#and it would help me so much if you would just reblog

[okwonyo]

BEAUTIFUL SCENE 𓈒𓈒 ❪ 日语 ❫

TESTI ────── 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝗍𝗒𝗉𝖾, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍.

enhypen who has a crush on fem!rea 12OO fluff non-idol au 但 skinship kissing ❛ REBLOGS&CLICK ❜

지아 ⠀⦂⠀ sruchocopop helped me for this 🍀 it was supposed to be short but oh well ..

HEESEUNG

his body yearns to be close to you— to touch, to feel you. he wants to know how the feeling on his fingers brushing your soft skin feels. therefore, he finds any excuse to do so.

“you have food all over your face,” he chuckles. he noticed it a few minutes ago, as soon as the tiniest crumbs of your bread fell next to your mouth. of course, he stopped eating a while ago, too busy admiring your every move.

“wha’ d’ya say?” you mutter, cheeks round and full of the big bite you took a seconds before. your eyes are glistening with wonder, pure curiosity and wonder— clueless of how cute you are looking at the moment.

his heart beats faster as he reaches for the side of your mouth with his thumb, his body moves completely on his own. he tries to not melt under your gaze, wiping the cream off the corner of your lips, caressing your lips, “here you go.”

⠀ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ���ᵕ ᵕ⠀look under the cut ! ♡

JAY

always so gentle with you. his tone is always soft. he smiles gentle, pearly whites showing perfectly as he talks to you. his inner nature always shows off whenever you are with him. his body warms up with chivalry.

your way often crosses the college’s hallways. he is quick to greet you with this lovely smile of his. beyond charming and beautiful.

today, he meets you again. his attention is first one your face, as always, then he peeks at the huge cardboard box in your hands. he doesn’t think before speaking, before moving towards you and telling you, “let me take this for you.”

he knows it already, what are your next words. he starts walking before you can even say, “you don’t have—”

“please, let me do this for you,” he immediately cuts you. the world stops, for you especially, well to hang on lips to say anything.

JAKE

he doesn’t realize it. it is as natural as breathing to him, as if being there—so close to you— is his birth right. you are his only compass, the star that guides him up in the sky.

his breath catches when you respond to him calling your name by turning around. the smile that grows on your face is immediately mirrored by him, “are you following me around?”

he jogs towards you, unable to keep his giggles for himself. “huh?” is the first thing he tells you, registering your question after a minute of staring at your smiley face.

“you are always somewhere close to me,” you chuckle— you don’t seem bothered by that fact. you look more pleased than not and that makes him pleased as well.

he shrugs, immediately following you like a puppy when you start walking to your class. he bumps his shoulder into yours gently, “maybe it’s destiny.”

SUNGHOON

he isn’t really the type to do much just yet. although, he had a crush on you since the day his gaze rested on you, since the first time he heard your laugh. he can’t keep you out of his mind nor his eyes away from you.

he knows it. that as soon as he catches a glimpse of you, it would be impossible for him to look away so soon. not until someone tells him that he looks like a creep— and even then, he wouldn’t be so sure.

he bites his lower lip as he observes you from afar. you look beyond mesmerizing, like everything you do, the simple way in which you sit is attractive. he feels his body being pulled closer by a force he can’t name.

he doesn’t move however. he only tries to not get into a spiral when you bite your pen. he has never seen someone so effortlessly pretty. you seem to think hard, harder than a pretty girl like you should and he wants remedy to that.

his heart skips a beat when your eyes shoot up— immediately looking deep into his. his chest heaves while you hold eye contact. your smirk before looking down on your notes makes him groan. you are teasing him too much.

SUNOO

in his friendly nature, he befriends the girl he finds so gorgeous. he becomes so close to you that he spends his days with you by his side.

he doesn’t think he has hidden his crush on you ever. internally, he hopes that it becomes something more and he never fails to show it. it is you who is oblivious.

he tries, he really does, to make you understand that he wants more than just ‘silly friends’ date’— but it seems that your head is too thick to realize it. he decides to use words, loud and clear: “what do you think of us?”

you seem confused, “us?” if it wasn’t for how cute you look with the small blush coloring your cheeks, he would facepalm.

JUNGWON

he knows you like him too. he just doesn’t understand why you are so sure he doesn’t see you like that. he decides to emphasize, “you and me, us, love!”

this man is always so sweet to you. always showering you in nice words and teasing you a little bit to get a reaction out of you.

“did you try something new with your hair?” he questions you— he is always the first to notice when you try something remotely new. even as little as putting a ribbon in your hair.

a flush creeps across your cheeks, “uh, yeah,” you respond. your voice is tiny and cute— your shyness is seen all over the surface of your face.

“don’t get shy,” he chuckles. he finds it endearing, how easily it is to make you shy. you are not even aware of the effect it has on him, “i didn’t even tell you how beautiful you are yet, doll.”

he laughs when you playfully beat his chest with your fist.

RIKI

he has never been the type to be so happy about such simple things. but he admits that he has been on cloud nine since he successfully got your number.

“i’m doing good,” pops up, accompanied by the cutest emoji. “what about you?” he reads on his phone’s screen. your contact name above the text he just received makes his body vibrate with pure joy and enthusiasm.

he falls on his bed, thinking about an answer to something as simple as this. “i’m doing good,” he types out first. “because,” his fingers tap on the keyboard. “i’m talking to you.”

he immediately puts his phone away. he does everything in his power to think about anything else but your answer— and he fails. he reaches for his phone as soon as he hears a notification.

“haha, you are too cute,” your text says, a kissy face is added at the end. the boy smiles, giggles even. his cheeks hurt from smiling too much and he realizes that he looks stupid, but he doesn’t care. you really manage to make him giddy though the phone.

taglist open + net— @sgz-net

[sarcasm-is-my-form-of-attack]

Lessons in Restraint

Viktor x fem! reader

After losing a bet to your partner, you end up having to deal with the consequences of your actions, no matter how much you beg.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dom/sub dynamics, bondage

A/N: wrote this in a fugue state at 4am and finished it on public transit, I’m a god of creation lol. Not proofread at all but I like it. This is so horny and debauched have fun. Reblogs and comments make my day (I read every single one)

“You know, it’s incredibly satisfying to see you like this after talking such a big game.” His voice is lilting and thick and like a haunting melody that weaves its way into your brain and doesn’t leave, no matter how hard you try to expel it.

The smirk is audible and as you stare up at this man from your place on the floor, rage bubbles deep within you, flavoring the already cultivated desire that has been driving your instincts.

A bet. A stupid, idiotic, ridiculous bet was all it took to end up here: naked, bound, and kneeling before Viktor as if he were your king.

The bet had been simple.

“You have no self control.” He’d mocked you one late night in the lab as you lay draped over him on the small beat to hell couch they’d brought in for you. Basking in the post-sex glow, you laughed airily, your mind still a bit foggy and blissed out.

“Neither do you. Can you blame me? I’m a girl who knows what she wants.” You punctuated your statement by snuggling further into him.

A chuckle, then “Patience is a virtue. God you’re probably not even able to last a week without needing me.” His hands tracing lazy patterns on your back, sending shivers down your spine.

“Is that a challenge?” Your eyes narrowed at him from your place on his chest.

“Perhaps.”

He’d been right of course. You didn’t last a week without needing him, folding just on the morning of day 6, practically begging him to fuck you, touch you, anything at all.

The smirk that split his face was so vile and hypnotizing that you couldn’t take your eyes off of it. Of course, he obliged and fucked you so good you couldn’t walk for a day.

“You need lessons in restraint, humility. And seeing as you lost the bet…”

Which led you to right now.

Two in the morning.

Completely alone in his lab.

At his mercy.

The soft rope around your wrists and ankles caresses your skin, knots only tightening as you squirm. Wrist to wrist, ankle to ankle, and just for an added kick in the mouth, wrist to ankle. Knees spread and back arched as Viktor sat in his desk chair, which from this angle looked much more like a throne on which an emperor sat.

Alas, it would not be the benevolent kind.

“What, no witty comeback or retort for me? Are you all out of fight? Or are you just learning to mind your tongue?” he leans forward, forehead almost touching yours but not quite. He hasn’t touched you in over an hour. Just lingering stares or fabric or even the occasional breath of air. Nothing else.

“Or…” he leans close to yours ear, “you’re just being quiet to avoid the shame?” White hot fear washes over you. It’s so hot it’s freezing and you want to simultaneously worm away from the sensation and also surrender to it.

“Pity. This is a lesson in humility. Obedience. Discipline. Trust.” His voice softens at the last word and there’s a brief moment where his gaze shifts, full of adoration and love and awe. It doesn’t last long though; enough for you to smile back, and give a quick confirmation that ‘yes you’re ok and want to keep going’.

“Well? Nothing at all?” He sits back up, towering over you and you cannot help but avert your gaze underneath his stare. It pins you to the wall like a pretty butterfly in a shadowbox.

“Unh-unh…” he tuts disapprovingly and it’s all the warning before the end up his cane is tipping your chin back up, allowing you to properly look at him.

“None of that. So rude, absolutely no manners. You should be ashamed of yourself.” He stares down the length of his cane at you, eyes molten and burning as he speaks.

“I…” but there’s nothing you can really say for yourself now. He’s right. As he usually is. You are ashamed.

“No? Not a thing in that pretty little head of yours is there?” He removes his cane from your chin and lets it fall to the floor, hands folding on his lap as he ponders what to do with you.

Eyes rove over your twitching body, no doubt a puddle of wetness below you dripping from your aching core. It’s pathetic and humiliating and some sick fucked up part of you relishes in it. He knows it too, head tilting as he looks down.

“Oh, poor thing. You’re just drenched aren’t you?” the mockery in his voice stirs a frustrated whimper out of you, pulls it from your chest like one would pull a hook from the stomach of fish who’d swallowed it. Bloody and violent and unable to do a damn thing about it.

“Such a pretty sound.” It’s not to you, just musing to himself. You whine again, roll your hips as you stare up at him, hoping he’ll take pity on you. Touch you.

“Viktor…you’re being cruel…” your voice is fucked out and ragged, despite the lack of stimulation. He’s brought you this close with barely anything but his voice and a few lengths of rope. A feat, really. He’ll brag about it for the rest of your life.

“Am I? Or are you just not prepared to accept that your actions have consequences?”

“I just wanna touch you…” you crane your neck up at him, staying rooted to your spot but reaching. He is a planet and you a mere comet pulled into his gravitational field, circling.

He thinks for a moment, you can see the gears working in his head.

“You want to cum?” No one, nor any amount of liquor could get you to admit how earnestly you nodded your head at his words, how desperately. With a quick move you weren’t expecting, he bends forward in his seat and wraps a pale hand around your throat. The sensation is near overwhelming as he hasn’t touched you in an hour, fingers now digging into the delicate column holding up your head.

“I think…” he tilts your head this way and that, ever the scientist, taking in every observation, every bead of sweat, every tremble, “…I have a compromise that will suffice.”

With a bit of a gentler hand, he pulls you forwards by your neck, his own rolling chair moving to meet you as you shuffle forward. He pulls you closer, closer, until his knee is flush with your sternum, and you’re situated directly over his shoe.

Fear washes over you, curls its fingers into your hair, your spine, your stomach.

“You want to cum so bad?” He jerks up his foot at the end of his sentence, bumping it against your clit in a way that has you nearly doubling over and letting out a strangled yelp.

“Go ahead, sweet thing.” Your neck is still in his grip, so you know he can feel the way your pulse races forward like an engine.

“B-but-“ a protest forms in your mouth but it’s squeezed out of you as his hand tightens.

“I’m sorry, but you’re not making the decisions around here. And that wasn’t a request. Do it.” His tone is icy and piercing and it scares you in a way that urges you forward, letting the humiliation continue to worm its way into your synapses.

He lets go, a little roughly, and straightens his back, looking down at you as if you were an amusing pet.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you shut your eyes briefly and take a deep breath, pushing it out rather forcefully.

The first roll of your hips is torturous. It’s friction you haven’t had in hours, so sensitive and swollen that the leather and lace send fireworks through you.

But it’s something, and you’ve been so patient, so agonizingly horny that you’ll take anything. And he knows that.

And the motherfucker is laughing.

“Oh…wow…I didn’t think you’d actually do it. Just so eager to please and be pleased aren’t you?” A deceptively gentle hand caresses your cheek and you lean into it instinctively, the sweetness juxtaposed to his cruel treatment making your head spin a bit.

“What base creatures we humans are. Willing to throw pride and dignity aside all for a biological need to fuck each other like rabbits. All for the pleasure of climax. Slaves to our hormones; all the blood being sent to your swollen cunt, none left for your brain.” The last bit is a coo, a mocking pity that weighs heavy on your sensation addled mind. His hand on your cheek is a cool balm on your feverish skin, tracing your cheekbone in reverence as the words he spits tear at you.

You move faster, chasing the high that is slowly but surely building in the lowest part of your stomach. It’s a dull burn that exponentially increases in intensity and heat. Every word he says is a stoke to the catching blaze.

A low rumble of appreciation stirs from Viktor’s chest, and the pride that swells in you as you look up at his appraising gaze pushes much of the embarrassment aside. The joy of approval, the delicious praise that a mere look can bestow; you need it like you’ve never needed anything before.

“Oh you are splendid, sweet thing. Such a good girl, so eager to please.” His hand drifts to your open mouth, fingers dancing along the pad of your lip. With no other instruction, you lean forward and take two of his fingers into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the digits in such a lewd manner that the workers of the brothels would blush.

There’s a small intake of breath from your Viktor, a brief slip of composure as he stares at you in awe. His eyes sparkle with want and need and adoration.

“You…are perfect, so wonderful for me.” His other hand cradles your head as his fingers push in deeper, pressing down on your tongue slightly. You double your efforts at his sweet words, spurred on with renewed vigor. For me. Yes. For him, always for him, his, his, his, his.

“Oh you liked that did you? You like when I tell you how good you’re doing for me? How beautiful you look there on your knees, fingers in your mouth, truly you put fine art to shame. You were made for this, perfect, so perfect.” He muses, and the heat in your core grows hotter with every breath he takes to speak. Your poor hips are stuttering, so desperately close to cumming all over his pristine leather shoes. Moans spill forth around his fingers as you lose your grip on sanity, oh but what a sweet descent into madness it is.

“Go on. Go on darling, cum. That’s it, make a mess of yourself, that’s it, good girl, oh…” he marvels at you as you contract into him, the force of your orgasm pulling a strangled scream from your lungs. It’s wave after wave of white hot ecstasy, and your hips undulate a few more times as you ride it out, milking it for every last drop. His hand retracts from your mouth and he holds you, cupping your face in his hands.

“Wonderful darling, you did wonderful, absolutely perfect. So good, so good for me.” Fingers card through your hair, hands guiding your head to rest on his knee. You’re grateful for the support, it’s getting awful hard to keep your head up. The thigh of his good leg is sturdy and strong from baring the brunt of his weight. It’s grounding beneath you.

Slowly but surely, your breathing evens out, his hands petting your hair reverentially, holding you as you come down from your high. You stay like that for a while, until your knees start to hurt and your wrists ache, causing you to whimper at the newly forming pain.

“Are you alright lásko? Can I move you?” He whispers, hands never stopping his movements. You nod against his leg, weak but sure.

“M’good. Just go slow.” Your voice is hoarse and crackly from exhaustion. He bends down, kisses your head, and picks it up off of his thigh. With a twist, he adjust his chair so it’s a bit lower to the ground, closer to you. He reaches around, kissing your shoulder as he does so, and unties the ropes around your wrists and ankles. They fall away, and your arms instinctively reach for him.

“Soon, miláčku. Can you stand?”

“Mhm.” He grips your hands, helping you to your feet, and you’re alright for the most part, just a bit shaky. Viktor reaches for his cane, stands, and leads you by the hand to the couch in the corner of the lab. The leather is cool against your skin as he situates you in the cushions.

“I’ll be right back, just getting you water. Wrap the blanket around you alright?” You nod, his voice your tether to reality. In mere moments he’s back with water in hand, and not long after he’s sitting next to you, pressing you into his good side, arm an anchor over your shoulders. You curl instinctively into him, clutching the blanket around yourself.

“Are you sure you’re ok, sweet thing?”

“I’m sure Viktor.” Your voice has returned to you, as has most of your facilities. The weight of Viktor against you helps immensely.

“Wow.”

“Wow indeed.” He knocks his head against yours, and you laugh, snuggling further into him.

“I can’t say I didn’t know you had it in you, because you’re the most in control person I’ve ever met, but holy shit Vik.” The smell of his cologne and shampoo washes over you as you nestle closer into his neck, so ineffably him.

His cheek is pressed to the top of your head as he says , “I hope that is a positive ‘holy shit’.”

“Oh certainly.” You sit up slightly to look him in the eyes, “Vik. That was amazing. I…you were fantastic. It was everything I could’ve wanted.” A dopey smile spreads across your face and you can see the blush forming on his cheeks, the pride swelling in his chest.

“Thank you for trusting me with you.”

“Vik I trust you with my life.” You kiss his cheek, and he chuckles, a pretty sound that you wish you’d hear more often. But as the months go by, it’s starting to become a bit more familiar.

“And I trust you with mine.”

“Yeah but I just use that leverage to get you to bed at night so you don’t die of sleep deprivation.” He snorts as he pulls you in closer to him.

“Isn’t it common practice for someone in your position to nap after a scene?”

You laugh, but acquiesce and snuggle into him further, “you’re just deflecting, one day I’ll fix your sleep schedule.” But your eyes are already closing and his hands are playing with your hair.

“Sure, lásko. Sleep well. I love you.”

You smile, though you’re already halfway to sleep, “love you too.”

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

bath. l Joel Miller

Summary: Joel is immobilized and giving you a hard time

Warnings:  nothing much, some intimacy, shared bath, Ellie wants to get rid of Joel, boring conversations

A/N: it's something before something, so it's boring. it doesn't contribute much. if you want to support my tired mind, feel free to . kisses

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

A broken collarbone wasn't what Joel expected. When the doctor at the clinic in Jackson, where you took him the next day, told him that he would be immobilized for a few weeks, Joel just sighed heavily. He was put in a sling and told to take care of himself so that the bone would heal properly. 

It was humiliating.

Even when you left the clinic together and you took his left hand in yours, he didn't feel any better.

"I'm useless now." he mumbled, watching you choose apples and vegetables for dinner.

"Not at all." you replied calmly. "You'll just rest now. See how good it will do you."

Where did you get that optimistic belief? Joel had no idea. He was glad that your argument hadn't affected your relationship, because his head was telling him all the tragic scenarios, but now he was dependent on others for help. And worst of all, he couldn't help you,

You were the one who brought the box of food home. And then you hung the laundry out in the warm spring sun. You made dinner, and Joel...

"Can you take him somewhere?" Ellie rushed into the kitchen for the third day, a blush covering her cheeks. "He's unbearable!"

"Please, have mercy on him." you sighed. "This is the first time since..."

"He just came asking if I did my homework!" Ellie rolled her eyes and raised her hands in despair. "I'm not eight! Can we abandon him somewhere? In the forest, for example?"

You looked at her with amusement. "Of course not! But this is new to him. You know he doesn't go on patrol now, that he can't do much in the stables either."

"So you're sacrificing me?"

"Hey! I can't drag him around with me forever, he's an adult."

Ellie folded her arms across her chest and looked at you with satisfaction. "Maybe he's getting on your nerves too, huh?"

"That's not... That's not true!"

But sometimes it was like that. Joel was looking for something to do, something he could do with one hand. When he tried to help you with the laundry, it took longer than usual. Things weren't going his way at the stables either and when you went to visit him there, you saw how furious he was. Even Tommy washed his hands and didn't want to come near him.

"Fine." you finally sighed "I'll take care of him. He won't follow you around anymore."

The girl's face lit up. "I'm sure you'll have a great time!"

You didn't know if she was joking or serious.

You found Joel in the bedroom where he had been struggling with his shirt for a few minutes. He was already irritated enough and when you stood in front of him to help unbutton it, he only mumbled something incomprehensible.

"Don't pout like that." you said, smiling "That won't help you."

"Ellie already complained about me?" you nodded "I just wanted to..."

"I know, and she knows it too. Don't think about it now." You carefully took off his shirt, noticing how he winced when you helped him free his arm. "I'll draw you a bath."

"I can do it myself."

"Let me take care of you, Joel." you murmured, kissing his pouty lips.

This was amazing. A completely different level of sensation and pleasure. The bathroom was filled with steam and the pleasant scent of lavender. He could feel your body behind him, your legs were on his sides, and his back was resting on your chest. Joel closed his eyes in pleasure. You slowly washed his hair, massaging his scalp carefully. This made him turn into a purring mess, which he clearly liked.

"When was the last time someone really took care of you, huh?" you chuckled as a soft growl escaped his chest.

"I can't remember. You take care of me, don't you?"

"As much as you let me. Close your eyes." you poured a cup of warm water over his hair to rinse off the shampoo. "You should use this time, rest, get some sleep..."

His hand slid up your calf. "I feel useless." he mumbled. "Like I'm a fucking cripple or something."

"Nobody thinks of you like that." you wrapped your arms around him and kissed his temple. "Sometimes you're just a pain in the ass. Joel!" he squeezed your calf harder and you jumped. "Stop it, or I'll forget you're hurt!"

You both fell silent for a moment, soaking up this intimate time. These were special moments, you wanted to have them just for yourselves, because they made you feel that what you felt, that you were - was real. Only his voice, quiet but deep, tore you from your reverie.

"Do you remember the first time you hugged me?"

"Yes, I remember."

"I would never have dared to dream of being with you like I am now... I was convinced that I would lose you. It scared me. I didn't remember what it was like to have someone so close. I was sure that when you saw what I was like, you would run away."

You ran your fingers through his wet hair. You remembered exactly how tense Joel was then. You were sure that he would push you away, but he didn't. He just patted you awkwardly on the back as if he wasn't sure if he was doing it right. 

"I was scared too..." you said quietly, glad that Joel couldn't see your face. "I haven't done this in a long time... And you were... Yourself. I saw how you were to Ellie, but I was a stranger to you."

His hand found yours, he brought it to his lips and kissed it. "You were the best thing that happened to us, really. And certainly to me. But... You never told me."

"About what?"

"How did you even end up there? You said you were with a group, then you were left alone, but nothing more."

He felt it immediately. Your body tensed, you took a deep breath.

"This isn't a good time, you know. It's not even important."

"But-"

"We should get out, you know. I'll make dinner, you must be hungry."

Joel didn't protest. You could see the consternation on his face, questions swirling in his eyes, but he didn't want to push you. That was wonderful about him, he didn't push, he just waited until someone was ready to talk. 

It was the second time he asked you about it, and you dodged it again. Joel understood that no one wanted to talk about difficult and painful things, but he had a strange feeling that nothing good had happened to you. And that broke his heart.

"Tommy asked me today if I would go on the next patrol with Sam and Anthony." You said as you both sat down on the couch after dinner, and you reached for the book you were currently reading together.

"I was supposed to go with them." Joel noticed.

"I know, but I thought... After that last trip for supplies, I didn't go anywhere further than the beaten patrol paths. It could be fun."

Joel didn't think it would "be fun," but he knew that you cared about feeling active and important again. He talked to Shane, he knew that your joint patrols were peaceful, but there Walsh kept an eye on you. And now?

"If that's what you want." He finally said and saw the smile on your face. "Just be careful."

"I always am." You opened the book and glanced at the next chapter. "Alright, let's get back to our Bennet sisters. I really liked them."

Your calm voice soon filled the living room, but it didn't reach Joel's mind at all. He was still considering your words, strange fears starting to churn under his skin. 

If it weren't for that damned arm...

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again

[luvvictoria]

First Impressions

+ pairings. simon "ghost" riley x f!reader

+ tags. romance, heavy (?) angst, slow-burn, action-packed military romance with angst and tension

+ summary. A skilled Air Force pilot is assigned to provide air support for a mission alongside Task Force 141, specifically working with the infamous Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley. You immediately feel the tension in the room, as Ghost is cold, distant, and unapproachable. Despite the pilot's efforts to be professional, it’s clear that Ghost doesn’t trust easily, especially not outsiders. The mission itself is simple — clear the skies while the ground team breaches a weapons facility — but the dynamic between you and Ghost is far from smooth. Your mutual dislike is evident.

+ materialist ; next part.

+ a/n. Reblog with your favorite line! It would help me to grow my account !! Thank you in advance. Thank you so much for your support ! It means very much to me! Also if you want to take a little peek at the next chapter here is my ko-fi !!

Task Force 141’s briefing room smelled of burnt coffee and sweat. It was the kind of stale air that clung to your skin and made your throat feel like it was coated in ash. The kind of air you had grown accustomed to on long missions, though nothing about the situation in front of you felt familiar.

You had barely stepped inside when you felt it — eyes boring into you like lasers. You didn’t have to look to know who it was. Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley. The man was infamous, a ghost in every sense of the word, and everyone who worked with him learned one thing fast: don’t try to get close.

Seated in the corner, arms crossed over his chest, he was every bit as unapproachable as they said he’d be. His iconic skull mask was in place, his body language closed off, as if daring anyone to try and get past the cold exterior. The air around him practically screamed I don’t need anyone but myself. It was the kind of attitude you had always hated. People who acted like they were the only ones who mattered. The lone wolf mentality.

You hated guys like that. The ones who acted like they were the only ones capable of doing their job. The ones who prided themselves on keeping everyone at arm’s length, hiding behind walls of silence and intimidation. It wasn’t that you were a stranger to soldiers like him. Hell, you’d worked with your share of them in the past. But Ghost? He was different. He was untouchable.

You squared your shoulders, taking a step forward and offering a firm, steady greeting, “Lieutenant Riley.”

He didn’t stand or offer any sort of acknowledgment beyond the briefest of nods. The words that came out of his mouth were clipped, as if he couldn’t be bothered. “Pilot.”

His voice was rough, like gravel under your boots, and the way he said it made it clear he was already annoyed by your presence.

Yeah. This was going to be fun.

You took a seat at the table, eyeing him for a moment. The silence between you two felt thick and uncomfortable, but you didn’t care. You were here to do your job, and nothing was going to stand in the way of that. Not even the infamous Ghost.

Before either of you could exchange another word, the door to the briefing room swung open with a force that rattled the walls. Captain Price, as always, looked like he had been born in a battlefield. His voice had the weight of a man who had seen it all. He stormed in, boots thudding against the floor, a mission file clutched in his hands. The moment he entered, everyone straightened, their focus snapping to him without question. Price wasn’t someone you ignored.

“Alright, listen up!” He slammed the mission file onto the table with a force that made the papers inside rustle. “We’ve got a mission to execute. A weapons facility deep in hostile territory. The ground team will breach and clear the place; air support will provide the cover we need. That means you, Captain,” he said, nodding at you, his gaze unflinching.

You nodded back, your stomach tightening just a little. Simple enough. The mission was straightforward — clear the skies, keep the enemy away, let the ground team do their thing. You had done it countless times. It wasn’t the mission itself that had your nerves a little on edge. It was the man sitting across from you.

“Any problems?” Price’s eyes scanned the room, taking in each of the team members. His gaze lingered for a moment on you, and then on Ghost. But neither of you said anything.

“No, sir,” you replied, your voice steady, though you couldn’t stop the way your fingers gripped the edge of your seat. You weren’t exactly a stranger to these kinds of situations, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong.

Price’s gaze slid to Ghost then, who grunted in response but didn’t speak. The tension between the two of them was palpable. It was like they were communicating without saying a word, an unspoken understanding that you weren’t a part of. Ghost didn’t even look up at Price, as if he was too busy running through the mission in his head. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was already preparing for the worst.

“We move out in two hours,” Price continued. “Make sure you’re ready. Ghost, you’re the point man. I’ll leave the rest of the details to you two.” He nodded at both of you before turning on his heel and walking out of the room without another word.

You glanced at Ghost again, but this time, there was something different in his eyes. A flicker of something. It was so brief, you almost convinced yourself you imagined it. But for the first time since you entered the room, you felt like he was acknowledging you in some way. Maybe it was the way his jaw tightened, or how his gaze seemed to linger just a little longer than necessary.

You weren’t sure, but you knew one thing for sure: this wasn’t going to be easy. You were going to have to prove yourself to him. Everyone knew that working with Ghost meant earning his trust, and trust wasn’t something he gave out freely.

The room emptied out soon after Price left, and you found yourself alone with Ghost. The silence stretched between you like a thick rope, taut and ready to snap at any moment.

“Look, I don’t know what you’ve heard about me,” you finally spoke, your voice cutting through the quiet. “But I’m here to do my job. Just like you.” You knew you were walking a fine line. You didn’t want to provoke him, but you needed to make it clear. You weren’t intimidated. Not by him. Not by anyone.

Ghost didn’t respond right away. He kept his eyes forward, scanning the mission files Price had left on the table. His fingers brushed over the edges of the papers, but his mind was somewhere else — lost in his own thoughts. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke.

“Just keep your head in the game. Don’t get in my way,” he muttered, voice low, but there was a certain finality to it. A warning, maybe. Or maybe just his way of setting the boundaries. You weren’t sure.

You couldn’t help but smirk. “Don’t worry, Ghost. I’m used to flying solo too.”

At that, his head snapped toward you, his eyes darkened behind that damn mask. “We’ll see about that.”

And just like that, the challenge was set.

As you walked out of the briefing room, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this mission was going to change everything. You had a hunch that, somehow, you and Ghost were going to collide in ways you hadn’t anticipated. You didn’t know what it was going to look like, but you were certain of one thing — it wouldn’t just be the mission that made this complicated.

It was him.

It was always going to be him.

[kyeomkuppie]

Me? Jealous? Pfft!

Pairing: Minghao x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, a tinge of angst

Synopsis: in which you were jealous but your boyfriend knew how to exactly comfort you.

Why has he standing with her for over 10 minutes?! It wasn't like it mattered to you. Pfft! of course not.

You've known your boyfriend to be very respectful, so it wasn't like you didn't trust him, I mean he clearly carried the Victoria's secret shopping bag that obviously belonged to you. It was as if 'I have a girlfriend' was written in his forehead. But it didn't help that some thoughts were starting to invade your mind.

She was refined. Her back straight, making you suddenly aware of your posture. Her voice quiet, making you too conscious about you naturally outgoing nature.

And most importantly, she embodied everything you wish you were. But this wasn't the time to go through internal monologue of how you think she's better than you! She has been talking to your boyfriend like she has known him for 30 years.

You were starting to go over 30 ways to commit murder without getting caught but your boyfriend finally made his way to you, after, in your opinion, a conversation that has been going on for too long.

"I'm sorry if I made you wait." He smiled guiltily.

"It's fine." Your sudden quietness caught him off-guard, and for someone as perceptive as Minghao, it wasn't hard to guess that something was off.

The store names in the mall were suddenly very interesting and it was painfully obvious that you were avoiding his gaze.

"Baobei, are you upset?" He knew you were weak for that nickname and it was apparent from the rosy tint of your cheeks, but you were giving one-word responses, which wasn't like you at all.

"No, Why would I be?" You manged to fake a smile which pretty much looked like a grimace.

You scoffed "Me?Jealous? Pfft!"

"Did anyone bother you while I was talking to [girl's name]?"

Oh, so he also knew her name?

Unfortunately for you, he noticed the furrow of your eyebrows when he said her name.

"Or is it me?...Are you jealous?"

He raised an eyebrow at how defensive you suddenly got. You two were back to his car and as soon as you closed the doors, you knew he had something to say.

"Baobei, talk to me. You know I don't like leaving things unresolved." His tone was serious but still gentle.

"No- No, It's not something to resolve. It's silly and I don't want to make a big deal out of nothing." You bit at your fingertip.

"It isn't nothing if it makes you upset, please tell me." He grabbed both your hands.

"She was just so...you. She is everything I want to be and that just made me a bit insecure and it really isn't your fault and the fact that I didn't know what had you so focused on what she said made me feel...I'm sorry I'm being childish." You look down at your hands.

He raised your chin with two fingers and slowly pulls you closer. "First of all, she is the choreographer of our new comeback. She wanted to ask about my input for the choreography. And what do you mean she's so me? You're a part of me that could well enough define who I am. No other person could ever replicate whatever you could do to make me feel how I do."

At this point these words were too much for you, and how he described you so romantically wasn't helping in how red your face was getting.

"Yes- I mean no and um you know-" You could no longer make sense of what you can say. You were too hyper-aware of the distance between you two.

He smiled knowing the buttons he pushed and decided to pull the final move.

He pulled you in and his lips landed on yours. You grabbed onto his shoulders and started kissing him like it was the last time. The slow yet desperate rhythm of both your lips was too much for you and when you suddenly pulled away a realization dawned upon you.

He could talk to a thousand girls and only you could get to devour his lips that way. You smiled to yourself at the thought but you instantly snapped out of it at your boyfriend's voice.

"Was it that good?"

Reblogs and comments are appreciated!

[kaija-rayne-author]

Do whatever you want, believe whatever you want. And using Veilguard as any sort of source for anything remotely related to canon Lore is just ridiculous. It's so... awful, IMHO, to use it to defend any sort of point.

I'm not certain if this would be considered critical, so I'll put it under a cut. Potentially critical of Veilguard.

Though I'm really just talking about the Lore.

I point out 4 massive retcons in Veilguard that blew my mind and that I see people commonly using as arguing points. And yes, if someone wants to pay me for the time, I can prove all of it with sources.

What little canon Lore they actually used in Veilguard? They twisted beyond recognition.

Just a few examples.

1. The blight is NOT, in fact, (or even in Veilguard) 'everywhere in the Fade'. It has always been contained to the Black City, that floats disconnected from everything else in the Fade. It's why the previously golden city is black ffs! Even in Veilguard, it's really damned obvious that the Fade isn't full of blight. We hop in and out of the Fade throughout the whole damned game like it's a shopping mall.

2. The Fade is not full of demons. Demons are spirits (people) of emotion. What usually twists them into demons is coming through the veil! The only reason there was the big demon in DAI is because it was attached to Coryphyfish. There's probably some, but it's an arguable point that an emotion spirit of, say, anger, or spite is actually a demon. Emotions aren't bad. They wouldn't automatically be demons simply because they reflect a negative emotion.

3. The veil has been canonically choking the life and magic out of Thedas for thousands of years. If the veil didn't come down, there would be no Thedas. This is clearly spelled out in canon. The veil was never meant to be part of the world. At the end of Trespasser, the veil is as holey as my grandmother's doilies. It's not as they tried to depict it in Veilguard, a firm, whole wall holding hordes of demons and the blight of blights back. That's such a bullshit retcon, and I make weird faces every time I try to figure out the mental gymnastics necessary for someone to come up with that idea.

4. It's also a massive retcon that Solas lies. (Sigh. Yes. It really is. No matter what you believe.) He canonically does not. They rewrote his character for DAI so that he doesn't lie because it weakened the character. He was originally written as much more similar to Blackwall. They decided it weakened Solas as a character and made sure he doesn't lie. He obfuscates, misleads, doesn't answer, and is really good at letting people make assumptions or even leading people to make assumptions. Because that is what a Trickster does! But in all of DAI and Trespasser, he does not lie except once. At the Winter Palace when you ask him where he got the experience of court. No. A 'lie of omission' is not a lie by the definition or philosophical understanding of what a lie is. You, as the player, not paying close attention to what he says doesn’t mean he lies either! He is not the 'god of lies'. That's Epler's hate shining through. Throughout 3 games, many dlcs, books, comics, short stories, the Dread Wolf is known as the Trickster. The god of rebellion and sometimes the god of betrayal. He is never once referred to as the god of lies in anything pre-veilguard. It's. Bullshit.

And Solas is an absolutely terrible liar. He stumbles all over himself trying to do it in the winter palace. It's hilarious tbh.

There were more retcons. But I need to go help with dinner.

Just, even if you liked Veilguard, don't use it as a defense in any sort of discussion of Lore. Perhaps listen to us Lore fiends, instead? Because they shat all over the Lore for Veilguard.

Real talk? It makes you look ignorant to anyone who actually has been paying attention to the Lore.

FWIW? I'm not in the best of moods right now. Please think twice, then a third time before responding/reblogging in disagreement. (Unless you're polite and actually have sources I haven't seen. I'm usually willing to have polite discussions or answer questions. I'm also willing to stand corrected if people actually can prove me wrong with sources attached. A 'nuhn unh, Solas lies cause I believe he does', won't get you far with me.) Nor will using anything from DAV to support an argument. I've relegated DAV to the graveyard of not-canon because of the complete disrespect of the Lore.

And I'll just laugh at you if you try to attack me. Internet randos filling my responses with shit doesn't phase me, bother me in the slightest, or make me upset. I find it incredibly, laugh out loud amusing because I've lived through so much more than that in my life.

[alastorthirsty]

Hooray For Makeup Sex! Chapter 3 - Alastor x f! fallen angel! reader

THIS IS AN EXPERIMENT

Words: 10101

Warnings/promises: Tons of smut, allusions to domestic violence, smoking, alcohol and drug use, angst, fluff, more smut, reader is a very good friend, arguing about work, piv intercourse, Alastor is a jealous man, Alastor says characteristically fucked up things, gelato

Remember the golden rule of fanfiction: You're responsible for your own reading experience! I trust you will stop reading if something bothers you. You're free to suggest tags to me.

Tags (this was originally going to be Herbert Saves The Day part 2 so you’re in the right place): @sirens-and-moonflowers @diffidentphantom @eris-norwega @1crazychick369 @thatbadassauthor @lukneetoonz @milkissesx @chibistar45 @songbirdpond @junieshohoho @modifiedmonster @screaming-potato @reath-solia @babyfoxflower and especially @genderlessdude92 💖💋

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2

Masterlist

Comments and reblogs sustain me <3

There is an eerie lack of sound, even for the night. Sweat, tears, and blood fall onto the nap of ancient velvet rugs that line the hallways of the Hazbin Hotel. Angel tries not to cry, certainly tries not to bleed, but he hasn’t yet gotten a bandage, so he settles for quiet. Silent tears, silent hiccoughs, vision going blurry as he tries his best to stop. He stops several times to lean against the wall or a random door to catch the breath that had just been knocked out of him not five minutes ago. Each time, his fingers tremble as they come up to wipe the contemptible tears that roll down his cheeks. The rosy rouge for the cameras had worn off on the journey between Val’s studio and the hotel.

The silence is somehow deafening. A dumb little saying, an oxymoron, but it’s how he’s perceiving things, and hey, it isn’t like he’s sober to begin with. It is so very quiet that any little creak, any little sigh is amplified through the corridor. He looks around, over his shoulder, around the corners. Didn’t Charlie and Vagina shack up close by?

Please no noise of fucking please no noise of fucking please—

He takes a deep, shaky breath when he stops in front of Room 126. It has been…a long, long time since he came knocking on your door in the middle of the night, scared and heartbroken and so utterly fucking alone. Angel knows he’s being selfish—what is it, four in the morning? But hey, extenuating circumstances, right? If he knows you at all, he knows you’ll come fervently to the rescue, and that brings a happy tear to his eye.

He knocks gently and holds his breath.

Silence.

Angel knocks again, he bites his lip. He knows it’s way too late, he knows, but the shuddering in his body won’t be ignored. He leans against the wall miserably, knocking one more time. He rubs his face and holds his hand out in front of it. His palm is smeared in blood, sweat, and dirt. His fist closes in a claw and the door finally opens—

“Aw, shit,” Angel says, dragging his hand down his face again. “Hey, disco ball.”

Herbert floats closer and closer to Angel, coming up to his height, and he appears to have…an incredible sense of empathy. He wraps his body, such that it was, around Angel, giving him little pats. “It okay. It okay.”

Angel sobs softly, but forces himself not to break down just because a somewhat-purple bag of lights is giving him a hug. He pats Herbert, but his fingers seem to phase through him, somehow. There was pretty much zero chance Angel himself would ever come to understand this creature, beyond the love that you feel for it and how much Alastor blindly hates it.

That’s when he notices his feather boa slowly being pulled away. He smiles at Herbert and helps him take it off, wraps it around him. Feeling glamorous, Herbert spins in place.

“So, uh…I guess this means your mama’s not here,” Angel says in a shaky voice. He sniffles again.

“Mommy?” Herbert says.

Angel nods. “Yeah, if you prefer. As kids, we always said mama, or ma.”

“Mommy!” Herbert takes Angel gently by the arm, somehow (again), and glides through the halls, up a set of stairs, and to door 369. When they stop, Herbert says it again. “Mommy!”

Ah, shit, it has to be Alastor’s room. Angel had feared he would have to do this to get to you, but he can’t stop here. Not now that he’s come so far already, not when…he really needs…

Herbert interrupts his train of thought. “Popcorn?”

Angel gives a laugh that was more of a gasp. “Popcorn? I don’t got it on me, little man.”

“Al has!” Herbert says.

With a deep, steadying breath, Angel lifts a shaking hand to the door and knocks a few times. His eyes close and he swallows, frozen in place, just waiting. He can’t hear any activity inside, but he hears a buzz coming from behind him and all of Angel’s hair stands on end. He can’t breathe for a moment. He turns around.

“He-hey, Alastor,” he says, arms around himself.

“Angel Dust,” Alastor replies, because it’s your preference that he does not call him ‘spider’ any longer.

Somehow it just makes the man more intimidating. Those teeth are glinting, those eyes are sharp. Angel swallows “I, um, is she…in there?”

“More specifically, she is sleeping in there,” Alastor says. “Her rest is particularly important right now, as you know she has not been…physically well.”

“Oh…” Angel closes his eyes and pictures himself mentally. He knows how pathetic he looks. His clothes are all messy from the fight, there’s still dirt and blood on his face, tears streaking down no matter how hard he tries to stop it. He knows how pathetic he looks, goddamn it. He knows, and he knows how disgusted Alastor must be, but he needs you.

“Listen, I, uh…” He rubs one of his arms against another one. “I…you know I wouldn’t even be here at all, knocking on your door, talking to you at all, if I didn’t have to. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t…”

“Feel that you have to,” Alastor supplies, a correction.

Angel swallows again. “If I didn’t need to. I do need…to. I need her, please. I stayed away, I never bothered you, I never asked her to give up a single second of her time with you for me. I never asked you for a thing in all the time I’ve known you, not that I should have, because I may not have the biggest brain around here, but I know better than to need anything from you…”

“How charming,” Alastor says, his head tilting at an angle. The radio static intensifies.

“No, n-no, I don’t mean it as an insult, I mean it as…you know, showing you how damn scary you are, I know you love hearing shit like that. Is that what you want me to tell you? I’d never have to face a fear like this if I didn’t need her more than I need anything in the whole of Hell right now. I’d give anything you wanted, maybe my goddamn soul, if I even had it to give.”

“I have no interest in a joint-venture with Valentino,” Alastor says, checking his nails.

“Right.” Angel closes his eyes and feels more tears fall down his cheeks. “Right.”

He’s mortified, but the tears keep coming and the silent corridor is suddenly filled with little sobs and sniffles as the last of Angel’s dignity pours right out of him. Alastor visibly becomes more and more uncomfortable, his shoulders tensing, his jaw clenched, until he’s forced to speak.

“If you stop,” Alastor says after several long moments, “I will rouse her enough to ask if she thinks it is worth waking up. For what it is worth, I think not, and resent you highly for this, but far be it from me to interrupt the bizarre little friendship that you share. Wait here.”

He doesn’t want to know what it means for Alastor to highly resent him, but within seconds Angel hears your rising voice, demanding to know why Alastor had kept him waiting, and he already feels much more hopeful. There’s some stumbling on the other side of the door, presumably you getting dressed, and when it opens, Angel feels like a new man, almost.

“Oh, Angel, honey, what happened?” Your arms come around him tightly, and he feels at home, like with…Molly…

Alastor sighs. “At least take Herbert with you. He knows he’s not allowed in this room.”

Herbert approaches him anyway. “Popcorn?”

The Radio Demon hums, snaps his fingers, and a red and white bag of popcorn appears. He looks at you. “Dearest, I hope you come back to bed.”

“I’ll just stay over at Angel’s. Oh, if that’s what you want me to do,” you say to the lanky twink in your arms.

“Please,” he begs, his hands raised.

You smile at him and then at Alastor. “You heard the man. I’ll see you tomorrow. Be good, don’t kill anyone that doesn’t need killing.”

Alastor hums in fake outrage and snaps his fingers. “Damn you, woman! Foiled again.”

With that, you laugh and walk up to the next floor with Angel. Herbert follows along, munching on his treat.

“So,” you say when you’re safely behind Angel’s door. “What happened, honey?”

Angel takes a few moments to think before shaking his head. “Something that made me desperate enough to face Alastor just for a shot of being with you tonight.”

He stands up, begins to pace the threadbare rug.

“Here, let me just…” you snap your fingers and all the blood, tears, and dirt disappear from his face.

“Shit, doll,” he says with a trembly chuckle. He sniffs. “What else you got in that bag of tricks?”

“Oh, I have absolutely no idea. Drives Al crazy. He wants me to ‘use my potential’ without me fully understanding what they are. These things, they just come naturally to me. When they present themselves, I intuit them and then…it’s mine forever. I recently removed a bruise from my cheek without any idea that I could do it before it happened. I figured it stood to reason that I would be able to clean your face for you. No puffiness, no nothing. You’re just as beautiful now as when I met you!”

Fresh tears are still coming and Angel’s affirmative response is slurred. He keeps up with his pacing, back and forth, back and forth. Then he suddenly snaps. “Drug time! Time for drugs!”

Your brows draw together with sympathetic concern. “I don’t know, Angie. Maybe you should lay off until you’re feeling at least thirty percent better. I don’t want you going into a drug-induced spiral while you’re already in another spiral. We both know how that turns out.”

He groans loudly. “Okay, Ma, I’ll wait a while before doing a line of coke. A few lines. Many lines.”

“Attaboy,” you say, sitting up in bed and giving him grabby hands. “At least let me hug you.”

Angel chuckles softly and lowers himself to the bed. He really does not want to feel so vulnerable and pitiful as he has been, but at least you would never judge him for it. He knows you to be fiercely loyal, as a friend. You would never judge, never blab about this, not even to Alastor. He doesn’t want to be vulnerable, but of course he loses his fucking shit as soon as your arms are around him. Angel sobs loudly against your neck, his whole body shaking so much that the bed creaks gently. He wraps all six arms around you, holding on for dear life, as if you’ll poof, disappear from his life forever.

You, for one, hold him exactly as he needs to be held. Your arms close around him and the hold is firm, yet gentle. Just enough to remind him that he is loved and protected. Your fingertips push through the soft fluff on his head, playing gently.

“I do mean it,” you offer. “You are still as beautiful as the day I met you. Just as sassy, too. If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to. You are not required to just hand over your vulnerability like that. Just know that I’m here. I’m here with you, and not even my husband can drag me away.”

Angel stops crying for a moment. “Husband?”

You laugh softly and hold up your finger. “Yeah. We decided we’re walking through eternity together, why not be husband and wife? Enough about me, enough about me. Sorry, not intending to make things all about me. Tonight is all about you.”

God, he hates himself for being so covetous of the pure happiness in those few words. He’d give anything to be in love with someone who loves him back. Well, at least he’s got you. That’s something. That’s love.

“I’m not ready to talk about my shit,” he says. “Maybe I won’t ever be. I don’t know. But I do want to know…what’s going on with you and your…situation?”

“My situation?”

Angel nods. “Last time we talked, you said you had an unwanted admirer, outside of Alastor. You were convinced he would end it if he found out. So…did he find out?”

“Angel,” you say gently, “this is your night. I don’t want to make it all about me.”

“What if what I need is for this to be about you for a while?” he asks.

With a little sigh, you begin to fidget at the drawstrings on the pyjama bottoms you had put on. Next you nibble at your already nearly raw lips, then you cross your jostling legs.

“Shit,” Angel says. “It can’t be that bad, can it?”

“It’s fucked,” you admit.

“Giddiyup, buttercup, I gotta know it now.”

Herbert curls up in your lap, his popcorn now entirely eaten; he’d gotten himself all sleepy. You stroke him slowly as you think, still troubling your lip. “He does know, and he didn’t leave me.”

“That much I could tell,” Angel says, nodding. “What does the stalker do?”

“He’s in a…unique position to be the greatest stalker Hell has ever known. He has me followed, he has people taking pictures of me, he takes pictures of me, he aggressively sends roses to me every day at the studio—don’t ask me how it’s aggressive, it’s weird. Just suffice to say. There’s so much more. I just…it terrifies me just to think about it.”

Angel nods, captivated by the misfortune of another person for a moment. Not that he wanted that for you.

You sigh and continue. “He does everything he can to let me know he’s in charge of things. Sometimes he kidnaps me—“

“What? Kidnaps you?”

Now it’s your turn to nod as misery plants itself all across your features. You sigh again and pull your hair up.

“He hacks my phones. I had to destroy them. He always finds me and my phone, no matter how hard I try to protect myself against him. I have no intuitive ability against him, I’m helpless.”

“But…you said Al knows now. Even if you’re helpless against him, which I don’t completely buy, mind you, he should be able to handle it, no worries. Has he?”

You shake your head, jaw clenched. “No. At least not yet.”

The air of incredulity is stifling.

“Why the fuck not?”

You hold up a hand. “Don’t be quick to judge.”

“Who is it?” Angel asks. “You know you can tell me. I won’t tell nobody.”

It takes several moments to build up to a response. Feelings of guilt, fear, and sheer helplessness cause you to pick at your fingernails. “It’s, uh…it’s…Vox.”

The way Angel gasps is borderline comical. “Vox? Vox? Vox?”

Your eyes widen before narrowing. “I don’t know whether or not to be offended.”

“Oh, it ain’t an insult, really! More just…shock? Come to think of it, Val’s been complaining he can’t fuck Vox no more because he’s into somebody. Can’t believe it’s you. Fuck, I’m sorry, doll.”

“So you see, it’s just not feasible for Alastor to just…go in, guns a-blazing. Not yet.”

Angel nods along. “Yeah, yeah, they fought before, right?”

“Yeah, they have. I don’t know the full details. If he wanted to tell me he would have. No, he has this multi-stepped plan for psychological warfare. Stress him out, piss him off, get him desperate, get him sloppy, where he’ll make mistakes.”

“What’s he doing then?”

“Well, he’s done step one,” you say. “He walks me to and from the studio every single day. He can’t appear on camera so the drone footage is warped and glitchy, so Vox can’t feed his obsessions by watching my every step.”

“Why is that?” Angel asks.

“Why is what?”

“His deal with him and video cameras. Is it by choice or by design?”

“Oh, hell, I have no idea. If I ask, he just starts talking about how radio is the proper way to express one’s self and giving him that opportunity is just no bueno. The last time it happened was an accident, actually, it just slipped out of me and he just kept going and going. I was so rude, I just got up and left. He followed me, though, and he never once shut up. He followed me to the library, to the radio tower, to the parlour, everywhere, and never once shut up, ever.”

Angel laughs at that and Fat Nuggets climbs onto his lap. He pets him absently. “So, step one is just to ruin the video. What’s step two?”

“Step two was acquiring the souls of every flower vendor in town and forbidding them to allow any flowers to be sent to me, except for him. Now Alastor is the one sending them. Lilies, tulips, orchids. Vox had a habit of sending roses every day with little messages and gifts.”

“Gifts? What kinds of gifts?”

“Shit that probably had bugs, tracking devices, who knows what else.” You pause. “I feel the need to tell you something you have to promise me you’ll never repeat. Ever. Not even to me.”

Angel nods, completely entranced. “Yeah, of course.”

You take a deep breath and sigh heavily. “I considered it.”

He looks at you blankly. “Considered it?”

“Can I smoke?” you ask, already pulling one from thin air. When Angel lights it for you, you take a deep drag. “So, when we first met it was just like nothing, there was no flirting, no nothing. The first time he sent flowers and a note, I thought…’Man, that would really piss off Alastor.’ We were broken up then, and I was feeling so bitchy and angry, and I thought…But all those fleeting thoughts did was make me miss him more. I missed him so much. I knew Vox was trash. It was never a serious thought, but it was one that crossed my mind.”

Angel chuckles. “Don’t kick yourself around for that. I thought you were going to say something bad. It was petty, but it’s not wrong to think of shitty ways to get back at your ex. That’s actually a franchised sport in hell, toots.”

“Just…not a word, okay? It’s not my proudest moment. Herbert, no.” You bat the little creature away from trying to grab at the cigarette.

“You know your secret’s safe with me. You got way worse dirt on me than that.” Angel leans against your shoulder. “Is it all going to be okay?”

“I’m going to make it all okay,” you say, just as always. “For as ever much I can.”

He tightens his hold on you, all six arms, and you kiss the top of his head. “I know, honey. I know. And I love you.”

“I still don’t wanna talk about it,” he says after a long while, and you nod.

“You don’t have to. Maybe you should change into something more comfortable, though,” you suggest.

Angel actually gets up to do so, which honestly surprises you. He makes a twirling gesture with his wrist. “Go on. Just keep talking to me about stuff. Talk about Alastor.”

“Hm…” You click your tongue a few times in thought. “Oh, I am getting fucked a lot.”

Angel snickers. “Oh really?”

“Yeah, literally morning, noon, and night. He shows up at the studio during my lunch hour, right? He makes one of those pocket dimension thingies and shoves me up against a tree and fucks me so rough and dirty that I have to take extra care not to have any leaves or bark in my hair afterward.”

“Why’s he doing it? How, uh…you seem a bit less shy now, so I’ll just ask, but how often did you do it…before?” Angel crosses his arms.

“At least five times a week. I’ve been fucked 90 times this month, though. I’m not joking. Now I am getting shy, though! So let’s do something else.”

A profound sadness came over Angel’s features. His eyes burn as he tried to hold back a surge of fresh tears.

You rub his back. “What, it makes you sad that Alastor’s hitting it so much?”

He shakes his head, leans against your chest, and he sobs, prompting your arms to wrap around him again. You pat his back gently, then rub gentle circles over it.

“Oh pumpkin,” you say, pressing a kiss to his hair. “What can I do? Tell me what could make you feel better and I’ll do it, my love.”

Angel continues to sob for some time, until his voice becomes hoarse and he just can’t cry any longer.

“Fuck,” he rasps, rubbing his raw, sore eyes. “Fuck, I can’t do this no more. Please, I gotta fucking…”

“No, not until you’re feeling thirty percent better. I mean it, Angel, just trust me and the process. I have no reason to not let you get high other than watching you go down that road too many times. Please, Angie, let’s do something else to make you feel better and then I promise we’ll get super fucked up.”

He closes his eyes as his foggy brain tried to come up with something, anything, not drug-related to calm himself down, to soothe him. Then, it hits him like a Mack truck.

“Oh!” he says. “I know! I don’t know if we can make it, though…”

You give his arm a gentle nudge. “Name it.”

“My Nonna used to make this unbelievable olive oil gelato on Christmas and Easter…”

“That sounds really good!” You stand up and pull him to his feet. “Let’s go downstairs! We’ll make it and I’ll keep anyone from disturbing us. I’ll close everything off.”

“It kinda takes a while to set up…”

“Not for Angels it isn’t. I’ll get it frosty right away, we just have to make the base.”

Angel cracks a smile for the first time in a while. “All right. Let’s do it.”

In the kitchen, he plays music. It’s obscene, but you expect nothing less from him. You use magic to block the doors off and soundproof the room and Angel finds a recipe he approves of.

It’s actually quite simple, too. Blend together sweetened condensed milk, extra virgin olive oil, and vanilla, then whip the cream, then fold it into the mixture, then just a little more magic makes it smooth and cold.

Angel sits upon the cupboard with his bowl and spoon, scarfing it down with gusto. He tells tales, the way his Nonna dragged him to Midnight Mass, the first time she let him have a sip of grappa, how she looked the other way when he started kissing boys. You smile more and more as you listen to him, laughing, eating the smooth gelato. When the bowls and spoons are magicked clean and the doors open, Angel stands tall.

“So,” he says. “Ready to get fucked up?”

“Let’s have one of our classic sleepovers!” You say. “I’ll go get copious amounts of alcohol. Do you have any coke?”

That makes him snicker and lift a brow. “That husband of yours okay with you doing coke?”

“Never stopped me before!” You kiss his cheek. “I’m just going to say goodnight to him and get the booze. I’ll leave my shadow with you, just in case you feel lonely. She’s very supportive!”

Your shadow wraps her arms and wings around Angel’s shadow.

He looks at you with a bit of wonder. “What exactly is your fuckin’ superpower, bitch face?”

You smile and shrug. “Like I said, who knows? Want to play Cum Sluts Vs Zombies?”

“Now we’re talking!” Angel says excitedly. “I’ll go find all the coke. I have to hide it now or Fat Nuggets will eat it.”

“Probably a good idea to keep Herbert away from it too. God knows what he’s capable of doing, all coked up. Or at all. I’m still not sure what all he can do, aside from stealing my jewellery. Okay!” You clap your hands together. “I’ll meet you back in your room with the hooch. You’ll be fine with Her.”

“Her?”

You point to the wall where your shadow cuddles his. “Her.”

With a wink and a blown kiss you’re gone, making your way upstairs to Alastor’s room. It hurt to see Angel suffer so much, but things were looking up, even if substance abuse was involved. A little now and then in hell couldn’t hurt. You smile when you see the light under the door come into view.

You open the door. “Al?”

He looks up from the book he’s reading by the fire. “Oh, quelle surprise. My lovely wife, sans spider.”

“He has a name,” you insist as you come to stand before him. He has to start getting that right, to start acknowledging the people that are part of your life, even if he doesn’t accept them into his.

“Angel Dust.” The book closes and Alastor stands. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

You smile at him. “I just wanted to say goodnight.”

“Why? I don’t sleep,” he says.

“But I do. Eventually. Maybe not until tomorrow afternoon. You won’t be seeing me for a while so I thought I would come say goodnight, a brief goodbye until I’ve sobered up enough for you to ravage my fucking body.”

He rolls his eyes. “Cocaine again? Really, it’s so pedestrian. That’s what poor veterans used to take after the Great War, cocaine and heroin.”

“And alcohol. Promises to be a wild night.” You wink at him. “But I missed you while I was gone. I’ll miss you more when the feelings are intensified by massive amounts of blow and vodka.”

Now he sighs and moves his monocle so that he can rub his eye. “Darling, for one you know I do not approve of vodka in any of its forms, and I don’t think—“

“You saw him,” you say in a gentle tone, squeezing his forearm. “You saw how he was. I’ve spent the past few hours cuddling him better, but that only gets so far with him. Now he needs to be free from thinking of it for a while. Come on. I’m your wife, and I’m his friend. Stand by me.”

He sighs again and rolls his eyes. “Fine. No phones, though. Do not even touch his. Do not let him so much as point the camera at you.”

You nod along. “I’m going to take his phone away from him anyway, when he’s on coke he has a tendency to text…unwise statements to Valentino. I’ll put it in a Faraday cage.”

His eyes light up and he stands straighter. “That’s actually quite a good idea. Maybe we should keep you in a Faraday cage.”

You scoff and push his shoulder gently, but then he suddenly pushes yours until your back touches the wall, and then he leans down to kiss you.

After a few moments, though admittedly blissful, you break apart. “No, no, not now, not now, I can’t. Angel is waiting.”

Alastor lifts a brow. “I think this is the only time you have ever denied me. What a new feeling.”

“Is it?” You tilt your head. “All the same, I should still—“

“I will wager that I can make you come in two minutes or less,” Alastor challenges.

You can’t help the smile that works its way to your features. “A bet, huh? What are the terms?”

“When I win, I am going to fuck you so hard you will be walking a slight bit funny when you go back to the spider’s chambers.”

“Angel Dust,” you correct.

“Indeed. Angel Dust. And if I lose, which I will not…”

You wait for a moment. “If you lose you can’t give me any kind of shit about all the booze and blow I’m going to consume tonight.”

His shoulders tense for a second before he relaxes again. “Very well. I will not even mention it. If I lose. I most certainly will if I win.”

You laugh, your hand on his stupid, precious face. “Yeah, I know, I know!”

“Are you ready?” he asks, pressing you against the wall again.

“You don’t want to do this in bed?”

“Nope.” Alastor easily reaches into your pyjama bottoms and stares right into your eyes as he touches you. “Aw, look at that. Already wet for me. Tell me, what did it for you?”

His fingertips, now blunted, move smoothly through your folds at the slick gathered in them. His grin turns lascivious, self-congratulatory.

Your head tilts back against the wall and you bite your lip when you smile at him. “What am I to do, apologise that you can get me wet?”

“No,” he says, “I just assumed it would take effort.”

You laugh softly, pull him down and kiss him. Rather quickly, though, you’re moaning against his lips. His middle and ring fingers slip inside you and his thumb works against your clit. Your grip on him holds more firmly, and he becomes bolder. Brazen, even.

“Ah, look at you,” he whispers against your lips, his fingers working faster, that fucking ‘come hither’ of his. “Coming apart for me, as always. Relax, darling, enjoy yourself. That is the point, and I want to see how soon I get you there.”

“Trust me, I’m not fighting it,” you whisper, your breath mingling with his.

He leans closer. “You’re such a good girl for me.”

That’s all it took. Your thighs clench around his hand, your pussy clenches around his fingers, and you’re screaming for him.

“Atta gal,” he says, grinning down at you.

“How long was that?” you ask, panting.

“Exactly one minute and forty-two seconds,” Alastor says, now pushing you over to the bed.

You laugh playfully, pulling his coat off of his shoulders. “Damn, that easy, huh?”

“Quite the contrary, my love,” he says, shoving you into the mattress. “It is not that it is easy to do, I simply know you. I know your body, every little bit of it, and it is so utterly and completely mine that I know how to play it perfectly. Every note, composed by me. Now, would you prefer to be on your belly or your back?”

“Hm.” You test the positions. “My back this time. I have mattress burn on my knees from earlier.”

“Poor thing.” He presses you down harder, a smirk on his face, when he completely rips away the clothes you’re wearing. His hands move up and down your sides, grazing over little marks his teeth had left earlier in the night. “Say it.”

“Say what?” you ask, chills on your skin from the heat of his fingertips.

His forehead touches yours; his hand dips down below your waist again, fingers moving in and out, keep you stimulated. “Say how much you love it. Say how much you need it. How much you need me.”

“Oh, darling, isn’t it apparent?” you ask, kissing your way up the side of his neck. “I could never have enough of you. Such a thing could never exist. I’ll hunger for you every day of my life until the end of it all. I love every fleeting moment your hands are on my skin. Your touch warms every part of me and leaves me wanting more. I need you so much, Alastor. Words are inadequate.”

Alastor’s free hand comes to cup your cheek. “You are all there could ever be. Understood?”

You smile at him and lean into his hand. “Yeah, understood.”

He carefully pulls his hand out from between your legs and quickly gets his pants open. His clothes disappear and he’s on you again, so deep inside you, and pushing further and further in.

“Goddamn,” you gasp, hanging onto him. He’s knocking the breath out of you, your diaphragm working overtime just to get enough oxygen flowing through your body. Your fingers finally dig into the fur on his back, hanging on for dear fucking life. You manage one single word: his name, spoken breathlessly in the crook of his neck.

One of his hands grips your hip so hard that it leaves blue marks, the other holds your head by the hair, twisting in it.

“Say it again,” he growls. “Who do you belong to?”

The way he’s slamming in and out of you makes it even harder to breathe, let alone speak, so it takes several moments for you to muster it.

“You, Al,” you whisper. “You.”

He shoves your right knee aside so that he can go deeper. The hand in your hand travels down to your throat. “You beautiful, beautiful little thing.”

He doesn’t squeeze, but he doesn’t have to. Never does. All it takes is the weight of his hand against your throat to push you ever the edge. Your pussy clenches around him, making him grunt, and he relishes every little moan and gasp that escapes your lips. For good measure, he fucks you harder and harder until his orgasm nearly breaks him.

“Oh my God,” you exclaim when you get up to dress after. A pleasurable little ache.

He smirks. “I told you that you would be walking a tad bit funny. Enjoy the alcohol and cocaine, dearest. I will be nagging you about it the next time that I see you.”

You blow him one final kiss goodbye before leaving the room. When you get up to Angel’s, two bottles of vodka in hand, that little wobble in your step, wearing different clothes after being gone for quite a while…

Angel cocks a brow at you, grinning. “You whore.”

###

The comedown from the coke was chased by alcohol and six hours of playing video games before you fell asleep together, with Fat Nuggets and Herbert nestled between you. When you finally woke up, it was only to find a quick note from Angel thanking you for being there for him and letting you know he’d left for Val’s studio/fuck-chamber. You sit up, stretch, and luxuriate in the fact that you’ve never had a hangover in your life, not even in hell. You make sure to give Nuggets before leaving him with his cartoons. Herbert slips out of the room with you, still wrapped up in Angel’s purple boa.

“You’re looking rather glamorous,” you say, smiling at him as you walk downstairs. “What a dapper little guy you are. You were so good last night! You’re going to have lots of apples today. Come on, I’ve got to wash all the coke and booze off of me and then we’ll go downstairs and get some breakfast. Or lunch. Maybe dinner? I’m not sure what time it is and I had to throw out my smart watch.”

You open your door and jump about ten feet when you see someone on your bed, but it’s just Alastor.

“Jesus Christ!” you exclaim, followed with frustration. “Herbert, go sit on him, he’s an asshole.”

This backfires; Alastor actually pats Herbert’s new feathers and lets him sit in his lap. “For your information, my love, it is one in the afternoon. I expected you much later.”

“Wait, then why are you here already?” you ask.

Alastor lifts a brow and crosses his arm. Herbert bounces up and down in his lap. “Am I not welcome in here just as you are welcome in mine?”

“You are, of course.” You sit beside him and kiss him. “How did you fill up all your time while waiting for me?”

“Work-related pursuits,” Alastor assures you. “I believe you said something about a shower.”

“You heard that?”

“I could hear a mouse breathe if I wanted to.”

“You’re so full of shit,” you say before standing.

“Would you like a bit of proof?” he offers.

“No, there’s no actual way to prove it, I can’t perceive things for you. But I did say I was going to take a shower. I spilt a good bit of vodka on myself and that I know you heard. It was a reasonable distance.” You kiss him quickly. “I’ll be fast.”

“I have no doubt in that, my dear,” he says before opening his book again.

When you return, towelling your hair, you sit down beside him again and he sets aside his book.

“Why did you come here to wait for me? Surely you know I’d seek you out.” you ask.

Alastor fiddles with his book. “I did not want to miss out on any quality nagging time, but the longer I sat here the more I pondered something.”

You lean your head on his shoulder and kiss his neck. “And what was that? Vox vengeance?”

“No, although I did have some new ideas about that last night after the spi—after Angel Dust stole you from my bed.” Alastor presents an apple to Herbert, who takes it to his nest. “I have something to speak about and it is very important to me. I have been modestly pushing for this for months and now I am going to assert it. Now, play with my ears.”

“That’s what you’re asserting?” you ask, putting a pillow in your lap and pulling him down to it.

“No, merely a bonus.” He closes his eyes when you touch his ear. “I am here to aggressively pursue the idea of moving to my hotel room.”

You smile as you look down at him. “No. I’m not living in a bayou.”

“It is a swamp,” he corrects.

“All the same. I respect that it’s for you, but it took a long time just for me to get used to sleeping in there, I don’t think I can live with it full-time.”

Alastor tenses, regardless of the sensory pleasure. “Then move into the room next door and we will open the doors between them when the situation calls for it.”

“How is that any different?”

“It isdifferent to me,” he insists before sitting up and taking your hands in his. “A lot has happened. Many things have transpired that change the nature of our relationship irrevocably. This is not the same as it used to be. We lived this way when we were not even in a proper relationship and now we are married. It is no longer tenable. I simply cannot live this way anymore. I want you with me. Just as you respect my living arrangement, I respect yours, but that does not mean change is not necessary.”

After a few seconds, you nod. “I see that. Okay. I have my own swamp-free space next door and at night I simply walk through the door to sleep with you, full time.”

He perks up. “Really? That is a commitment you are willing to make?”

“For you?” You smile at him and pull him back down to the pillow. “Of course I will. I was being a little selfish.”

“You were not,” he says. “My living space is unique, that is true, and I appreciate that you have never once attempted to change it. I respect that.”

“And Herbert can stay in my space,” you suggest.

“I can live with him being next door, never crossing over.”

“And Charlie won’t mind?”

Alastor waves the thought away. “It is the same amount of rooms used, and anyway, she more or less leaves me to my own devices and does not ask questions. I am the host of the hotel, after all.”

“Then it’s official. We’ll do it.” Your fingers move on to his antlers, which instantly branch out. “I love you.”

“And I you, beloved,” he says. “Now, I believe we have some time to make up for.”

“Make up for what?”

His hand touches your thigh and he takes you through the dark, to his bed. He shoves you down onto it.

“The way that I look at it, we should have been intimate by now. Twice,” he adds.

You smile and chuckle softly. “You’re insatiable.”

“Merely reacting to hormones and stimuli,” he says, eagerly taking off your shirt. Alastor nips your ear lobe, his tongue trails down your neck. “I love to pleasure you.”

Your eyes flutter closed and your fingers mesh through his hair, grasping, but not too hard. You knew each other’s bodies well. You moan when his nimble fingers conquer the clasp of your bra and the clothing is pulled away from your body. Your heart is already racing with the sheer potential of this, this shared moment. When he kisses you, your fingers go straight to the little buttons on his shirt.

His tongue is deep in your mouth when his scarred chest is finally revealed to your roaming hands. His shoulder twitches when your fingers pass along a particular long, deep scar, but he makes no move to stop you. When they trail lower, down to the zipper on his trousers, he growls and shoves you down onto the bed.

He runs his hand through his hair before looking down at you, how he’s holding you there. “You smell so sweet and I’ve hardly even touched you yet. I can tell that you’re wet and I haven’t even touched you there—yet. Look at you. Shameless. Brazen in your lust. Mine.”

Just before you speak, one hand completely covers your mouth, pressing you down harder against the mattress, while the others yanks off the bottoms you put on after the shower. The touch is rough, but not violent. Your sense of safety is never once violated. All you can feel is arousal and intense anticipation.

“Not a word,” he commands when his hand leaves your lips. He doesn’t pay attention to your nod of acknowledgment, but getting the rest of his clothes off; when they’re gone, he holds you down again, his hand covering your mouth again. “If you thought last night was intense, you should adjust your expectations and spread those pretty legs wide. For the next few hours, you will be in this bed. You will be fucked again and again. You will thank me for it, if you know what’s good for you. Do you understand me? Nod your head.”

You do, feeling a surge of heat between your legs before the head of his cock presses against you, rubbing along the lips of your pussy.

“You really do feel perfect,” he admits. “So good for me. Are you ready?”

The kiss you pressed to his palm was all the indication he needed before he pushed into you, all at once, bottoming out. His hand slips his hand away from your mouth, but he’s still pressing you down into the mattress.

“You beautiful fucking thing,” he says, his strokes hard, rough. “You feel so soft, so warm. I can hear how fast your heart is beating for me. I can hear how hard it is for you to take breath. You are the loveliest sight I have ever seen, every time, every day.”

He reaches down between you, his fingertips swirling around your clit. A soft moan escapes your lips, and he chases that. He chases every little moan, every muffled little gasp, chases them like they’re his own breath. When your pussy clenches around him he moans, too.

“You were made for my cock,” he says, fucking you harder and harder. “Your whole existence, that’s what you were fucking made for, my beautiful little dancer, all worked up, just for me.”

“Yes,” you whisper breathlessly.

He smirks. “So obedient, darling. That’s a good girl. Tell me, what were you created for? Piqué turns, or this?”

You’re quickly losing your breath again, and Alastor is not a patient man. He grabs your chin and forces your eyes to meet his.

“Were you made to twirl around a stage?” he asks.

“No,” you whisper, a rasp of a sound.

“Was your little cunt made solely for me?” Alastor asks, his pace brutal.

You cry out and nod as quickly as you can. “Yes, yes!”

His breath lingers over yours as he nods, apparently unable to speak again, not just yet. His eyes close and you look up at him with such long and wanting. Your pussy flutters around him as the pleasure gets closer and closer, grows, and the pressure around his cock forces his eyes open again.

“Oh, you’re filthy,” he says, fucking you harder and harder. His tongue flicks up to touch his lip. “Such a good fucking pussy. I’m going to do this to you every goddamn day, and you’re going to thank me for it, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes,” you breathe, nodding as his hands grip your hips just a tad too tight.

“Good girl,” he says. “Good fucking girl.”

You gasp loudly, diaphragm working hard again. “For you?”

He gives an amused little huff. “For me, for eternity.”

You’re not the only one breathing a little harder, but for the most part he ignores the burn in his chest. There’s something so much better, so much more meaningful and important—namely those delicious little trembles of those thighs wrapped around him. He can tell that you’re getting close and he’s considering how merciful he should be. Let you come, or make you work for it?

He starts to rub your clit again and takes in all the little moans and throaty breaths that fall from your pretty lips. He wants to bite them. He wants to see that little wrinkle between your brows that always forms when you come, and he wants to see it now. He lets out a sharp gasp when he feels how your pussy is squeezing him. Not long now. He’s never fucked anyone else, but he still believes with all of himself that you’re still better than any other woman possibly could be. He’s never wanted anyone else, ever, hadn’t thought it was possible, until he did.

He’s pulled out of this little reverie when you shout and he realises just how close you really are. His fingers work quicker on your clit. “Come for me, sweet girl. Come for me.”

It’s always so beautiful when you come. That little crease he’d been wanting to see, but also the way your lips part. The feeling of your tight pussy fluttering and clenching around him, the feel of your chest heaving against his, and he doesn’t stop rubbing your clit until your whole body is shaking. He never normally does this without express permission, but he bites down on the side of your neck until a few drops of golden blood collect on his tongue.

That’s when the pleasure is almost unbearable. He comes inside of you, thick ropes running up your walls, and he pumps into you a few more times just for good measure before falling onto the bed beside you.

“Fuck,” he whispers against your shoulder before kissing it. “So fucking good.”

You’re still catching your breath, which makes him smirk. He wraps his arms around you.

“Come here,” he says, grabbing you closer, tucking your head under his chin. At the same time, he uses his fingers to shove cum back inside of you. He does that a lot, actually…

“Holy fuck,” you whisper breathlessly before laughing.

“Indeed, my darling. Holy fuck.” Alastor gives you a little squeeze. He swallows. “You are all that I love.”

You smile when you remember the last time he’d used that exact phrase. “I love you too.”

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he says. “You have fifteen minutes before I take you again, and there shall be no mercy this time.” 

“Someone is waiting for you,” Natasha says quickly, marching past you quite quickly. It was lunch hour at the studio and every single dancer and instructor present knew not to go to the dressing rooms. You practically skip on the way there, whistling a tune Alastor had played yesterday evening during his radio broadcast. You catch a glance at yourself as you walk down the mirrored hallway, the lights bright, your leotard, practice tutu, and bun in perfect condition.

When you open the door, you see Alastor fumbling with something.

“What are you up to, troublemaker?” you ask.

“Hello, darling,” he says. “I am trying to figure out this device.”

You take a look. “That’s a balancing pad. Alastor, leave that alone, you’ll pop it.”

“What joy does this give you?” he asks, the tip of his staff now touching the delicate tulle and silk of your tutu. “Hm? This really is quite revealing. Ballet is thought to be so prudish but I can see the entirety of your gorgeous legs in this manner of dress.”

“Alastor if there’s blood on that—“

“Yes, I know, you’ll teach Herbert a new word. You know, that threat is rather…blunted, now. He says something new every day.” He smirks and moves closer to you. “There’s no blood, darling. I can touch you as much as I like.”

“Well, at least use your hands!”

And that was all the invitation he needed. Yes, he was very careful in removing the tutu, pulling it off of your body and onto a nearby clean surface, but that was the last thoughtful incident.

You, however, have other plans. Before he can summon up a swamp, you push him down onto his back on the rug.

He looks flummoxed. “Exactly what do you think you are doing, my darling?”

“I want it this way,” you say, and he flips your positions so quickly that it jars you. You’re on your belly, your cheek pressed against the rug.

Alastor gives an amused little chuckle when he pulls aside the crotch of your leotard, his thumb creating a hole and stretching it just wide enough. “I can see that you’re feeling like a rather naughty girl today. I can accommodate that, and quite gladly, I might add. If you move out of this position, if you so much as lift your head, I will punish you.”

There was no such thing as ‘funishment’ when it came to Alastor, but his promise makes you grin nonetheless.

“Not too hard, please,” you say softly. “I still have to dance after.”

“I am aware of your activities and will not stand in the way of your success, however much I would like for you to finally quit, but that is neither here nor there. Now spread your legs for me, slut.”

You try so hard not to giggle when he says that, and you do manage to cover it up as a slight cough into the rug. If he sees through the ruse, he says nothing of it. You do as you’re told, spreading your thighs wide for him, and he continues to stretch and pull at your tights until they rip further and further. 
“Don’t worry about it,” you tell him. “I have like five extra pairs in my dance bag.”

“Lovely.” He just rips the fabric away now, stretching the material as much as he needs.

“Now,” he says, lowering down behind you as you breathe against the rug. “I want you to beg.”

You hear a bemused little chuckle when he touches your pussy and finds it as wet as ever. There’s a zip and then you can feel his cock against your lower back.

He presses you down harder against the rug. “I said beg.”

You take a few deep breaths, eyes closing. “Alastor, please. I need you to fuck me in this tiny little room with the paper thin walls that anyone can come into at any time. There’s not even a lock on the door. I need you to fuck me, please, fuck me here against this rug. Please, love, please.”

“You make a very compelling argument,” he muses, the blunt tip of his cock right against your entrance. “I suppose I should give you what you want. . .”

“What I need,” you supply. 
“Well, if you need it. . .” Alastor, for the first time in days, pushes in slowly, almost lazy in its hedonism. His lips press against the back of your neck, and presses a kiss there. His arm comes around you as he fucks you, holding your hips the way that he wants them. All of his movements command control.

“Alastor. . .” You moan loudly. “You just fit. You fill me so perfectly. . .”

As he fucks you, deeper and deeper, a static growl emerges from his throat. “Say that again right now.”

“You fill me so fucking good, Al,” you whisper hoarsely. Your breath comes in uneven spurts as he pumps in and out of you. “You’re all I want, you’re what I need. . .”

He’s relentless now, but you can tell he’s keeping himself under control so that you can still dance properly once this is over. It brings a smile to your face, full of love and wonder. He hits your g-spot and you moan loudly, legs shaking.

Alastor lets out an amused chuckle. “Careful, darling. We would not want for everyone in this corps to hear what kind of desperate slut you are, hm?”

“God, I don’t know why it makes me fucking gush when you say shit like that but it does, what does that say about me?”

This time he laughs outright. “Because I am touching on the truth without touching it completely. I can call you a slut whilst the both of us know that it is limited to me. A slut for me. It makes you feel. . .closer, in a way. More intimate.”

“Does it make you feel closer? More intimate?” you ask.

“It embodies the power that I have over you, the control that you give to me. I think it is. . .different than what you feel, but I would say it’s equivalent in its effect. Darling, you’re squeezing me so good. . .”

You’re panting now. “Fuck, I’m so close.”

Your orgasm is a breath away, simmering beneath the surface, and he’s working harder and harder to force it out of you as quickly as possible, and. . .why make the man wait?

You cry out quietly, or as quietly as you are able, as your body trembles, your pussy clenching down around him, forcing a loud grunt from deep in his chest.

“Fuck,” he whispers against the column of your neck. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Pretty soon you’re both gasping for air as his cock spurts inside of you. When he pulls out, as he’s been doing here lately, he pushes cum back inside of you. It’s a tad odd, but never off-putting or even notable enough to comment on. If it’s what he wants to do, you won’t stop him from something so trivial.

When he lets you stand up, your stumble over to your dance bag to change your tights and leotard. “You see, I’ve been telling you how insatiable you are these days.”

“I’m not the one that shoved you down onto the rug first, my love,” he points out. “I believe it was I that hit the rug before you did, I simply followed your lead and had you ‘gushing’ on my cock. That was the word you used, wasn’t it?”

You laugh from your position in front of the mirror. Your bun definitely needed to be redone, so you pull out the elastic and reach for a hairbrush. “Yeah, gush.”

“See? My own dirty little slut.” His arms wrap around you from behind and he leans his head down to kiss the side of your neck.

You chuckle loudly. “You’re messing me up!”

Alastor takes the brush away from you and does it himself. “Oh, that girl I sent for you, what is her name?”

You had to think for a moment. “I think it was Natasha? If I’m remembering who came to me correctly.”

“Ah, Natasha.” Alastor ties the elastic in your hair again. A perfect high bun. “If she speaks to me again I will pull her spine through her throat.”

“Strong words,” you say. “I’ll make sure she knows. They’re all very, very afraid of you, even the instructors.”

“And no one will ever dare say a word to you about that,” Alastor says proudly. “They know what’s good for them.”
 You smile at the mirror and then turn around to kiss him. “I love it when you visit.”

“And I have no intent to stop coming to visit. Perfect couple, honestly,” he says.

“Perfect couple indeed.”

He picks up his staff and twirls it. “Now. When shall I expect you to return to me tonight?”

You wince in anticipation of his next words. “Late rehearsals. You’ll just have to wait to get me when you’ll get me.”

“Quit.” he says loudly. “Just quit.”

“You know that I’m not going to, so why are you always pushing for it? I don’t want to end this interaction on a bad note, I don’t want us to part in anger. The performances are two weeks away and opening night is going to be huge for us, two of the Sins will be attending.” Technically three, since Lucifer had his ticket and let it be known that he would be present, but now wasn’t the time to tell Alastor that.

“Which Sins? Wait, I do not actually care which Sins are in attendance. Fine. If it gives you joy, then I will not stand in the way—but you will rest. I am not ‘playing’ with you, you will take proper time to rest and recover on the days you do not perform. Things are out of control. As if polar spells were not enough, you’re coming home exhausted.”

“Okay, okay! I promise I’ll find more time to rest, as long as you promise not to keep talking about this,” you say. “No nagging when I’m in compliance.”

“Fine,” he says eventually. He looks at his pocket watch and puts it back. “Now is the time for us to part, my love. I expect you’ll be coming to me as soon as you are done?”

You nod. “And you’ll get Mexican food?”

“Yes, all that you want.”
 You smile at him and kiss him. “Thanks, my love. Go on a killing spree. There’s supposed to be some sort of parade today, maybe start there.”

“I believe I shall! Until tonight, dearest.”

“Until tonight.”

Once he’s gone, you take your water bottle to the sink for a refill and head back up front. Rehearsals stretched on for hours still, and when it was finally over, you were dead on your feet.

You’re just scooping your bag up from the floor when Natasha comes up to you again, but this time there’s something different.

“Someone’s waiting for you,” she says, just like before. “Back there. Someone is waiting for you.”

She’s gone before you can even thank her.

Fuck, had he even left at all? You pull the strap of your dance bag over your shoulder and head to the back. You head for the same room as before. When you touch the doorknob, there’s a pop of static, zapping your fingertips.

“Shit,” you say, looking down at your hand as you enter the room. “I just shocked the fuck out of myself.”

“Sorry about that, my love.”

You look up from your hand instantly and your lips fall apart.

“Vox,” you say softly, backing up to the door. “You shouldn’t be here. You can’t be here.”

“I know that he’s made it very hard for us,” he says, advancing on you until you’re close enough to take your hands in his. There’s no static this time, but it still feels as though his hands burn through yours. “I know that he’s selfish, that he hides you from me, that he doesn’t want us to be together.”

“I don’t want us to be together,” you manage to say before gulping hard. The hands in his shake, tremble.

Vox just chuckles. “Of course you do. He’s not here, there’s no need to pretend.”

When you shudder again, it’s from the cold. The intense, bone-biting cold that floods your body. You can’t stop shaking, but this can’t happen, not now!

“Vox, go. Go now.”

“What’s the matter?” he asks, tilting his flattened head.

You push him away weakly, but it does nothing. You sink down to your knees, trembling out of control as your skin grows lighter from the cold.

Vox sinks down next to you, pulls you into his arms.

“Ssh, it’s okay,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’ve got you.”

[dollwrites]

ᴛʀᴀɪɴɪɴɢ ɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅs ┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° sᴇᴘʜɪʀᴏᴛʜ

ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔ ｔｙｐｅ ┊ standalone

ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔ ｗａｒｎｉｎｇｓ ┊ smut ( minors dni ), mentor/student, tummy bulge, orgasm denial, all characters featured are aged 18+

ｉｍｐｏｒｔａｎｔ ┊ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

“Faster,” the word is a husky, bubbling whisper from Sephiroth’s lips, one that you didn’t see him shape the syllables of, but one that still shook you to your core nonetheless. as his pleasure sounds always did. “Harder.” you wanted to do what he commanded, even as your thighs trembled, and your feet turned inwards— your balance on your tippy toes threatening to slip away and have you tumbling face first into the dirt beneath them, you attempted to plant yourself firmer, and buck backwards. your ass cheeks slap against the leather of his coat and trousers as he stood, his clothes half undone and hanging from his chiseled frame. your own uniform had been completely discarded in a flurry of black and silver, and now lay in a defeated puddle of fabric and metal at your feet. with each smack and squish of your flesh against his solid thighs, his taut abdomen, you feel the might of his cock as it barrels through your core, and you cry out in ecstasy.

your walls flutter, happy to receive such a heaping offering of cock, and you hear a low hum from behind you— emanating from the depths of your mentor’s chest, and realize that he’s sealed his couplet to keep the moan from surfacing. even without attempting to look over your bare shoulder at him, you knew the sound well, and the visage that typically accompanies it. a knitting of thin, grey brows, and the little wrinkle that forms between them when he feels you clamp down on him just right. a rolling back of his olive gaze, the vertical slits blown out with lust until the pupils nearly overtake the entire iris. a tightening of his jaw muscles, and a bulging of the vein on his neck, so easily shrouded by silver tresses.

“Still so far from orgasming, yet you tighten around my cock as if you’re already begging for cum.” you can practically hear the subtle curve of Sephiroth’s mouth as he teases you, yet doesn’t move an inch out of position. flat footed and relaxed, with his hands not clinging to your hips, but still and straight at his sides. “What’s the matter? Just can’t help yourself?”

“Nn-nn…” you answer, unashamed of your eager reply. it was impossible to deny it anyways, what with the way you milked him now.

“The second you get my cock inside you, you forget all about pleasing yourself, no? Only servicing me matters?”

you nod, but the tepid pace, only what you could muster whilst also struggling to balance, was also frustrating you. of course, taking him fully to the hilt was pleasurable— to feel your lower tummy bulging in the shape of his cock when your netherlips kiss his base— but this speed was not nearly enough to make you cum. what you really wanted; nay, what you really needed to find fulfillment was the harsh grip of Sephiroth’s hands on your hips, the strength and quickness with which he typically fucked you, and the dizzying sensation of being tossed about a raging storm of his desire.

he would give you none of that today.

“P-please, Sephiroth… fuck, I need—“ your breath is ragged, your words threatening to tie your tongue into knots as you struggle through the plea, “I need it!”

he knew already what you were asking for, but he doesn’t reach for your hips. he does, however, shift behind you, but only to cross his massive arms over his broad chest, and with a tilt of his head, he taunts you once more. “You lost, 2nd Class.” he mutters. perhaps Sephiroth, who was also enjoying the tightness of your warm cunt, wanted to give in to your request and plow you silly, but he was showing restraint. even as his hips twitched, begging to boost your rhythm by beating themselves against your ass, he remains stoic. “You know the rules.”

you did, much to your own loathing. sparring with Sephiroth in the training room had rules. one such rule being that the loser ( you, more often than not ) would get no reward for their poor form.

your interior flutters and spasms around his thick, veiny cock, and Sephiroth allows a sigh to slip through his tiers, a sound of approval. “I’m going to cum, you know.” his rumbling baritone drops to a whisper as he leans close, one hand freeing itself and careening around your lower belly. it plants itself there, fingertips barely flicking and rubbing at your engorged button to coax a helpless mewl from your lips, and encourage your innards to tighten around him still. your head droops forward, chin tucked to your breasts.

“F-fuck—“

that’s when Sephiroth lips caressed the shell of your ear, his voice low with dastardly intent, but the smile remains upon them. “I could easily strum your little cunt, and give you that pleasure, too…” his voice trails off, but his fingers do not mirror his words. they rub in torturously slow circles, until you’re begging under your breath. “But I won’t,” he asserts, finally. “I’ll play with you just enough to keep it tight and drooling, until I cum, and then I’ll pull out and leave you begging for a release that will not come this day, or any of those that follow. Until you can best me properly.”

[saturnville]

for me, baby | kelvin harrison jr.

pairing: kelvin harrison jr x black fem oc summary: in which she flips the switch. warnings: 18+ steam. suggestive content. wc: 770 something. an: one of my goals as a writer was to enhance my detail, so I challenged myself to put as much as possible within a certain word limit. hope y'all enjoy. may or may not continue this based on reception <3 remember: likes are nice, but reblogs and comments are encouraged!

tags: @kirayuki22 @greedyjudge2 @notapradagurl7 @irishmanwhore @honeytoffee @theogbadbitch @jazziejax @kumkaniudaku

"Be a good boy and say it for me, baby." 

The words coiled around his spine, wound tight like a violin tuned too sharp. She’d never spoken to him like this before. Not with that voice—low, deliberate, dripping with something too smooth to be an accident. Her sweet voice was replaced by something much darker, sensual, and commanding. 

He should’ve responded. He was quick-witted and always had a rebuttal, but for the first time, his mouth felt heavy and useless. His brain couldn’t compute a response no matter how hard the nuts and bolts fought to assist the gears in turning. 

He squirmed under her gaze. Those pretty eyes he had fallen in love with had done more than crack the cacoons that held the butterflies still in his stomach—no, they commanded a war that stirred his loins in a way he’d never experienced before. It was a delicious disruption of the status quo.

She had always been the soft one. The one who let him lead, guide, and direct; she let him dictate the rhythm of their push and pull. And yet, here she stood—calm and expectant as if she hadn’t taken Poseidon’s trident and wielded the tides so effortlessly, tilting the balance of power with a single sentence. 

His fingers twitched at his sides. There was an ache in his joints, a slow burn that grew hotter when she took a measured step closer. Close enough for him to smell the arousal between her legs. Close enough to feel the warmth of her breath fan across his jaw, which fell slack to make room for a shuddered breath to pass through. 

His pulse stumbled. Her eyes followed the thump, thump, thump that presented itself beneath his exposed collarbone. And she smiled—heaven help him—the smile that would have him handing her his wallet and telling her to swipe his card whenever and wherever. But it wasn’t innocent. Not sweet. Borderline rude if he had to admit it. She planned it. 

His teeth found his bottom lip, dragging across it as he exhaled slowly and shaky. “Where are you going with this?” He murmured, though his voice lacked its usual tenor and conviction. 

She tilted her head slightly, considering him. Her hair draped over her shoulder as she took another calculated step toward him. She lifted a single hand with excruciating patience and ran her fingers down his chest. They fell at his belt, clutched the leather, and fingered around the buckle. 

He was lost. Completely and utterly lost. 

It was no longer her words but how she looked at him. She got under his skin with the most straightforward look. Her long eyelashes, which guarded doe-like brown eyes, brushed against the high points of her cheeks. And those lips, wet from the tongue he deeply desired to feel against his skin, begged for his on hers. His pride warred with his curiosity. With his intrigue. With the way his body betrayed him, answering her before he opened his mouth. 

Her fingers skillfully slid along his buckle, loosening it just enough to allow her hand to slide in the space between his abdomen and waistband. She threw a leg over his, her throbbing center settling above his. He fought hard to contain any sounds, but a measly whimper passed by his lips and ascended to her ears, fueling the newly inflated ego she displayed. 

She leaned forward and brushed her lips against his ear, tracing her tongue around its shell before nibbling on the tip. Kelvin’s head fell back, and a rush of wind escaped him. “Say it,” she whispered again. He exhaled sharply through his nose, tongue dragging over his bottom lip as he swallowed the lump in his throat. His hands slowly crept up her thighs, but she pushed them away with a heavy hand. "Good boys get to touch. All you gotta do is say it for me, and you can have me any way you want, baby."

His stomach clenched deliciously. His instinct was to push back, reclaim the control that seemed to wane rapidly and remind her of who set the pace between them. She gave him nothing to work with—no space to flip the script—just a slow, steady pressure of her expectation. 

He was almost humiliated at how easily she had him on edge. Was this how she felt when he toyed with her until she was a withering, blubbering mess beneath him? He must have been a fantastic teacher if she had learned to subdue him with nothing more than a single well-placed touch. 

It was barely above a whisper, but when the word left his mouth, she smiled in full—slow, wicked, victorious like she’d won something big. 

“Please. I wanna feel you.”

Because she did. 

[forgive00]

EMERGENCY: help two young disabled trans youth escape an actively dangerous and abusive home

(more under the cut about why this is an urgent matter, if you have any more questions send me an ask or dm me please)

we need 5,000 to put down a deposit on an apartment, pay first months rent, utilities and bills, and buy furniture, groceries, and any appliances or random household things we may need like silverware dishes medicine etc. any extra money will be put towards more household expenses and rent. any money beyond that will go towards getting us both into therapy and regular doctors appointments which we both very much need.

0/5,000 $ GOAL, ANYTHING AT ALL HELPS (EVEN IF YOU JUST SHARE!)

please read our story below and share this post to anyone you know who can support us or just reblog. i cannot stress enough this is extremely urgent, we are in a very hostile and unsafe environment and i am very afraid for our futures and safety if we are living here for any longer.

hi, this is embarrassing and humiliating, but i am in an emergency situation and desperately need to escape my abusers and to live somewhere that is safe for me. it has always been dangerous here but the situation has vastly escalated. my best friend and life partner, august, has been living with me and my biological parents since november after becoming homeless. i have lived with my parents my entire life not by choice, since i have turned 18 i have been trying constantly to escape and move out and they have deliberately sabotaged me every single time, even going so far as to say they would physically force me inside the house and barricade the door to stop me if they knew i was trying to leave them. my living situation is really, really fucking bad. my house is and has been incredibly dirty my entire life and i am expected to do every single chore in the house no matter what despite the fact i am very physically disabled and work a full time job, i am not allowed to eat or have access to food or water or the kitchen after around 10 pm, a lot of the time i have to eat in secret because i get mocked and made fun of for eating or "gaining weight" (i have had a lifelong eating disorder my family actively tries to trigger and encourage and they have made it very clear they do not like me recovering or seeking therapy for it). my father in particular is very aggressive and has physically abused me countless times and i live in terror every single day that it will happen again. every single day i am emotionally abused, manipulated, and gaslit by my parents. and this is just whats happening to me, august has had his access to a house and place to sleep threatened repeatedly, my parents have even gone so far as to try and gaslight us both into thinking he stole from them so they could have a reason to kick him out, even though they personally invited him to live with us and are aware he would be homeless if he wasnt here.

ontop of all of this, my family is aggressively and very openly transphobic and homophobic, and i genuinely fear for our lives staying in this house any longer as we are both on hrt and actively transitioning. i cut contact with my abusive grandmother two years ago, and my mother has recently started talking to her and telling her extremely personal information behind my back about my transition, my rape, my disability diagnosis, virtually anything they can both use against me they are using against me.

we cannot keep living here. i need to get away from them as fast as possible. we are moving to another town to cut contact with both my biological family and augusts.

[alsktudy]

— you feel like home

paring. jihoon x reader genre. fluff. established relationship wc. 0.4k warning. none

synopsis. if home was a person, jihoon would say its you.

jihoon lets out a deep sigh and leans back into his chair, fingers carding through his hair after shutting down his computer.

today was a long day, filled with filming content as well as dance practice, ending the day with hours spent in his universe factory.

it was long past an appropriate time for a human to sleep. yet, you still decided to wait for him.

his swivels around to see you sitting on his couch, eyes growing heavier by the second as you scroll absentmindedly on your phone, the LED lights in his studio hitting your face.

you glance up at him, “finished?” you ask him with a smile.

he nods and plops right next to you on the couch, “so tired.”

he glances at you and scoots a little closer, making you tilt your head in curiosity. he slowly rests his head on your shoulder and lets out a big sigh, you chuckle, your hands beginning to play with his long, slender fingers.

although hating the idea of physical affection in general (especially with soonyoung), he can’t seem to help but give in when it comes to you.

he’s amazed at the fact that one person can just release the tension in his body with just a simple touch. in your presence, he doesn’t feel the burden that comes with being a producer and the tiredness that once plagued his body dissolves.

you feel like home.

a place where he never wants to leave, a place to seek comfort, a place where he can relax, and let the time pass by without a single care in the world.

“thank you.” he says, eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of your hands interlocking with his.

“for what?” you chuckle in response.

“being here and waiting for me even though its super late. well, now early in the morning.” he lets out a big exhale, “i really do appreciate it.”

you let out a chuckle and speak into his hair, “i’d do anything for you, even if it’s staying at the company until the early hours of the morning if it means i could spend just a little more time with you.” a comfortable silence settles in the room, “but as much as i love being here in your studio, i think it’s about time we head home, don't you think?"

jihoon chuckles into your neck and smiles to himself, “yeah… let’s go home."

thank you for reading until the end!! reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!

a/n. she’s back?! lets hope i dont disappear for another 6 months again.

want to read more? » m.list

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tags:

@aaniag @kokoiinuts @nishloves @joshuashna @sofix-hc7 @mekuiikore @onlyyjeonghan @dokyeomkyeom

[mostly-marvel-musings]

First time Noah goes to reader's bed in the middle of the night because he had a nightmare after her and Tony got together, so Tony's there to help comfort him too. Tony admiring how well she can calm down Noah and comfort him, while also doing his best to comfort him and even asking if he wants to sleep there in their room that night. Cuddle pile ensues.

Easing Noah’s nightmares - Christmas With You

A/N: I think I like this little family too much. My fluff loving heart is full 🥹🤍 Leave a heart, comment or reblog if you’ve enjoyed reading :)

Pairing: Tony Stark x Single Mom! Reader

Warning: DAD MATERIAL TONY? PERFECT BOYFRIEND TONY?

Christmas With You Masterlist

.

“Tony!”

“Wha—? Love you.” He mumbled, half asleep as he draped his arm around your middle, snuggling closer to you, deeming the conversation to be over.

“Stop snoring.” You rolled your eyes, smiling to yourself as his face pressed up against your hair. You two had gone to bed hours before, though Tony’s snores kept waking you up.

“I don’t snore. You snore.” He murmured, throwing his leg over both of yours, locking you in before pressing his entire front against your back, making you chuckle at his childish behaviour.

“I will record you one of these days for proof, Mr. Stark.” Your voice was quiet yet playful as you got comfortable, thrumming your fingers against his arm.

“For your information, I only lightly snore when I’m tired, and that’s thanks to you, you really wore me out.” His voice caused you to blush, hitting him lightly as he chuckled before kissing the back your ear softly.

As you settled into his comfortable embrace, you couldn’t help but think how life had turned out this past year; meeting Tony Stark - someone who’d changed your life for the better, made you believe in love, take chances and build a life of your dreams. Happiness was just one of the few emotions you felt when you were together, which was constant now that you were living with him.

You were grateful that Noah had been eased into this relationship so flawlessly too. He was just as comfortable with Tony now as he was with you, even demanded bedtime stories from him on several occasions. It was a whole other conversation watching Tony with your son, he was just so good with him. Patient and thoughtful, he gave you all sorts of feels every time they interacted, ones that ended up with you dreaming about expanding your family.

It wasn’t until a few hours later that you had stirred awake to find Noah tugging at your blanket as he stood near you, clutching Snuggles.

“I had a bad dream, Mama.” He whispered, on the verge of tears as you sat up, making Tony’s arm slide down, waking the man in the process too.

“It’s okay, baby. It was not real. Come here.” You opened your arms for him, but he hesitated, looking down at his pyjamas that were ruined.

“I—I wet the bed.”

His voice was so soft, almost reluctant as he watching Tony rub sleep from his eyes, asking if he was alright.

“It’s alright, Noah. We’ll get you cleaned, come on.” You picked him up and rubbed his back, knowing it calmed him down as you slowly walked out of your bedroom and into his.

Tony followed wordlessly, changing Noah’s bedsheets while you cleaned him and got him into a fresh pair of pjs. It wasn’t too frequent for Noah to have nightmares but when he did, they usually got bad, and he ended up wetting himself. Your heart swelled when Tony did his routine ‘checks’ to make sure there was no monster under Noah’s bed, reassuring him that him and Dum-E would get rid of them for him if they ever came back.

“Do you want to sleep in our bed, kid?” He offered, caressing his head which was laid on your chest as you hugged him close. You met Tony’s eyes as if to make sure you heard him right.

Noah nodded silently, holding his arms out for Tony to pick him up, a gesture that touched your heart. He usually clung to you but the fact that he trusted Tony enough to let him comfort him after a bad dream really took you by surprise. You watched Tony hold your son, his arms strong and solacing as Noah laid his head against his shoulder.

Once the three of you settled in your shared bed, you brought the blankets up to Noah’s chest to make sure he warm and secure. Tony lay on his side watching you comfort your son with a fond smile on his face. He always knew what a wonderful mother you were, he was in awe of you already, but moments like these made him want more. Noah was already a son to him, he’d wormed his way into his heart and he couldn’t wait to expand his family with you.

“Eyes closed, my little jelly bean. Sweet dreams. I love you.” You whispered, pressing a soft kiss against his forehead.

“I love you too, Mama.” He closed his eyes, keeping one arm around Snuggles while holding yours tight with the other.

“Good night, Noah.” Tony whispered, caressing the hair that fell on Noah’s forehead gently.

“Night, Dada.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Noah’s voice was as quiet as the night but you both heard him. Not stopping the tears that gathered in your eyes, you looked up at Tony who was blinking back his own tears. Reaching out, you interlaced your fingers with Tony’s, squeezing them before he kissed the back of your hand and then Noah’s forehead.

The moment would forever be etched in memory as you two watched your son drift off to sleep, your hearts full of love and minds with the beautiful possibilities of what was to follow.

[luvvictoria]

Chains of Devotion

+ pairings. sukuna ryomen x f!reader

+ previous part.

+ tags. romance, dark romance themes, eventual smut (?)

+ a/n. Reblog with your favorite line! It would help me to grow my account !! Thank you in advance. Thank you so much for your support ! It means very much to me! Also if you want to take a little peek at the next chapter here is my ko-fi !!

+ summary. After walking out of Sukuna’s penthouse, you resolve to start anew, free from his hold. But Sukuna doesn’t take kindly to losing his favorite distraction, and his unexpected reaction forces you to confront the tangled web of emotions binding you to him.

The city lights blurred together as you stepped into the night, the cold biting against your skin. You didn’t have much — a hastily packed bag slung over your shoulder, its weight nothing compared to the exhaustion settling in your bones. Your dignity was barely intact, but at least it was still yours. Each step away from Sukuna’s penthouse felt like peeling off a layer of suffocating restraint, like breaking through invisible chains that had bound you for far too long. The sting of winter against your face was almost welcome — it reminded you that you were still here, still breathing, still capable of leaving.

The streets were quieter than usual, the late hour thinning out the usual rush of people. The sound of your footsteps echoed against the pavement, swallowed by the hum of distant traffic. A cab idled near the curb, its headlights casting a dull glow over the slick asphalt. You hesitated for just a second, glancing over your shoulder at the towering building you had once called home. The penthouse windows loomed above, cold and dark, devoid of any sign of him.

For a fleeting moment, you half-expected to see Sukuna standing in the doorway, arms crossed, that familiar scowl twisting his features. Maybe he’d call your name, a mix of irritation and amusement lacing his voice, as if your leaving was nothing more than an inconvenience. Or maybe he’d stay silent, watching, waiting, daring you to turn back. But the entrance remained empty. The city continued without him, and so did you.

With a sharp inhale, you pulled open the cab door and slid inside. The driver barely spared you a glance, his face worn with the fatigue of a long night. “Where to?” His voice was gruff, disinterested, as if he had seen a hundred people just like you — people running, people starting over, people trying to outrun their ghosts.

You swallowed hard and gave him an address. A modest hotel on the other side of town. It wasn’t much, just a temporary haven with a lumpy mattress and walls thin enough to hear the murmurs of the city beyond. But it was far away from him. And that was enough.

The cab pulled away from the curb, and you watched as the streets you had once navigated so effortlessly slipped past in a blur. The faint hum of the radio filled the silence, a song you barely recognized drifting through the speakers. You leaned your forehead against the cool glass of the window, exhaling softly.

Freedom felt strange — weightless and heavy all at once. It wasn’t relief, not yet. Just an absence of his presence. A hollow sort of quiet.

But at least it was yours.

For now.

Two days passed. Two days of quiet, of solitude, of learning how to breathe again without the constant weight of Sukuna’s presence pressing down on you. The world outside your small hotel room moved on, indifferent to your absence from his life. You weren’t sure how to do the same.

You spent hours staring out the window at the unfamiliar streets below, watching strangers go about their lives as if they had no ghosts trailing their every step. You should have felt liberated, weightless without him. Instead, an emptiness gnawed at you, slow and relentless, burrowing under your skin like a phantom wound that refused to heal.

Memories of him invaded your thoughts when you least expected them. The way his crimson eyes darkened when he was angry — when he was possessive. The rough edge of his voice when he teased you, always toeing the line between affection and something sharper. The rare moments of quiet, when his touch was unexpectedly soft, when he thought you weren’t paying attention. Those moments were fleeting, fragile, never meant to last.

You shook your head and exhaled sharply, willing the thoughts away. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? For you to cling to the pieces of him he’d left behind, to keep his presence alive in your mind even when he wasn’t there. But you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. Not anymore.

The knock at the door startled you.

Your heart leapt into your throat as you froze, every instinct screaming at you to ignore it. No one knew where you were. No one except—

No. You weren’t going to be paranoid. It was probably housekeeping or someone at the wrong room. But despite the rational voice in your head, your body remained rigid, breath shallow as you slowly approached the door.

Another knock, this time slower. Intentional.

A chill crawled down your spine.

You twisted the lock with shaking fingers and cracked the door open just enough to see who it was. The breath you’d been holding escaped in a sharp, quiet gasp.

There he was.

Sukuna leaned against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, dressed in his usual dark attire, his presence suffocating the narrow hallway. He looked utterly unfazed, like he hadn’t spent the last two days without you. Like he had never doubted that he would find you. The faint scent of cigarettes and something uniquely him clung to the air between you, stirring up too many memories at once.

His crimson eyes locked onto yours, unreadable, unwavering.

Neither of you spoke. The silence was heavy, thick with unspoken words, with things you weren’t ready to face.

Finally, he broke it.

“Found you,” he murmured, his voice as smooth as silk yet laced with something sharper, something dangerous.

Your fingers tightened on the doorframe. “What are you doing here, Sukuna?”

He smirked, that infuriating, lazy tilt of his lips, like this was all a game to him. “What? No warm welcome? I’m hurt.”

You glared, gripping the door harder to keep yourself grounded. “I left, Sukuna. Whatever this was… it’s over. Go back to your penthouse. Go back to your life.”

His expression darkened, amusement draining from his face like a tide pulling back. His crimson eyes flickered, dangerous and unreadable. “You think you can just walk away from me?” he asked, his voice low and razor-sharp.

He stepped forward, and instinct had you stepping back. But there was nowhere to go, the doorframe pressing into your shoulder like a trap.

“You don’t get to decide when this ends.”

Anger surged through you, hot and unchecked, burning away the fear coiled in your stomach. “Yes, I do,” you shot back, your voice trembling but firm. “I’m not your toy, Sukuna. I’m done letting you use me and throw me away like I’m nothing.”

His jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring just slightly. In one swift motion, his hand shot out — not to grab you, not to hurt you, but to grip your chin with a touch so contradictorily gentle it made your breath hitch. His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, a contrast to the tension radiating off him in waves.

“You’re not nothing,” he murmured, voice dangerously low. “You never were.”

The sincerity in his tone, in his gaze, caught you off guard. For a second — just a second — you felt your resolve crack. Sukuna never said things like this, never gave anything without taking twice as much in return.

But you couldn’t afford to let him pull you back in.

“Then prove it,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. “Prove that I mean something to you, Sukuna. Because words mean nothing.”

Something flickered in his eyes — something unreadable, something dangerous.

And then, to your utter shock, he stepped back. His hand fell to his side, fingers twitching like he was fighting the urge to reach for you again.

“You want proof?” he asked, his tone deceptively calm. “Fine. You’ll get your proof.”

A cruel smirk ghosted across his lips.

“But don’t blame me when you realize the price.”

Your stomach twisted.

Before you could say anything, he turned on his heel and walked away, his presence fading down the dimly lit hallway.

You stood frozen in the doorway, your heart hammering against your ribs. The air felt colder without him there, but the weight of his words lingered.

Proof.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to know what that meant.

The hotel room felt suffocating after he left, the air thick with unspoken words. You could almost taste the silence that hung heavy in the space, and it choked you more than anything Sukuna had ever said. You sat on the edge of the bed, your hands clenched into fists, trying to ground yourself, but your mind was a storm, chaotic and relentless. What had you just done? You had pushed him away, forced him to walk out, and now... now you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had made a terrible mistake.

Sukuna never made empty promises. He wasn’t the type to say things he didn’t mean, to offer words just to placate you. When he said he’d prove something, he meant it. And that thought settled deep in your gut like a stone sinking in water, heavy and foreboding. What kind of proof would he give? And more importantly, how much of it would you be willing to take before it was too late?

Sleep didn’t come that night. Every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of wind against the window, had you on edge. The quiet wasn’t comforting. It was oppressive. You pulled the thin blankets tighter around you, trying to drown out the noise in your head, but it was useless. You knew he wasn’t gone — not really. Sukuna wasn’t the type to just let things end. He had found you once, and he would find you again.

By the third day, paranoia had settled in like an unwelcome guest. You found yourself double-checking the locks, the ones you knew were already secure. You kept the curtains drawn, despite the suffocating lack of natural light, and refused to answer the phone when an unknown number flashed across the screen. You weren’t being careful — you were being paranoid. But it felt justified. Every passing moment felt like an eternity, like you were waiting for something to break, for the moment he would return to finish what he’d started.

It wasn’t just fear that gnawed at you — it was anticipation. A sick, twisted part of you wanted to know what he meant. You couldn’t push the thought away, no matter how hard you tried. You wanted to see what proof he would offer. What would he show you? What would he do to make you believe, to make you feel something you couldn’t ignore?

And then, the gifts started arriving.

The first one came early in the morning, left just outside your door. You hadn’t heard anyone approach, hadn’t seen anyone leave. But when you opened the door to check the hallway, there it was — a single black rose, its dark petals velvety soft and delicate. It sat there, as if waiting for you to notice it. A quiet, ominous offering.

You knew what it meant. It wasn’t subtle. A black rose was a symbol of loss, obsession, devotion — twisted and dark, just like him. You couldn’t breathe as you picked it up, your fingers lingering on the soft petals. For a moment, you were paralyzed, staring at it as though it held all the answers, as though it could explain the overwhelming sense of unease creeping into your bones.

The second gift came the next afternoon. It was a small, ornate box, tied with a simple black ribbon. The box was carved with intricate designs, delicate and fine. You hesitated before opening it, your mind racing through every possibility. When you lifted the lid, your breath caught in your throat.

Inside was a delicate silver necklace, the chain fine and beautiful, and the charm in the shape of a crescent moon. It glimmered under the dim light, elegant, expensive. You knew immediately that it was something Sukuna would have known you’d covet — something you would wear, something that would remind you of him.

It wasn’t just a gift. It was a reminder. A reminder that he knew your taste, that he had observed you closely enough to know what would make you falter. He knew what made you tick, what would draw you in, even from afar. And that knowledge — that power — settled over you like a weight, heavy and suffocating.

But the third gift...

The third gift was the one that broke you.

It arrived quietly, slipping under the door, the paper crinkling faintly as it slid across the floor. You didn’t hesitate this time. You knew what it was before you even bent down to pick it up. It was the note.

You unrolled it with trembling hands, the paper sharp and brittle against your fingers. The ink was bold, slanted, precise.

You wanted proof. Don’t run from it now.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you read the words again, your pulse thrumming in your ears. You could almost hear his voice in your head, smooth and silken, like he was standing right behind you, watching, waiting.

The words burned in your mind. Proof. You hadn’t realized how much you had been hoping for it, how much you had been anticipating this moment, until it was staring you in the face. And now, you didn’t know what to do with it.

The air in the room felt thick, oppressive, as if the walls were closing in around you. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think straight. He was closing in. He had found you again. But what was worse was that part of you wasn’t sure if you wanted to stop him.

You couldn’t deny it. A dark, dangerous part of you was curious. What would happen if you let him in again? Would you get what you wanted — or would you lose yourself entirely?

Your fingers gripped the note tighter, your nails digging into the paper as you crushed it in your palm. You stared at the door, your heart pounding, but no sound came. No knock. No footsteps in the hallway. Just silence.

But you knew. He was out there. Watching. Waiting. And whatever came next, you were already in too deep to turn back.

taglist : @mercy20 @aranisbaee @heeyboooo @queenmimis

[naileadevoras]

happy february pookies ! i've been very reminiscent about semi - lengthy applications lately so i've decided to help out any future admins struggling to create fun & unique applications for their groups . under the cut , you'll find a list of things to help enhance a roleplay application + a few sample apps in case anyone needs more inspiration . i hope you all find this masterlist helpful ♡

as always , a like + reblog would be greatly appreciated !

basic info :

full name

nickname / alias

faceclaim

birth date

hometown

pronouns

gender

sexuality

languages they know

occupation

university course / major

3 - 5 aesthetics

astrology sign

+ / - character trait

fun extras :

a celebrity or person they look up to

a rumor , secret , or blind item

book they're currently reading

career claim

character label

character net worth

character superlative

current fast food order

favorite activity / hobby

favorite item they carry around

favorite song / album

favorite quote

follower count

go - to coffee order

instagram , twitter or tiktok username

location your muse frequents at

most frequent place they shop at

most used social media app

one thing you can find in their room

plans after college

restaurant your muse frequents at

room / apartment #

the latest scandal they're in

their biggest fear

type of vehicle they drive

voice claim

# of social media followers

sample apps :

[ faceclaim . pronouns ] did i just see character name pull up in their vehicle ? i heard the age in letters year old just got signed to our reality show . sources say nickname joined the show for sympathy points after rumor , but you didn't hear that from me . fingers crossed the viewers will love them . ( alias & age )

faceclaim ╱ pronouns — welcome to university character name ! the age in letters year old known for being the character superlative ? makes sense since everyone from hometown says you're a + / - trait student . just don't get into too much trouble , nickname ! please grab your personal item and texbooks & head to your first class . oh , and stop blasting song by artist every night , your roommates have been complaining ... [ alias + pronouns ]

BREAKING NEWS ! character name was spotted at most frequent place they shop at for the first time ever since rumor . i heard the age year old gained # of instagram followers after their latest scandal . i wouldn't be surprised since they look just like faceclaim . oh well , i hope they don't get into any more trouble ! ( astrology sign . pronouns )

[companionjones]

Days, Weeks, Months, Years (9/10)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Fandoms: MCU, Marvel

Warnings: Coma, Cursing, Implied almost self harm

1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // 7 // 8 // 9 // 10

*******

In the days you were gone, I mean physically there but mentally gone, the compound was at a standstill.

The only person who didn't understand it all was Valentina. She had expected to be interrogated and grilled. Maybe even tortured or maimed by Bucky or someone, but she was just locked in a room and fed three times a day. It was like she was already in prison. Which didn't make sense to her because no one knew why she did it.

****

The Avengers took shifts being in that room with you, but Bucky never left. He slept with his head on your bed and his hand holding yours. Sometimes, he was convinced to eat, but after a certain point, it was to keep himself from passing out during the day.

The Avengers took shifts being in that room with you, but Bucky was also given some time alone with you. When it was just you and him, Bucky would pray like he never had before, which he hadn't, not since the 40s, anyway. Bucky would talk to you, too.

"...Everyone...Everyone always talks to people when they're in your position. But...I don't know what else to say other than I'm sorry...I'm so sorry, doll...Not just for not being able to s-save you, but for...for not being able to be with you...Really with you. Like you deserve.

"When you first got here, I knew I was in trouble. You were everything. Smart, beautiful, badass, sexy; I barely knew what to do with myself around you. So, I did what I always do. I shut down completely, and I waited for you to go away.

"But you never did. Wherever I went, you were always there at my side. At first, I found it annoying because I could never be at ease around you, but soon, that all went away. Soon, you were you and I was me and there was nothing that could keep us apart. And...that scared me.

"Then, that first night happened. We were alone, watching that cheesy movie you love, and I...I couldn't help myself. God, that night was perfect. You were perfect. I mean, you're always perfect--But I'm getting ahead of myself.

"Despite how amazing everything was that night, I don't remember being more scared than that morning after--excluding the past few days, of course.

"I woke up that morning, I looked at you, you were still asleep, and all I could think about was fucking this up--fucking you up.

"God, I am such an idiot. I preach about how much I don't want to hurt you, yet that's what I've been doing all this time. God, why can't I just get my shit together--" Bucky's hands were shaking as he flexed them in front of his face. It looked like he was going to hit something, maybe himself.

"Stop." Your voice, barely audible, told him. You gently touched his hand that was closest to you, your weak a hand a stark contrast to his strong one.

Bucky gasped when he heard your voice and felt you touch him. "Y/n?" He wondered if you were really there.

He saw your eyes barely open to look at him.

"Hey," he softly greeted, took a big breath, then repeated, even softer, "Hey." Bucky adjusted himself accordingly to get closer to you.

The smallest of smiles appeared on your face. "Missed you."

Bucky let you take his face into your hand. He whispered, "Missed you, too."

*******

1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // 7 // 8 // 9 // 10

Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it! I would also really appreciate a comment, if you have the time. If you would like to read more, check out my masterlist. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

*******

Tag List: @sidraaaaaaaaa // @dontworryboutitsweetheartxx-blog // @mayusenpai666 // @onceithough // @greatenthusiasttidalwave // @shadowzena43 // @ampersam // @sebastians-love // @cjand10 // @silentwhisper666 // @superaveng // @vicmc624 // @ltsaradharkness

[mydadleft471]

A Jester Indeed: Part 2

Children, I have returned! Glorious day!

I FINALLY wrote Messmer shit again! Yippee! Thank you all for waiting so patiently. I also have over 500 reblogs which is crazy! I'm so happy.

Anywho, here you go. Enjoy your dinner.

Link to part one here!

Link to my Masterlist here!

You’ve been having a fantastic time in the Shadow Keep.

Putting aside the demigod who you may or may not have been annoying for the past few weeks, there’s so much history to delve through. His Storeroom, which you had begged him to let you go into, held a great many mysteries about the Shamans and the Hornsent. The books you’ve been pouring over alongside shambling shades were fascinating; so much so that you often brought them back to your quarters to read until you fell asleep in your very comfy bed.

Messmer, as promised, had your quarters cleaned. The dust was gone practically overnight and you had fresh clothes, sheets, and as much food as you could ever want. Perhaps this was Messmer’s way of thanking you for sparing him?

Speaking of that, he hardly had time for you. When he wasn’t shut away in his quarters, he was out training with his men. You had often watched him work, muscles rippling and his soldiers watching with as rapt attention as you did. He truly was a fearsome warrior.

You got really lucky.

There was one occasion when he came and visited you not long after you were settled in your new home. He had knocked on your door long after the moon had risen into the starry sky, and you welcomed him in. He looked around the room, inspecting it with a scrutinizing gaze. But his anger quickly dissipated once you let him know just how much you loved your time here. You spared no detail, exclaiming about the lovely clothes you were given and how comfortable your bed was.

He looked so pleased.

As you run through your memories of the last few weeks, a discarded book about Hornsent religious practices on your lap, a loud knock sounds at your door. You get up, carefully placing the book on your side table, and make your way over to the door and open it. It was Salza, a longtime friend and confidant of Messmer’s. He was the most agreeable of his high-ranking men in your eyes, as he had no problem walking you through the Storeroom and loading your arms full of books as he regaled stories of old battles. 

“My Lady,” he bows respectfully.

You sigh. “Salza, how many times have I reminded you to just call me by my name?”

“And how many times have I ignored you?”

“You make a fair point.” You gesture into your room, inviting him in. 

He shakes his head. “As much as I would like to continue my stories of my long-lost days of grandeur, Lord Messmer requires you today.”

“Requires me? What am I, a concubine?” You scoff.

Salza opens his mouth to say something, then quickly shuts it, shaking his head. “Would you accompany me? Lord Messmer does not like to be kept waiting.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go.”

As you begin to take a step forward, Salza’s arm shoots out and stops you. You shoot him a puzzled look.

“Not like that. Wear something nicer.”

You look down at your clothes, a simple tunic, pants, and boots. Not very fitting for a lady, you say to yourself mockingly.

“Fine, fine. Give me a few minutes.”

“I’ve brought servants with me to help you, my Lady.” A few shades linger behind him in the dim light of a chandelier.

You quickly wave them in and shut the door. They all wander over to your wardrobe and pull out a few dresses that are, of course, all differing shades of red. You pick the one closest to the fiery red of Messmer’s hair, and the servants nod at your choice approvingly. They quickly get to work ridding you of your garments and lacing up your dress. A nice pair of sandals is placed at your feet and you quickly slip them on.

You move to sit at your vanity, which had to be replaced with one that was more your size. It’s made of a beautiful dark red wood, carefully carved with intricate linings of ivory and ebony. The servants flutter about you, two combing your long hair and taming it, and another picking out earrings and a lovely choker with two silver serpents. A light dusting of blush on your cheeks and some crimson is laid carefully on your lips. Looking into the mirror, you appreciate how beautiful you look. Sometimes, you hardly recognize the battle-hardened warrior you were before coming here.

The servants do one final pass over you and decide you look perfect enough after a few sprays of floral perfume that makes you cough and sneeze.

Finally returning to your door and opening it, Salza looks you up and down.

You hold up a hand. “Don’t say it. Just lead.”

He begins to walk and you follow him closely, your dress gently swishing as you move.

“I was merely going to ask you if you think My Lady fits you now.” He chuckles.

“Yeah, I guess it does.” You say wistfully.

Soon, you arrive at the large door to Messmer’s chambers. The last time you stood in front of these heavy doors, you were trying to kill him. The irony is not lost on you.

The guards stationed in front of the door open them wordlessly for you, the metal screeching against the rough stone floors in protest. Salza stands at your side, and as the doors open, you see the chamber is fully lit up. And very occupied.

All of Messmer’s top men are gathered around his large throne, with the man himself perched impatiently on his seat. He flexes and relaxes his fingers as if he’s summoning his spear.

Salza leads the way inside and you follow, hot on his heels as your sandals scrape against the floor. He takes his place at Messmer’s side and positions you next to him, only a man away from his Lord. You don’t notice so much as feel Messmer’s eyes watch your every movement. As you take your place, Messmer gives you a look of approval, a soft gaze that sends your mind reeling.

“My Lord, I believe everyone is here. Shall we begin?” Queelign says.

Fucking simp.

Messmer nods and raises his hand. The doors open again, and a man with dark robes and a hood over his head is escorted inside. He’s moved to the middle of the room when the hood is taken off his face.

You almost pass out on the spot.

It’s Sir Ansbach, a fellow Tarnished serving Miquella the Kind, like Lady Leda. His mask has been taken off and is dropped at his side. He can’t move with two guards at his back and his hands bound.

“Speak thy name, trespasser.” Fire Knight Kood rumbles out.

“I am Sir Ansbach, loyal follower of Lord Mohg, and the last of the Pureblood Knights.” His voice does not waver despite the circumstances.

“A follower of Mohg? Here?” Messmer speaks, and you notice his men straighten even more at the sound of his voice.

“Yes, Lord Messmer. I have nothing to hide, nor have I any reason to disguise my allegiances.”

When Messmer doesn’t speak again, Queelign does so for him.

“Have thee any relation to Miquella the Kind?” God, his voice is annoying.

“Once, perhaps, when my heart was stolen by him as I tried to save my dear Lord. No longer, however, as his charm has broken.”

“How many of Miquella’s followers are in the Realm of Shadow?” Kood inches closer to Ansbach.

“Five that I know of, my Lord. I do not know their whereabouts or if they have been freed from the charm as well. I came here for knowledge, nothing more.”

“Speak their names.” Messmer summons his spear.

“Lady Leda, Moore, Freya, Hornsent, and Dryleaf Dane.”

You knew all of these names, except one. Dane remained a mystery to you.

“Is it the truth that spills from thy lips, or venom, Sir Ansbach? I do not know you.” Messmer’s voice sends a chill down your spine.

“Perhaps not, my Lord, but she does.” He gestures to you.

The room goes silent except for the rapid beating of your own heart. If Messmer considers you a traitor, you don’t have your weapon. You don’t even have your flask. You are sure to lose horribly.

“Speak.” Messmer narrows his eye at you.

You take a deep breath before beginning. “It’s true, Lord Messmer. I know Sir Ansbach, and every word he says is true. I know of these followers of Miquella, except for Dryleaf Dane. He remains unknown to me. But I trust Sir Ansbach. I would ask that you do the same.”

Queelign, unfortunately, butts in before anyone else can speak. “My Lord, how can we be so sure that she is not a follower of Miquella herself? How can we be sure this is not some elaborate plot to infiltrate the Shadow Keep?”

Messmer tenses at his words. You narrow your eyes at Queelign.

“Forgive my harsh words, my Lord, but I don’t give a shit about Miquella. I killed his sister and harbor her Great Rune, for Marika’s sake. I never came here to enact whatever master plan he has; I came here for the adventure. Might I remind you of our first meeting, my Lord?”

“My Lord, she how do we know–”

“Enough. She has spoken.” 

You could kiss Messmer right now.

Queelign, fuming, but not wanting to do anything to disobey his Lord, sulks back to his spot. With a raise of Messmer’s hand, the guards behind Sir Ansbach cut his bindings.

“Thank you, Lord Messmer.” Sir Ansbach bows deeply, as he was more than likely not expecting to get out of this situation alive.

“Do not thank me. If not for my advisor, thy fate would have been decided in this room.” Messmer looks over at you, something you can’t quite place in his eyes.

You mouth a silent thank you to him, and his lip twitches into an almost smile. Cute.

“A pleasure to see you again, Lady Tarnished. Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

“Oh, it was nothing. I do this every day.” You joke with a dismissive wave of your hand.

“What does thee know of Miquella’s plan?” Messmer sets the conversation back on track.

“Very little as of now. I came here with the intent on pursuing knowledge so I may know what to do next.” Sir Ansbach replies.

“My Storeroom is open to thee. Pursue to thy heart’s content, but thou wilt harbor no ill will towards my men. Should thee disobey my warning, there will be no mercy.”

“Of course, Lord Messmer. Should I find anything, I will tell you immediately.”

“Salza,” Messmer begins. “Show him to the Storehouse.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

With an audible creak of his bones, he leads Sir Ansbach out of the great chamber. The rest of Messmer’s men stand still awaiting his orders.

“Return to thy posts and sharpen thy blades. A war may be approaching.” His words echo through the room, sending a chill down your spine.

Everyone begins to leave and you go to join them, but Messmer gently grabs your wrist.

“I would have thee stay.”

“Okay. I mean, yes, my Lord.” You curtsy to him.

Once the rest of the guards leave and the large metal doors are shut, Messmer releases your wrist and begins to walk behind his throne. You follow, trying to catch up with him with your much smaller legs, and you notice another large door at the very back of the room. It’s adjacent to the large statue of Marika and partially hidden by deep crimson curtains.

“Come.” He holds the door open for you and you tentatively make your way inside.

With reddening cheeks, you realize that this is his personal chamber. A large bed with red blankets and various furs sits imposingly in the corner, and a few desks and tables litter the room. It is luxurious, but not extravagantly so. You wonder if perhaps he does want you as a concubine.

He clears his throat and you realize he’s waiting for you at a large table covered by a map. As you hurry over, you realize it shows the layout of the Land of Shadow.

“Why have you brought me here, my Lord?”

Something about your flustered face must be funny because he lets out a small chuckle. “I seek your advice.”

“Oh, okay! Because when Salza came to my door and told me I needed to look nice I thought you’d be taking me as a concubine or something like that.” Words rush out of you faster than reason can reign them in, and you find yourself the bringer of an uncomfortable silence.

Messmer’s cheeks flush and his one eye looks around rapidly as long as it doesn’t linger on your form. He places his hands on the table in front of him, and, after some time, he looks down at you with a look.

“Not that I wouldn’t be honored!” You interject quickly. “I just, uh, would like to get to know you better before we did anything like that. But you’re very handsome and… I think I’m going to stop talking.”

It was probably a good thing you did. Messmer looks ready to keel over where he stands from your words. His face is a deeper red than his hair and he opens and closes his mouth rapidly in search of words that never seem to come to him.

Eventually, he gets his mind straight enough to quietly utter a few words. “Thou wouldst consider me handsome?”

“Of course.” You say smiling.

“I am naught but a horrid war-beast.”

“Would you please just take a compliment?!” You all but screech.

“Wouldst thou stop rambling like a child?” He counters.

“You’re impossible. I can’t believe I picked this dress for you!”

Once again, silence encompasses the room. You nervously pick at your cuticles to give yourself something to do.

“Thou lookest radiant. Red becomes you.” He mutters.

“Oh. Thank you.” 

He reaches to take off his helmet, sighing as the weight of it rests on the table beside him. His fair, though a bit messy, frames his face beautifully. You just wish you could tell him that without sending him into a spiral.

“I brought thee here for militaristic purposes, nothing more, I assure thee.”

“Oh. That’s boring.”

“And thou wouldst have me take thee as a concubine instead?” 

Your face flushes for the millionth time today. “No! I mean… maybe? Can we– can we just get back on track? Please?”

“Wouldst thou take a compliment?” He mocks you.

“I should’ve let you tear your eye out.”

He laughs and it makes you shrink even further into yourself. You do have to admit that he is so handsome when he smiles.

“Can I ask you something?”

Your sudden serious tone has his smile falling off his face faster than it arrived. He nods.

“Why did you trust me so much back there? Your men might not like the fact that you’re listening to a Tarnished.”

His gaze hardens. “Thou hast seen many battles rather recently. My men and I have lingered, burning away hastily-formed groups of remaining Hornsent, but we have lingered nonetheless.”

“Is that all?” You push.

He pauses before replying. “I owe thee mine own life. Engaging thy whims is a small price to pay.”

Your heart swells at his words and you place your hand gently over his. His gaze lingers on your small hand and curiosity gets the better of him. He holds your hand and inspects it, noticing a few callouses from battles fought, but overall, your skin is smooth. He feels unworthy of your touch and quickly drops your hand.

Perhaps privy to his internal battle, you move forward and gently wrap your arms around him, his serpents nuzzling into you. He stands so still, almost as if he can’t believe this is real. How long it’s been since he was given a loving touch.

“You’re sweet.” You mutter those words into his armor that’s been splattered with blood more often than it’s been polished.

He takes comfort in the knowledge that you, his strange Tarnished, does not care.