

“Wow.”

You gape at him, marveling at how his features have changed so much. Even if he still has that baby face, his face has definitely gained structure. And the scrawny boy in the photo? You can’t find that anymore with the Shoyo in front of you right now. He even has a nice tan going on that suits him so well. 

Without thinking, your hands fly to his shoulders to grasp the muscle he’s built after high school, squeezing them firmly before trailing down to his well-defined chest. Damn, he really put some nice work to achieve this. You drag your hands down to see how his abs are and holy crap, he’s fucking lean. 

Your gaze drops further just below where your hands are and see a faint outline of what he’s hiding beneath his shorts. 

“Ah!”

You immediately remove your hands off of him and raise your palms in mid air. “I’m so sorry! That was so perv- I mean rude of me to do that all of a sudden.” You apologize in a panicked tone, hoping that he didn’t think you were being handsy, even if you really were. 

“I was just amazed because you looked so different from the photo and uh..” you laugh to make up for the missing excuses you were supposed to say. 

He laughs with you, a timid smile gracing his face.

“It’s okay, y/n. You can continue touching me if you want.”

You squirm as you put your hands to your lap, clutching your shorts from the sudden thick air that engulfs the room. He sounded harmless. Even his face is his usual good-natured facade. But those words meant something else to you, an invitation to touch him more.

You let out a tense tither before turning to him. “No no! Haha. I’m fine. It was just on impulse.”

In an attempt to hide the awkwardness, you gather his used dishes and cutleries. “Let me get these washed up.” You stand up and hurriedly get to the sink. 

What was that weird sexual tension? That over there in your dining table is just your nice delivery boy, Shoyo. You’re nothing but co-workers who are just friendly to each other.

You let the cold water run on your fingers and wrists while you wash the dishes. You need to get back to him composed and cooled off. You want your relationship as it is now. You don’t want to feel awkward and bothered.

So what if you just realized that he’s hot and nice and completely alone with you?

“Do you need help with anything, y/n?

You yelp at the sound of his voice so close behind you. You can feel his warm breath fanning your neck and his body hovering at your back. He’s barely pressing against your back but you can already feel the ends of your hairs prickling your skin. 

“Wah! Why are you having goosebumps, y/n? Are you cold??”

“Yeah. It is a bit windy tonight.” You lie with a tense chuckle as you hasten your task so you could escape the situation. To worsen things for you, he places both hands on your bare shoulders and caresses them up and down to create heat. 

“I hope this is warm enough,” he says concernedly. 

It’s more than just warm. He’s supposed to create friction by rubbing your shoulders, but he’s skimming so gently on your skin that it’s fueling a different kind of heat stemming from your core from the supposed friendly gesture he’s doing to you. You fight off the urge to clench your thighs together for he might notice it since he’s just a hair away behind you. 

You saw him as a nice guy but his hands are making you feel otherwise. You had to bite your lower lip to suppress a whimper that was at the tip of your tongue. You can pass it off as a groan of relief, but with your current state, it might sound sexual. Since when were you this sensitive?

“Do you want me to prepare your green tea?” he kindly offers. 

“Yes, please,” you answer weakly. 

He takes his hands off you and gets you your green tea as he suggested to. You breathe a sigh of relief when he leaves. You feel like you’re about to break from how heavy his sexual pull is on you. Is he even aware? 

You dry your hands and saunter back to your dining table to take a seat and give your legs a break. Shoyo places the cup of tea in front of you and sits beside you. 

“Why do you always drink that, y/n? It doesn’t taste good.” 

“It’s to help me lose weight.” You draw the cup to your lips and take a sip. 

“Ehh? But you already look hot as you are.”

You almost choked on your tea from what he just said. You weren’t expecting such an adjective from him. With trembling fingers, you return the cup to the table. “You okay, y/n?” He asks worriedly. 

You clear your throat. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

He can’t help but notice that you’ve been on the edge since you felt him up. He believes that you did it with no malicious intent, so he really didn’t mind. He knows that all you think of him is a good help to the diner. That’s why you comfortably invited him to your home, but he can see right now that he’s made you uncomfortable for some reason.

Maybe you’re really embarrassed with what just happened even if he did say it was fine. He really was okay with you touching him, even if it was something more than just touching. But it’s not like you see him like that.

He likes you a lot, so he should just go so he doesn’t make you any more uneasy. “It’s getting late, so I’ll go now, y/n.” 

When he stands up, you immediately follow. “Oh? Already?” You ask with a hint of disappointment in your voice, which makes him a bit confused. Did you not want him to? 

“Do you want me to stay for a bit longer?”

You look at him hesitantly before shaking your head. He smiles amicably at you for the usual hospitality you’ve given him. “Thanks for the dinner, y/n.” He looks at the time and heads for the door. 

“Shoyo!”

He shifts his body to your direction while he waits for what you’re going to say “I- uhhh. Sorry about a while ago.”

He strides back to where you are and grabs your hand, slowly leading it to his chest with a faint grin playing on the corners of his lips. “It really is okay, y/n.” When your palm lands on his pecs, you just let it stay in one spot as you look at him differently than usual. You regard him with doe eyes gleaming with baffled curiosity.

With his grip still on your wrist, he does the work for you and guides your hand down to where you touched him just a while ago. Your line of sight follows your hand while his is completely focused on you, anticipating your reaction if you’re satisfied with just this.

He lets go of your wrist, allowing you to do as you please. You raise your gaze to meet his, your eyes asking him for permission.

“I really don’t mind, y/n.” 

Your other hand goes to his bicep, firmly grasping it before you take one step closer to him. Both 

your hands travel to his midsection, the feel of your delicate caress making his thoughts not as friendly as it used to be. Especially with how impressed you look with your hands all over him.

“Can I touch you too?” He blurts out without thinking. 

He instantly regrets it when he sees the surprised look on your face as you pull your hands away.

“No! I didn’t mean t-“

You silence him instantly by putting a hand over his mouth. “I didn’t say anything,” you mutter as you usher his one hand to your waist.

You remove your hand from his mouth and use it to lead his other hand on your neck. You don’t know what you’re doing. You keep your eyes on his neck while he languidly roams his left hand on the small of your back until his arm is wrapped around you. He doesn’t move his right hand away from your neck. He only strokes it tenderly with his thumb. 

“Y/n.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as you raise your gaze to him. “Can we do more than just touching?”

Instead of answering him, you yield to the heavy sensual pull that you’ve been trying to ignore earlier. You slowly reach for his lips, wanting to gradually settle yourself in the present situation.

But when your lips touched his, he didn’t share the same idea you had as he wastes no time exploring your mouth with his. All the hesitation he had is gone with his hand dropping down to your ass to give it a firm squeeze which draws you even closer to him, letting you feel his erection against your core. 

He doesn’t take his mouth off of yours as he leads you to the dining table, taking both of your ass cheeks in his hands and carrying your weight as he guides you to sit at the edge of the table. 

When you’re comfortably seated, he tugs the flank of your shirt and hurriedly takes it off you. You want to look at him to see what he looks like when he’s not being the nice Shoyo you used to see him as. But he gets back to your mouth in just a second, sticking his tongue out to let it wander inside your warm cavern. 

His hands immediately find the clasp of your bra and unhooks it with ease. That’s when he pulled away. His eyes are glued to your body as he removes the undergarment slowly, as if he’s unwrapping his gift with the slow reveal of your breasts.

His eyes glimmer with delight when he completely slides the clothing off your arms. It kinda makes you conscious with the way he’s staring at you, like his eyes are burning through your skin. You use one arm to cover your boobs, but he instantly sees through your plan. 

As soon as you lift your arm, soft panic sets off in his eyes. He immediately grips your wrist and slams your hand against the table.

“Don’t!” 

“But you were staring too much.”

His gaze drops down again to your unclad breasts with reverence. “Cause you’re pretty.” He leans down on you again, his plush lips just within an easy reach from yours. “So pretty that I can’t stop staring.” 

You expect him to kiss you again, but his mouth latches on your jaw instead, nipping the sensitive skin beneath it. A soft sigh comes out of your already parted lips while his palms trace the length of both your arms up to your shoulders. He kisses his way down to your collar bones, savoring any skin that his lips graze upon until he reaches one soft mound. 

His hands follow the trails of his lips, one finding its way on the curve of your hip while the other stops on your breast where his mouth isn’t latched onto.

He delivers sloppy kisses, sucking on your perk nipple and swirling his tongue on it like it was a treat. The other bud isn’t left out as he plays with it, tweaking it between his thumb and index finger. 

Your breathing starts to become shallow from the surge of desire spreading throughout your body. 

He cups both sides of your boobs and pushes them together before he continues on, letting his tongue toy with your nipples almost simultaneously. He’s so into it that his teeth accidentally scrape one bud.

“Ah!”

He immediately stops and looks at you apologetically, misunderstanding the moan that came from you.

“Sorry...”

“No. It felt good,” you feebly tell him.

His eyes brighten up and gets back to what he’s doing. He takes the hard bud in between his teeth, tugging it lightly as he looks up to you, his orbs eager for your approval. It spurs you on even more. You give him one nod as you feel your cunt throbbing from how your arousal is heightening by the minute. 

“Shoyo,” you call him weakly which he didn’t seem to hear. 

He lets go of your breasts and licks his way down right on top of your shorts, leaving a trail of saliva on your skin. He unbuttons your shorts, the sound of your zipper being rolled down letting you know what he’s planning. 

“Shoyo.” You call out louder this time, causing his hand to rest on your groin. “Let’s go to my room already.” You expect him to be glad, but he frowns. “But I want to taste you already. Please, y/n? I want to eat you out here.”

Your legs quiver from how much he wants you, his eagerness affecting you as you yourself get impatient and wonder how his tongue would feel on your pussy. 

“Do it.” He smiles at your approval as you lift your ass off the table to help him get your shorts off. You aren’t surprised that he tugs your underwear together with it as he peels it off you. You’re starting to get an idea how he is at bed - impatient, excitable, and eager to please.

A subtly smirk tugs up your lips when you realize you’re in for a fun night. 

He doesn’t notice it though. He takes a step back to relish the vision that you are. His eyes are completely focused on your bare body with keen hunger as he traces every curve in sight. You indulge him a bit by spreading your legs apart for him to see.

“Wow.”

His eyes don’t leave your cunt while he drags the chair he’s previously sitting on. He spreads your legs even further as he sits down. He places his thumbs on your inner thighs, gently caressing them before he stripes one thumb on your slit.

“You’re so wet, y/n,” he says right before dipping down and tracing his tongue where his thumb just did earlier. He continues doing so, licking up and down the length of your opening as you lean your head back to enjoy what he’s giving you. He eagerly slurps on your juices, lapping on your slit with his hot tongue.

He uses his thumbs to spread your folds that surround your clit, exposing the swollen bud for him to taste. When he gives it a delicate, languid lick, your one hand frantically grips his hair. He takes it up a notch and inserts his middle finger inside .

“Haaa,” you moan out loud which urges him on even more. He pumps his finger inside you, gradually picking up the pace when you start squirming within his hold. 

“Another,” you tell him breathlessly.

“Another what?” He asks cluelessly while his mouth continues ravaging your clit. “Add another finger,” you answer to which he complies immediately. He stretches you even more with the addition of one thick, calloused finger inside.

He looks up at you, parting his mouth away from your pussy to show you his two digits that are half inside you. “Like this?” 

You nod. “Yeah. Like,” He suddenly shoves the two fingers knuckles deep into you. “thathnnnnggg.” You clutch his hair tighter while your mouth gapes at the instant fullness you feel down in your center. His eyes don't leave your face anymore as he latches his mouth back on your hardened clit. 

You’re whining while grinding on his face, getting wetter even as he relentlessly drinks your lewd essence. He loves the look on your face, blissed out and completely lost in the moment. He loves how you keep trying to close your legs together even with his arm not allowing you to do so. He loves the desire glimmering clearly in your eyes as you meet his gaze while he feasts on your pussy. 

He already got aroused the first time you touched him. Seeing you unravel before him gets his cock throbbing painfully within his shorts. He’s so tempted to remove his arm and let you crush him between your thighs so he can palm his cock.

He doesn’t even know if you’d let him go any further than this. What if after you cum you change your mind and ask him to go home? There wouldn’t be anything wrong with that. He’ll just replay the scene before him as he jacks off in his own room. 

His one hand goes inside his shorts and takes out his cock, causing your thigh to waver without his support. He grasps the base of his dick, squeezing it firmly, easily distracting himself with his own pleasure as he moans in your cunt. 

You immediately notice. You see him firmly gripping his member, pumping it steadily up and down with eyes closed as he slows down his ministrations with you. You cup his face, forcing him to open his eyes and look at you again. “Stop fucking yourself. I’ll do it with my mouth after you make me cum.”

He stops like you asked him to. “Really?” His eyes pleading with lust to uphold your erotic promise. “Yeah. So make cum already,” you brazenly order him. He tucks his cock back in his shorts right away, using his arm once again to spread you wide. His mouth, lips, and fingers pick up the pace, thrusting swiftly in and out of your while flicking and sucking at your clit.

“Ooohhh fuck.” You claw on your wooden table from the rapid build up of pleasure. You can feel the heat in your groin, spreading quickly through your body. “Yes, yesss. Don’t stop,” you mindlessly whine. Everything he’s doing is pushing you further to your release - the friction and fullness provided by his fingers and the wild strokes of his tongue on your clit. He suddenly curves his fingers, hitting just the right spot that blurred your vision from how good it feels. 

“Cumming... am cumming, Shoyo!!” You trash helplessly on his face as the pleasure floods your senses, but he doesn’t stop. He only slows down, matching your post-orgasm state as you come down from your high. 

You tug his hair up while panting to catch your breath. “Come here.” He stands up and you reach for the back of his head to cover his mouth with yours, tasting your own fluids in his lips. “Help me get down,” you whisper to him. 

He effortlessly grabs the back of your thighs to get you to stand again. Once your feet reach the floor, you release his lips and drag him to your room. 

Once inside, you lock lips with him again as you scurry towards your bed. You get him to lie down as you straddle him, your wetness rubbing on the bulge of his shorts. You hurriedly remove his clothes, itching to see the delicious muscles you touched only with his shirt on. He helps you as he tugs down his shorts and underwear, his last piece of clothing thrown somewhere on the floor. 

You bite your lower lip as your eyes roam on his body. He should thank beach volleyball for the tan and the jaw-dropping build. Your gaze falls on his naked bulge that you saw a glimpse of earlier. Damn. You weren’t seeing things earlier. He really is packing down there. 

“Is something wrong?” He asks with a worried look, returning your gaze back at him. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s,” Your eyes get distracted with how he gulps, your gaze lingering down again on his gorgeous chest. “..fine.”  

You return the favor, starting on his neck. You plant your arms on his shoulder as you move your hips up, resting your cunt on his toned abs. You deliver soft kisses on the delicate skin of his neck, letting your tongue sneak a few licks as you go down on him until his cock is within the reach of your mouth. 

You position yourself in between his legs as you grip his shaft. His hips lift up from the contact. You watch his reactions as you start to drag your palm around his member up and down. He’s already heaving with lips parted as he takes the pleasure you’re giving him with eyes closed. You find it cute - how he’s this sensitive when you’re barely done anything yet. 

You gather your spit and let it drool at his cock, the translucent liquid glazing the tip down to the base. You trace his length with your index finger, from the tiny slit of his tip down to his balls. You go back up to the head of his cock, but you do it with your tongue instead of your finger. 

You peek at him again. He’s semi sitting up with his elbows on the cushion as he glues his eyes on your tongue on his dick. You grip him again, tighter this time before pressing one digit firmly on his tip. He throws his head back from the pressure and you use that chance to take his thick girth in your mouth

His thighs tremble as he lets out a euphoric moan while you sink lower and lower on his dick. “Your mouth -aahhh so gooood.” 

He really likes you and thinks you’re fun to talk to, but sometimes he’d catch himself fantasizing about you when he gets home and ends up masturbating at the thought of you sucking him off. But his right hand doesn’t even compare to the actual warmth of your lips wrapped around his dick at present.

He keeps his eyes on you, which is a bad idea for him since it’s only quickening the pleasure that was boiling at the pit of his stomach. But he can’t help but stare at you. You look so good, so pretty, with your ass up as you suck him even faster.

He can feel his cum threatening to explode already. He feels so lame, but your mouth just feels so magnificent that he can’t hold it in any further. “Stop, y/n. Please~ aah ahhh gonna cum already.” He doesn’t want you to be disappointed with him, but it’s as if you didn’t hear him. You even go deeper while quickening your pace.

He gives in to it, gripping your hair as the peak of his pleasure takes over. He expects you to pull away, but you continue sucking, letting him shoot his load at the back of your throat. 

You take all of it, swallowing every drop he let out in your mouth. You did hear him say stop, but the lascivious delight on his face contradicted his words. You had to let him finish even if that meant you won’t get to feel how his cock feels inside your already sopping pussy. 

You sit up as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. As for Shoyo, he covers his eyes with his forearm while he pants. You start to get up and head for your drawers when you feel him grab your wrist before you can even leave the bed

“Where are you going?” He asks. 

“To get dressed.”

“But we’re not done yet?”

You appreciate the thought. He really is such a generous guy, but.. “It’s fine, Shoyo. You don’t have to force it. You’re already soft??” Your statement becomes a question when you see his arousal still erect. 

You don’t know whether to be amused or amazed at that, so you end up staring dumbfounded at him who’s still lying on his back.

He grins at you as he sits up straight and goes for your lips. It wasn’t soft and gentle like you expect from someone who just came. He seems even hungrier, more eager for you. 

He guides your hand to his shaft, confirming that he’s hard and ready to continue with what you have in mind. You smile into the kiss, curious and excited as to how he feels inside your pussy. Horny as you are, you throw yourself at him which causes him to lie back down again with you on top of him. 

As your tongues clash against one another, you rub your moist slit against his erection, teasing both yourself and him while doing so. He’s groaning in your mouth while he keeps one hand on the back of your head and the other firmly gripping your waist. “Y/n, can I put in already?” He asks with hazy eyes even though his hand on your waist goes down to his cock and aligns it on your folds.

“Mmm, wait.” You lift yourself off of him and reach for your purse that was hanging on one of the metal bed frames. You quickly get a condom and throw your purse somewhere. You tear the packet and remove his hand from his shaft to unroll the rubber on it while he watches. You take over his previous attempt and position the tip on your entrance. You place a palm on his stomach to anchor yourself as you lower yourself on him. 

He stares at you mesmerized while you wince from how his cock is spreading you open. You ball your fist that was still on his abdomen, trying to get used to the discomfort even if he’s still not fully inside you. He recovers first and glances back on how you’re doing. 

“Shoyo, you’re-ughhh-big,” you tell him with a pained expression. “I- I am?” He asks with pink streak surfacing on his cheeks, flattered from what you said. You nod while sinking lower until you finally cover the last inch, taking him entirely inside you.

He whips his head back on to the pillow with his cock completely sheathed inside the tight warmth of your pussy. He thought your mouth was already marvelous, but the way your walls deliciously envelop his cock is way beyond his wet dreams. 

Your hand joins the other, supporting yourself as you slowly lift your hips up and descend back down with the same agonizing tempo. While you adjust to his size, he keeps his eyes on his cock disappearing each bob of your hip. 

From your pussy, he rakes his eyes up to your naked body glimmering with sweat. You look so beautiful with your eyes shut, gaping lips, and tits bouncing altogether as you speed up. “You look so fucking pretty, y/n.” Your eyes flutter open from the unexpected vulgarity he uttered. It wasn’t like him, but it wasn’t forced either. He regards you with lust swimming in his orbs, the courteous friendship you two have totally erased as of this moment. 

You still for a second before you remove your hands off him and place them on his thighs as you lean back. You spread your thighs and plant the soles of your feet on your bed. You see his eyes widen because of the view. Rather bouncing up and down, you gyrate on his cock. It’s supposed to be a show for him, but with his size, you feel his cock gloriously scrape your insides with the circular movement of your hips. 

“Shit!” You curse before you close your eyes again as you start grinding on him. You don’t start slow this time. You impatiently roll your hips against his, driving his cock deep inside you each plunge. You didn’t think it would get any better than this until you feel his thumb on your neglected cit.

“Oh ffffuuuck.” You can’t even open your eyes anymore while his two fingers replace his thumb and rub the sensitive bud frantically. You could feel the pleasure escalating faster and faster with every salacious thrust of your hip and his every flick of your clit..

“Are you gonna cum, y/n?” You hear him ask. 

“Yesss. Am gonna cuuuuuummmm.” You clutched his legs tighter when your orgasm hits, your vision blurry when you open your eyes as you ride it out. He pulls your panting self to his chest and tenderly caresses your back.

He sweeps your hair behind your ear and whispers. “Did that feel nice?” 

You nod weakly. “Did you cum?” You ask in return. You were so occupied in your own pleasure that you lost awareness of his. He chuckles lowly. “No.”

“Oh..” You lift yourself up a bit to meet his gaze and apologize. 

“Why are you saying sorry? We aren’t done yet.”

What he said as a question earlier became a statement. Something changed in his eyes, a spark of determination that isn’t there earlier.

“Let’s just continue next time, Shoyo. I’m kind of tired,” you explain.

“There’s a next time?!” His eyes shine with enthusiasm which makes you laugh softly.

“Sure. Why not?” You lift your hips up but his hands quickly go down your ass and crash you back down, shoving his dick back in you hard and deep.

“Gaah!” 

“Thanks, y/n. But don’t worry about being tired. I’ll move instead,” he hums on your ear as he spreads your ass cheeks and pummels his cock wildly into your sensitive pussy.

You moan on his neck at the savage pace he starts with. “Shoyo, pleaseee. Sloweer mmmmm.”

“But why?” He whines. You can’t answer with how ferociously he’s rutting against you, his dick consistent with its swift thrusts. “Shit, your pussy feels amazing. So good, fuck.” His crude words of praise fan your pleasure that was rapidly filling your senses again. 

He rams your hips down to meet one sharp thrust. You gasp from how deep his cock went inside you. “Aaah!” 

“Do I make you feel good, y/n?”

You nod weakly as you grind slowly on his cock, desperate to chase your pleasure but too tired from your earlier stunt.

“Please, move,” you whisper with exhaustion.

“Tell me first. I want to hear it,” he demands.

“Too good, Shoyo. Your cock feels too good. So please, fuck me again already,” you shamelessly beg as his cock throbs inside you. 

Instead of granting your plea, he takes his cock out and pulls you to lie underneath him. He parts your legs apart for him and jams his dick right back inside. That’s when he indulges you, thrusting his size in and out of you at an unforgiving pace. 

He leans down on you, intertwining his fingers with yours as he pins both your hands on the bed. “Do you like this, y/n?” 

“I love it. Please please pleaaaaseee. Don’t stop mmmmmm,” you babble messily as your impending orgasm overwhelms you.

He clumsily kisses you, his teeth grazing your lips as slips his tongue in before covering his mouth with yours. He’s groaning relentlessly on your mouth while drilling his dick in your cunt. “You gonna cum?” 

“Yeaass haaa.” Your moans become louder and louder each thrust. “Gonna cum like this? With-ugh-my cock inside you?”

His obscene words make you writhe beneath him. You arch your back from the intense pleasure. He dips down on one nipple and fervidly sucks it. “Gonna c-aahhhhhhh.” You thrash violently beneath him as your hands clench his to ground yourself from the explosive orgasm that he caused.

“Fuck, yes. Cum on my cock, uhhh. Like that. Shit.”

His thrusts become erratic as he goes after his own orgasm while he milks yours. You hazily open your eyes and watch him chase his high with eyes shut and parted lips, animalistic pleasure taking over his features. He delivers one swift thrust and stays completely still, his dick twitching inside you as he cums.

You both pant heavily with him on top of you.

— 

You open the door for him and bid him goodnight. Your legs feel like crap but you don’t want to just drive him away on his own.

“Thanks for tonight, Shoyo.”

You’re not sure what you’re thanking him for, the company or the sex. Maybe both. 

“Um, y/n?” 

“Yeah?”

“Will there really be a next time?” He asks apprehensively, totally different from his demeanor from your last moments in bed. It’s kinda amusing. You didn’t think he had that in him.

“You’ll still help me close up the diner, right?” You ask meaningfully.

He beams at you. “Of course.”

Beach || masterlist

taglist (those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem​ @akaashisslavee @tsumurai  @celestialarchiveshq​ @loving-unicorns106 @flairlust @crescenttooru @yashuaaa @liberhoe​

[fostersffff]

The Big Gundam Watch, Part 4: Mobile Suit Gundam: Char’s Counterattack

Char’s Counterattack is a tremendous milestone for Gundam as a franchise. It was the first original theatrical film (versus the three compilation movies made for the original series), and cemented Gundam as a pop culture institution. It also serves as the epic climax for the multiple-series-spanning, nearly-decade-long rivalry between Amuro Ray and Char Aznable, introducing some of the best mecha designs the series has had to date and multiple lavishly animated action sequences to help give them a worthy send-off.

It’s also a hot mess.

I mentioned elsewhere that I watched this for the first time just a day after finishing Mobile Suit Gundam ZZ, and then I watched it again a few days later, because even though this is infinitely shorter than the three 40+ episode television series that came before it, it tries to pack a lot into its two hour runtime. Unfortunately, it doesn’t do it elegantly.

I’m going to be changing the format of this post slightly for this movie: rather than breaking it up into what I liked, what I liked less, and other observations, I’m gonna talk at length about a handful of specific subjects and then just go into other observations. The reason, to be perfectly blunt, is that it’s still hard for me to say what I liked and what I didn’t.

QUESS

There’s a lot to say about Quess, but first and foremost it’s critically important to state right out of the gate that she fucking sucks. I did not think, after my assertion in in my ZZ review that Beecha Oleg was my least favorite character so far, that he would be so swiftly and definitively replaced by Quess Paraya, who in under two hours manages to create such a massive power gap between herself and any other character I would consider for this position, that I struggle to think of what it would take to displace her. A spoiled rotten brat with a frighteningly poor understanding of anything outside her own tiny bubble of experiences, who mistakenly believes she’s a Super Empath beyond reproach because she was taken in by a con artist- there has never been a more on-the-nose name than “Christina of India”- and as such, she does absolutely nothing but be a horrible clueless monster until the split-second before her death. But hating Quess seems to be the default stance for most people who’ve seen Char’s Counterattack as far as I can tell, so I don’t think I need to go much deeper into that. What really gets me is that, even now, I’m not sure whether or not I’m supposed to sympathize with her, because she’s such a tragedy.

The tragedy of Quess, within the narrative, is that she actually had nearly limitless potential. Despite what I said before, she was, in fact, a Super Empath- at the tender age of 13, Quess was one of the most powerful Newtypes we’ve seen in the Universal Century yet, being compared directly to Lalah during her early training and outperforming the overcharged Cyber-Newtype Gyunei in short order. The problem was that, due to the teachings of Christina of India, she seems to have believed that being a Newtype grants you inherently better understanding of other people, which isn’t actually the case. Instead, it grants you the ability to more readily receive the emotions of others, which can lead to better understanding, but she didn’t know how to process any of it due to her limited worldview. Had either Amuro or Char actually invested in helping her resolve her crippling issues with her father and misunderstanding of her own abilities, it seems to me that she could’ve become a major force for good, especially within the Earth Federation as the daughter of a high ranking politician. Instead, for all intents and purposes she was dismissed by Amuro, and Char, having strayed so far from his own ideals, opted to utilize her solely as a weapon instead. This ultimately resulted in her untimely death, and all that potential was reduced to nothingness.

The tragedy of Quess, as a viewer, is that even though I can identify all that, I can’t actually bring myself to feel bad for her. In recent years, I’ve come to give a lot more slack- arguably more than I should- to teenagers in fiction when it comes to annoying personalities and/or bad choices, because those are just part and parcel of being a teenager. Unfortunately, Quess surpassed my tolerance very much in the same way that Kamille did for the first half of Zeta, because she's completely stagnant for the entire movie. I also keep wanting to compare her to Reccoa, but for as bad as Reccoa was, there was at least the implication that her brazen shamelessness was a cope; furthermore, everyone who isn’t Scirocco (or Sarah, technically) is pretty open about calling her a garbage can of a human being for what she’s done. 

Quess never once takes a moment to consider what she’s actually doing, and the gravity of it never occurs to her, either. She supports Char’s “kill all life on Earth” plan well before she links up with him because she’s mad about her dad, and when Hathaway suggests that's not a good justification for causing a mass extinction event, the most consideration she can muster is “Iunno”. You get the sense that maybe she’ll have some kind of introspective moment when she discovers that the disarmament at Luna II was a lie, where Char’s dishonesty might rub her the wrong way considering the whole reason she joined up with him was because she was so angry about her father’s infidelity, but no. Even after her breakdown where she’s struggling with feeling all of the deaths during the battle at Luna II, which should give her even just a split second of hesitation about the mass extinction event she keeps trying to usher in, she’s back to her normal, intolerable self by the next scene. Even the appearance of Hathaway has no real effect on her until she suddenly develops the wherewithal to save him at the moment of her death, but seconds before that she was resolutely screaming about how he and the Earth needed to die, exactly as she believed when they first arrived at Londenion.

Additionally, it’s not at all reasonable to blame Amuro for not getting more involved in Quess’s wellbeing. Putting aside any of his own unexamined parental issues, he can’t be expected to drop everything to prioritize the welfare of a diplomat’s child that he barely interacted with to start, especially not when there’s a war threatening the entire population of Earth going on. As for Char… well, let’s move on to Char.

CHAR

The filmmakers were very bold with the way they chose to characterize Char in this movie, but I also think it was necessary for them to do what they did. At the surface level, he still comes across as cool as he ever was in previous appearances, but looking any closer than that reveals what a fucking loser the man has become. It’s important that they did that, because if you’re going to make him a villain again, you don’t want to have the audience sympathize with him, but they’re primed to do so because, you know, he’s Char Aznable, one of the most influential characters in pop culture. As such, the best way to get people to root against him, or at least not root for him, is to highlight the fact that as of this movie, Char has given up on everything he ever believed for the sake of petty revenge.

Technically, Char’s story was done at the end of Zeta. His meeting with Lalah shifted his focus from revenge on the Zabis to setting the stage for the arrival of Newtypes en masse, which he believed would usher in a new age of prosperity not just for mankind, but for the Earth itself. After all, it does make sense that as more and more people are born with the capacity to psychically feel each other’s emotions, there would be a concerted effort to improve the quality of life for everyone to minimize pain and suffering, and environmentalism goes a long way towards that. A lot of the final episode of Zeta is Char firmly asserting his willingness to wait for that promised time in the face of both Scirocco and Haman taunting him and, in Haman’s case, trying to bait him into taking immediate action. Hell, the very last thing he says to Kamille is that he’s not the one who’s going to be creating that better world.

Char’s Counterattack begins 5 years later with the very abrupt reveal that Char changed his mind: he’s not willing to wait for that promised time and he is going to be the one who’s creating that better world. This was alluded to during the conversation between Bright and Sayla near the end of ZZ, where they’re aware Char survived the Gryps Conflict and suspect that he’s plotting something, but it made sense for those two characters to be suspicious. Save for Amuro, they probably have the strongest insight as to what kind of person Char is. What makes less sense is how right they were, and how quickly he turned on his heel, because nothing in particular seems to have happened to push him so far, so fast. The war with Haman’s Neo Zeon revealed that even without the influence of the Titans, the Earth Federation remained deeply corrupt, and their corruption even spread to the AEUG in the absence of men like himself or Commodore Blex, but the response to those depressing revelations should not be “everyone’s gotta go”. And I don’t believe Char thinks so either, but what I do believe is that Char thinks it’s the best way to ensure Amuro winds up fighting him.

The crux of the problem with the idea that he’s trying to accelerate humanity’s evolution into Newtypes is the fact that

he knows

Newtypes can come from Earth. Literally, the

single most important person in his life

, Lalah Sune, was born and raised on Earth until she was 17. Quess, who again is remarked upon as being as gifted as Lalah

by Char himself

, never visited space until the events of this movie, and Char even talks to her about it. Even Amuro, despite being raised on Side 7, was also born on Earth and proved himself to be a more advanced Newtype than Char. Worse yet, he also knows that being a Newtype does not guarantee better, more compassionate people, because the

other

strongest Newtypes we’ve seen up to this point are Paptimus Scirocco and Haman Karn. Again swinging back to the end of

Zeta

, Kamille and Haman actually have a moment between them that could have led to a deeper mutual understanding, but she

violently

rejects the connection. At the end of the day, Newtypes are still people.

The biggest confirmation about why he’s really doing all this comes when he tells Amuro that he was the one who gave the psychoframe blueprints to Anaheim Electronics, to ensure that they would be evenly matched for their inevitable duel. There’s just no way to reconcile that with the actions of someone who genuinely had a greater goal in mind than settling a score. He even shows a total willingness to be deceitful by lying about the plans for disarmament at Luna II; the level playing field was just for Amuro. If this whole conflict really was about things as lofty as “shouldering the evils of humanity” and “eliminating the source of all wars within the Earth Sphere”, he wouldn’t give the person most likely to foil him the means to do so, especially considering the inevitable consequences of failure.

The icing on the pathetic cake is that the lie about a bigger picture seems to be mostly for him, much in the same way that the Quattro Bajeena disguise was also mostly for him. The only person we see buy into his philosophy is an impressionable 13 year old girl with no real comprehension of the scale and consequence of what he’s doing. The rest of Char’s Neo Zeon is made up of displaced spacenoids who just want stability, or politicians who’re hedging their bets on the legendary Char Aznable to get them into power. Even Nanai, who genuinely cares for Char, prods him multiple times with “yeah but you’re really just doing this because of Amuro Ray, right”.

I will give Char one thing, though. If the force ghost of my girlfriend who tragically died protecting me spent the last 14 years watching over me and telling me I’m a good, pure man, while simultaneously letting me know she’s also watching over my rival- the person she was protecting me from when she died- because they established a deeper and more meaningful emotional connection with each other in mere minutes than I ever was over the course of our entire relationship, I would probably also do something as insane as Char. And that’s without even touching on the fact that he was projecting his mommy issues onto her.

AMURO

I don’t have as much to say about Amuro as I did about Quess and Char, but something about the way he’s used in this movie doesn’t sit right with me. Specifically, it’s the way he constantly rebuffs Char’s grandstanding about how the people of Earth can’t change by saying of course they can, but they need to be guided. He’s ultimately proven right, because when he resonates with the psychoframe sample, he unwittingly manages to convince both regular Earth Federation and Neo Zeon troops to help push back Axis. Otherwise, though, it rings hollow, because we never get the impression Amuro has tried to do that up to this point.

Granted, I think it’s safe to assume that the reason Amuro fights for Londo Bell is because he’s still under the same tight scrutiny by the Earth Federation that he was during Zeta, meaning any attempt to get into political affairs would get nipped in the bud. It’s probably all he’s allowed to do other than sit in his mansion, and he’s presumably doing it because he trusts Bright won’t allow it to become the second coming of the Titans. That trust is well placed, because Bright insists on taking action despite Adenauer Paraya trying to keep Londo Bell out of the loop with Char. However, for how often Amuro dogged Char for not getting into politics during Zeta, you’d think he’d either find someone else to get into the Earth Federation that he could back, like Sayla, or even just a proxy to represent his beliefs, like Beltorchika. In the absence of action on his part, there’s a reading of this film that makes Amuro out to be a typical political moderate, which is a dire way for a hero like Amuro to be interpreted.

HATHAWAY

Long ago, before I started watching any of Universal Century Gundam, I made a jokey post asking if Hathaway was Bright’s failson. Having now seen Hathaway’s proper debut as a character (rather than just being a prop in Zeta)... well, kinda? Hathaway is very much the second coming of Katz, because his arc in this movie is nearly identical, with Quess playing the role of Sarah. The crucial difference is in how it ends, with Chan killing Quess, Quess protecting Hathaway at the last moment, and Hathaway, shockingly, murdering Chan in revenge. It also marks Hathaway as the first person to be completely wrong when talking about adults: his last words to Chan as he fired at her were “You grownups don’t understand. That’s why you’ll destroy Earth!”, but that has nothing to do with what happened. Chan didn’t sneak attack Quess while Hathaway was on the cusp of bringing her back, they were actively fighting each other. Quess even launched into an insane tirade about how Chan should’ve cleared out so she could’ve had Amuro’s attention.

I find myself not really sure how I feel about Hathaway. Like I said earlier, I’m willing to give a lot of slack to teenage characters, and a 13 year old not thinking about the consequences of his actions while overwhelmingly grief-stricken over the death of his first love he spent the whole movie trying to rescue deserves some of that slack. That reaction shot immediately after also suggests he understands the gravity of what he just did, but after that, the movie only briefly cuts to him to show that he’s still alive right after Axis gets blown in half, and then one last time during the credits. A single extra scene of him drifting, alone with his thoughts about what happened would’ve gone a long way in making this a non-issue. And maybe this is a weird thing to get hung up on, but I feel like all of my sympathy for the character would go out the window if the only part of this encounter that he reflected on was the fact that Quess died. So, I suppose this’ll have to wait until I get around to watching Hathaway to be resolved...

THE THEATRICAL FORMAT

A lot of my problems are rooted in the format of the story itself: even while clocking in at a little over two hours, film is a super limited way to tell a story. I understand that there are a number of reasons Char’s Counterattack was developed into a movie rather than, say, a series of OVAs or a television show. Movies carry with them a level of prestige that television has never had, and despite the popularity of the OVA format in Japan in the late 80’s, there’s surely no way they ever hit as wide an audience as a theatrical release, to say nothing of lost profits. For comparison, light research suggests that Megazone 23, an original story credited with proving the viability of the OVA format, made 1.7 billion yen, and Char’s Counterattack made 1.6 billion yen at the box office alone.

However, it’s really obvious that the story is pressing up against the constraints of the format. The movie is struggling to breathe from the start, with the reveal that Char is back, leading another revival of Zeon, and planning on dropping an asteroid on Earth. That’s a huge deal! But the movie doesn’t have time to linger on it and go into why it happened in the detail it deserves, because it has a lot of other things it needs to get to, and none of those get time, either. Maybe a lot of the stuff I’ve brought up so far is addressed in the High-Streamer novel that Char’s Counterattack is based on, but you shouldn’t need to read the screenplay’s source material to get the full picture. And just to be clear, I don’t hate the movie by any means, but the way things happen, and the pace at which they happen, is dramatically different than anything that’s come before, which is jarring.

I will say this: the Beltorchika’s Children manga is supposedly going to start releasing this summer (2022) in English, and I am extremely eager to see if this story is better served by a less constrained format, even if it’s not the exact same story.

OTHER OBSERVATIONS:

Despite elaborating on the depths to which Char has sunk in this movie, I still can’t believe his last words were about his heretofore unmentioned mommy issues, and even worse, he admitted it in an attempt to absolve himself of responsibility for the way he treated Quess. The “i’m literally neurodivergent and a minor??” of the Universal Century.

Speaking of pathetic men: in my notes, I made jokes about Cameron Bloom coming back and being a cuck, but in actuality he wound up with some pretty major character development since Mobile Suit Gundam. He seemed to have actually reflected on why Mirai left him and his own cowardice during the One Year War, and as a result was willing to risk life in prison to keep Londo Bell informed of Char’s backroom deal with the Earth Federation. Instead, the biggest cuck award goes to Gyunei Guss, who talks a big dick game about Char being a loser and a pedophile until he’s actually confronted by him, at which point his spine turns into spaghetti.

Also from my notes, here’s my live reaction to the design change the Noa family received:

For some reason, I always assumed Lalah was like… 13 or 14, so finding out she was actually 17 while browsing the wiki was a very pleasant surprise. It also makes Gyunei’s rumor that Char is a pedophile even more transparently lame.

The fact that Sayla doesn’t show up or even get mentioned in this movie is insane. Especially since she has a cameo in ZZ where she expresses concern about this exact situation happening! She would’ve slotted into Chan’s role perfectly, although that would’ve made the scene with Hathaway and Quess even more devastating. Beltorchika is also strangely absent, but her absence was apparently due to orders from Sunrise, which is why Tomino later wrote Beltorchika’s Children.

I was so happy to see my man Astionage, and to see that Astionage had a cool girlfriend, but then the girlfriend died, and then Astionage also died so abruptly that I initially didn’t realize he was dead, and then I thought Chan had killed him with the Re-GZ’s thrusters until I scrubbed the scene and realized it was a stray beam hit. My man survived getting tossed into space by Kamille’s dad at the start of Zeta to die here, like that? At least they didn’t feel compelled to kill Anna Hanna.

I mentioned it at the very beginning, but every mobile suit that shows up in this movie is a winner. The Nu Gundam feels like it was from the same boxier evolutionary branch as the Mk-II, instead of the sleeker Zeta Gundam, with the bonus of a cool set of asymmetrical fin funnels that look like a wing. The Sazabi feels like the final evolution of Neo Zeon mobile suit design philosophy, where it has the same chunkiness all the Neo Zeon mechs did in ZZ, but refined with a distinct silhouette of a real suit of armor, and that trickles down to the various Doga units. The Re-GZ, Jegans, and GM III’s are all also perfect grunt mechs.

It’s always been present, but I think Char’s Counterattack really cements how hilarious the Universal Century’s dummy technology is. Dummy asteroids, dummy mobile suits, dummy ships: everything has been made into a 1:1 scale balloon, and probably can be launched from the arms of a mobile suit.

In my ZZ review, I talked about how it goes completely unmentioned that Haman’s Neo Zeon was using Dias mobile suits, presumably made by Anaheim Electronics. I assumed maybe that had something to do with Chara Soon being left there, but this movie confirms that no, they’re just profiteering. This is now the third time I’ve brought this up and I guess I’ll keep banging the drum: I really hope something comes of this eventually. “Most of the weapons used to fight wars come from a single manufacturer” seems like something worth exploring, especially in a setting that’s really keen on criticizing political apathy and corruption!

The second time I watched the movie, I watched it dubbed, just to get that experience. Some thoughts on that:

I don’t like how the dub refers to the mobile suits without articles, as in “Gundam can do this” rather than “the Gundam can do this” The subs seem to alternate depending on the scene, but I prefer the “the”.

Some real baffling pronunciation during Char’s speech at Sweetwater, like Haman being pronounced “Hahmen” or Titans being pronounced “Tee-tahns”. The Zeta dub wasn’t recorded until 2 years after this one, but... Titans is an English word, guys.

Most of the dub cast is solid- I think Amuro, Char, and Quess are especially well-performed- but they made that critical mistake of hiring a guy to do Hathaway’s voice. To be fair, his voice actor, Bill Switzer, was only 18 at the time, so it’s not like he sounds comically old, just clearly older than 13.

I assumed the logo on the Nu Gundam’s shield was Londo Bell’s, but apparently it’s Amuro’s very own custom logo? He doesn’t seem the type to have something like that, but it is a really cool logo. What’s weirder, though, is that he’s now “the White Unicorn” when “the White Devil” is a way better name, racist implications be damned.

I feel like the most important thing you get from watching Zeta and ZZ before Char’s Counterattack is having your suspension of disbelief set appropriately for Amuro managing to stop Axis. The Zeta and Double Zeta Gundams’ biosensor activation in their respective finales are functionally magic, so the Nu Gundam possessing an even stronger version of that is like, yeah, this mech can totally push back an extinction-level event single-handedly due to a double supercharged psychic resonance cascade.

There's one bit of implied world-building that Char’s Counterattack inadvertently provides: the final piece of the Cyber-Newtype puzzle. If- as Hathaway talks about it- the reason Newtypes started to exist is because humans need a way to keep in contact with each across the vastness of space, then people who have their Newtype abilities awakened strictly for combat applications would need to find someone to bond with to satisfy that aspect of being a Newtype. It was Kamille for Four and Rosamia, Judau for Ple, Ple-Two, and Chara, Haman for Mashymre, and Quess for Gyunei.

I was pretty cold on it at first, but upon repeat listening, Beyond The Time is a pretty great ending theme.

It’s probably not intended to be as funny as I found it, but I love how Amuro slams Char’s cockpit into Axis and he just gets shaken like a snowglobe.

IN CONCLUSION:

Char’s Counterattack is kind of a bittersweet send-off to the “core” of the Universal Century. It’s designed to be bittersweet, in the same way Zeta’s ending was bittersweet, but I also mean bittersweet in that it’s my least favorite Gundam thing I’ve seen so far. Taken as a standalone action movie, it’s great, but when placed in the scope of the Universal Century’s ongoing story it just doesn’t sit right for a number of reasons. Like I said, maybe it’ll all feel more right when I read the version of the story presented in Beltorchika’s Children, but in this movie format, I’m ultimately a little disappointed.

In the course of writing all of this, I came to a very important realization: I am more interested in following up with Hathaway than I am about anything else Gundam-related right now. The way the movie left him has me burning with curiosity, but if I stick to my plan of watching everything in production order, there’s no way I’d get around to watching Hathaway until at least 2023. Combined with the urge to see the Xi Gundam in action considering I recently finishing building the gunpla, I don’t think I can hold out that long without soiling the experience in some way. So I’ve decided to compromise: with full intent to circle back, I’ll be skipping all the way from 1988 to 2010 with…

Next up: Mobile Suit Gundam Unicorn! The plan is to watch Unicorn, Twilight Axis - Red Trace*, Narrative, and then Hathaway. After that, I’ll circle back to War in the Pocket, which will also conveniently have me chronologically lined up for F91 and Victory. I’ll also start interspersing the non-UC shows whenever I feel like it, although I intend to watch those in release order as well (with the exception of SEED, SEED Destiny, and AGE, which are still in the maybe column).

*According to this little bumper that shows up before Hathaway, Twilight Axis is evidently not an important part of the story of the Universal Century, but I can spare a little under half an hour to see if that thing is as abysmal as I’ve heard.

[clarissalance]

Wolves

Pairing: Kaeya x fem!Reader, Diluc, Crepus

Warning: minor swearing, cheesy flirt, dry humour

Summary: All men are wolves.

A/N: Muahaha I have came back and brought you the blatant cheesy flirt. Welcome to the first lesson of flirting with Kaeya. Lol, guess who is coming next? 

Also, I’m planning to write a wind-trace fic because the game is so fun. (p/s: I waste 3 hours playing it) Guess who is in it? 

Okay, the first fic for my lover boy. Please give Kaeya a lot of love!! (*￣3￣)╭ 

Another beautiful day, another day of wasting the lovely weather to stay inside the study room, bury your head into the pile of books next to you. You let your eyes wander to the window again, gazing rays of light fleeting through the window, golden hues on the wooden floor. Tiny specks of dust accumulate overnight, fluttering around the curtain. Outside, the chirping birds bathing under the sun, casually chilling on the window. Oh, how you wish you would be able to relax like those carefree animals.  

“You might burn the birds crips the longer you stare at it.” Startled by the quiet voice, your head snaps toward the blue-haired teenage direction, and you can’t help but scowl at his statement. You can’t be the only person in the room who wants to go out and play. Knowing Kaeya, he’s definitely trying to find an excuse to end the class early. 

The only person who is diligent, hard-working, and does not have thought about leaving this room is the young master Diluc. The young man is sitting opposite you, eyes burning holes on the thick textbook. 

Archon, how can a 16 years old overly enthusiastic person like him enjoy the excitement of reading Descartes philosophy? Maybe he is the only child in Mondstadt, no, maybe in the whole Teyvat who enjoys something torturous like that. Shivering at your own thought, you shift your chair closer to Kaeya, giving Diluc a terror gaze.      

“Aren’t you going to finish the essay?” Pointing at the half-full parchment on the table, you ask. “ Diluc and I already finish it.” 

“ Oh, how do I know? How am I suppose to understand Kant and Descartes theories, and then link them to deductive and inductive reasoning?"  Kaeya lets his finger running through the silky blue hair and pulls them out of frustration. On the other side, Diluc shoots him a glare, annoyed by his brother complaint. 

 “How did you guys do it?” Kaeya asks boredly, his finger pokes the quill. 

You put your hand under your chin, beaming him charmingly.  “ You know Kaeya, it is something I call improvisation. Words just flow out of my tip.” Under your lashes, you can see his cheek dusting pink. Cute! 

“ Just read the books, and you will get it.” Diluc unhelpful adds. 

Both of you stare at red-head incredulously. Is he being serious? 

Like always, Kaeya knows he can not take your advice to heart. One is a genius, and the other is just pure luck.  

Suddenly, the door is burst open, and you quickly shove your feet into the shoes, eyes darting to see the intruder. Internally, you hope that person is not lady Elizabeth, your etiquette teacher. Your blood runs cold at the thought. You can already imagine her sharp tones commenting how horrendous and un-ladylike your act is. 

“How is your study going?” A deep, strong voice booming from the back, and finally, you get let out a breath. Diluc looks up from his book, beams brightly at the man. 

“ We are done with homework, father. These are just extra reading.” Well, for the record, these are his extra readings, not yours. And Kaeya hasn’t finished his 2 feet scrolls of essay yet. 

Master Crepus nods in satisfaction. “ If that is finished, you kids can take a break. The young lady from the Gunnhildr family is here with her father. Maybe you can give her some accompanies.”  The middle-aged man directs the words at you, maybe feeling guilty for leaving a young lady like you in his two sons care. 

Your parents left you in the Ragnvindr care every Summer because of their hectic schedules and frequent business trips at this time of the year. In addition, your mother says it is essential for you to have good relationships with the heir of Ragnvindr and his brother. “Maybe you will need their help someday.” She left it vaguely. 

“ Are you guys going to drink again?” Kaeya suspiciously questions, his eyes glinting with playfulness. 

“ Hey, what’s wrong with men having a drink together?” Crepus defensively retorts, notices how Diluc gives him a disproving gaze.

“ When you guys grow up, you would enjoy it too.” The three let out opposing noises, clearly not having the same idea as him. The man waves dismissively return back the topic. 

“ Let’s come down to greet the head of Gunnhildr first.” He heads toward the door, down the hallway.   

“And be nice to the young lady, boys.” The master emphasizes the phrase, his eyes pinning at the guilty-looking Kaeya and the absent-minded Diluc. Finally, he exits the room, not forgetting to close the door. 

“ Father says as if we don’t treat people nicely.” Kaeya pouts, right after Crepus footstep drifting away from the study. “ The workers never complain anything about our behaviours, right Luc?” 

Sitting next to him, you can't help but let out a snort. He dares to say that? Kaeya raises eyebrows at you, annoyed by your shaking shoulder. The boy in red has a blank face, maybe not interested. 

“ First, you guys ignore me for 2 weeks when I just came here.” You burst out in laughter, recalling back at the very first memory when you just arrived here.

“When I tried to approach, you both avoided me like the plague.” Your whole body is shaking vigorously, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. This is too hilarious! Somewhere in between, you can spot Diluc burning cheek. 

“ Haha, and haha-later,” You can hardly breath, laughter bubbling up. “Adeline told me your reason is ‘It's b-because she doesn’t have a willie.' ” Dramatically air-quoting, you even imitate their stuttering childish voices. This earns you a pointed glare from Diluc and a smack in the arm from Kaeya, but a good laugh is always worth it. 

Both of them freeze on their tracks, faces puff red as tomatoes, steaming almost coming off their ears. If the young heir is to wear a red suit, you are sure he can blend in well with the mansion roof. 

Diluc shifts stiffly in his chair and abruptly stands up, heading toward the exit. Maybe he is too embarrassed at the mention of his dark childhood. 

“Where-haha, are you going, Luc?” You are still in the middle of your giggling, noticing how Diluc is dashing to the door. Letting out a coughing fit, he quietly mumbles. 

 “ I'm going down to greet the Gunnhildr family.” His figure vanishes right behind the door, not letting you tease him further. Outside, the painful sound of Diluc tripping on his own feet make you almost fall off your chair. You have too many good laughs today. 

“Right, I-I should get going too.” Next to you, the blazing Kaeya remembers to dig a hole and hide. His hand slams hard on the table and the youthful teenager stands up, gracefully heading toward the door. Maybe he wants to avoid becoming another joke.  

" Ah, wait-" You follow instantly, but the moment you stand up, something slips, and the next thing you know, the ground is shaking, and you see the ceiling is getting further. 

Your first instinct is to grab the closest object, and then close your eyes, waiting for the painful impact with your head. Clench your jaw tightly, and you hold your breath, hoping it will hurt less if you tense your body. 

Right after tensing up, you feel someone just grab you by your shoulder, and your feet step on something bumpy. And then, your head makes an impact with something hard. A grunting is followed. 

Heart hammering in your chest, you cautiously peek, expecting yourself to see the ceiling, but instead, greet with an unusual sight. A pair of dark colour trouser paired with leather shoes. On top of it is your feet, loosely wore low heel is stepping on that leather shoes. Shit, you stepped on Kaeya. In a panic, you rush down from his painful sore feet, but your head jams in his ribs. He just let out another woeful sound.   

This time, you carefully keep your position in place, slowly remove each foot one by one, moving away from him. Craning your neck upward, you finally meet his gaze, his eyes are full of concern and uneasiness, spooked out by your sudden incident.

 “Did you hit your head hard?” Kaeya asks you nervously, his voice laced with anxiety. He must have been terrified when you slip. You shake your head, hands grabbing his shirt.

" I should be asking you that. Are you okay?" You give him a worrying gaze, your fingers running along his ribs, checking if your stone head broke anything. " I didn't break anything, right?" Hesitantly, you look into his deep blue eyes, noticing the diamond shape. Has he always has this in his eyes? 

Kaeya snorts inelegantly, shakes his head. " Your head is hard as a rock, but that much can't break my ribs yet." This earns him a hit on his arm. 

"Hey! I'm trying to be considerate, and this is how you treat me?" You jab him, hand purposely smack his chest, but he doesn't budge an inch. How strong is this guy? This time, you put all the force on your arm, slapping hard on his chest again. The young man in the blues shoot you a shit-eating grin, clearly not faze.  

 "How is my chest feeling?" He pokes, his palm engulfing yours. 

" Too hard for my liking." You give him a complex look, trying to escape from his tight grip but fail miserably. You wiggle your hand again, shaking off his iron clad. Why is he so strong? 

While you are attempting to flee from his firm grasp, the young man leans down, face an inch away from you. Flushing at the sudden closure, like usual,  you avoid his burning gaze. You hold your breath when your noses almost touch. What is this rascal doing again? 

" You shouldn't be touching men like that." Kaeya opens his mouth, saying something completely out of nowhere. You tilt your head in confusion, while your eyes travel down, you notice your hands still on his chest. O-oh, so he is saying about this. 

" I  don't normally touch random people." You mumble defensively, your eyes lower. " I was checking for your injury."

"They will misunderstand." Kaeya cuts in right after, not accepting the excuse. But why would they misunderstand? You are just being nice, right? 

Like he can understand what is going inside your mind, Kaeya reminds you.

"All men are wolves, you should be more be careful with them."   

You give him a confusing look. 

Kaeya is not one of them, right? 

Eventually, he let out a soft sigh and moves back, allowing you to savour your personal space. Just right after your throbbing heart finally calms down, he brings your tight-griped hand in his to his face. Your meet with his alluring look in his eyes. It is pulling you in, telling you to give in the temptation. Plump lips brush your knuckle teasingly, he blows a warm breath on the back of your hand. He gives you a saccharine smile.

" And if not be careful." His husky voice ringing in your ears, the numbing spark runs along your spine. "They might devour you." 

[mmriesoftvat]

"I'm allowed to rest," Kami mutters, leaning away from Kafka's hand. He puts his handheld device away, figuring he can play later. Right now is the time to actually pay attention to what Kafka is telling him, and get started on the plan they've all concocted. While Silver Wolf would probably be more suited for this, Kami doesn't mind taking over for her. She's been too busy trying to get all her accounts back; Kami figures he'll just fill her in later when she returns.

While Kami knows better than to join Kafka and Blade this time around, there's still a tiny part of him that worries. He purposely tries to stay out of whatever plans the Stellaron Hunters come up with, since Kami doesn't want to be detected by anyone, but even withhow annoying Kafka can be, Kami still worries for her safety.

At least he can be helpful without leaving this tiny bit of home he'd carved out for himself.

"Of course," he waves a hand, not quite dismissively, trying to pretend like he doesn't care. Even though he does. "Just give me a few to get wired into the network." Getting up, he heads for a terminal. It takes only a couple clicks and shortcut commands to gain access to the Loufu, where he's already connecting to a a small docking port.

"You're ready to go," Kami says, giving her a sideways glance. "Whenever you and Bladie are ready to go. Just don't get yourself into too much trouble, I don't want to bail you out. Naps, and all that."

not that he could hear the entire conversation, he'd mostly only heard kafka speaking. his attention isn't even on her to begin with, he's more engrossed in his game than anything else. still, when she's finished with whatever it was she'd been planning, only then does kami spare her a brief glance.

"are you done playing games with the crew?" he asks. he's not even bothering to hide how bored he is. "what are we doing now? i can take a nap now, right?"

"Taking naps so early in the day?" The teasing in her tone is apparent when Kafka rests a gloved hand atop Kami's head to ruffle his hair lightly. "Fair enough, you are still a growing boy after all. I'm surprised Silver Wolf hasn't stolen you away for more arcade games yet." Deciding on mercy (for now), the stellaron hunter draws out her own phone and extended it towards her companion. "For starters, Bladie and I have some business to tend to within the Xianzhou Luofu. Are you able to get us in undetected?"

@mmriesoftvat

[13atoms]

Deep Focus: Chapter 1 [Tom Hiddleston x Reader]

Summary: Tom’s a successful porn director with a romantic streak which proves very popular with his female audience. His resident porn actress and business partner has been with him through thick and thin, the two of them growing completely inseparable, even as her own career starts taking off.

But working in such close proximity is intense, and burgeoning feelings threaten to complicate their professional relationship.

Mature, smut, porn director!AU, ethical porn production discussion, porn-star-and-coworker!reader. Friends to lovers, slow-ish burn. [7.7k]

________________________________________________________

There was such a style to everything Tom wrote, everything he directed. A sincere passion that you suspected was always meant to be used elsewhere. You wondered if his craftsmanship was ever appreciated, on the other side of the screen, as strangers got hot and bothered watching each meticulously designed frame of his vision come to life.

Sure, it was porn. But Tom directed it like he could win an Oscar for ‘hot lifeguard pounded poolside’. This was his livelihood, his passion, and it was a damn shame he wasn’t award-season eligible.

The names would make you wince, as you saw them uploaded to the site, thumbnails and previews drawing in viewers by the million with their shots of heaving bodies and glistening sweat. Tom never called the videos such crass things. Not in his scripts. You would get copies titled ‘Romantic Night In’ or ‘Office Love Affair.’ He was a fan of sugar-coating what would be inside those innocuous white pages, a veneer of respectability which Tom insisted upon, regardless of how obvious the true nature of the videos was. But once the videos were sold, it was out of his hands. Your face contorted mid-faux-orgasm would be plastered across the site, and everyone involved would try and forget what happened.

Ignore the comments.

Keep moving.

You often wondered how Tom wound up in this place, with his sharply tailored suits and polished shoes, eloquent and educated, his words almost poetic as he directed mid-budget porn in hotel rooms and his studio day-in, day-out.

Then again, he never seemed particularly bothered by it. He gave each shoot his full attention, his full boundless enthusiasm and all the professionalism he could muster. You wondered how he balanced it, sometimes, the creative drive to press on with trying to be creative and shoehorn romance into films knowing that, ultimately, it was porn.

He had interviewed you like a real director might, talking about your life and experience and ambitions, almost apologetic when he had finally choked out ‘could you undress’, barely glancing at your naked form before he hired you as his first employee.

You asked him early on, while watching him try and assemble a fake restaurant-date set in the studio, complete with faux windows and an extra playing a waiter, why he bothered when three-minutes of good quality fucking footage would make him the same amount of money. He’d given you a strange smile, the wrinkles beginning to appear at the corners of his eyes, and shrugged.

“I make what I’d like to see.”

The words haunted you later, as your rather attractive co-star bent you over the white-cloth covered dining table and you allowed mewls and groans to escape your mouth without a second thought. Trying to avoid the muted blue of Tom’s eyes behind the cameraman.

Despite your reservations when you first started to work for him, Tom had won you over. His gentler, more romantic approach to pornography had a loyal following. Both of your pseudonyms garnered huge numbers of views across various platforms, and Tom was keen to cultivate a collection of female-friendly porn. Against all the odds, it was working.

And you loved working with him. He was a great director, and inspired writer, and a genuinely brilliant boss. He made sure you saw royalties, good pay, that everyone you worked with was screened and tested, always keeping you safe. Always.

Each time he called a wrap, passing you a robe and offering a meek congratulations on your performance, you found yourself more and more pleased you had wound up working with him.

“You really do have a talent,” he’d told you one day, distracting you as you discussed a new script in his office.

You were sat opposite him, Tom’s glasses perched on his head as he watched you read, your feet resting against the leg of his desk. You’d come in to your shared workspace to try some costumes out, to discuss new scenes, still recovering from a thoroughly exhausting shoot the day before. There were still light bruises around your wrists, and you caught Tom glancing at them worriedly each time your long-sleeved shirt slipped.

“I love that you’re such an actor,” he continued, hands tapping the desk as he spoke, “like, a real actor.”

Your eyes drifted across the script, scanning it with your bottom lip between your teeth. He always appreciated your input, wanting the ‘female fantasy’ in a lot of his work, and he’d timidly shown you some ‘student-professor’ script he’d been working on. He was like that, embarrassed in a way which you wouldn’t expect from a man with his considerable experience in adult entertainment. He was assertive, certain, even stern where it counted. But with just the two of you together, dancing around what was sexy and what wasn’t, he seemed desperate to avoid saying anything you might perceive as too ‘crude’.

“What do you mean?” you’d chuckled, still flicking through the first draft.

He only entrusted you with such early versions of his work – but that made sense. Your careers were symbiotic, tied to one another with an unspoken pact. He directed everything you were in, and you were in everything he directed.

It made sense.

“You don’t just… I don’t know. You never make my scripts seem silly. Or cheesy. You… you really try and make them feel real. I could write anything, and you’ll deliver the lines well. I was overseeing auditions earlier and... I just kept thinking none of them were you. I think you might be the best in the business.”

You rolled your eyes, offering him a disbelieving smirk, and he scoffed.

“I’m serious! I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The weight of his words settled heavy in your chest, and you turned back to the script, frowning as you flicked through the loose-leaf pages. Tom fidgeted behind his desk, unhappy with losing your attention, but you ignored him.

“Here. If you want the fantasy to be believable, I think he needs to lock the office door. Make a show of it, you know. Cover my mouth,” you comment dismissively. Tom already has as pen in his hand, making notes. “It could be hot, maybe ‘Don’t make a sound or you can’t cum’, something like that. As if there’s other students in the corridor outside.”

Nodding, Tom dutifully wrote down your words, mouth slightly open in realisation as he listened.

“Don’t make a sound…” Tom repeated, and you felt yourself blush.

“Not… not that exactly,” you backtracked, “you’re the real writer! I just think, there needs to be some build up. A remind of the power dynamic. Him going straight to oral is a bit… fast. That could happen in any old plot, you know?”

You felt his eyes on you, looking up from the paper to spot Tom leaning back in his chair, a distant smile on his face.

“You really are the best,” he praised, “that’s great. I’ll do rewrites tonight.”

For a moment, you let his words hang heavy in the air. Then you blinked back at him, a slight frown pinching your forehead at his strange mood. He was calm, for once. Tom was usually a ball of enthusiasm, and you wondered if your dismissal of his words earlier had done something to hamper his spirit.

“It’s always easier to critique,” you dismissed, “I love the script, it’s great. I really think it’ll be good. Hot. Maybe I can wear a Britneyschool girl costume, or something?”

He frowned a little, pinching the bridge of his nose at the thought.

“No, weird. We’re going for University student, just… a nice pair of jeans or something.”

“Don’t they wear suits where you went, posh boy?” you teased, loving how it riled him up. “I’ll try and dress like a smart person.”

“You are smart, don’t give me that.”

You rolled your eyes, loving how you managed to fluster him, putting the script back on his cluttered desk as you reached for your bag. This was how your meetings always went, a few hours of notes, some teasing, and a hasty retreat once Tom told you the next shoot day you had to attend. You still had a few hours of social media to do for the last video you’d shot together, notes from Tom, and you lamented the sight of the sun setting outside of your shared office. You’d hoped for at least a bit of natural light today.

“I’m serious, you are!” Tom asserted, and you ignored him purposely as you shut down your laptop, preparing to take it home.

“Yeah, I know, whatever. Don’t work too late!”

“Rich coming from you,” he sighed, “it really doesn’t matter if we send that last edit late.”

“It matters to me! I’d quite like to get paid this week, you know?”

Tom sighed. The two of you tried to produce a couple of videos a week – one for Tom’s site and another to sell to a third party. It didn’t leave either of you with much free time, both of you left in the tiny office at all hours as you worked to keep up with demand.

“Very true. But I’d rather you got some sleep, you know I can help if you’re short on money,” he offered, shuffling papers on his own desk.

He was always quick to jump to an offer to help, and you tried to ignore the fondness spreading through your chest at his eagerness to look out for you. That gentle protectiveness which coursed through Tom was enough to make you melt.

He was one in a million, that was for sure.

“I’m fine, Tom. Thank you though, I’ll ask, if, y’know –”

“Do! Any time. Actually…”

Tom cut himself off, typing something into his phone, and your pocket buzzed with a notification.

“Get yourself a nice dinner.”

You checked your phone to see a transfer from Tom. It wasn’t a crazy amount, but too much for just dinner, and you huffed performatively as he grinned at you.

“No! Don’t be ridiculous –”

He barely made more than you, and you were certainly doing perfectly comfortably.

“Royalties are really good this month. That old break-up sex video is trending again, apparently.”

You smothered a smile. It was hate-fucking, as you’d told Tom a hundred times. That was the title. You could still remember the look on his face the day you’d filmed it, his twitchiness, the unknown male actor who had slightly scared both of you with his sheer size as he stepped into the studio. The male star had fucked you like you’d broken his heart, hands on your neck and hips bruising yours as he pounded into you, and you’d be a little alarmed at how little you had needed to act in his domineering presence. He’d been muscular and tall and assertive, almost injuring you with his enthusiasm, and the shoot had ended with you a sweaty mess, struggling to walk, eyes watery.

You had ached from the moment Tom helped you up from the bed, a protective body between you and your costar as you watched the man collect his clothes and his paycheck. The footage had been great, you’d watched Tom edit it, but it had been your first taste of Tom’s protectiveness. The actor had never returned, and Tom had bought a hot water bottle for the office, pressing it into your lap as he brought tea for the pair of you, loathing how you winced as you moved.

He’d taken you out for dinner that night to celebrate a good edit, but you knew the real reason. That neither of you wanted the other to be alone. It had been a lovely evening, a restaurant then a bar, without a break in laughing conversation the entire night. It hadn’t been a date, but if it had been a date, it would’ve been the nicest date you’d ever been on. In those moments, you wondered if Tom was really cut out for the industry. If you were.

As much as Tom hated the film, it was hot. It had propelled your studio into the spotlight, and it paid a significant chunk of your rent.

“Thank you,” you smiled to him, wracking your mind for anything else that needed discussing before you headed home.

Maybe you’d get takeaway. That would be nice.

Tom cleared his throat.

“What are we shooting tomorrow, by the way?”

You looked up at his words, frowning a little at the realisation you hadn’t been given a script yet. It was unlike him, to be so unprepared. Usually everything was organised weeks in advance. With a glance at the shadows under his eyes, you decided not to tease him about it.

“We’re shooting tomorrow?”

“This week… we’ve only got one video. I was just thinking something simple, I haven’t called a costar yet, but we don’t have to if you don’t want to –”

It was your paycheck on the line as much as Tom’s, and you wondered how the hell you’d forgotten.

“Do we have a camera crew?” you frowned.

“No, not yet. I can call though. Or I could just do it myself, if we’re not doing anything too complicated?”

You thought for a moment, leaning against the open doorframe as Tom started to pack up his own desk, nimble fingers tapping across his keyboard.

“Solo?” you suggested, stifling a laugh as Tom blinked and tilted his head to face you.

“I missed that, love?”

“Solo. Like ‘hot female solo’ or something?”

He smiled slightly, closing his laptop lid.

“That’ll do well, I’m sure. Do we need anything costume-wise? Props?”

Toys. He meant toys. You smiled at his refusal to call a spade a damn spade.

“I’m sure we can find everything here. It’ll be nice to do a simple shoot for a change,” you enthused, holding the door for Tom as he moved to turn off the lights, lingering nearby as he locked up the office.

“Yeah. Single-shot, no camera-man either.”

“Cheap,” you sighed, as though it was the sexiest thing in the world.

You did the books, and avoiding having any more costs this month sounded great.

“Yeah,” Tom smiled, falling into step beside you as the two of you left the warehouse studio.

He looked ready to say something else, but changed his mind. For a second the two you stood by the exit, words trapped beneath your closed lips as the early evening air enveloped you.

“Do you need a lift home?” Tom finally offered.

“No. No, I’m good. Thank you.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, yeah. Usual time. Twelve?”

“Perfect.”

He reached an arm out, ready for you to walk into his embrace, and you froze. The moment was over as soon as it started, his arm retracted, and you could only stare. His hand found the curls at the back of his head, scratching there, a blush dusting his cheeks in the harsh fluorescent lights of the car park. You could kick yourself as you watched the bob of his Adam’s apple, the clench of his jaw. He felt awkward. You contemplated hugging him, but the moment had passed. Instead you rocked on your heels for a second, before turning to leave.

“Bye, Tom!”

“‘Night! Look after yourself, don’t forget dinner. I’ll see you – ”

He cut himself off as you walked too far away, and you could have kicked yourself for the sadness in his final syllable. You sighed as your feet fell against the pavement, your whole walk home haunted by the awkward shuffle of Tom’s hands as he went to hug you goodbye.

*

You were surprised by how difficult it was to brush off that awkward memory. As you ordered and ate dinner, you were reminded of Tom with every bite, that he’d snuck aside part of the company’s petty cash budget to give you dinner. That both of you had gone home, separately, to separate empty houses and empty beds.

Had he wanted to go for drinks? Wanted company? You had come to accept a long time ago that the man was your closest friend. He would be the person you called in an emergency, a shoulder to cry on. You liked to think he’d lean on you the same way.

Despite that, you spent limited time together outside of a professional context. You never met up on weekends, or casually called. Of course you didn’t. He made a career out of seeing you naked, watching you fake orgasms for other men. As you readied yourself for the day, you reminded yourself that of course, he would be nice to his only full-time, very lucrative actress. To his business partner.

As you’d queued up the company’s social media posts the night before, you could only think of Tom behind the camera, orchestrating each photo and clip you uploaded.

You couldn’t help the grin which split your face as you walked into the studio, bag flung over your shoulder, overpacked with everything you thought you could possibly need. Tom greeted you, emerging from his office with a smile.

Before you could overthink it, you walked into his arms, giving him very little choice in the matter as you greeted him with a hug. In his surprise you felt his body stiffen, his arms slowly wrapping around you, and you were momentarily gobsmacked by the muscular form he seemed to hide behind those suits.

He was a little more dressed down today, smart black jeans and a button-up white shirt, unruly hair sticking up like it did when he forgot to brush it. He looked better than yesterday, like he’d had a good night’s sleep.

“Good morning,” he chuckled, bemusement clear in his voice.

You pulled back from the hug, a little embarrassed at the affection until you saw the smile stretching across his face, reaching his eyes. Suddenly the previous night, worrying you had inadvertently rejected him, seemed to be erased.

“Morning! What have you got for me?”

The studio space was cleaned, but empty. The camera stood in the corner as Tom lead you further into the room, his office door open to the side of it, and you frowned at the emptiness of the space.

There were tape marks on the floor where sets were usually assembled, conspicuous without the usual hive of activity buzzing around some piece of furniture you would be thrown onto or fucked against. There was nothing.

“I didn’t know what you wanted to do,” Tom was saying, his gentle voice booming in the empty space, “we don’t have a script or anything so… I’ll leave it to you.”

You bit your lip.

It was more freedom than you were used to, less direction, less to build the fantasy where you could forget you were ultimately in a warehouse with just your business partner. It was… nothing. Tom said your name quietly, and you nodded, stepping back to assess the space.

“I’m just thinking,” you reassured him.

Had the studio always been this quiet? You tried to remember a shoot day where it had been this silent, this calm, without the stress of lighting people or cameramen or scripts being thrown around. You could hear every step Tom took as he walked towards the camera, the wheel-mounted tripod creaking as he moved it across the floor, checking batteries and SD cards while you stood in place, your bag still hanging from one shoulder.

Noticing your frozen stance Tom frowned across at you, nothing but gentle concern in his blue eyes and the fine lines around them.

“I was thinking something kind of minimal, maybe cosy?” he offered, “Maybe an armchair? Something like that?”

You thought about it for a moment, crossing to the corner of the room to finally set down your bag.

He was finally getting into ‘director mode’, growing more energetic by the second.

“I’m thinking we just frame it on you, no distraction. Single take, if we can.”

You nodded silently as he crossed to the storage cupboard he’s overeagerly labelled a ‘props department’. It was stacked high with fabric and furniture and lingerie, tubs of various exotic sex toys near the door. Tom stepped straight past them.

There was a mattress in the props room, materials to build a bed, and you pondered on the idea for a moment.

“We could keep it really simple, maybe?” you suggested, “Find a warm background. Or just use white. Try and get one twenty minute shot, or something.”

You reached for lube without thought, collecting the near-empty bottle of body oil beside it too, as you perused the options in front of you.

“Remind me to buy more of that,” Tom mused, sparing a glance to the bottles in your arms before standing beside you to peruse the options.

You nodded silently, your free hand rifling through bagged silicone toys, slightly in a daze as you picked out a few options. There was a slight blush dusted across Tom’s high cheekbones as he turned to see your arms full of dildos. You smiled as it took him a second to find words, and wondered how the hell he’d chosen to start a porn studio in the first place.

“Colour co-ordinated,” he commented, and you smiled, picking out yet another pink toy from the pile.

“Naturally,” you smiled, “I think that’s everything? Could we drag a mattress and pillows out?”

He nodded silently, already moving to manoeuvre the double mattress leaning against a wall in the props room. You rolled your eyes before helping, knowing he was being a gentleman, or whatever he called it. You called it putting his back out.

He rejected your help, so you grabbed as many pillows as you could, following him back into the main studio, privately smiling at the dramatic grunts he made trying to move the mattress. He tossed it to the ground with a grunt, shoving it into the corner of the room, before pausing again.

You dropped everything down on to it, toys, lube, pillows and all.

And then both of you waited.

It was so strangely intimate, just the two of you in the room, the strange nature of your relationship weighing heavy after last night’s miscommunication. Suddenly there was nothing you wanted to do less than take your clothes off.

“White sheets?”

“Hm?” you hadn’t processed what Tom said, too wrapped up in your own world, frowning down at the bare mattress.

“I was thinking white sheets.”

“Oh, uh, yeah.”

He was off, assigned another task, and you almost envied his distraction as you slowly sorted the pillows how you wanted, gathered the toys absentmindedly. Before Tom came back from the props closet you made yourself scarce, catching sight of his slim outline through the doorway. Facing away from you as he rummaged.

In the single bathroom of the studio you cleaned anything that would be going inside of you, avoiding your reflection, trying to shake off the odd nervousness coursing through your veins.

Why? It had been years since you felt this way before a shoot. Before you’d met Tom, even. Sure, shoots could be exciting, exhilarating, intimidating, but this self-consciousness, this self-doubt… it had come from nowhere.

You pressed your forehead to the mirror, closing your eyes, breathing deeply. The tap running sounded like a waterfall, the silicone under your fingers felt alien, the air almost claustrophobic as you wondered what the hell was wrong with you.

Tom was done making the bed when you got back, frowning at his phone until he heard you re-enter the studio space, quick to look up and see if you were happy with his set. You felt hyper-aware of him, of every movement he made, a clean towel and toys cradled in one arm as you took in the space. It was a simple premise, just a clean fitted sheet pillows in a corner, a clear space for you in the middle. You knew it would look good on screen. You knew this was an easy job.

You felt sick to your stomach.

“Do you want to face the camera? Or kind of, not acknowledge it?” Tom asked, speaking again as you forgot to reply, too caught up in your own mind. “Maybe if you ignore it that’s more… voyeuristic?”

“Sounds good,” you responded, kneeling to prepare your space. This was autopilot, your day job. You could do this.

“Right.”

He sounded a little put out by your response, but moved the camera anyway, switching to a knee-height tripod. You stood, stepped back to give him space, and frowning at the sudden headrush. You blinked, catching yourself staring at the flex of his arms as he moved the heavy equipment. You didn’t realise how long you had been staring into space until Tom called your name a second time, crossing into your personal space.

“Are you okay?”

Tom’s voice was so soft you wanted to cry, fingers hovering beside your bicep, his gentle eyes demanding for you to meet them, daring for you to lie while his face is so close to yours.

Somehow, the guilt of his worry made you feel worse.

“No, I’m…I’m being stupid. Sorry, just tired.”

“Did you not sleep well?”

“No, I, uh, I slept fine. I’m not sure. Just not really feeling it.”

His face fell, but you knew he wasn’t disappointed in you. He thought he’d done something wrong. Immediately you were talking, doing anything you could to soften his guilt.

“It’s my job, though. I can do it. This is great Tom, I think it’ll be a good shoot.”

“Sweetheart –”

You sighed, eyes falling to the mattress, before forcing a smile.

“Let’s get this over with!”

He looked like he wanted to argue with you, but you forced yourself to move, pulled your feet from the floor with far more effort than it ought to take. There was some comfort in rummaging through your own bag, that piece of home, something private from the studio. You found the vibrator you’d brought, a pink bullet you used almost exclusively at home, fully charged that morning. Behind you, Tom snorted in amusement.

“Nothing here is ever charged,” you shrugged off his stare, knowing damn well you didn’t have to explain yourself.

You wanted to explain anyway though. Just in case, Tom thought anything he did wasn’t enough. He seemed perfectly fine with the criticism, though you knew he was making a mental note. He always did, then you had something to say.

Trying not to make a big deal out of it, you stripped to your underwear, folding your clothes neatly and being careful not to show any self-consciousness in your posture. You’d never been ashamed or embarrassed before now, and you weren’t about to start. Even if it was just you, and a very well, fully dressed Tom. Vibrator clutched in your fingers, you finally sat on the damn mattress.

He was the other side of the camera now, somehow both distant and a few feet away. You found yourself staring at your body in the monitor, just watching. Tom’s voice broke you out of yet another daze, and you wanted to pinch yourself. Why couldn’t you do it today?

“We don’t have to do this today, if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s okay I just… I forget it’s just us sometimes, you know? There’s such a production and so many people and at the end of the day…”

Tom smiled, a relief on his face that told you he had been feeling it too. That this was weird.

“I know what you mean. If you’re uncomfortable…”

“Just give me a second to warm up, we need to make something, after all.”

You stretched, not really sure why, moving a little around the nook Tom had created, shuffling pillows and practicing where you wanted to lie back, watching a monitor as Tom played with a soft lighting, twisting and turning to find the most flattering angles you could.

As he shuffled things around, Tom nodded to the spread of toys you’d set out. You’d added your vibrator to the pink line up, perfectly organised on the white towel.

“Do you want those in shot?”

You shrugged.

“Might be hot?”

He nodded silently. You moved the toys in to the frame, trying to blink away the cloud which had settled in your mind. The world felt foggy, your arms like they were moving through treacle, and you knew Tom had noticed.

As he prepared two directional microphones, you tried not to feel claustrophobic. The audio from the microphone he was pointing towards your pussy would be almost grotesque, and you fought not to shuffle further from it as you imagined Tom listening later, headphones in, as he balanced the levels between your moans and the wet sounds of you fucking yourself.

Fuck.

Why was this so different to a regular shoot?

You’d done solo shoots before. With Tom. And half-a-dozen other crew, you reminded yourself.

You caught sight of his curls above the monitor, face serious as he set everything up.

“Speak?”

“Testing, testing,” you spouted off nonsense until he offered you a thumbs up, happy with the audio.

Then there was nothing else to do.

He stood, looming over the equipment. And you looming over you.

“What’s the plan?” he asked, smiling at your frown. “You’re in charge here, I’m just the camera guy.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing he was trying to put you at ease.

“You’re the director,” you reminded him, knowing how he preened himself under the title.

You were impressed that his eyes had only roamed down your body once as he took in the shoot, glancing at the indulgent layout of toys, double checking the monitor, one headphone in. He had that stance he always adopted when he was directing, and you knew it was his favourite moment in any of this. The moment everything was pinned on him.

It happened so quickly you almost missed the moment he knelt down, blinking in surprise as his face remerged at your level beside the camera.

“Then my direction is: enjoy yourself. Forget I’m here. Let’s show them something real.”

He must have seen your shock, because it made him smile.

“Real?” you questioned, and he nodded firmly.

“I’m serious.”

For a beat, both of you were silent, his eyes meeting yours over the body of the camera.

“If you can,” he offered, “I understand it’s not always…”

You interrupted him with a hand, smiling your understanding of what he was saying, and dismissing it in one motion. The silence dragged on, and you decided to push this forwards. If you were done by lunch, Tom would probably insist on taking you somewhere nice.

“I don’t know if I should use – ” you ghosted a finger across the biggest toy, worrying a bottom lip between your teeth, “Simplicity might be key.”

“Do what you want, darling. What feels good.”

You nodded mutely, and for just a second you saw doubt flicker across his face. This was new territory, and even you weren’t sure if this was a step too far.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah. If I’m… actually… it might take a while. Let me know if I’m taking too long.”

“Take as long as you need, darling. I’ve got nowhere to be.”

Tilting your head at him a little, you realised abruptly just how intimate this was. Moreover, that you wanted it anyway. That you were about to make him watch you cum. Make him hear you, smell you. He couldn’t touch, but he could watch.

And that was enough for you to perform.

Tom gave you a countdown, red lights peppered your field of view, and he was recording. He had taken a seat on the floor behind the camera set up, one headphone in to monitor audio, waiting.

You stayed sat up, back arched a little as your hands began to caress you own body, keeping on eye on the monitor while your face was out of the shot. You rubbed along your thighs, across your stomach, teasing at the lace of your bra and the elastic of your underwear each time you passed them, trailing your fingertips. It didn’t really feel like anything, doing this to yourself, but you knew to tease the camera. Tom would cut out anything too slow.

Your gaze remained firmly on the screen as you began to make your touches firmer, more deliberate, dragging lines into your skin and flirting with the camera. You admired the soft skin of your breasts as you started to shift your bra, enjoying the stiffening of your nipples in the monitor until –

The screen went black, and you immediately glanced at Tom, frowning as you lost the visual of yourself. He met your questioning gaze sternly, eyebrows furrowed, and you remembered his direction.

“Enjoy yourself.”

With nothing left to look at you closed your eyes, feeling the blood rushing to the surface of your skin, the sensitivity of your breasts as your fingers idly danced across them. You shoved your bra down unthinkingly, wanting to feel more, rubbing at the heaviness of your breasts and wincing as you enjoyed the pleasure and pain of pinching at your nipples, teasing them to attention. You glanced your nails across them, feeling it in your core. You didn’t want to wait anymore. Fuck the cameras.

It was hard to let to, to stop the delicious feeling of your fingers on your own breasts, but you forced yourself to free one hand, shoving off the bra, desperate to feel yourself without it. You knew you were grimacing, it wouldn’t be sexy, but you didn’t care. That was Tom’s problem.

You needed to touch yourself.

One hand reached below the waistband of your underwear, seeking out your clit, guided by a familiar ache. It was all you could focus on, your other hand forgotten, cupping your breast, the sensation vague and lost as your fingers found your clit. The sensation overwhelmed you as you shifted the hood, your body beginning to produce wetness. The room was a little cold, the air relieving against the heat of your bare skin, making your nipples peak as you leant back into the nest of pillows behind you.

You felt your stomach tense, a bolt of electricity tensing the muscles up and down your body as you brushed across your clit a little too hard. Your middle finger probed your pussy experimentally, slipping inside of you, quickly joined by a second as you played with the wetness there.

One, two, three pumps of your fingers inside you was enough for you to gasp, your eyes still closed against the bright lights as focused on nothing but feeling. No more fucking around.

You reached for your vibrator, hand knocking against the thick silicone toy lined up beside it, writhing as you pressed it against the fabric covering your clit. You cycled through the settings as fast as you could, still desperate for more stimulation.

More. It was on the highest setting. You wanted more.

Without moving the vibrator you shoved your underwear off, huffing as you kicked them away, not caring where they landed. The tip of the toy nudged against your clit exquisitely, and you froze.

There.

There.

You thought about Tom watching you. The hot blood coursing through your body, the line up of toys just waiting to be shoved inside of you. The sensitivity of you clit as you held it against that perfect point. The air against your dripping, aching pussy. The muscles starting to clench, the rhythm of your body. Building, building, you didn’t fight the feeling.

This was what you wanted.

That warm familiarity of the vibrator on your clit, the runaway train of your thoughts, it was enough to drive you over the edge. You hadn’t realised the keening, groaning noises you were making until you heard them, pleasure leaving your lips as an afterthought.

You felt empty.

Blindly you reached out, sticky fingers finding the shaft of a toy you wanted, a smaller one you could take right now. A dollop of lube in the palm of your hand was all it would take, a few pumps of the toy enough to coat it, the excess lubricant smeared on the sheets. You didn’t care. Not your problem.

Without conscious thought, you were still rubbing yourself, two fingers absently making circles against your clit as you fidgeted to be able to take the dildo. You didn’t bother preparing yourself anymore. You were wet enough, and you wanted the stretch.

Needed it.

Needed to feel full.

You shoved the toy into yourself, gritted teeth and your spare hand grasping at your breast, giving the nipple a sharp pinch to interrupt the overwhelming feeling of that silicone pushing inside of you. Your walls were stretched open, a gasp reaching your ears as you felt a nudge against your cervix.

It wasn’t enough. You felt wild, desperate, as you sloppily pulled the toy from yourself and shoved it back in, clenching down and still needing more.

Your fingers found a larger toy, arousal and lubricant smearing across your body as you discarded the dildo which you had just been fucking yourself with, leaving it somewhere on the mattress, forgotten in favour of the bigger option. It was thick. Maybe, in your right mind, you wouldn’t have considered it. But instead you coated it in lube, squirting the clear liquid on to the tip and rubbing it down the toy, focusing on nothing but the need pulsing through your pelvis.

On the emptiness inside you, begging, pleading to be filled. It hurt, how much you wanted to be stretched out, to feel something pounding into you. You felt animalistic, desperate for anything. The last of your conscious thought was occupied by the need in your clit, the demand for friction, and you just didn’t have enough hands. It was impossible to think. When you finally sank down on the fake cock, leaning back, legs apart, gaze focused on nothing but your own swollen pussy, it was a relief. You gasped, then sighed, pushing another inch of the toy inside you. You felt stretched already, split in half, but you kept going. With each thrust, you took the silicone further inside of you until you felt the dull ache of the toy going too far.

Finally, that emptiness felt sated, and you stayed still, too stuffed to risk moving and too blissed out to care.

But you needed more.

Each bear down made the toy threaten to shift, and you didn’t have the brain power to thrust and pay attention to your aching clit. You moved gingerly, grabbing a pillow to straddle, holding the toy inside you as you hunted for your vibrator.

You couldn’t even lean too far to reach it, you were so full it ached. And it was delicious.

With the smooth plastic finally in your hand you leant back, ready to bring yourself to another orgasm. With a blink, you realised there was a tear tracking its way down your cheek, and you smiled to yourself.

And then you accidentally looked forwards. Your eyes met Tom’s. The camera. The lights. The switched off monitor.

You wanted to cry.

He was watching you directly, with those sharp blue eyes, one finger resting along his jawline, his usual calculating, wide stance replaced with one knee hugged to his chest as he sat on the concrete floor. He was watching you.

You. Stuffed full, straddling a pillow on the bed Tom had fucking made, covered in a mix of lube and your own arousal. That strange feeling from earlier came back full force.

God. He had seen you actually come. Without acting or cheesy lines or clever angles to hide the worst of your O-face. You could pretend to come, tell your male co-stars what a good time you’d had, follow direction, anything. But this was too real. And it was just you and Tom. In the corner of a huge studio, bright lights and cameras and –

Had he called cut? You wouldn’t have heard. Did he realise you’d lost control? That you had forgotten you were supposed to be acting and been so desperate and –

“You’re doing amazing.”

You smiled at him weakly, gasping as the toy inside you nudged your cervix as you fidgeted. You didn’t realise that you were awaiting direction until he spoke.

“Another one?”

His voice was a little throatier than usual, though you supposed he’d been quiet for a while. His eyes kept drifting from your face, and you wondered if he felt as uncomfortable as you did.

You nodded silently, closing your eyes, listening to the increasing pitch of the vibrator as you turned it up to its maximum setting.

The minutes stretched on as your orgasm built, little raises and falls of your hips accompanying that insistent buzz of your favourite vibrator, the toy inside you starting to ache as it stretched you apart. It was impossible to forget that Tom was watching you now. That his piercing gaze was on you. As a matter of professionalism, you tried to avoid looking up. You ignored the camera, fucked your body in the way you knew it would respond to, only half-faking it as you came a second time.

You moaned and groaned and gave the camera an indulgent few seconds of overstimulation, the vibrator pushed against your clit to make you writhe and shake. You pulled yourself off the dildo in a mess of arousal, played with yourself, showing off how stretched out you were.

Fingers swirling in the arousal inside of you, you sighed in relief when Tom called, “cut.”

Dropping the toy, you pulled your legs together, ignoring him for a second as you took deep breaths. Taking stock of your body, the residual pleasure and pain and stickiness. A lot of stickiness.

Tom took pity on you, shifting a softbox so you had a clear path out of the corner you were hemmed into.

“Go and have a shower,” he told you, the most softly-spoken command you’d ever heard.

Nonetheless, you followed orders. On weak legs, you indulged in as long as shower as you dared, cleaning up and then just… waiting. Trying to avoid the real world. When you finally opened the door, wrapped in a robe, you found your clothes folded outside. Tom was nowhere to be seen, but you thanked the universe for him anyway.

When you re-emerged you were fully dressed and feeling a lot more like yourself again. And, actually, quite proud of yourself. Tom’s busyness told you everything had been recorded properly, equipment moved and the mattress bare, leant against the wall.

“All good?” you asked, more to announce your presence than anything. He stopped moving, offering you a gentle smile.

“Perfect! I think it’ll be great. Do you want to go get lunch somewhere? To celebrate?”

Predictable as anything. The thought made your heart swell with fondness for him, his head tilt and excitement, his strange place here.

“I think I’ll just go home,” you tried to smile apologetically, but you could still feel the ache inside you, the dull oversensitivity of your clit against your underwear.

The embarrassment and excitement fighting in the fit of your stomach.

Tom nodded, clear understanding on his face. He held the door for you on the way out.

“Are you coming in tomorrow?” he asked, quietly, like you might run off if he asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you then.”

*

Your bedroom fell silent as the vibrator stopped, the battery finally flat. You whined in disappointment, desperate for another orgasm. Your fingers replaced it instantly, rubbing, desperately pulling more wetness from the arousal weeping from you, but you were too oversensitive.

Panting, vision blurry, your thighs aching, you blinked away tears. You glanced at the nightstand. Tom hadn’t text you.

*

When you woke up the next morning your phone was dead. You’d forgotten to charge it last night, and leaving it in your room to charge offered a strangely peaceful morning. You had a few hours before you would be expected at the studio, and no work to do before then.

You indulged in spending time getting ready for the day, making a decent breakfast, doing a few chores you’d been putting off.

Processing what had happened yesterday.

In the clear light of day, you wondered if you ought to be embarrassed for the way you’d completely lost yourself at the shoot. The more you thought about it, the more you thought about it, the more you rationalised at you’d just followed Tom’s direction. Done what he’d asked. It had been intense, for sure, but you’d done what he’d asked. If anything you regretted the moment he’d had to speak, losing your nerve. You hoped he didn’t want pick-up shots today, you weren’t sure your body could take any more.

You thought about the night before, clearing up the scattered clothes and charging the vibrator you’d left strewn beside your bed, more ashamed of the images which had been conjured by your overactive imagination in the late-night privacy of your bedroom. You hated that everything you imagined was involved blue eyes. Distinctive curls. Pulling buttons from smart shirts and kissing along sharp cheekbones. Poor Tom. He didn’t need you overstepping that mark. And yet when you had closed your eyes, imagined you were under those lights again, all you could imagine was Tom. His creative gaze. Listening to the smoothness his voice leant to everything he said as he instructed you even more intimately than usual.

As you switched your phone back on, you forced the thoughts from your mind. They couldn’t follow you to the studio. The two of you had built something good. Something successful. The studio was doing well, you were both saving money away for the future, building your brands. You couldn’t screw that up now by imagining him like that. He trusted you. You trusted each other. Relied on one another.

You wondered if he ever fucked other actresses.

[flying-ryan]

bar meet

The grizzled pilot had ducked into the first hole in the wall bar he could find near Sydney’s airport. He had every intention of staying for as long as it took his sister to finish her business. He was only vaguely aware that she was courting another international investor for their family distillery. Blake Ryan didn’t ever need a reason to fly somewhere new.

The bar was appropriately dark for daytime drinking - just enough light to keep anyone from feeling too guilty for hiding away, but still just bright enough to strike them blind the moment they hit the door on the way out. He sat on a faded bar stool and grumbled into his glass about the band clanking around at the back end of the tiny, warm room as they prepared for their set while the evening rolled in.

A wild young man with unkempt hair and a thick beard cursed steadily, working in the dim light to assemble the red drum set with various dings and clangs interspersed. A younger boy sat in the center of the tiny platform called a stage. He sat on a faded barstool of his own and plucked carefully at his guitar, tuning the strings with his eyes closed. 

He was beautiful.

Ry motioned to the bartender for another drink and slapped two large bills to the smooth bartop. He nodded respectfully to the plump man as he lined the pocket of his black apron and then turned away. Ryan carried the whiskey bottle and his empty glass to a small table with a single chair at one edge of the stage. He fished a smooshed pack of cigarettes from a back pocket of his too tight denim and lit it.

The pretty boy with the guitar finally looked up at the sound.

The pilot took a long drag, relishing the heat from the farthest burning end and how he could feel it against the sensitive flesh of his fingertips as he swooped to tap off the ashes into the most generic looking ashtray he’d ever seen. He offered the singer a sideways smile, poured himself another drink, and tipped his glass as the boy startled out of his daze and began to strum a sweet sound.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d bothered to watch a live band, but also couldn’t think of anything better to do. And besides, he told himself even as he took another drink and studied the native youth as they played, he didn’t have anything better to be doing.

–

Her brother’s fascination for seedy dive bars was boring. She preferred the Belfast underground or the poshest urban nightclubs. But at least he’d been patiently entertaining himself while she worked another long day of meetings with attorneys and finance guys before a much awaited business dinner with two potential Australian investors looking to get behind their family whiskey line.

The meeting had gone better than well. In fact, Skye got a little high off her work when everything went just right - and it was the case now as she sat in the back of a black Range Rover with impossibly darkened windows. She tapped away at her phone, letting her brother know she had every intention of spending what few hours remained before daylight wrapped up in the king suite of her private plane on the way home. 

A fuckboy from back home popped up on her screen, a generic ‘wyd’ that she dismissed with a swipe and a growl. “Not you.”

Seamus, a distant cousin and for all intents and purposes a grateful indentured servant, chuckled from the driver’s seat, quieting with a cough when her piercing blue eyes caught his in the rearview mirror. He tore them away to study the road in relative silence. “Still just to the pub, then?” He finally asked, tapping something on the vehicle's large display screen to route them through the city streets.

“Aye.” Skye sighed and leaned herself against the car’s window, watching the lives of the pedestrians they passed. “Cannae fly home without our pilot.”

[iron-mum]

I wish you would write a fic where Tony and kid Peter are being adorable father and son as retribution for the angst you’ve made me suffer through in the past hah! (JK I love you and your angst! 💛)

Well, well, well. What do we have here, eh? A request for adorable? I'm not sure, I'm very good at that 😌

Here's SIMTony who would stop at nothing to help his unwell son, Peter get better. Even if it meant using Extremis.

P.S. ILY3000 💕

In the final throes of the graveyard shift at the hospital floor, the elevator pinged for its frequent lone visitor. The front desk staff, whilst tense and sitting up suddenly straighter, knew not to actually engage. No ID was needed for their boss, one of them barely suppressing a gulp as his determined strides headed for the private room that had been deliberately placed near to the room equipped for every possible kind of emergency. Once inside, he carefully shut the door silently and took a seat at the bedside.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Sharp blue eyes shifted from the persistent buzzing of the most technologically advanced medical equipment anyone, anywhere could offer before looking back down to something far more invaluable and precious. Tony’s entire world. His purpose in life. The little boy on the bed lay motionless, breathing slowly and evenly, nose occasionally scrunching up at the discomfort of the oxygen mask upon him. He should have been cocooned in a hug from his father but instead his son, Peter, was littered with wires attaching him to the very best modern medicine had to offer.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Pale, soft skin with the daintiest of freckles stood out against the dark curls spread across the far too big pillow. The small fingers of his left hand had loosely closed around the calloused thumb of his father, letting him know that whilst he had been rendered weak from illness, he was still aware of his comforting presence. Tony’s index finger gently glided across the small knuckles, willing himself to see a tiny curve of the lips on his son’s face.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

This had been the Avengers fault. Peter’s current critical condition. The young boy had been on a school trip when a battle had broken out and the wannabe heroes managed to cause more destruction than lives saved. A chemical explosion had landed most of the class in hospital and many of them had ended up becoming very unwell. Unfortunately for Peter, he already suffered many ailments so even under the wing of Stark’s finest medical personnel, the struggle had taken a toll. The genius shook his head as thoughts of revenge started to sprout from the many seeds that had been planted since the catastrophic incident. He shelved the many ideas he had that would lead to the demise of the reckless group once his kid was better.

It had been hours when the sound of a nurse's footsteps acted as the catalyst that would remove Tony from the room so he could head back to his lab. As he reluctantly moved his hand away, there was no reaction. Not even a twitch from the slender child. Bending down, he tentatively stroked a small amount of the exposed skin that was available on the boy’s face before planting a light kiss on his forehead. By the time the nurse was opening the door to the room to complete the routine checks, any sign of a visitor would be long gone.

The moment Tony was back in his workshop, he strode towards his desk. Music started to reverberate from the ceiling, the sound greatly appreciated compared to the low hum and incessant beeping from the emotionless devices that were currently keeping his son alive.

Tony didn’t believe in a higher power other than himself. So in no way, shape or form was he ever going to accept that he couldn’t save Peter from the incurable illness now ravaging his frail body. Feeling powerless was simply not an option.

Rolling up the sleeve to his top, the genius opened a drawer and pulled out a device meant for extracting blood as painlessly as possible. Not that pain meant much to him these days. No pain would ever compete with a parent having to watch their child deteriorate every single second of every single day.

Satisfied with the draw, Tony placed it into a diagnostic machine of his own making. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass of his workshop, eyeing it like he was in the most intense staring contest of his life. Jaw clenching, his arm shot out allowing liquid metal to glide across his skin before firing a repulsor at the glass and shattering it. There was an element of irony to everyone loving his face except himself in the minimal but intrusive “what if” moments that surrounded his current situation. With a crack of his neck, his arm remained outstretched so the Endo-Sym armour could return to it’s housing tank.

“Boss, the results are back,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. informed as the music lessened in volume. “No adverse reactions detected still. The chemical composition indicates that the Extremis is unchanged in it’s integration with you on a genetic level and continues to remain stable.”

“And the sample from Peter?” Tony asked, confident that he knew what the answer would be.

“Also remaining stable.”

“Alert the staff intending to see Peter following tonight's shift that their presence will not be needed,” the genius demanded as he mentally reiterated the next steps of his plan in his head. Lips curled into devilishly handsome grin at his victory, eyes crinkling at the sides. The smile only softened when his eyes drifted to a framed picture Peter had drawn of the both of them. He’d done it.

“Certainly, boss,” the AI had responded without any acknowledgement. Tony was too busy in thought. Not only was the Extremis flowing through his own veins, leaving him feeling at perfect health. But soon, it would be doing the same for Peter too. Pain free, peak performance and at complete and optimal health.

“Have there been any sightings of the Avengers in the last hour? I feel a splash of revenge is in order for this special occasion?” The holo-screens in front of him started to flicker as social media sites were searched and hashtags refreshed repeatedly. Hulk had been trending within the hour and Hawkeye in the last eleven minutes.

"Well, how about that?" he grinned gleefully. "I really am being spoiled for choice."

Whilst the genius had been certain F.R.I.D.A.Y. had relayed the message to the morning staff, Tony still found himself exhaling sharply at the sight of someone sat by Peter’s side reading his file. The thin bag of Extremis in his hand was shifted into his back pocket as quickly as humanly possible. The good feeling from beating the shit out of one of the Avengers, plus the buzz of providing Peter with a cure that no meagre doctor had been able to, shifted into a tension as tried to work out who it was.

Their face was narrow with sharp features and glasz eyes remarkably penetrating when they met his perusing stare. His black hair had been combed back neatly, the sides of his temples a distinct light grey. The well fitted suit looked designer even for Tony’s impeccable standards.

“Your services are no longer required,” he affirmed with a dismissive flourish of the hands before the man could even introduce himself.

“I’m sorry?” the other man replied without hesitation, closing the file and rising from the chair. Tony’s chair. If he’d been expecting any pleasantries or introductions, he was thoroughly mistaken. Tony was already locked onto Peter, the gentle rise of his chest a welcoming sight as always. He refused to allow his attention to be divided, ignoring the piercing stare boring into him now. “I have an oath to this patient. He critically needs help from the best in all fields. He needs my help.”

The genius turned at that, an eyebrow raised as he looked the doctor up and down. He certainly held himself strongly for someone who had that much audacity in addressing the owner of everything within his current vicinity.

“Are you new around here… Doctor Strange?” He asked disingenuously, eyes narrowing as he scrutinised the name badge. The letters ‘VISITOR - Dr Stephen Strange’ jotted on the bottom, likely the reason he hadn’t got his AI’s memo. The receptionist who let him in would be fired whether it was her fault or not.

“Unlike everyone else in this building, no, I don’t work for you” the doctor shot back tersely. “However, you were so insistent on my consultation that, somehow, I found my diary completely cleared of all surgeries that were booked in.”

“Well, you can now stick them back in your diary. We’re done here.”

“I know this is difficult,” the doctor started, tone suddenly softer as if he were hoping a change of tact would get through. “You brought me in for my expertise, so use them.”

“I’m the most intelligent, capable person on the planet. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.”

“Your arrogance surpasses all the rumours and expectations I had of you,” Strange snapped back incredulously. Apparently nothing was going to get through. “Your child is-”

“You know, it would be a real shame if you were to lose your medical licence, wouldn't it, doctor?” Tony sneered dangerously low. This ungrateful little shit was going to get it for not only wasting his time and energy, but also his son’s. An insignificant speck like the rest of the world.

“Are you threatening me?” the doctor replied doing his best to keep his tone cool and unflinching when the other man removed all personal space between them. The lack of intimidation he was feeling only pissed Tony off more.

“Let’s not test my resolve, doctor.” Despite feeling completely wrong about leaving considering Peter’s condition, Dr Stephen Strange tucked the file he’d been reading under his arm and left the room in just a few strides. Tony had spotted the hand diving for a phone as the door shut behind him and clenched his fists in disdain.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., be a darling and ensure Doctor Douchebag doesn’t make it back home,” Tony demanded followed by a nonchalant sniff.

“Yes, boss. His phone has also unexpectedly lost all signal so will not be usable anytime soon.”

Satisfied with the course of action his AI had taken, Tony locked the door to his son’s room for good measure. He eyed the current equipment before making his move. One of the drips currently providing Peter with much needed medicine was switched to make way for a sample of the Extremis that Tony had meticulously created and tested on himself. He peered at his son, swallowing thickly that this would all be worth it.

Bag secured, the first few drops started instantly, the older man watching as they flowed along the thin tubes before entering the cannula imposed on Peter’s hand. The skin began to glow orange, the lava looking trail gliding all the way up the arm’s before entering the chest. Daring a glance at the monitors, Tony noted an instant improvement in the readouts. A smile spread across his face as sheet-white, sickly skin started to immediately brighten.

Peter’s big, brown doe eyes suddenly shot open as he took a huge gulp of air, eyes landing on his father who was remarkably in focus for the first time in his life without the aid of glasses. Tony removed the oxygen mask so he could take his son’s face in fully for the first time in well over a month.

“Dad?” the young boy croaked, clearly a little disoriented from the abrupt wake up.

“Hey, buddy,” Tony whispered, voice cracking with emotion as he closed the distance between them.

Peter lunged at his father, his small arms wrapping tightly around the genius’ neck and face burying into his chest. It had been far too long since either had been able to enjoy the tender, heart-bursting feeling of overwhelming, unconditional love from one another.

“I love you, kiddo.” Tony gushed as one of his hand’s lovingly cupped the back of Peter's head holding him as close as possible. The other enveloped around his back, his thumb slowly stroking up and down. When the older man's hand started to trail through Peter's hair, the boy somehow managed to burrow even closer. Tony soothingly lifted curls between his fingers and then let them ping back as new life continued to circle through his son’s body.

“I love you too, dad,” Peter whispered, a strain evident in his voice that Tony hadn’t been expecting. When he leant back, he saw the likely cause. Now unnecessary wires were tugging at his child’s skin.

“Let’s get these off you, bud. You don’t need them anymore,” he promised softly as he carefully went to work at removing the monitoring equipment clips and stickers. Peter’s curious eyes followed every step of the way, surprisingly not wincing even when some of the tougher stickers were peeled away. Although he was too young to even begin comprehending what had happened, he knew from vague memories he’d been hurt and that he’d slept a lot. Often he had been unsure if he was dreaming or awake when he’d hear his father read him stories, express his love and let him know how brave he was being. A slight tug on his hand drew him from his recollection as he looked down.

"I’m scared," Peter timidly admitted as he eyed up the last piece of medical equipment attached to him. The cannula in his hand.

“Here’s what we're gonna do, bud. We’re going to put on our brave faces and before you know it, it’ll be all done and over with. Can you show me your bravest, fiercest face?” Tony gently challenged, as part of his upper lip curled and he playfully growled.

The child’s dinky nose scrunched up and his lips pushed out into the biggest pout he could form. He shook his head a little and hummed in a way that likely felt fierce to him but could only be described as adorable to his dad.

"Wowzer. That was super mean, you nearly scared me!” Tony gasped dramatically, as he gestured for the boy to look down and see that the only thing on the top of his hand was a small cotton wool ball and a light pressure from his dad. Using his free hand to fish into his pocket, Tony revealed a green Paw Patrol sticker with Peter’s favourite character, Rocky, on it.

It had been a distant memory since the young boy had handed it to him, having spotted the numerous nicks and cuts that littered his hard working hands after a long day in the workshop. Extremis meant Peter wouldn’t even need it, but the placebo effect would make it worth it.

“Am I all better, daddy?” Peter asked as Tony eyed him up once more. The overwhelmed father cupped his kid’s face and planted another kiss on his forehead, relief washing over him that he was now free from the concatenation of medical instrumentation.

“You most certainly are. And that means we get to skedaddle out of here.”

Before his son could anticipate his next move, his father had scooped him up into his arms and they were making their way not only out of the room, but off of the floor for good.

They’d had a chance to change into matching casual wear and feasted on a huge breakfast before snuggling up on the sofa. Peter had selected an Octonauts movie to watch as he tucked into his father’s side and enjoyed the sound of his steady heartbeat.

It would be a couple of hours when Tony’s phone pinged with a notification he knew was F.R.I.D.A.Y. when she was being discreet. His son huffed at the movement as he shuffled to get the phone out of his pocket, muttering an apology to his kid before opening the message.

[Unfortunate accident on the Hawk’s Nest, Route 97. Vehicle crossed the barrier and rolled multiple times down the cliff’s edge before landing in the Delaware River. Initial scan from one of the Iron Sight Bot #364 shows one survivor.]

Tony’s smirk widened into a full blown smile. Peter’s heart-of-gold eyes suddenly on him, looking up from his position. It was likely a silent protest at the lack of head strokes he was suddenly receiving so the genius replied swiftly.

[Call off any emergency services and get him med-evaced here.]

“You know what I think we need. Celebratory cheeseburgers for lunch,” he announced as Peter let out a squee of joy.

[editoress]

Riv/Erry + first date

Perhaps it was inevitable that Riven worried she was the only one enjoying herself.  She had almost but not quite gotten the knack for reading Eravin’s moods.  He could have been honestly having a good time, but she didn’t see how, since he didn’t seem to be doing any shopping.  Her only encouragement was the fact that the tips of his ears were pink more often than not as they wandered from stall to stall and occasionally into stores.

She did try asking.  “Ooh, can we go look at cloaks?”

“Aye.”

“Unless ya’d rather not?” she pressed.

“Nah, go on.”  It wasn’t enough for her to gauge his mood, but he said it easily enough.

At least three times, Riven insisted, “Ya do nae have ta carry everything!  Here, give me something,” and he would obligingly hand her a single bag.  He would then take it back whenever she needed her hands free to put on a coat or a necklace, so that she could peer in the vendor’s mirror and decide whether it suited her.

Asking what Eravin thought frequently resulted in an indifferent shrug or nod, but if nothing else, she could tell when he was flustered.  She considered anything that prompted that reaction a winner and bought it at once.  An elf couldn’t be too well armed when it came to dazzling her men.  And the first time he half-frowned and shook his head—at a Tyadosian hat she was modeling—Riven nearly fell over in surprise.

“What do you like, then?” she demanded, eager to know.

Eravin looked alarmed to be asked.  “Dunno.”

She thought he’d dismissed the whole thing until a few stalls later.  Riven was entirely absorbed in the vendor’s desperate attempt to sell her on the notion of weapon charms, small decorations that tied to the handle of a bow or the hilt of a blade.  But she turned when Eravin grunted behind her, “Here.”

She couldn’t see what he placed on her head, just the serious concentration with which he did so, especially when some part of it caught on her hair and he had to smooth it over.  His hand lingered that way, with his thumb on her temple and his fingertips running searchingly over her hair.  Riven looked up into his face and knew that whatever this was, she’d have to keep it.

“I’ll be back!” she promised the charm vendor, and bolted toward the next stall over, which had a small hanging mirror.  She steadied it with one hand and looked at herself, biting her lip.

It was a woven crown of small white carnations, bright against her rosy hair.  It was a terribly wood elf thing to wear, and a bit fae-like, too.  Her face split into a grin, and she turned back to Eravin, who was making a bad show of disguising the way he watched her hopefully.  She ran back to his side and threw her arms around him.  “Erry, I love it!  Thank you!”

He was smiling when she leaned back enough to see his face.  He tucked a flyaway curl of hair behind her ear and allowed a little shyly, “‘S pretty.”

“It’s gorgeous.  And now I have to get ya something.”

“Eh?  No—”

But Riven had already decided on her course of action.  She pointed with all that firm purpose at a charm she had already been eyeing.  “I’ll take that one.”

The vendor was obviously delighted to have made a sale, so much so that Riven assured him she meant to come back for more, because she absolutely did want to tie a little fox figurine onto the end of one of her daggers.  She was almost breathless when she presented her choice to Eravin.

Eravin took it slowly.  A tiny pendant shaped like a crescent moon and single star lay in his palm, attached to a thin, sturdy cord.  He stared at it, brow furrowed.

“Ya tie it on the handle of your bow,” Riven said helpfully.  “But ya don’t have to, if it would ruin the balance or whatever, or if—if ya don’t want moon elf stuff.  You can just keep it.  As somethin’ from me.”

Eravin’s hand closed over the charm.  “It won’t,” he said roughly, “throw anything off.  I’ll... tie it on my longbow.”

“Ya don’t have to,” Riven repeated meekly, but the look he threw her was so offended that she didn’t insist any further.  She tried not to bounce in triumph when he slipped the cord on one finger so he could continue holding the charm in his palm while he carried all her other purchases.

They had walked a little more distance before he said lowly, “Thanks, Riv.”

“I wanna get ya things, Erry,” she told him frankly.  “Things ya like.”  She took his hand as best she could when it was full of bag handles.  Grumbling in a way she now recognized as perfunctory rather than genuine, he rearranged everything—even letting her take two bags—so that she could hold his hand properly.  “Or at least, maybe next time we can do somethin’ for you?  Somethin’ better for ya than followin’ me around while I shop?”

Eravin looked up from their joined hands to her, surprised.  It was with such perfect, half-smiling sincerity that he said, “Better than this?” that it became Riven’s turn to blush.

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Not by the Moon | 03

Genre: Smut, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Drama, Tragedy, Werewolf AU, Supernatural AU, Bookshop AU

Pairing: Bookshop keeper!/Werewolf!JB x Reader

Warnings: Mild angst, a sprinkle of jealous werewolf!Jaebeom.

Summary: Every story has a purpose or goal it is dedicated to, their authors at times going to great lengths to see the project they once started to completion. Nevertheless, the things the writers swore on to see their latest art piece to completion are static.

Unchanging.

None of them swore by the Moon nor Love because they can solely genuinely swear on all that changes like themselves.

And yet, a wolf in love foolishly swore by the moon.

That is when Time truly started ticking.

Author’s Note: This chapter is from Jaebeom’s POV.

Previous Chapter / Next chapter

Masterlist

I like being with you.

The phrase vividly repeats itself as I blindly lead us to the park, my head in the clouds. So much so, in fact, she has to stop in her tracks and pull me back because we have walked past the entrance.

“Jaebeom,” she struggles to draw me in, firming her grip on my arm and weakly pulling on it, “we’re here already.”

It takes a second to register what Y/N says, but after a few haphazard glances around to see where we are, it does. “Ah, right.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“Nobody’s ever told me that.’’ Like a lovesick puppy, I bite down on my bottom lip. ‘’That they like to be with me, I mean.”

“Surely I’m not the first.”

“I think Jinyoung, a friend, might have said it.” I shrug, resigned in the fact loneliness has been a steady companion.

The packs in the woods rejected me if I didn’t refuse to join them. Too savage, too beastly, too ambitious, too bloodthirsty. Those are the prime reasons I have been on my own, although one in particular resonates in the blurry mess of vague memories. 

I am too monstrous.

“But I,” halted in the middle of the gravel path, I turn to her and rest my forehead against hers, “like being with you too.”

Her heartbeat speeds up as her scent gains a floral, roseate undertone. A flush stains her cheeks, the temperature of her body heightened. In a moment’s notice, she has turned into a beautiful spring flower. No, not a flower. Y/N is more than that.

Like a she-wolf in spring. 

In season. 

That’s what she looks like.

So pretty. Mine.

I have to pull away before I sweep her off her feet and mate her against the first tree we come across. We don’t even need a tree, a simple bed of grass will suffice. After all, I still want her to be comfortable.

“Did... Did you dye your hair?” Flustered, looking like a lobster, the pretty lady pulls away. However, the growl that erupts from the throat as she moves away brings an interesting change to her scent.

A thick heady tone creeps into it, which definitely puts the girl in the other role the other ego wishes her to play.

A bitch in heat.

An image of her looking as she does now but on my bed flashes by. Tears are brimming on her lashes like crystalline raindrops as pearly teeth bite down on a finger in the futile attempt to mute meek high-pitched squeals of pleasure. She’s lying sideways, the soft skin of her leg on my shoulder while my hips lose control in her warmth.

“J- Jaebeom?”

I suck in a sharp breath, though it does not prevent a pleased growl from escaping. My sight grows hazy with the fantasies of instinct as the world falls away. “Yeah?”

“Your hair... Did you dye it? It was blonde before.”

“My... my hair?” The weird question pulls me out of my reverie, blinking in wonder as to where it comes from. Nevertheless, the senses quickly sharpen as I tighten my grip on the reality of my temporary humanity again. “Right, my hair. I did! I did dye it because... because I thought the blonde didn’t suit me.”

“For what it’s worth,” like a shy schoolgirl, Y/N fumbles with her fingers, “I like this better. This is going to sound weird, but it makes you look more like- I mean, it suits you better.”

“Thank you. But what does it make me look like?”

“Never mind.” A dismissive hand brushes the half-finished remark off as a mere mistake.

“What? What do I look like?” I lean forward, barely holding in the chuckle at her crumbling composure. Notwithstanding, apparently this is the most effective way to get her to talk. “Don’t be shy.”

“Like a- You know, a- You’ll think me stuck in some emo or late teenager phase.”

“Just say it, Y/N. I won’t stop pushing until you tell me. I won’t judge you either. So, tell me.”

The word takes my breath away.

“Wolf,” she finally answers. “It makes you look like a wolf.”

I can’t suppress a smile at the compliment, buzzing with excitement and tail swishing back and forth. Wait, it isn’t my tail that’s causing the low sweeping noises. 

It’s merely the wind.

Human. Gent... Gentleman. For her. Her gentleman.

“Please say something.” The pretty lady’s heart rate picks up, her scent growing alarmingly anxious like when we had our second meeting on the street.

No. No, don’t be like this!

“Good. I am.” 

“What do you mean?” Brows furrowed in confusion, she looks at me blankly. 

“What... oh, uhm, I- I think it’s a good ex- mirror. Likeness! It’s a good likeness. Me and a wolf.” I stick up a thumb in confirmation. Hopefully, it won’t come across as ridiculous as I feel I look.

Her eyes light up with the amber sunlight, her voice as bright when she answers with an adorable giggle. “I think you mean a good comparison.” 

“I do,” I mutter, ashamed at the faulty imitation of human behaviour and tired of the storm of words wreaking havoc in my head. “That’s what I meant.”

“Shall we go find somewhere to sit?’’ Her hair dances on the light breeze as she looks around. ‘’I’m kinda overdue for a cup of coffee.”

“And food. You have to eat, Y/N.”

“Jaebeom...”

‘’Let me take care of you.” I lean in, gaze focused on her lips as I run my tongue over them. The taste of honey and peaches is reminiscent of spring, when the bees in the forest get busy and the trees in the orchards on the outskirts of the town are ripe with blossom. 

If I’m still here by then, I’ll take you there.

Of course, the thought is translated horribly. “Taste nice.”

“I- I’m glad you like my lip balm.” Cheeks as ruby red as the leaves beneath our feet, she carefully traces her mouth, fingers shaking.

Then she clears her throat and tries to steady her composure, but I’ve evidently caught her off-guard. Which is also noticeable in the small tug on my sleeve. “Let’s go.”

“Are you upset?” I ask, keeping a close eye on her as we walk down the lane towards a big open field of grass.

“No, it’s just that... when you licked me earlier, it wasn’t on,” she lowers her voice to a barely audible and unintelligible murmur though my hearing allows me to still hear her as clear as day, “the lips. It’s almost as if, you know, you kiss... kissed me.”

Kiss?

Just then we pass a couple with their lips pressed against each other. The contact lingers for a brief second, as fast as lightning.

And just as fast the meaning of it for humans dawns on me, rising from the ever-diminishing pocket of humanity inside my brain.

“Would you mind if I did?”

Face pale, she rapidly turns to me. Y/N parts her lips to say something yet decides against it and settle for something else. “Let’s start slowly. Get to know each other first.”

I’d kiss you. You only have to ask.

But we barely know each other. Humans who don’t have a close bond don’t kiss. At least that piece of information has stuck.

We take a right onto the big field and settle down in the grass beneath a tall willow. I’d rather have we sit huddled together or that she sits on my lap so I can keep her warm, but Y/N sits next to me yet far enough away to not touch at all. The displeased whimper and whine get lost in the unpacking of the sandwiches, ignored under the ruckus of unfolding paper.

Notwithstanding, the dissatisfaction evaporates like snow before the sun when a small hand gives me the two venison sandwiches. Restraining myself to not give into the hunger pangs, I accept the food as if she were handing me a weapon. A long metal blade. A sword, I believe it’s called.

However,  the careful control doesn’t last long since the first taste of the spiced meat encourages the ravenous part of me to devour the sandwich in one gulp, if possible. And I would have tried had it not been for the breathless giggle at my side.

Nibbling on the straw, Y/N has a strangely tender look on her face as she watches me eat. A wonderful expression that colours a rosy shade of pink when she notices I’m staring right back at her. “Sorry. It’s just... just that I like seeing you eat. You literally wolf your food down with such a happy expression I can’t help but feel happy.”

Don’t talk with your mouth full. Jinyoung’s told you that more than once.

Like this morning, when he sighed in exasperation like a tired father during breakfast. Henceforth, I chew the food with my mouth closed, swallow and wipe my mouth on a napkin before answering. “I’m a messy eater, though. I don’t think it’s- What’s the word? Ap- Appetizing? It’s appetizing, right? Right, appetizing to watch.”

“I don’t mind.” Like a rabbit, she holds her vegetable sandwich between her tiny paws and takes a small bite out of it. “Just be careful. You don’t want meat juice and sauce on your clothes.”

Eats like a bunny. Cute. So cute.

“I won’t make a mess,” I murmur, taking care to actually keep my word while sneaking glances at the way she eats. It’s controlled, more nibbling than biting. All the same, relief and contentment mix in a calming way that’s visible in her relaxed composure. Even her scent loses more of the sourness of anxiety. But I’m just glad she’s eating.

We watch other humans as we eat, sitting in comfortable silence. A little ways away, two old people, a male and a female, sit on a bench and feed the pigeons together. Once there is no more bread left - multigrain, judging by the scent - their fingers entwine as they close their eyes to soak up the sunlight.

A soft whine unintentionally rises in my throat, longing after the dream of experiencing that very same moment myself together with Y/N someday.

‘’Are you-?’’ The question doesn’t register, hardly penetrating the dullness washing over me. Ears gloomily drooped down, I continue staring at the old couple.

Can that be us one day? How long is the road before we get there?

‘’JB?’’

‘’Hm?’’ Slowed down by the heaviness making a numb statue out of this body, I turn my head.

She holds the unfinished sandwich up I had in my hand a second ago. ‘’What’s on your mind?’’

‘’Nothing.’’ I take the food from her little paw. ‘’Thank you.’’

She doesn’t believe me, but resigns in the face of the unspoken message I don’t want to talk. Instead, she sighs and sips on the straw of her coffee.

“What do you do?” I ask by the time I’m finished with the first of the two sandwiches. Y/N knows what I do for a living and it’s the best question I can think of to try and get to know her better. Also, it might lift the heavy silence that fell over us until the elderly mates left. 

“I’m a journalist for Pack. It’s a travel magazine and a great way to see the world. It’s amazing how much is out there, how many cultures and perspectives exist. However,” hands tucked between her thighs, lashes avert to the ground, “as you may have noticed, I’m not the spontaneous sort, which is why I don’t like working alone.”

Pack? As in, a pack? Although, you said travel so it’s likely... pack stuff? Packing up! That’s it! Putting stuff in bags and going somewhere.

If only it was possible to travel with her someplace far away. Go see the world together so she doesn’t have to be alone. Then again, there is no way to run from myself nor guarantee any form of safety on strange grounds. 

I’ve become too unstable.

Despite trying to hide it, the jealousy I have for who she works with shows in the unintentionally venomous ring in my voice. “Who do you work with?”

“A colleague of mine named Kunpimook, but he prefers going by BamBam. He’s the social and truly adventurous one, so basically I just always happily tag along. Plus, his photos are superb. We’ll be leaving for Bruges the day after tomorrow to take a look at the local chocolate business.”

‘’Is there anything between you two? More than work?” There is no way I’m letting another male anywhere near her because he could take advantage of her. Especially after all this time, working together and thus winning her trust.

I don’t care if we barely know each other. I won’t have it.

I have to keep her safe.

As Y/N’s gentleman.

Her wolf. 

“There’s nothing between us. He’s more like a brother than anything else and he thinks the same about me.” Her breath quickens as she notices the blazing distrust in my gaze. “W- Why are you looking at me like that?”

Instead of giving an answer, I sniff her to make absolutely certain this other male doesn’t have or has tried already to create the bond with her that I want despite what she said. 

Nothing.

Nothing but summer citrus, autumnal blackberries and juicy peaches.

Good.

To calm her down, I lean in to nuzzle the scent glands in her neck while purring and manipulating my own scent to put her at ease. The tenseness in the palms on my shoulders relaxes, her breaths come at a more regular interval and the rigidity flows from her body.

You’re safe with me.

A gentle force pushes me back, growing stronger as I fight it by wrapping my arms around her waist. A low growl erupts as the resistance persists, though it dies down at the sound. I’m not letting her go.

Not now. 

Not yet.

Until a voice like a shy robin stammers in discomfort. “Jaebeom, can- can you let go?”

“Have you calmed down?” It’s an unnecessary question. 

There’s a better word for it. Sup... supper? No, that’s not it. Super... something with an ‘f’. 

Superfluous! 

It’s a superfluous question because the nervous shivers have stopped. All the same, I don’t want to let go.

I can’t.

I won’t.

Yet I do as something blurry flashes by in my peripheral vision. Almost bumping my head against her jaw, I jolt up and stare ahead in tender awe.

Free of the troubles of the world, a brightly smiling pup runs by with outstretched chubby paws. A bit ahead, there’s another giddy pup. The two must be chasing each other.

A child.

A child is chasing another child.

“What are you looking at?” She follows my gaze, which is fixated on the two children giggling and play-fighting with each other. They stop when hearing their mother call, rise to their little hind legs and run to her.

“One day, I want pups of my own.” The dreamy words roll off the tongue without a thought nor consideration for reality. What they see is what could be. 

A dream of someday. 

“Pups?” The word sounds like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit even though she struggles to make it fit regardless. 

“Yeah, pups. You know,” I nod in the direction of the two siblings, “like those over there.”

A frown mars her lovely face, but it fades into gentle correction. “Children, JB. They’re called children.”

I tilt my head to the side, struggling to understand and make my own puzzle piece fit. “I’m certain someone’s offspring are called pups.”

“Humans,” she gestures from me to her, “like us, call them children. Babies when they’re younger than those toddlers you were watching.”

“I still think pups sounds better.”

I let go of her. Nevertheless, sust to be sure Y/N stays warm, I hook my arm through hers and keep her against my side. Instinctively, she snuggles up to me like on the way here.  

The content sigh goes accompanied with an ironic remark. “Are you really a wolf or something?”

“Yes!” I exclaim, until I check my body and see no paws nor a tail. “No! I mean, no, I’m not. It sounds adorable, though, don’t you think?” I bite my lip, growing warm with another cheesy yet affectionate remark. “But you did say I look like one.”

“I stand by what I said, especially now.” She giggles, murmuring something under her breath I’ll only tolerate when she says it. “Weirdo.”

Yours. Your weirdo. Your wolf man.

“Have you ever thought about getting them?”

“I actually don’t want children. I’m not too keen on the idea of raising a child and I don’t think that will ever change.” Unaware of the gravity of her statement, she sits up a bit, takes a sip of coffee and finishes her half-eaten vegetable sandwich. 

Not... not even with me? Then again, you barely know me and I will likely forget you even though I don’t want to. Would you change your mind if the pup might be the only trace of me before I disappear?

“How about you?”

“I’d like to one day, but...” I trail off, choking on the truth. Her words have created a stone in my stomach which makes me nauseous and unable to think. 

“But what?” She places a bunny-like paw on my back, rubbing gently as she averts her gaze and speaks in a remorseful tone. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.”

“I have this...” Fumbling with my fingers, I speak up despite the paralyzing speechlessness. No word seems to accurately describe what’s going on nor is it credible enough to describe the truth. Nevertheless, she has to know what’s going on. 

I want her to.

I trust her. 

So I try and tell her my story. “I have this condition. I have trouble remembering things and it’s been getting worse.”

“Is it something like dementia?” Out of a lack of a better explanation for this side-effect of lycanthropy, I merely nod in confirmation. A grim paleness colours her attitude, lips pulling into a straight line as she’s now suffocating with words too. “Do you have medication? Anything to help fight it?”

I fish the small bottle of pills Jinyoung gave me this morning out of my pocket. With a thumb over the ingredients, I show it to her. “My friend’s a doctor at the university. He’s put me on these, but I have a feeling they’re not as effective anymore as they once were.” I put the bottle back. “I do want them, though not with the way I am. They deserve better than a father who’d forget them eventually if he even remembers them at all in the first place. Moreover, my partner would have to take care of me as well as the pups. I just… I don’t want to be a burden.”

“I’m sure,” our gazes meet as our fingers entwine, naturally weaving together like beds of moss on the bark of a tree, “they would gladly care if they know about your condition.”

I rest my forehead against hers and lower my voice to a hopeful whimper. “You know about it.”

A mistake. 

“We’ve just met.”

“Right,” I murmur and withdraw though I hold on to her paw a little tighter. 

She’s right. We’ve just met.

I’m still a stranger. A stranger in a world strange to him.

“Yet,” Y/N takes in a shaky breath before she continues and transforms the burden of loneliness into a storm of butterflies, “I’d stay. For now, can I stay by your side like this?”

“Of course.” In an impulse, I pull her into my arms and on my lap. Her hair smells like argan oil, sweet yet pleasant like summer. “Never doubt that. Never think I don’t want you to.”

Despite the joy, tears sting in my eyes at the realization I’m no longer alone, surviving like a floating ship in unknown waters. Of course, there’s Jinyoung, but he can’t be there in ways the pretty lady can. 

Y/N is my anchor now. 

“Don’t go.” I can’t suppress an ugly sob, gripped by fear at the vision of ending up alone in spite of the promise. To go back to the way I was, on the brink of being lost forever. “Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” she murmurs into my hair, lovingly running her fingers through it to calm me down. “I’m here, Jaebeom. I’m here. Until I can’t anymore.”

For a little while, we sit like this beneath the willow. The world shrinks and fades into a blur of autumn shades in October, its sounds gradually becoming nothing more than indistinguishable white noise. 

They rise in volume again when I’ve stopped crying, the reality filtering in by sharpening the song of robins and nature dressed in warm tones of red and gold.

We exchange numbers. As she types hers into my phone, she promises to send me daily reminders to take my medicine and threatens to spam me with them until I send a confirmation. Guess I finally have something to look forward to aside from Jinyoung’s cooking.

Coming back was a good decision after all. I want to try for you. Until I can’t anymore.

“And you can call me whenever you like too,” she shyly remarks as we switch back our devices.

My ears perk up as a delighted buzz leaves me trembling. “Really?” I yelp, my tail quickly swishing back and forth. My nerves are on edge with delight, limbs ready to pounce on her. But I don’t.

Because I am human.

And I don’t want to give off the wrong impression.

But your body tells me something else. No! Not without your consent.

“Yes, because I... well, aside from being with you, I like... your... your voice.”

“I like yours.” I lean in and run my tongue over her lips like before. Does that count as a kiss? 

“And I like your scent,” I add, purring as I trace my fingers over her arm to her wrist. 

“Uhm, Jaebeom, what- what are you doing?”

I press it against my nose, drunkenly nuzzling it while trying to conceal my panting. “I’m scenting you so they’ll know you’re mine.” To strengthen the claim, I leave a stronger imprint of my own scent on her by giving it a firm lick. Even her skin tastes of spring. “You smell really nice.”

“I’m glad you, ah, like my perfume, but,” a strange panic creeps into her voice after a pained squeak when I sink my teeth into her flesh, “JB, I think you should stop. People are watching.”

“Let them.’’ The taste of iron floods the senses, raising the beast within further to the surface. Notwithstanding, I fight the urge to pin her to the ground for a proper mating. So all I do is help the healing by licking the ridged skin of the shallow wound. A wolf’s saliva works as a disinfectant and anti- ant- health advancer. ‘’I want them to know I’m your mate.”

Besides, how else am I supposed to mark you?

“Mate? What? JB, are you okay? You’re starting to make less and less sense.” A small warm palm cups my cheek, initiating a lock of gazes. Frantic with concern, she searches for a reason as to what I’m going through in my gaze though I doubt if she will. “You’re burning up.”

I weave my fingers through those on the side of my face, a wistful smile on my lips. “I’m forgetting myself again. You wouldn’t understand when I’d say I’m slowly fading and not just forgetting as I told you. And it’s gotten worse because of you.”

“Be- Because of me?”

“It’s not a bad thing.” To assure her it’s not as grave as she thinks, I close my eyes and hum in pure content. After all, I could lose my humanity a lot faster in a less pleasant way. At least it’ll be slower now that I have something to fight, to live for. “You don’t understand the significance of it and I don’t want you to.”

“You’re talking nonsense. You’re not going anywhere soon. Let’s go home before your fever gets any worse.”

Our fingers disentangle, mine gliding over the indentation I’ve left behind on her wrist before I wrap my arms around her waist. Her heart races in my ear when I rest my head on the softness of her breasts, her breath falling still in an instant when I place her hand on my head. Hopefully, Y/N will catch on to what I mean by it. “Yeah, it’s definitely getting worse, but I looked forward to this. This park outing. So can we please stay like this for a little longer? A nap might make me feel... bet... ter.”

The wish is granted, because she runs her hand through my hair. Hesitantly at first, but quickly setting a pace for herself that lets me rest tranquilly.  

In the sky above, the moon looks down on us. If I wasn’t sleepy, I would howl to it and sing a wolf song. Instead, I purr and bask in my mate’s presence until I lose conscience. “Hm, nice.”

I love you and always will. My love will never change. I swear so by the moon.

[blossom-hwa]

Danger: Onyx |2| - JUYEON

Pairing: Juyeon x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, fantasy, royalty!au

Triggers: death, semi-graphic depictions of blood

Word Count: 4.4k

Lesson 6: when all seems lost, do not falter. Just because it seems hopeless does not mean it is.

Previous: Ruby >> Onyx: Part 1 | Part 2 >> Next: Crown

TBZ Masterlist | Danger | Kingdom

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Juyeon cannot breathe.

Physically, there’s a blade right at his throat. Though killing isn’t allowed in duels, the metal is close enough to his skin that it makes taking a breath a bit difficult.

But that’s not the biggest problem. The issue right now is the recognition that has just sparked in Jaehyun’s expression, surprise and realization creeping over his face the longer he stares Juyeon straight in the eyes.

Castling queens.

Jaehyun’s arm drops, the blade falling to rest at his side. Almost as quickly as the realization came, it disappears under a blank mask as he extends a hand.

Juyeon stares at it for a moment. Tries to think. Jaehyun knows who I am he knows who I am he definitely saw it this is the worst thing possible I thought he wouldn’t recognize me –

Shakily, he takes Jaehyun’s hand and shakes it once, twice. His skin feels clammy and cold even under the afternoon sun. He almost wants to look at Jaehyun and see if that blank look is still on his face, but fear keeps his eyes averted as he retracts his arm.

He needs to get out of here, needs to run, needs to find Kevin and Jacob and get away from this place immediately. That much is clear. Juyeon darts his gaze around, still studiously avoiding Jaehyun even as raucous screams and cheers begin to rise from the crowd.

Then a sweep of ivory skirts flashes in the corner of his vision.

Somin.

Queens, he needs to leave, now.

Jaehyun bows low, seemingly unaware of Juyeon panicking not two feet away from him. “Your Majesty,” he says smoothly.

Belatedly, Juyeon remembers he should be echoing Jaehyun’s manners. Dipping down, he murmurs a quiet greeting, hoping against hope that she won’t be able to recognize him, won’t make the same connections Jaehyun did just moments ago.

Oh, queens.

Jaehyun.

What if he says something?

“Esteemed general.” The sweetly familiar voice makes Juyeon’s skin crawl. “Congratulations on your victory.”

Juyeon misses the next exchange. He’s too busy darting his gaze around the arena, looking for a single exit where he can slip into the crowd or just book it because there’s no way Somin won’t recognize him the second she looks into his eyes, assuming she hasn’t already figured him out already –

Guards line the perimeter of the arena. People crowd every space between the ivory suits.

Somin turns to him just as Juyeon comes to the worst realization possible.

There’s nowhere to run.

“Kim Jiyoon.”

Raised eyebrow. Wide smirk. Evil eyes.

She knows.

Juyeon takes a tiny step back, bowing low once more. “Your Majesty,” he mumbles, praying for a miracle, praying for something, anything, anyone to save him from this, maybe Jaehyun will turn out not to be an Ivory bastard and will say or do something –

Blank eyes meet his frantic expression. Something twists in Juyeon’s heart as Jaehyun purposely averts his gaze.

So much for old friendships.

A hand grasps his chin. Juyeon gasps as Somin jerks his head up, fingers curling around the ivory fabric that covers his nose and mouth.

For one moment, they lock eyes. Somin’s glitter with manic satisfaction.

Then she rips the mask away, leaving his face bare to the world.

It takes Juyeon several seconds to realize the entire arena has fallen quiet. Eyes widen, hands fly to mouths, fingers begin to point as Somin’s smirk grows wider and wider.

Jaehyun didn’t need to say anything, after all.

“Prince Juyeon.” She spits his name like dirt on her lips. “What a surprise. Long time no see, yes?”

“What a blessing,” he replies, hiding his racing heart behind a bland smile. “I always liked the former queen more than you, after all.”

The smirk turns to a sneer as she waves a hand, almost dismissively. Footsteps sound on the hard-packed dirt of the arena and Juyeon barely has a second to ready himself before two pairs of hands grab his arms and pull them tight behind his back.

He thrashes. Snarls. Tries to bite, even, the way Changmin used to when they were kids –

Changmin.

The breath leaves Juyeon’s chest in a gasp. Pawns and kings, this is just how Changmin felt when he was trapped in the shrine, unable to use magic, unable to fight.

Helpless.

“Isn’t that perfect, then?” Somin mocks, oblivious to the bile rising in Juyeon’s throat. “You’ll be seeing my lovely sibling tomorrow when you’re executed at dawn.” Her sneer grows as she leans in to whisper something against his ear. “And if you’re lucky, you might reunite with that gray mage of yours as well.”

Vomit splatters over the front of Somin’s dress. Through the rotten taste in his mouth, Juyeon takes a tiny satisfaction in her screech of disgust, even as the guards tighten their hold uncomfortably on his wrists. “If you’re lucky, that’ll wash out of your dress,” he snipes, spitting leftover bile onto the dusty ground. Some of it spatters onto her shoes.

Somin breathes in once, twice, her face red. Juyeon allows a smirk to grow on his face, even as certainty of his execution looms nearer with every second that passes.

So close to death, he might as well have some fun.

“Take him away,” Somin snarls. “And begin a search for his two little friends. Don’t let them leave the city!”

Kevin. Jacob.

Smirk gone, Juyeon frantically scans the crowds for the faces of his two friends as guards begin to march him away. They can’t come after him, can’t do anything, queens, what if Kevin decides to do something like break him out of prison, that can’t happen –

Terrified eyes meet his, nose and mouth covered in a familiar cloth. A red cloak peeks from behind the man standing next to Kevin.

Juyeon shakes his head subtly. Don’t follow, don’t do anything stupid, don’t come after me, hide, leave –

Strong hands drag him forward once more. Juyeon loses sight of his friends.

And for the first time since the start of the journey, he is alone.

Completely alone.

. . . . .

Kevin nearly falls forward the second he stumbles out of Jacob’s door. He manages to catch himself against the wall right in front of him, where he leans, trying to breathe.

Failure.

Failure.

Failure.

He never should’ve agreed to this idea, never should have brought it up in the first place. It was always too risky, too dangerous, and no matter what slim, small chance there was at success, Kevin never should have hoped they would be lucky enough to fall into that sliver of luck. Nothing’s been on their side since the coronation, so why start now?

How many people has Kevin let down by now? How many people has Kevin killed by now? First Sunwoo, who wasn’t supposed to be here, who wasn’t supposed to be part of this fight, who Kevin called on because he really had the nerve to believe that they would succeed without pain, without death. A single stroke of idiocy in following the amethyst’s pull resulted in a knife pulled across two necks, one by accident, one in revenge.

Kevin squeezes his eyes shut, breaths sharp and ragged. Two deaths, then. Not just Sunwoo. Mage Han, too.

And now he has a third name to add to that list.

Lee Juyeon. Royalty. Best friend since birth. Almost a brother – if not in blood, then in friendship.

He’s the reason Juyeon is about to be killed.

“Kevin.” Jacob’s voice snaps him out of his spiraling thoughts, forces him to open his eyes. His ashen face looks about as bad as Kevin feels. “We need to get out of here. I shifted us to the first place that came to mind, but –”

“Yeah.” Kevin takes a shuddering breath. His words sound shakier than he would’ve liked. “Yeah, I know. Let’s go.”

Never mind that neither of them knows where to go in the first place.

Jacob moves his hands in the air, creates another door against the wall. They step through to the space just outside the tiny, abandoned house – more like a shed, really – that they’ve been using as a hideout since they entered the capital. This time, the second Kevin exits the door, he collapses to his knees.

This is his fault, all his fault. If he’d never suggested it, they wouldn’t have any leads, but at least Juyeon would still be here, not sitting in some dungeon awaiting his execution tomorrow morning.

Execution. Kevin almost throws up at the thought.

Jacob stumbles next to him, falling onto dirty grass as well. They sit in silence for a moment, only ragged breaths escaping into the air.

“We need to get him out,” Kevin finally whispers. “He needs to escape, we can’t leave him there…”

It isn’t even just the fact that Juyeon is Kevin’s best friend. The heir to the king’s crown can’t die. It would leave a gaping power vacuum in the Onyx Kingdom – there’s no trained next in line, no one as capable as Juyeon is.

Which is exactly what Somin wants.

“I know.” Jacob swallows. “I know. But…” He gestures vaguely, helplessly. “How?”

How, indeed. Kevin may have been to the capital many times, but he’s never seen any of the several prisons. He couldn’t direct Jacob anywhere without a map, without something to guide himself, and since Jacob has never seen them himself, he can’t shift there either.

Queens, he’s a failure. Juyeon and Sunwoo rescued him from Bom – Sunwoo even died in the process – but Kevin can’t even think of a plan to help Juyeon escape. Not even the most improbable idea springs into his mind, an idea that definitely won’t work but that he would be desperate enough to try anyway.

Silence falls as Kevin tries to rack his brains for something, anything that doesn’t involve another possible brush with death. There’s nothing, absolutely nothing –

Then a twig snaps.

Kevin whirls around, knife already whizzing through the air. There’s a sharp yelp and a thud of metal sinking into something decidedly not flesh.

A young man – more of a boy, really – steps forward. Though his hands are raised in surrender, the calm, sure look in his eyes tells Kevin that the gesture is more for show than anything else.

Unconsciously, his hand grabs Jacob’s wrist. He takes a step back, dragging the mage with him as he slips a second knife from his sleeve. “Who are you?”

“My name is Eric.” He nods at the knife between Kevin’s fingers. “You can put down the knife, I don’t mean any harm. Jaehyun sent me to find you.”

Jacob sucks in a sharp gasp just as Kevin’s blood runs cold. “Jaehyun?”

“He’s breaking Juyeon out tonight.” Eric puts his hands down to point at them. “You two need to come with me –”

“How do we know you’re telling the truth?” Jacob snaps. “How did you find this place? I shifted, there’s no way you could have followed us from the arena.”

“Jaehyun recognized Kevin the first day at the contest registration,” Eric replies. His calmness is starting to get on Kevin’s nerves. “Well, he wasn’t sure, so he asked me to follow you back. Lo and behold, you were traveling with the prince, which meant Jaehyun wasn’t wrong. When Juyeon was arrested, he sent me to find you.”

“You could be lying.” Kevin grits his teeth, fingers clenching around the knife even though something tells him Eric would be able to dodge easily. “You and Jaehyun could be working with the queen to root us out and catch us. We have no reason to trust you.”

Eric’s lip curls. “You don’t,” he snaps, “but you could at least trust Jaehyun. Haven’t you known him much longer than I?”

“People change,” Kevin retorts. “None of us ever thought Somin would kill her family for the throne, did we?”

No one argues, not even Eric. For several moments, they only stand in silence. Then –

“Jaehyun’s breaking the prince out tonight,” Eric says lowly. “That’s why he told me to find you. And I know you don’t know me at all, but I can tell you that not all of us in the army support the queen’s agenda. Jaehyun and I are only two of many more.”

There’s nothing to support his claims, no evidence, no testimony, absolutely nothing to back up his words. With every second that passes, Kevin feels the growing urge to tell Jacob to create a door, to shift them away from this so that they can figure out a plan that doesn’t rely on a certain general who may or may not be on their side.

But something tells him that Eric speaks the truth. Maybe it’s his eyes, which are clear, or it’s the weird feeling Kevin got when he spoke to Jaehyun that one time. Maybe it’s just blind hope. Either way, he feels his grip loosening on Jacob’s wrist, his shoulders relaxing, ready to take Eric’s invitation and leave.

He glances at Jacob. Do we trust him?

Jacob’s lips press into a thin line, but he nods tersely, almost imperceptibly. Yes.

They have to.

Kevin steps forward. Narrows his eyes. “One sign of betrayal and I will not hesitate to put a knife through your back.”

“And Jaehyun said you were the nicer one,” Eric mutters.

“There isn’t a lot of room for nice at the moment, in case you didn’t notice.”

Eric smirks. It reminds Kevin a little too much of Sunwoo. “You’re not wrong,” he says blithely before his smile turns into a frown. “Now hurry. We need to get to the forest by nightfall.”

. . . . .

Blood has begun to stain Juyeon’s hands by the time he finally gives up on somehow trying to wrench apart the bars of the dark cell. Even if he can’t see the redness dripping down his skin, he can certainly feel the stinging pain of cuts reopened and wounds made afresh.

What was he even thinking? Juyeon slides down the back wall to the ground, burying his head in his arms. Not even a mage can cut or bend metal with their bare hands – how could he?

He sighs. It figures, just as soon as they managed to find four of the jewels, they would get screwed over on the fifth. And not even the normal kind of screw up – he got caught by the queen herself and has a nearly one hundred percent chance of dying within the next twenty-four hours.

Nearly. Not completely, because there’s always the tiniest chance that Kevin will come up with something in that crazy brain of his to break him out, which will undoubtedly be messy and dangerous and possibly result in even more death, but there’s the smallest sliver of a hope that it’ll work.

Hope means nothing, though. He had hope that he’d be crowned king. He had hope that they’d find the jewels. He had hope that they’d return home (relatively) unscathed.

And for what? All it got him was this tiny cell with not even a candle for light.

Juyeon brings a hand to his face. Too late, he remembers it’s covered in blood, which is now spattered across his forehead. It’s even around his eyelids, assuming the wet feeling there isn’t from tears.

Maybe it’s both.

He sighs again, closing his eyes again as he wipes a sleeve against his skin. It doesn’t make much of a difference. The cell is so dark that his eyes may as well be shut even when they’re open.

Pawns and kings, Juyeon didn’t even know there was a prison in this part of the capital. Apparently it’s for the most dangerous prisoners, those who need to be kept completely out of sight to rot away in darkness.

Juyeon has exactly one night to rot. Probably won’t be enough to make himself skeletal enough that Somin jumps when he emerges into the light tomorrow.

A tiny smile stretches across his lips as he remembers vomit splattering onto ivory skirts. Gross, but effective.

It disappears as soon as he remembers what awaits him in the morning.

Morning. Juyeon almost snorts. Down here in the darkness, it’s all but impossible to monitor the passage of time. Has it been minutes? Hours? Has the night passed? It could be morning already for all he knows, considering his drooping eyelids, but that’s a common occurrence at this point, with how little sleep he gets on a daily basis. And he definitely isn’t about to sleep now – who knows what nightmares will come, dreams of shades and roses and corpses of dead friends?

So when he hears a slight noise down the prison, a tap-tap-tap of footsteps on hard stone, Juyeon concludes that dawn has broken, that he’ll be marched out to the town square and presented with a sword or a noose from which to choose his preferred method of death. A sword would probably be quicker, but if the executioner isn’t skilled, then hanging might be better –

Wait, tapping?

Juyeon listens more closely. The footsteps sound light, almost weightless – definitely not those of a guard’s heavy boots. Shouldn’t guards be the ones bringing him to his death? He strains his vision, peering into the darkness, but he can’t see anything.

The footsteps grow closer. Someone finally stops in front of Juyeon’s cell. He frowns. Why is there only one person? Not that he particularly cares, but Somin wouldn’t just send one guard to get him. He’s not unskilled, and she’s not dumb – she knows he can overpower one guard easily –

A soft whuff sounds as the figure slips a bundle through the iron bars. “Hurry up and get changed,” a familiar voice hisses. “Your ivory is too noticeable in the dark.”

Juyeon almost stops breathing.

“Jaehyun?”

“More time for that later,” Jaehyun snaps. “We have five minutes, get yourself together.”

Shaky, bloodstained fingers pull off the white shirt and trousers, messily replacing them with the black clothes Jaehyun dropped onto the floor. As he fumbles, a click and the rasp of metal on metal sounds at the front of the cell, and the iron door groans open.

“Don’t talk,” Jaehyun whispers the second Juyeon steps into the dark hallway. “And follow me exactly.”

Juyeon wants to snap, wants to say something about how it can be possible to do that when he can barely see one foot in front of himself, but Jaehyun sets off without another word and Juyeon is forced to use his ears to figure out where the general is going.

They wind around dark staircases and pass empty cells, ducking into tiny passages that Juyeon is sure he never could have found even if he was looking. He itches to speak, itches to ask Jaehyun just what in the name of the Board he’s doing, why is he breaking Juyeon out, what are his loyalties, and where is he taking him, if not to his execution? But every time he opens his mouth, Jaehyun either shoves him into a room or someone passes by a little too close and he has to hold his tongue.

Finally, finally, Jaehyun opens a last door, dragging him into what smells like a stable. They tramp over dirty hay and other things Juyeon doesn’t want to guess from the stench, and then they’re in open air under a cloudy sky, only the palest hint of moonlight shining through.

Juyeon blinks. The white marble of the palace glints faintly in the distance.

“Follow this path,” Jaehyun says, pointing at a trail of dirt through the grass. “It’ll take you to the woods just around the capital. Kevin and Jacob will be waiting for you there –”

“Wait.” Juyeon takes a breath. Breathes in, breathes out, trying to make sense of everything. “How did you know where to find them? How did you know they were here?” Because if Jaehyun managed to find them, others also could have, which means Kevin and Jacob might be in even more danger –

“Juyeon.” Jaehyun’s voice jerks him out of his mind. “The only reason I knew Kevin was here was because I talked to him the day of registration. I wasn’t sure of it at first – he’s gotten better at acting – but I sent Eric to follow and when he told me you were also there, I knew it was him. No one else knows besides us.”

“Who’s Eric?”

“Subordinate.” Jaehyun’s eyes turn steely. “I trust him with my life.”

Pawns and kings, this is too much for Juyeon to take in. Closing his eyes again, he tries to breathe. “Queens,” he mutters. “Okay. Fine. Wow.” He rubs his forehead. “I really thought you were following Somin.”

Jaehyun snorts. “I never liked her, not even when we were kids,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You think I’d like her now?”

“You’re a knight,” Juyeon retorts. “You’re supposed to be loyal to the crown. I couldn’t even fault you for that, it’s what you’re supposed to do –”

“But when said crown is abusing their power, do they deserve my support?” Jaehyun interrupts.

Juyeon falls silent.

“That’s what I thought.” A ghost of a smirk flutters across Jaehyun’s face as he pulls something out of his pocket. “This is the stone I was given when I won. I hope it helps.”

It doesn’t call to him. There’s no pull of magic from the onyx, not even as Juyeon takes it between his fingers. It looks like the real thing – it’s been perfectly copied, down to the slim white bands marring the black stone – but if he can’t feel anything…

It’s fake.

Disappointment drops like a rock in Juyeon’s stomach, but he wraps his fingers around the jewel anyway. Jaehyun’s broken him out of prison. He’s still alive. If the onyx really is a fake, Jacob can at least get the magic traces out of it.

All isn’t lost. Not yet.

“Thank you,” Juyeon replies, slipping the stone into his pocket. “Are you going to run, too? Somin won’t exactly be excited if she figures out you were the one who broke me out.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Jaehyun’s smirk becomes more pronounced, though it’s tinged with bitterness. “I’m still playing the part of the perfect general back at home. Haven’t been given the assignments at the front, since I’m still young, which is honestly a good thing. Leaves me room to mess things up.” He snorts. “And none of the guards I knocked out today will remember a thing when they wake.”

“How can you be sure?”

“A different weapon goes a long way. So does a mask.” Jaehyun smiles. “Kevin’s a good sewer. I really almost didn’t recognize him, what with his acting and all.”

Juyeon almost laughs. “I’ll let him know.”

Jaehyun smirks. “You need to go,” he says then, smile gone. “Follow this path, find Kevin and Jacob, then get out of here as fast as you can. It’ll be a bit before they figure out you’re gone, but Somin still has people looking for your friends. They’ll be looking for you, too, soon.” He half-grins. “Good luck.”

It feels like hours have passed by the time Juyeon finally reaches the edge of the woods, though it’s probably only been some minutes with how fast he’s run. He nearly barrels right into Kevin, whose black clothes nearly blend in with the night, but Jacob catches him just before he does and they all fall in together, collapsing on the forest floor with choked cries and hysterical laughs.

“Queens,” Jacob gasps. “Queens, we thought –”

“We thought you might be dead,” Kevin finishes.

Juyeon wipes his eyes. “I’m not,” he replies, smiling shakily at his two friends. “I’m alive.”

No sarcastic remark comes from either of them. Kevin just swallows, looking pale as Jacob brushes a hand across his face. “We’re not doing anything risky like that ever again,” Kevin says. “Never. If you had died…”

“I didn’t, though,” Juyeon protests, but even he understands where Kevin’s coming from. If any of them had died, Juyeon would’ve broken down. He can’t imagine how Kevin or Jacob must’ve felt when he was taken away. Instead of arguing, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the onyx stone. “Jaehyun gave this to me. Pretty sure it’s fake.”

Jacob barely even needs to look at the jewel before he nods. “It’s definitely a fake,” he says, taking it from Juyeon’s hand. “But there’s magic on it. Strong magic.”

Kevin glances over. “Do you know where it leads?”

Wordlessly, Jacob stands. Closes his eyes. For a moment, he stays silent. Then he points out of the forest, back into the capital.

Queens.

“By all the higher orders, we just can’t catch a break,” Kevin mutters, pinching his nose. “Seriously? In the capital?”

Jacob nods, eyes heavy. “It’s there.”

“Well.” Juyeon stands. “Looks like we need to break that rule of not doing anything risky.”

Not funny. Juyeon understands that even before Kevin shoots him a look of absolute judgement, before Jacob bites his lip so hard it’s a wonder it doesn’t bleed. He steps back, apologetic, but he knows he’s right. “We need to follow it,” Juyeon says, trying to harden his gaze. “We’re this close. We need any lead we can get, and we need to go now, when no one knows I’ve escaped.”

“Then we stay together,” Kevin says, eyes solemn. “No one goes anywhere alone. No splitting up.”

Juyeon casts his friend a strange glance. He can understand being cautious and worried, but the desperation in Kevin’s tone doesn’t feel normal. Why does he look so high strung, so anxious?

Whatever. Juyeon shakes his head slightly, ridding himself of the thoughts. No time for that now. “Yes,” he replies, setting his jaw. “We’ll stay together. Jacob, can you shift us somewhere discreet?”

“Yeah, there’s the alley Kevin and I hid in at first. I’ll see if I can track the trace from there.” And within seconds, they have a door, a door of polished white stone that shimmers under the moonlight that manages to pass through the trees.

Juyeon puts his hand on the handle, swallowing hard. This is going to be dangerous. They might be walking into a death trap, what with all the soldiers who must be looking for Kevin and Jacob. It’ll only get worse when they realize he’s escaped.

But they need to do this. For themselves, for their kingdom, for Sunwoo, for everyone who’s died so far for Somin’s delusions of power.

Jaehyun told him to get out of here as fast as he could.

Juyeon twists the handle.

He’ll have to pass that advice for now.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for juyeon to not make a bad decision jfc)

[ladyloptr]

•The Noisy Neighbor•

Request: twt@LOKIBARBZ (So, we literally had a whole discussion over this, therefore, I’ll just make a summmary of this.) Loki moves into an apartment in NYC, recently being officiated as an Avenger after some pleading from Thor. He is comfortable in his apartment, as it’s nice and quiet, until a loud new neighbor moves in next door. He slowly goes mad, until one day he seeks to end the nonsense once and for all.

Fandom: MCU AU

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: Smut, Hate-Sex, Rough-Sex, Angry-Sex, Hair Pulling, Scratching, Choking, Degradation/Name Calling.

{————}

Loki isn’t sure what he expected to be greeted with when he returned to Midgard with his older brother. After the attack on New York City, he wasn’t foolish enough to think they’d welcome him with open arms.

Then again, it’s not like he had much of a choice in coming here.

After waiting in his cell for nearly a year, he was finally placed on trial. They sentenced him to serve his punishment on Midgard, to help The Avengers in their efforts to protect their realm. Among the many different options that the Æsir courts could’ve picked, he’s merely grateful to still be alive.

The Avengers, of course, wouldn’t allow him to take up residency in the tower as a result of his last visit ending in Tony being tossed out of a window. Thankfully, Tony, at the very least, agreed to find him his own apartment somewhere nearby and pay his rent, so long as he behaves himself.

The apartment complex is very nice, and most importantly, quiet. Tony rightfully assumed that it would be wiser to house the God of Chaos in a quiet environment where he’d be least likely to interact with neighbors. The last thing they need right now is for Loki to take it upon himself to permanently silence his Midgardian neighbors for making too much noise.

For a long time, this arrangement worked. Loki typically walks to the tower with headphones in, playing an array of Norwegian music, most of it sung by the artist Aurora. Her music reminds him of home, so he is quite appreciative of her work.

Thor sometimes questions his reasoning for walking instead of teleporting, but Loki finds the walk to be very calming, considering he leaves the apartment early enough to avoid pedestrian traffic. Then late at night, he walks back to his apartment, headphones in, still somewhat aware of his surroundings. Despite what The Avengers constantly say about the city at nighttime, robbery or any kind of assault is of little concern to Loki, considering-well-he’s a literal deity.

Slowly, The Avengers began to warm up to him, with the obvious exception of Natasha and Clint, who are always suspicious of everything. Loki eventually found that he favors the company of Bucky and Wanda, as opposed to the constantly annoying presence of Tony or the self-righteousness of Steve. He also prefers to keep a fair distance from Bruce, much to Bruce’s understanding.

Nothing was amiss, everything was going pretty well.

Until, a new neighbor moves in next door.

Generally, Loki doesn’t care for the ordinary Midgardians that roam the city, he finds them to be incredibly shallow and rather dull. None of them intrigue him in the slightest, and he finds that many of them have an ornate ability to talk much, but at the same time say absolutely nothing.

However, he swears to The Norns that you, the girl who just moved in next door, have been designed specifically to get a rise out of him.

Loki has always been known for his patience and tolerance of others. Even at this chaotic stage in his life, it still truly takes much to get him to snap, but you seem to be naturally gifted at winding him up.

For one, you purposely went out of your way to introduce yourself to him. You went out of your way to bother him, when none of the other neighbors dared to acknowledged him.

Maybe if he were younger he would’ve enjoyed the attention, but now? This Loki likes not being acknowledged, he likes being left alone, and doesn’t care about whoever else is living in this apartment complex.

He doesn’t even really remember what you were saying to him, he just remembers blankly staring down at you for a few minutes and then impolitely shutting the door in your face.

(Unbeknownst to either of you, back on the Bifrost, Heimdall let out a chuckle of amusement.)

Secondly, you’re just too bloody loud. You talk loud, your footsteps are loud, and you play loud music well into the night until one of the other neighbors have to come knocking on your door to tell you to keep it down.

He overheard you rattling off to one of your neighbors in the lobby, and unsurprising to him, you’re pretty young, twenty four, just graduated from NYU, and you have a degree in fashion design-whatever that means. Loki isn’t well informed on Midgardian credentials, and he’d rather not ask Thor (who has a better grasp on degrees thanks to Jane), lest his brother misunderstand his curiosity for infatuation.

Mentally childish, cheery, loud, and obnoxious.

All the things Loki doesn’t like, compressed into one tiny person.

You make him want to turn you into a mouse whenever you’re nearby, and when you speak, sometimes he wishes he could just take a knife and cut out your vocal cords.

It’s such a shame that he finds you so attractive, if only he could tear your face off and place it on another, quieter woman.

On the flip side, you aren’t particularly fond of him either. He always comes off as rude and dismissive. You are convinced he’s the spirit of an old grumpy senior citizen wearing the skin of a beautiful young man.

So, tensions continue to escalate over the course of four months. The loud music, the loud talking, the loud everything.

He could just ask Tony to move him to another apartment complex the moment you began to stoke the fire, but he would rather not concede defeat. Eventually, you’ll be asked to move, with how loud you are and how often you inconvenience the others around you.

But, another month passes and it still hasn’t happened yet.

He’s not sure how long he can put up with this nonsense.

Six months became his limit, after you tested his patience on the wrong day.

That afternoon, Doctor Doom had infiltrated The Avengers tower looking to steal technology from Tony. Doom easily brushed aside the team’s efforts to prevent him from getting anywhere near the lab. With Thor temporarily lending his assistance to Asgard, The Avengers were without one of their strongest members. Loki eventually managed to subdue him, but his seidr was almost completely spent. He was left feeling fatigued and rather irrate.

When he finally returned to his apartment, he was greeted with some much needed peace and quiet. He fell asleep on the couch, too tired to get undressed from his armor or walk to his bedroom.

It wasn’t until you returned home late from a runway show, that his peace was interrupted. He could quite clearly hear your vain and vulgar Midgardian music playing loudly in your apartment nearby.

“I said certified freak.”

“Seven days a week.”

“Wet ass pussy.”

“Make that pull out game weak!”

Finally fed up, Loki exits his apartment, slamming the door shut behind him, and stomping to your front door. He knocks loudly and frantically, eager to get you to shut off that stupid music.

Hearing the knocking on the door, you quickly pause your music, knowing that it’s probably one of your irritated neighbors again. When you open your door, you are greeted with the sight of a scowling deity. You tilt your head and smile at him brightly. “Well, Loki, how may I help you?”

“You may help me by shutting off that incessant, vain, rhythmless dribble you call music.”

“It’s the national anthem. I am paying homage to our country’s independence.”

Loki grimaces, leaning in slightly. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“No, but I take you for someone with an old man mentality.” You raise an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re not Bill Clinton in a skin suit?”

“It is one in the morning and some of us are tired.” Loki hisses. “Mortals. Always only concerned with themselves, so selfish and blind to the needs of others.”

“Selfish and blind? You’re one to talk.” You cross your arms. “Didn’t you kill like, hundreds of people when you invaded New York City because you wanted a throne?”

Loki’s eyes narrow dangerously at you, as you slowly cross into no-man’s land.

You pout and pretend to cry. “Boohoo, I am Loki, I was born into a rich family, and I was given everything I ever wanted except a throne.” You pretend to wipe your eyes. “So I killed hundreds of innocent humans because I wanted to be king.”

“You have no idea what you speak of, mortal.” Loki growls, his voice low and grave now. He steps forward, passing through your doorway. “You know nothing of me, or what I am capable of.”

“And what are you capable of, Loki?” You ask. “Besides killing hundreds of innocent people because your daddy didn’t like you, of course.”

You are caught off guard when Loki pulls the door shut behind him and locks it. He immediately pins you against the wall by your arms, and glowers down at you.

“Scared, mortal?”

“No.” You answer truthfully. “You don’t scare me anymore. If you really wanted me dead, you would’ve done it already. You’ve gone soft.”

He growls at you, and leans forward, pressing his lips against yours. You hardly have any time to react as he forces his tongue into your mouth. He’s actually surprised when you begin to fight him for dominance, your tongue aggressive pushing against his, and your teeth nibbling on his lips. Eventually, you have to give up your fight, your need for oxygen cutting your fight short.

“Such a shame, a pretty face like yours bound to someone with such an ugly personality.” Loki’s hands release your wrists and slowly travel down to grip your hips.

“Hypocrite.” You say. “Between the two of us, you’re the one with the ugliest personality.”

“You dare to speak to a god in such a way.” Loki groans lowly, grinding himself up against you. You gasp, feeling his erection pressing up against you. “I’ll have you know, where I come from, you’d be punished.”

You let your fingers get tangled in his hair and then you tug on it. You grin as he lets out a soft moan. “Are you telling me you’d like to punish me?”

“I am unsure.” His hands travel up your shirt, and cup your breast. You’re internally grateful that you decided to ditch your bra today. “I have a feeling you’d enjoy it too much.”

Loki stills as your hand travels between the two of you and gently massages the bulge in his pants. “Well, why don’t we find out?”

You yelp in surprise when Loki drags you by your arm to the kitchen. He pushes you to bend over the kitchen counter, pulls your pajama pants down, along with your panties.

A sharp gasp escapes you when he shoves two long fingers inside of you and pumps them steadily inside of you. He continues this until your wetness is practically running down your thighs.

You hear him unbuckle his belt behind you, and soon, he flips you around, so you’re now lying on your back on the counter. You close your eyes as you feel his cock pressing up against your entrance.

“I’m going to break you, fragile mortal.” Loki growls. “I’m going to break you, and relish the moment you come undone underneath me.”

You let out a chuckle, which only serves to irritate him. He enters you in one swift thrust, and you whimper as you feel him stretch you out more than you ever have before.

Loki wraps his fingers around your throat, and begins thrusting hard and fast. He hisses as you drag your nails hard against his neck.

“You should be worshipping me, mortal.” He growls. “You should feel honored that I’m here splitting your quim instead of resting, like I wanted to do.”

“Oh, fuck you spoilt rich brat!” You snap at him.

“Oh, but I am fucking you.” Loki chuckles darkly, tightening his grip around your throat. “And when I’m done, you’ll be positively ruined for any mortal man who tries to lay with you.”

“Bold of you to assume you can make me cum with that weak dick of yours.”

You let out a lewd moan when he changes his angle, his cock head brushing up against your g-spot.

“You were saying, whore?”

“Shut the fuck up. You’re the whore, coming here to fuck someone you don’t even like.”

Loki groans, watching as his cock is literally splitting your cunt. “You asked for this, you stupid girl.”

When you begin to feel a familiar tightening in your stomach, you start to claw and scratch at him, not willing to let him push you over the edge.

“Fight me all you wish to, mortal.” Loki groans in your ear. “You’re going to cum for me, whether you like it or not.”

“I hate you!” You practically scream at him.

“I hate you as well, but here we are.”

You gasp and moan as you feel the coil in your stomach snap. You are somewhat thankful that Loki choking you is preventing you from screaming at the top of your lungs. Loki grunts loudly as he falls over the edge after you, his hips stuttering to a stop as he releases inside of you.

You both stay like that for a few minute, your back on the counter and cum oozing onto your thighs, and Loki resting some of his weight on top of you.

“I might just retire in here for tonight.” Loki grumbles. “I am completely spent.”

“So tired from one round that you can’t walk back to your own apartment?” You chuckle. “You have shitty stamina for a god.”

“I was tired before I arrived here. I said this already.”

You roll your eyes. “Then you should’ve gone to sleep instead of coming here.”

“I wouldn’t have come here if you hadn’t been playing your music loud enough for Asgard to hear!” Loki snaps, biting at your neck in annoyance. You wince. “You’re an obnoxious wrench. It’s a wonder how you haven’t been asked to move elsewhere.”

“The landlord is my mother.”

Loki is silent for a few moments, now absolutely livid. The landlord is your mother?!

“I’ll be having words with your mother, then.”

You laugh. “You can try. Who do you think I got all of my obnoxious traits from?”

You hear Loki scowl next to you, and nip you on the neck again. “You Midgardian women are bothersome.”

[black-streak]

Little Pistol - Daisy

Chapter 1

Previous Next

I'm trying to keep this in line with her canon personality to an extent here. Determined, focused, conniving and scheming. A little obsessive. But also needs to give herself a little pep talk to go through with things. Let me know how I'm doing?

Btw, title is by Brand New.

LP Taglist

@zalladane @moonlightstar64 @amayakans @elmokingkong @queen-in-a-flower-crown

Permanent list

@naoryllis @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @my-name-is-michell @maribat-is-lifeblood @dast218 @novicevoice @shizukiryuu @princess-of-fangirls @bigpicklebananatree @pirats-pizzacanninibles @abrx2002 @breemeister @darkthunder1589 @thestressmademedoit @severelyenchantedwonderland @isabellemasen @multi-fandom-freak0221 @fantasyloversblog @bzz75 @cloudiedraws @jardimazul @orbitsvt @gingerdaile @sotheresthatthought @kadmeread @novaloptr @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @crazylittlemunchkin @18-fandoms-unite-08 @tiny-goddess-of-chaos

~---~

Convincing a miniaturized pocket god that your intentions are sound came surprisingly easy to her.

That could be in part due to all the prior planning. Considering every possible argument the goddess could come up with and creating contingencies to match. Really though, taking out Tikki's own advice and laying it out as a perfect reasoning quieted her down quite nicely. Not that Tikki agreed with her, but the logic was too sound to push back on and the little bug never expected Marinette to come up with such thoughts without getting emotional. It just wasn't the way the girl was as far as Tikki was concerned. So it could only be taken at face value without the usual accusations of her being overdramatic.

It was an early Saturday when she voiced her thoughts.

"Hey Tikki?"

"Yes, Marinette?" the red bug looked up from her perch.

"Our biggest priority is to stop akumas and find Hawkmoth, correct?"

"Of course. You know that," she dismissed.

"So is it reasonable to say that Chat has been a hinderance to our duty?"

"How do you mean?"

"He distracts me or sits out on important battles. Threatens to quit if details that don't pertain to our purpose are withheld. He refuses to remain professional in the face of an attack."

"Well yes, he has been rather unhelpful lately, but then again, you are teenagers. It's to be expected, I suppose. Though I do wish he'd be a bit more focused," she easily agreed.

Marinette bit back a victorious smile and kept her expression closed off but for the determined, calculating expression she saved for important moments. Like now.

"In that case, it would be a good idea to make him focus any way I can. To make it easier. To hurry along the hunt for Hawkmoth."

Tikki's expression became weary as she stared at her welder, taken off guard by the open statement, "I don't know, Marinette...What did you have in mind?"

"Nothing yet, but I think I'm going to start brainstorming some ideas. Maybe do a little research. Something needs to change though," she emphasized, staring down her kwami with a hopeful, prodding look until she hesitantly nodded her agreement.

With the god's blessing, she turned to her tablet, pulling up everything she could on different heroes and their methods. Down the rabbit hole she fell.

… 

Some thirteen hours had passed and she felt the strain of her eyes and the bright burn to her retinas for the effort of her work. She refused to believe that no inspiration would come from this effort, though she'd moved on from conventional heroes and into a more sketchy territory by now, having been let down by the uptight views of others who'd obviously never been harassed or neglected by their partner and therefore wouldn't understand her need for a more, let's say, gray solution.

She'd seen the ideals of Superman and the Lanterns and the generalized view of both the Teen Titans and Justice League alike. Many worked with partners, many had betrayals or interpersonal problems. The solution they always took was for one or both parties to leave the team and travel to opposite sides of their country. Or world. Or separate worlds. Either way, avoidance was key. That didn't really work for her though. She had to stay in close contact with her partner while not truly working together. Remain civil within the same city limits. Fight side by side even. And it's not like she could just leave her responsibility here or allow Chat to go unchecked with a miraculous on his own. 

Then she stumbled upon Batman's history. The infamous bat had many a partner or sidekick with their own rough history and seemed to be operating with them regularly still. His solution to a lost or dead partner seemed to be a steady stream of replacements. Unfortunately, unlike a vigilante suit, a miraculous has to resonate with the wearer and no one she knew and trusted would fit the black cat. So she was stuck with the one.

Still though, Batman apparently had a falling out with his first Robin who became Nightwing. Those two were seen together regularly now so something must have happened to fix their issues. Gods, she was so lucky the internet seemed to stalk these people hardcore enough to have so much information on them so readily available. However, looking deeper, the resulting theories and knowledge did not bode well for her. It seems Nightwing had been in much the same state as her and with zero apologies from the Bat, had forgiven the man and resumed operations as usual. Well she was done with forgiving and forgetting. She wanted a real solution, not just rolling over and letting Chat do as he pleased! 

Alright, so Batman was the Chat Noir to the Robin's Ladybug. Maybe the others fared better?

Nope, second one died.

Current one seems to be a literal feral child out to bleed Gotham dry. Not sure how that helped, though maybe she could go just psycho enough to force Chat to be the responsible one? No, he'd just try and quit again.

Huh.

There was a third and fourth one apparently? Between the murder baby and the dead one. What happened to them?

The fourth was a blonde girl with a short stint. Seems she just moved departments since many speculated she might be a batgirl or working with a few others in the city. Not much more.

But what about the other one?

The third Robin, who worked with the Teen Titans for a stint. Who worked many years under the Bat, who gave away the title to the blonde only to return after and disappear once more with the coming of the blood toddler. What happened? Where'd he go?

…

Thousands had apparently asked the same question themselves. All signs seemed to point towards a betrayal. Something went wrong. The first resigned, the second died, the third just seemed to drop off the face of the planet. Did Batman kick him out? Replace him? For child's play, sword addition? She couldn't be sure, but it seemed the most likely guess. Much more believable than alien kidnapping or a quest for a dead man or his predecessor coming to life to end him.

But what after that? 

Surely, Marinette could've stopped there. Obviously, this wasn't the same as her situation, but she couldn't help but be so very intrigued. She watched videos of the boy in his Robin suit (much more practical than the first two if you asked her, though still slightly shameful) fighting and flying across rooftops and working with his team. He was so. So. Efficient. So clean. Ruthless when he decided to be. Calculated. Everything she ever wanted to be. 

He was amazing.

And then he disappeared.

Where did he go, that perfect Robin. How could anyone ever think the position needed an upgrade when the perfect bird was already there? It made no sense. And then she found him. Hunting through the rogues and heroes and inbetweens of Gotham, hidden in his own layerings of cover stories and identities. Her new aspiration of what a hero should be, mixed into the Anti-heroes of the city.

The vigilante of the more morally ambiguous variety, manipulating the world to the way he saw fit, using whatever method he wished. And the way he seemed to bend the city to his whim, well it matched quite well with how she wished her own city would be. She found her solution. Now it was showtime.

…

"Are you ready to apologize, m'lady?" Chat dropped down at her side, the akuma of the week tied up below them. It was a relatively easy battle, with no need for special abilities for once.

"Whatever for, Chatton?" Marinette asked, already tensing at the response she knew she'd receive. She hated when he tried to coerce her into apologizing for things that aren't her fault.

"For your neglect of your kitten, obviously."

"I don't have a kitten," she stated plainly.

"What? You wound me, to disown me so abruptly," he put a clawed hand to his chest, offense and hurt in spades marking his features.

"I can't disown what I never adopted," she went along with the analogy so he wouldn't complain about her ruining his fun again. The last thing she needed was his whining.

He perked up with this, "Well we can draw up some adoption papers right now if you wish? I'd love to be yours," he smarmed, leaning into her space further. 

This was it. Time to turn the tables. To make this work in her favor. She just needed to play it right, the way her Robin did. By manipulating the enemy into doing her bidding. She could do this.

"That's just it, though. I don't believe you would," she frowned, letting her eyes soften the way she'd seen Lila do so often. Might as well learn something from the girl.

"What? I would," he insisted, eyebrows furrowing.

"See you say that, but where's the proof? You've done nothing but pester and punish me over these weeks. You say you love me, but then watch me get hurt by akumas and make me fight all alone and threaten to leave me. That's not the actions of a loving partner. It feels like you hate me."

That had him panicking.

"No no, I don't hate you, you're my sun and my moon. My everything. Surely you know your worth in my life. I only did those things to show you how much you hurt me." He attempted to reason with her.

"See, but I've never intentionally hurt you. And always apologized to you when I realized I had. Whereas you just admitted to causing me distress as a form of punishment. It seems to me that I'm far more attached to you than you are to me and I'm just not willing to hurt myself by getting involved with someone who so obviously dislikes me."

"I- no- that's not- I love you! I didn't mean to do that, I shouldn't have. Please believe me? I love you, Ladybug," he begged, ears dropping and body tensed in fear.

"I'm sorry, but until I see some proof, I can't do that," she shook her head before taking off home without a backward glance, leaving the cat to his misery.

…

That night, Tikki went straight to bed and refused to speak to her for the next two days.

[tokidokifish]

i liked this sketch of fennel so i decided to color it~

[sohin-ace]

Bucci gang with a s/o who has Tourette’s syndrome? I have some pretty frequent facial tics and a few minor vocal tics that make me really really insecure sometimes. Thank you and love your blog 🥺💕

First of all, you are PRECIOUS anon.

Second of all, I am so terribly sorry If I mispicture your condition. I have never met a person with Tourette before so I had to do a bunch of research, and if there's anything I'm incorrect about, please educate me gently!

Bucci gang w/ an S/O who has Tourette's syndrome HC.

Bucciarati

You tell him about your insecurities and he is quick to make you feel loved and understood.

Rather than stop you or scold you when you swear or scream, he'd rather understand what caused your tics and act accordingly to take the source away from you.

It's actually interesting for him and he wants to learn about your condition to understand you more as a person.

You feel guilty after you have an episode during a mission and the gang had to abort it.

It torments you and prevents you from sleeping and you go visit him at night. He takes you in his arms and lets you cry it out, telling you that it was fine.

"Shh, shh... You have to calm down, tesoro. No need to stress yourself out, you know it's bad for you."

If he hears the slightest irregularity in your breathing he will drop whatever he's doing to come to you, making sure you're okay.

He knows the more relaxed you are, the less likely you will have tics.

So count on him for gentle, soothing ministrations and cuddle sesh anytime you need.

Abbachio

Every time he starts yelling at *ahem* Giorno or gets angry, he looks back at you and bites back his anger.

He knows it triggers your own impulsive tics and the last thing he needs right now, is you hurting yourself or someone else.

If you have medications to take, he will NOT stand you forgetting them. Same if you have appointments with a doctor, he is already in the car, waiting for you. Don't be late.

His voice is deep and soothing and when you admit to him that you like his voice, he takes advantage of it by speaking especially low and quietly for you.

He is so shocked when it actually works in lessening your tics and he feels so good about finally being helpful for once in his life...

If you blurt profanities and Giorno happens to pass by, Abbachio will just nod, telling you how much he agrees and he's happy you're on the same page.

"Couldn't have said it better. And a fucking brat too, If I may add."

You tell him you weren't insulting Giorno and, oh he knows. He just doesn't give a fuck.

Narancia

Oh boy. Prepare for trouble and make it double.

He will ask you 2000 questions on it, please don't be offended, he is just ignorant and extremely curious.

Will make you play and dance with him to distract you from your tics. He might pull at your cheeks and lids and other parts of your face if you twitch a lot.

If you happen to say swear words, he will roar out because it's so damn funny and kinda cool when it comes out of your mouth.

It's not because he's mocking you or anything, but because the way you blurt 'MOTHERFUCKER' sometimes might just equal the way Samuel L. Jackson says it, and honestly? That's badass.

Also... Bucciarati doesn't say anything and wow. If even Capo doesn't stop you, you're definitely not to mess with.

If you swear on a mission or when an enemy is nearby, he will follow suit, even though you didn't do it on purpose.

You'll cover your mouth and gasp, flustered and horrified with yourself, but he'll just cheer and encourage you.

"YA HEARD THE BOSS, NOW SCRAM FUCKER!"

Mista

When you're in a mission, hiding and you have to stay quiet, he's so scared that your vocal tics will get you caught.

He is ON YOU, his hands clamped over your mouth tightly, pressing you against him in that tiny space.

"I'm sorry babe but we don't have a choice and- damn your hair smells good..."

If you let out very sudden squeaks or screams, he will jump and scream even louder than you.

The Pistols and the gang give him crap for it and laugh at him for being startled and acting stupid. It's hilarious.

He is overly chill otherwise. He jokes a lot about your condition, but he never means harm.

If you start twitching a lot he will gasp and yell exaggeratedly, saying shit like 'Gyah! Y-Y/N's transforming!' or 'That much power... It can't be handled by a single human!!"

Of course Narancia joins in by making anime references and saying that you look like you're achieving your ultimate form or whatever nonsense.

Please slap them before Abbachio does.

Giorno

Aren't you lucky. Call him medication because he helps a lot.

His presence is so calming and relaxing, you don't count the times he's managed to tone you down.

Your tics lessened in frequence ever since you met him, it's wonderful and everyone in the gang is impressed.

Was it the work of his Stand? You will never know.

He asks you if there's any way he can help to suppress your tics in a healthy way.

He will be particularly careful with sugary or caffeinated drinks and food. Like really.

If he finds you drinking coffee or soda he will turn it into a cup of maggots, he is dead serious.

Will take you somewhere private, or somewhere nice and make you practice simple breathing exercices to relax you if you're being overstimulated.

"I heard it could help. Oh! Your lips are twitching now, just go ahead and fully smile for me then, amore."

Fugo

Forgive him. He is SO interested!

Has at least 3 books about Tourette's syndrome and/or people who have it.

He will, and has stabbed Mista and Narancia for laughing at you or making remarks about your tics.

He is so sensitive and susceptible about it too, he does NOT mess with that. He will get even more offended than you if somebody says anything.

He gets so sad when you feel insecure because he's so helpless and doesn't know what to do to help you.

If you have OCD or anger episodes, that just drives him even closer to you. You could relate to each other so much, he himself felt more secure around you.

Please grab his hand and hold him tight.

"Oh it's... One of your tics again, right? Fine then... You can... Whatever."

He gets shy and mumbles a lot, blushing when you touch him. He'll just dismiss it as your illness and pretend it can't be helped.

But deep down he knows it's not ;)

Trish

I hope your facial tics don't imply winking.

Because she will blush and get flustered and probably mistake it for flirting.

You explain to her that you don't mean it and just can't help it and she understands but... She never said she didn't like it.

Eventually, she'll wink back at you cutely.

She hates touching people or people touching her, but she'll definitely hold your hands and play with your hair if you start feeling nervous and insecure about your tics.

She barely reacts to your tics and tries to make you feel like it's completely normal.

"Hm? What are you apologizing for? Swearing? I don't know, I wasn't paying attention... You worry too much, love."

Your outbursts are scarier than Fugo's but unlike him, you always act so kindly and softly to her, she can't help but want to cling to you. A lot.

She does that 'ASMR tapping on surface' thing with her nails to help you fall asleep when you can't.