#but she's still masking by the start of the game in a way more stoic “stare into your soul” kind of way

[marinecorvid]

brainstorming some outfits for my platinum girl dawn “dusk” dušková

[goldfades]

SCREAM QUEENS──NICHOLAS CHAVEZ

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─ summary | after filming Scream with cooper and nicholas, you and nicholas develop a slow-burn romance filled with subtle tension.

─ pairing | nicholas chavez x fem!actress!reader, platonic!cooper koch x fem!actress!reader

─ warnings | sooo sweet and soft!! literally nothing except fluff and a few kisses at the end.

ok love u bye!!! pls send me requests!!!!!!

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The red carpet glistens under the flashing lights of countless cameras, and the hum of excited voices fills the air like an electric current. The Scream premiere is your first big debut in a film of this scale, and it feels like you're stepping into another world. Your breath catches slightly as you look up at the towering poster of your character, Sydney, splashed across the theater behind you. It’s surreal.

You smooth your dress—a deep, rich burgundy that makes you feel powerful, but in a quiet way, like you're not here to scream but to be heard when it matters. A few feet away, Nicholas stands in his sleek suit, posture rigid yet calm, looking every bit like he belongs. Stoic, as always. But there’s something in the way his eyes shift toward you when he thinks no one’s watching—a softness, a quiet admiration hidden behind his mask of indifference.

Next to him, Cooper is an absolute ball of energy, talking animatedly with an interviewer, his hands gesturing wildly as he laughs, completely unrecognizable from the unnerving, cold-blooded Stu he portrayed in the movie. His warmth is contagious, and you can’t help but smile, even though you’re more used to blending into the background at events like these. Still, this is your night too.

The interviewer finally reaches you, and your stomach flutters—not from nerves, but from the anticipation of sharing this moment. "How does it feel to be a part of such an iconic horror franchise?" they ask, their microphone hovering in front of you.

You glance at Nicholas briefly, his lips curling into the tiniest of smiles as if he’s silently encouraging you to take the lead. The smallest gesture, but you catch it. You always do. You gather your thoughts, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before leaning in.

"It’s… unreal," you start softly, your voice measured. "Scream changed the game, and being a part of that—it's hard to describe. It’s like stepping into a legacy, but also bringing something new."

You pause for a second, letting the weight of your words settle, and then continue. “It’s not just about stepping into Sydney’s shoes—it’s about understanding her fear, her resilience. Horror is… more than just jumpscares. It’s psychological, it’s emotional. It’s about survival, and I think that’s what makes Scream different.”

As you speak, you feel the lights and the noise around you blur into the background. Your focus is on the moment, on articulating what’s been buzzing in your mind ever since you landed the role. Sydney was never just a scream queen—she was a fighter, an anchor in the madness, and playing her was like learning how to channel that same strength in yourself.

The interviewer nods, visibly impressed, and moves on to Nicholas. You shift slightly, glancing at him as he takes a steady breath. His expression is the perfect picture of composure, but you can tell from the slight twitch of his fingers that he’s thoughtful about what to say.

“Well, Billy’s not exactly the hero,” Nicholas begins, a small chuckle escaping his lips, eyes narrowing with that subtle sharpness that made him perfect for the role. “But I think what’s interesting about him—and about the film as a whole—is the way it plays with the audience’s expectations. Horror has always been about tension, about twisting what you think you know. Scream does that, but on a deeper level. Billy’s... manipulative, sure, but there’s a layer of humanity there, buried under all that chaos. And that’s what makes him so terrifying. You don’t just hate him—you understand him.”

He doesn’t say much, but his words settle like a weight in the air, his voice low and reflective. You’ve always admired that about him, the way he can strip away all the noise and say something that matters, something you’ll still be thinking about long after the conversation ends.

And then, of course, there’s Cooper.

The moment Nicholas finishes, Cooper bounds into the spotlight, his energy bright and overwhelming, making everyone laugh before he’s even answered the question. “Oh man, playing Stu was wild,” he says, shaking his head with a grin that’s far too friendly for someone who spent the entire movie butchering people. “I had to turn off my brain to even think like him. I’m pretty much the opposite in real life, so going to that dark place took some effort.”

He laughs again, carefree, but you’ve seen it—the way he can flip a switch when the cameras roll. One moment, he’s this ball of sunshine, cracking jokes and keeping the mood light, and the next, his eyes go cold, his smile sinister. It’s what made his portrayal of Stu so chilling, so disturbingly real.

“But honestly, I think the best part was working with these two,” Cooper continues, throwing an arm around both you and Nicholas in one smooth motion. “We were like family on set. Every scene, every rehearsal, we got closer. There’s this... chemistry we developed that I think really translates on screen.”

You feel a flush of warmth at his words. Cooper’s enthusiasm has always been infectious, and you can’t help but nod in agreement, even if you’re not as loud about it as he is. The connection between the three of you—Nicholas, Cooper, and you—had been undeniable, a sort of unspoken understanding that had only grown stronger as filming went on.

The interviewer seizes on that. “It sounds like you all bonded a lot on set. Can you talk more about your dynamic? What was it like working together?”

You’re about to respond, but Cooper jumps in first, unable to help himself. “Oh, totally! It was a blast. I mean, there were some intense scenes, obviously—especially for Nick and her,” he says, nodding at you. “But between takes? We’d be laughing, hanging out, keeping it light. It’s the only way to survive a horror film without going crazy yourself, right?”

Nicholas smirks, leaning into the moment with his usual understated charm. “Yeah, Cooper’s energy definitely kept things interesting.” There’s that subtle warmth again in his tone, a softness in the way he talks about you both. “I think we balanced each other out in a lot of ways. You”—he nods toward you again—"you brought this quiet focus, and I think it rubbed off on me. It’s easy to get lost in a role like Billy, but watching you... I learned how to ground myself.”

The compliment, though wrapped in his usual casual delivery, sends a faint flush up your neck. Nicholas had never been one for big declarations, but when he did speak, it was always with meaning, as if he had chosen each word carefully, deliberately.

You find your voice again, wanting to contribute before the moment passes. “I think we each brought something different to the table,” you add softly, your gaze flicking between them. “Cooper has this incredible energy that keeps everything light, but he can flip a switch when it’s time to get serious. And Nicholas...” You pause, considering. “He’s... steady. There’s this calmness about him that keeps you anchored, even when the scenes get intense. It’s hard to explain, but it made working with him feel... safe.”

Your words hang in the air for a moment, and there’s a flicker of something in Nicholas’s eyes—a glimmer of appreciation, though it’s fleeting, quickly hidden behind his usual cool demeanor. But you catch it. You always do.

The interviewer, sensing the dynamic between the three of you, smiles warmly. “It sounds like you all formed a pretty tight-knit group. That’s rare in an industry like this.”

Cooper nods enthusiastically. “Oh, for sure. We’re stuck with each other now,” he jokes, but the sincerity behind his words is unmistakable. “I mean, how could we not? We’ve been through the trenches together.”

You smile, unable to suppress the warmth that floods through you. He’s right. Despite the long nights, the emotionally draining scenes, and the weight of stepping into such iconic roles, the bond you’ve formed with these two has been something special—something real.

As the interview wraps up, you take a step back, letting Cooper and Nicholas finish with their final thoughts. The night isn’t over yet—the premiere still looms ahead, and there are more cameras, more questions waiting. But for a moment, in the midst of the chaos, you feel a deep sense of gratitude. For the film, for this experience, but mostly for them.

For the way Nicholas’s steady presence has become a quiet comfort, his admiration for you evident in the smallest of gestures. For the way Cooper’s energy has pulled you out of your shell, making you laugh, making the hard days bearable.

And as you glance at them both, standing under the glow of the premiere lights, you can’t help but feel like something has shifted. Something subtle, yet undeniable.

───

“—that is not what happened, and you know it.” Cooper sighed dramatically as he glanced your direction, a mock upset settled on his face as you bite your lip, stifling a laugh. Nicholas watches the two of you, amusement clear in his expression.

You settle into the couch as you shrug, letting a small laugh escape your lips. "Okay, fine," you say, holding up your hands in mock surrender, still grinning. "Maybe I don't remember it exactly the way you do, but come on, Cooper, you were the one who started it."

Cooper gasps, clutching his chest dramatically like he’s been mortally wounded. "I started it? Oh no, no. Let’s be real here. You and Nicholas were the ones conspiring against me from day one!"

Nicholas raises an eyebrow, a quiet smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Conspiring? That’s a bit dramatic, Coop.”

The host of the podcast, a friendly guy with a genuine smile, watches all of this unfold with a look of amusement, clearly enjoying the easy chemistry between the three of you. “So wait, wait. What exactly did happen on set? I need to know who’s telling the truth here.”

You lean back into the couch, crossing your arms playfully as you glance between Cooper and Nicholas. "Oh, this is good," you say, your eyes lighting up with the memory. "You tell him, Nick. I think you’ve got the best perspective here."

Nicholas, always the picture of calm, shakes his head slightly, clearly entertained by the chaos unfolding between you and Cooper. "Alright," he says, his voice steady but with a hint of amusement. "Here’s the real story. Cooper, as usual, was trying to lighten the mood between takes. It was one of those intense scenes—you know, where Billy and Stu are supposed to be... doing their thing."

Cooper jumps in, unable to help himself. "You mean brutally stabbing people?"

Nicholas just gives him a look, unfazed. “Yes. That. Anyway, Cooper decided to improvise a little—”

“A little?” you interject with a laugh. “He completely threw the script out the window!”

Cooper grins, not remotely ashamed. "Hey, I was trying to make everyone laugh! It was a tense day, okay? I thought Billy needed to lighten up. Maybe do a TikTok dance between stabs. You know, just to mix things up."

Nicholas rolls his eyes good-naturedly, the smallest chuckle escaping him. “Needless to say, it didn’t go over well with the director.”

“Or anyone else on set,” you add, giggling at the memory of Cooper’s ridiculous, over-the-top dance moves while still in full Stu costume.

Cooper holds his hands up defensively. “Alright, fine. It was a bold choice. But you two were laughing! Don’t try to deny it. I saw you both.”

Nicholas’s expression softens, and he nods. “I’ll give you that. You definitely broke the tension.”

The host laughs, clearly enjoying the banter. “It sounds like you guys had a lot of fun on set, despite the heavy material. How do you balance that, being in such a dark, intense movie but still having this kind of dynamic off-screen?”

You exchange a look with Nicholas and Cooper, your smile softening a bit as you think back on the experience. "I think it’s because we had to," you say thoughtfully. “When you’re dealing with a film like Scream—where you’re surrounded by horror and violence every day—it’s easy to let that weight stick with you. So we found ways to break it up, to remind ourselves that we’re just playing characters, that we don’t have to carry that darkness with us.”

Cooper nods along, his usual high energy subdued for a moment as he listens to you speak. “Yeah, exactly. And it helps when you’re working with people you trust, you know? Like, we got along so well from the beginning, so it made everything easier. Even on the tough days, I knew I could look at you guys and just... snap out of it.”

Nicholas glances at you, his expression a little more serious now. “There’s a lot of trust involved, especially with a film like this. You have to trust that the people around you are going to be there, not just as actors, but as friends. And we built that over time.”

You smile at him, grateful for the sincerity in his words. He may be quiet, but when he speaks, it always feels intentional, like there’s weight behind everything he says. And in moments like this, you’re reminded of just how much you appreciate that about him.

The host shifts in his seat, leaning forward. “That’s great to hear. It really shows on screen—the chemistry, the dynamic between you three. So, what’s next? I mean, after Scream, where do you go from here?”

Cooper jumps in again, back to his usual lively self. “Well, I think we should all do a rom-com next, right? Something light, something fluffy. Get away from all the blood and guts.”

You laugh, the idea of the three of you in a rom-com so absurd it’s actually kind of appealing. “Oh yeah, I can totally see Nicholas as the romantic lead.”

Nicholas raises an eyebrow, looking completely unfazed by the suggestion. “I don’t know about that. I think I’ll stick to horror.”

“Stoic, mysterious guy,” Cooper teases, leaning forward dramatically, pretending to narrate. “He’s hiding a dark secret, but deep down, he’s just a big softie.”

You and the host burst out laughing, and even Nicholas can’t help but crack a smile. “Alright, alright,” he concedes. “Maybe one rom-com.”

The host grins, looking between the three of you. “I would definitely pay to see that.”

The interview wraps up soon after, the room filled with easy laughter and lingering energy as you stand from the couch. You, Nicholas, and Cooper thank the host, chatting amongst yourselves as the podcast crew wraps up.

As you head toward the door, Cooper slings an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close. "Next time, we do the rom-com," he says with a wink. “We can be the love interests and... Nick can just be there. I’ll start writing the script tonight.”

Nicholas falls into step beside you, his hands in his pockets, watching the two of you with that familiar glint of amusement in his eyes. “I’ll leave that to you, Cooper.”

You smile, shaking your head. “I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”

After the interview wraps up and the bright lights of the studio fade behind you, the three of you pile into Cooper’s car. He’s talking a mile a minute, still buzzing from the podcast, hands waving animatedly as he drives.

“Man, that was fun. Did you hear how the host lost it when we started talking about the rom-com? I think we should seriously pitch that,” he jokes, throwing you a wink in the rearview mirror.

You laugh, leaning against the window in the back seat, the city passing by in a blur of neon and headlights. “You’re never going to let this rom-com thing go, are you?”

“Absolutely not,” Cooper replies, grinning. “We’d crush it. But first…” He slows the car as you approach Nicholas’s place. “How about we just hang out for a bit? Relax, watch a movie or something.”

You glance at Nicholas, who’s sitting quietly in the passenger seat, his eyes focused on the road ahead. He nods slightly, a small smile playing at his lips. “Yeah, that sounds good. It’s been a long day.”

Cooper pulls up to the curb, parking in front of Nick’s apartment. “Alright, I’ll grab the snacks, you two go ahead. I’ll catch up in a sec.”

You and Nicholas exchange a look as you step out of the car, the cool evening air brushing against your skin. There’s a comfortable silence between you as you walk up to his place, the quiet hum of the city surrounding you.

Inside, the atmosphere feels different—quieter, more intimate than the usual chaos of set or interviews. Nicholas’s apartment is minimalistic but warm, with soft lighting and a collection of books and records scattered about, telling more about his quiet, thoughtful nature than he’d ever openly admit.

You slip off your shoes at the door, glancing around as Nicholas sets down his keys and heads to the kitchen. “Want something to drink?” he asks, his voice casual but soft, like it always is when it’s just the two of you.

“Water’s fine,” you reply, following him to the kitchen, leaning against the counter as he pours a glass. There's something unspoken hanging between you, an undercurrent of energy that’s been building for a while now—something neither of you has acknowledged out loud, but it lingers, making your every interaction feel just a little more charged than it used to be.

Nicholas hands you the glass, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest moment. You feel the jolt of electricity, the way your skin warms under his touch, and you quickly look away, pretending not to notice the way your heart beats a little faster.

He leans against the counter beside you, his shoulder just inches from yours, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. “Today was fun,” he says quietly, his voice low in the soft glow of the kitchen.

“Yeah,” you agree, looking up at him, your gaze catching his for a second too long. “It was. It always is when we’re all together.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just holds your gaze with those steady eyes of his, and you can feel the tension growing, thickening the air between you. It’s not uncomfortable—it’s the kind of tension that makes your skin buzz, that fills the quiet with unspoken words, words you’ve both been too careful to say.

The front door swings open, breaking the moment as Cooper strolls in with a bag of snacks. “I’m back! Got the goods!” he calls, completely unaware of the quiet, charged moment he’s just interrupted.

You and Nicholas both turn away, the spell broken, but that energy doesn’t dissipate. It lingers, hanging in the air as Cooper throws himself onto the couch, oblivious as ever. “Alright, what are we watching?” he asks, rummaging through the bag. “Something funny, I hope. Or... maybe Scream?” He shoots you both a mischievous grin.

Nicholas chuckles softly and shakes his head. “I think we’ve had enough Scream for one day.”

“Agreed,” you say, settling onto the couch next to Cooper, grateful for the distraction but still hyper-aware of Nicholas as he joins you, sitting a little closer than usual on your other side.

You all end up picking a lighthearted comedy, something easy to watch without much thought, but your mind isn’t fully on the movie. The whole time, you can feel Nicholas beside you, his presence magnetic, pulling at you without even trying. Every now and then, your knee brushes his, and even the smallest touch sends a ripple of awareness through you, as if your body is attuned to his in a way you can’t quite explain.

Cooper, true to form, falls asleep halfway through the movie, his head dropping back against the cushions as soft snores escape him. You and Nicholas exchange a glance, both trying to stifle a laugh.

“I don’t know how he does it,” Nicholas murmurs, his voice low in the darkened room. “He was the one who wanted to hang out, and he’s the first one out.”

You smile, your heart skipping a beat at how close his voice sounds, the intimacy of the moment amplified by the quiet. “He always does this.”

Nicholas leans back, his arm stretching casually along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing against your shoulder. The touch is light, barely there, but it’s enough to send a shiver down your spine. You feel the tension building again, heavier this time, as if the universe is pushing the two of you closer, daring you to acknowledge what’s been simmering between you for months.

You steal a glance at him out of the corner of your eye, and he’s already looking at you, his expression softer, more open than usual. There’s something in his gaze, something unguarded, like he’s letting you see just how much he cares. The realization makes your breath catch.

“Hey,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper now. “You okay?”

You nod, but your heart is racing, and you’re not sure if it’s the quiet or the closeness, or the fact that, for once, it feels like the unspoken tension between you might finally break.

“I’m good,” you say softly, your voice catching a little, and you feel his eyes on you, searching.

For a moment, the world outside the apartment doesn’t exist. There’s just you and Nicholas, the space between you shrinking with every second, and it feels like you’re both standing at the edge of something, something that could change everything.

Nicholas doesn’t break eye contact, and neither do you. The air in the room feels thick, almost electric, as if the space between you is charged with something both of you have been too careful to admit. His arm rests casually on the back of the couch, but his fingers twitch slightly, brushing the barest edge of your shoulder. The touch is subtle, but it’s enough to send a ripple through you—a pulse of heat that spreads from where his skin meets yours.

You swallow, trying to keep your breathing steady, but you can’t ignore the way your heart races, thudding in your chest like it’s trying to communicate something your mind hasn’t fully processed yet.

Neither of you says a word, and yet, everything is being said in the silence between you. There’s a pull, an invisible string tugging you closer, and for the first time, it feels like maybe—just maybe—it wouldn’t be so impossible to cross that line.

Nicholas shifts slightly, turning his body more toward you, and you realize just how close you are now. His leg brushes yours again, this time lingering. His eyes are darker in the low light of the room, his usual calm and controlled demeanor giving way to something more vulnerable, something he’s usually so good at hiding.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, but it carries weight, like he’s asking more than just about how you’re feeling in this moment. He’s asking if you’re ready, if you’re willing to let whatever this is between you two finally come to the surface.

You nod, your mouth dry, unable to trust your voice to respond. Your heart is pounding, and you’re acutely aware of every inch of space between your bodies—or lack thereof.

His hand moves from the back of the couch, sliding down slowly, deliberately, until his fingers are resting on your shoulder, gentle but firm, as if testing the waters. You don’t pull away. In fact, you lean in just a fraction, closing the distance, and you see the shift in his expression—his guarded facade softening as his breath hitches slightly.

It’s so quiet in the room now, save for the soft, steady sound of your breathing and the distant hum of the city outside. You can feel the tension building, thick and palpable, wrapping around the two of you like a thread that’s been pulled tight, ready to snap at any second.

He tilts his head, just the slightest bit, his gaze flicking down to your lips for a moment before meeting your eyes again. It’s a small, almost imperceptible movement, but it feels like the ground beneath you is shifting.

You lean in, your breath catching in your throat, and for a second, everything else falls away—the interview, the movie, even Cooper snoring softly on the other side of the couch. It’s just you and Nicholas, and the space between you feels like it’s vanishing.

His hand moves to the back of your neck, his touch impossibly gentle, and you feel your breath falter as your heart skips a beat. He’s so close now that you can see the way his pupils have dilated, the soft rise and fall of his chest matching your own.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough with something unspoken, something fragile but undeniable.

You shake your head, barely able to manage the words, “Don’t stop.”

And with that, the tension that’s been simmering between you for months finally breaks. He closes the distance, his lips brushing against yours softly at first, tentative, as if he’s still giving you the chance to pull away. But you don’t. You lean into the kiss, your hand coming up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

The kiss deepens, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every second of it. His lips are warm and soft, and you can feel the unspoken words behind the way he holds you, the way his hand slips to the nape of your neck, pulling you in closer. There’s a gentleness to the kiss, but also a hunger—a need that’s been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

Your fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer as the kiss grows more urgent, more intense. The world around you falls away entirely, and all that matters is the way his lips move against yours, the way his hands grip your waist like he’s afraid to let go.

When you finally pull apart, your foreheads rest against each other, both of you breathing heavily, the room around you still thick with the weight of what just happened. You don’t say anything at first—there’s no need to. The look in his eyes says everything.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” Nicholas finally admits, his voice barely above a whisper, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek.

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, your heart still racing. “Me too.”

There’s a moment of quiet between you again, but this time, it feels different—less tense, more comfortable, like something has finally clicked into place. Nicholas watches you with that same look of admiration, the one you’ve caught glimpses of before but never fully allowed yourself to acknowledge. Now, it’s out in the open, undeniable.

Slowly, he leans in again. The kiss is slow, unhurried and easy. He hums at the taste of your lips, your hands reached up for his shoulders as you deepen the kiss. You both part after a moment, opening your eyes to meet his darkened eyes.

“Knew it.” Cooper rings out, his voice groggy and tired.

You both snap your heads toward Cooper, your bodies still close, as if you’re caught in the middle of a secret you thought no one else knew. He’s sitting up, rubbing his eyes lazily, a mischievous smirk spreading across his face as he watches you.

“Fucking knew it,” he repeats, his voice groggy but teasing, clearly amused by the moment he’s woken up to. His eyes narrow slightly, a knowing glint in them as he looks between you and Nicholas. “You two think you’re so slick, huh?”

You feel a flush creep up your neck, the heat of embarrassment mixing with the adrenaline still pulsing through you from the kiss. Nicholas tenses beside you, his jaw tightening for a split second before he exhales, leaning back slightly but keeping an arm casually draped around you.

“Cooper…” Nicholas begins, his voice steady but with a hint of exasperation.

“What? I’m just saying,” Cooper continues, throwing up his hands defensively, but the grin never leaves his face. “It’s about time. Thought I was gonna have to give you two a nudge.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. Cooper, being Cooper, doesn’t seem fazed by anything, and it’s almost a relief that he’s not taking this too seriously. You can feel the tension easing out of Nicholas, too, his posture relaxing as he shakes his head.

“Were you even asleep?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at Cooper, trying to divert the attention away from the blush still lingering on your cheeks.

Cooper snickers, leaning back into the couch like he’s settling in for a good story. “Oh, I was out. But I guess I woke up just in time for the good part.”

Nicholas groans lightly, rubbing a hand over his face, but there’s a small, amused smile playing on his lips. He glances at you, a soft look in his eyes, and even with Cooper’s teasing, you can still feel that unspoken connection between the two of you—stronger now, undeniable.

“Well, now that you're awake,” Nicholas says, standing up and stretching, his hand lingering on your back for a moment before he lets go, “you wanna order food?”

Cooper grins, sitting up straighter. “Oh, I see. Change the subject. Nice try, man. But yeah, I could eat.”

You laugh, standing up as well, the warmth of Nicholas’s earlier touch still lingering on your skin. Despite Cooper’s teasing, there’s a lightness in the room now, like something that had been building for so long has finally settled. The moment between you and Nicholas wasn’t lost—it’s just the beginning.

As you walk to the kitchen with Nicholas, Cooper still muttering something under his breath about “finally,” you exchange a quick, knowing glance with Nicholas, and the spark that lit up between you earlier remains. There’s no rush. Whatever this is, it’s yours, and it’s just getting started.

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[evielmostdefinitely]

I would love see the first time that “excentric” aspect of they relationship started. Like how Coryo punishment her for the first time, She know what will happened? They talk about? And how she feel with that? Afraid ? Turn on ? Jealousy in think that probaly he did this with someone else ? Sorry if i wrote something wrong, english is not my first language

closer to the darkness |young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader|

prompt: as requested, the dark backstory that led to you and coriolanus' exciting sex life.

contains: very very VERY DARK undertones. mentions prostitution and the exploitation that occurs in the capitol. public sex with undertones of slight humiliation. very very dark coriolanus. slightly manipulative and obsessive coriolanus. bdsm themes. dom!coryo x sub!reader. spanking. spanking with implement. oral (fem receiving). overall very dark smut. minors dni.

A simple invite, passed to him by the sly smirk of a classmate. “Snow,” Dennis hissed lowly, pencil tapping on the page of a book, eyes cutting to watch for the librarian. “A couple of us are going to The Underground tonight. Are you coming?” 

Coriolanus blinked, face staying stoic, unreadable. He didn’t particularly like the boys in his class, not now anymore than years before. He found the civilness of their polite conversation to be useless now- now that he had you. 

“I’m busy.” Coriolanus dismissed. He had no interest in going to their gambling billiards room or whatever this club was. 

“Oh, come on.” Dennis grinned, head ducking low. “You can leave the Duke girl for a night. She won’t mind anyways. Her brothers are always there. You’ll be in kept company.” 

Coriolanus perked at the mention. Your brothers, the two elder Duke boys that he hadn’t yet charmed the way he had your father and mother. A necessity to secure their approval. He knew they’d run the family business, already high up in the family ranks. If he planned to go forth with his game ideas, he’d need their investment. 

That drove him to cancel his plans with you, a half-hearted excuse about studying, offering to spend the weekend with you instead. He joined the boys of his class, socialites and aristocrats alike, all wearing their family’s name like a badge of honor. Coriolanus followed them towards the luxury end of the Capitol, secluded and reserved for only the best of the Capitol goers, exclusion even in the highest class. 

Coriolanus twisted the wad of cash in his pocket, hoping he could remember enough to pass at the roulette tables. “Here,” Dennis hummed, passing the small, black mask to Coriolanus when the doorman let them in. 

“What’s this?” Coriolanus muttered, twisting the mask in his hands. 

“Just part of it. I’m sure it helps the others feel their identity is well protected.” Dennis shrugged, tying the silk ends to the back of his head, eyes accentuated with the harsh black contrast of the material. 

They gamble openly during the games, but are worried here? Coriolanus thought, fighting back an eye roll. Instead, he fastened the material, following the string of people through the darkened hallways. It felt far from luxurious, more like the burrows and halls he’d sneak with Lucy Gray back in District Twelve. 

His mind wandered back to hers, furiously shaking her from his thoughts. He needed to be sharp, alert. Coryo had already decided he’d stumble into your brothers, hopeful he could still find them with the masks, that he’d sit at the right roulette table. 

Coriolanus stilled when there was no table. No green velvet lined table with dice and cigar smoke, no liquor or Avoxes roaming about. No, instead, there was a small, circular stage with a single row of chairs surrounding it. 

“Snow,” Dennis nudged his arm, pulling him from his thoughts. “We’re over here.” 

Coryo followed him, thankful for the mask, hoping it would conceal his wandering eyes. What was this place? A stage in the middle, nothing else. Coriolanus’ chest tightened with fear, grim curiosity perhaps as he settled into his seat. All around him, men with masks, chatting with each other, all nearly identical in the dim light of the room. 

“I heard they found her from Eleven.” The boy, Lucios, beside Dennis grinned. 

“I’m quite bored of the homely looking girls. They always look frightened, like caged animals being led to slaughter.” Dennis rolled his eyes in boredom. “I wish they’d bring in another girl from One. They always know how to put on the best shows.” 

“I’d even settle for Two.” Lucios cackled in a droning posh tone, waving over for his drink. “Maybe Three.” 

“It wouldn’t even be a real girl from Three. A hologram.” Dennis laughed. “As long as it isn’t Twelve or Ten, they always have the worst smell.” He snarled, eyes cutting to Coriolanus, who was rigidly watching the interaction. 

Dennis frowned, lips parting with a question, the trilling of a bell silencing him and everyone around them. All settling into their seats, quiet and still. Coryo’s heart beat so loudly it was deafening in his ears. Eyes scanning the room, he caught a glimpse of your brothers on the other side, eyes meeting only for a moment before the room fell dark. Completely pitch black, Coriolanus swallowed his rising panic, fists balling. 

It was a set up, a conspiracy to get him here, kill him. Of course they’d want to, they wanted you all for their own. Dennis had commented on you weeks ago, congratulated him behind bared teeth. How could he be so stupid? How could he not see?

A single light blinded him, body tensing at the sudden intrusion of light spilling above the stage. Underneath the beam, a man stood. His face was concealed entirely by a red mask that covered all his features, dressed in appropriate but dark wear, but with gloves that matched his mask. Next to him, a girl kneeling in a collar, and just a collar. Her face not covered, oh no, Coriolanus could see every line of fear, shine of terror though she tried to hide it. 

“Gentlemen,” The man’s voice was loud, even through the muffling of the mask it rang through the silent room. “Tonight our guest from Nine.” His gloved hand ran over her tied hair, and Coriolanus didn’t miss the way she shivered, biting her lip in fear. 

Coriolanus watched in eerie intrigue as the man brought her to a small bench like contraption, making a large show of securing her arms and legs, so she was left spread, vulnerable to the audience to see the most intimate parts of her. 

Coriolanus’ chest burned, maybe with fear, maybe with something else. Your brothers were here, here. He hoped they hadn’t seen him, stomach turning with the fear of what you’d do if you found out- fear that you’d leave him. The man on stage’s droning words fell deaf on his ears, mind racing with a plan, a plan to leave before they’d see you. He couldn’t see the row on the other side because of the light, so he hoped they couldn’t see him. 

His thoughts were stopped by a single cutting whistle of wood through the air, walloping onto skin with a resounding smack! followed by a muffled cry. 

“In the dark times, far before the dark times, since nearly the beginning of time, there have been many forms of debauchery that have been used to cause excitement.” The man droned dramatically, twisting a leather paddle in his hand. 

He tapped the girl’s left bottom cheek, before bringing his arm back, sending the paddle soaring onto her ass again. Coriolanus jumped slightly at the impact, mind dumbly blank of the worries from before. Nearly trance-like, watching the man paddle the girl, how she cried pathetically, how her flesh turned, blossoming with marks. 

“There has always been a power imbalance.” The man continued, letting the paddle rub teasingly over her body. “There have always been the powerful, the helpless. Those who are in charge, those who are submissive- completely at the mercy of your cruelness, of your control.” 

Coriolanus felt his pants tent, blood rushing from his head down to his throbbing cock. The man stalked, heavy footsteps that echoed in the room, back between the girl's legs. “There is a need for order. Even in intimacy.” He hummed, bringing the paddle down twice, two snapping flicks of his wrist. 

Coriolanus swallowed, spit pooling in his mouth at the cries the girl gave. The man scanned the room, setting the paddle on her backside, slowly taking off a glove. Coriolanus leant forward, watching the man with intense intrigue. 

“Because as we all know, there is pleasure in power.” The man boomed, his hand disappearing between the girl’s legs. A gasp ghosting on the edge of pleasure filled the room, her back arching at the sensation that was hidden from Coriolanus’ view, his eyes narrowing for a better view. 

Coryo’s face blushed deeply, burning with excitement when the man’s fingers lifted, covered in sticky arousal from the girl that webbed his fingers. “And as you can see, there is pleasure in pain as well.” Though his face was hidden, Coriolanus could hear the smug smirk of his voice. 

“My darling guest here is one who enjoys such pain, which is why she’s chosen to serve the Capitol and offer her services.” The man continued, wiping her release on his pants. “For the night, the rates bidding starts at a high price since she can only be shared once.” 

Coriolanus slipped out when the bidding started, the lights dimming enough for him to see the exit. He walked furiously down the streets of the Capitol, throwing the mask furiously on the ground. Still, his cock throbbed, stirred to life, not at the girl but at the idea. The idea that you would be tied up, tilt that power to him entirely, be at his mercy and command. 

He’d brain his throbbing cock as the reason his thoughts were scattered, why he showed up at your penthouse. 

“I thought you were studying- oh!” You squeaked, letting the door fall with a snap shut, Coriolanus’ hands on your waist, kissing you with feverish hunger. 

“I missed you.” Coriolanus rasped, your heart swelling at the words. “I couldn’t wait until this weekend. I had to see you. Had to taste you.” 

Your knees wobbled at the words, tensing with excitement. You could feel his stiff cock on your hip, ignoring the way he rubbed himself into your hip, letting him settle between your legs. You were surprised when his plush lips pressed to the inside of your thighs, hot breath ghosting over your clothed pussy. Your fingers tangled through his hair when his lips wrapped around your sensitive clit, lapping and suckling. 

Coriolanus knew what to do, what he needed to do to get you brainless, pliant before he’d suggest such a proposal. So he let you pull at his hair, let you tug at the roots while you whined and cried out, bucking beneath him as his tongue worked you open. 

“I want to try something.” Coriolanus hovered above your sprawled out frame, slack and limp against the rustled sheets. His eyes were dark, looking down at you from the slope of his nose- it sent a shiver right through your already trembling frame. “If you’re willing.” 

Brain still foggy from the previous orgasms, you nodded lazily. Of course you did, it was like clockwork to Coryo, all a part of his plan. “You always enjoy it so much when I’m rough with you,” Coryo began, biting back a smirk at how you blushed, body folding shyly into itself at his words. “I want to try something a little… more.” 

“I don’t much care for torture.” You frowned, lips pulling in a scowl. 

“I would never torture you, darling.” Coryo smiled softly, a small shake of his head that had you relaxing. “I think you’ll find this more pleasurable than painful.” 

He had you over his thigh after a short amount of coaxing. Legs on either side of his thigh, body resting on the silk sheets behind him. He alternated sharp smacks to your ass that left you squealing, lifting in tense alert at the sensation only for his hand to slip back between your thighs, tease and pleasure you until you melted back onto his thigh. Until his spanks were met with pathetic whimpers of pleasure, rubbing yourself shamelessly on his thigh. 

It was only the beginning. The very start of the shift in power for the two of you. First in the bedroom, then out in the world.

[kazoolapow]

Azula's Gambit

pairing : Azula x Gender-Neutral Reader word count : 5k

warnings: angsty and feels. Summary : Princess Azula known for her cunning and control, finds herself inexplicably drawn to you, a figure who challenges her at every turn. You and Azula were bound by a complex game of emotion, mind games, power plays and manipulation. One day, you challenge Azula to break her facade; to see her vulnerable, with one question in mind: Are you just a game to her? Or are you something more? A/N : I really hope you enjoy this angsty, brainy, little fic of Azula. There will be part two of the ending (in which I still wrecked my head to write about 🥲)

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In the center of the courtyard, Azula stood, a figure of fierce concentration. She took a deep breath before opening her eyes. She started off by twirling a flame on her fingertip, it zig-zag through her fingers effortlessly. With a flick of her wrist, that flame conjured a blazing inferno. The blue flame leaped, spiraled, and danced around her; each second is precise, each movement is organic, each turn with it’s whirl are calculated. 

So far, so good. A smug smile playing on her lips. Now, It’s time to dance with the lightning. 

As she extended her arm, her fingers splayed. She shifted her weight effortlessly, her feet gliding over the ground as if she were part of the wind itself. With a swift, circular motion of her hands, the lightning followed, spiraling around her in a mesmerizing display of control and power. She transitioned into a series of quick, explosive movements, a sharp turn of her body directed the lightning outward in an stunning arc. She finally point to a giant rock to blast all the lightning with, cracking it into two.

The courtyard erupted into spontaneous applause. Each clap full of admiration, awe and maybe a bit of fear: just how Azula liked it. As she stood amidst the blue flames, her chest swelling with pride, her head held a touch higher.

She scanned the crowd, searching for one face in particular, yours, hoping to catch a glimpse of your stupid amazed face. Her ‘fiery’ performance, as you repeatedly called it, was a spectacle to proof your dare. You had dare her to split the rock with only a finger, and she did just that.

As her eyes darted through the sea of mostly aged and ragged men faces, her heart sank slightly. You were nowhere to be seen. Instead, her eyes met her father’s. Their eyes locked, he stood, a stoic figure– his face betraying no emotion. He gave a subtle nod, it was terse, almost reluctant approval. But she knew almost it’s not good enough.

Finally, she had to maintained her composure, her face now a mask of indifference mirroring her father’s. With a graceful bow to the audience, she let the flames die down, taking her leave from there.

The performance had ended, and the courtyard was still buzzing with the leftovers of Azula’s fiery display. Azula had trained for this. Hours and hours that turned to days and days then it became to several weeks to months. But she felt nothing paid that hard work, those time were wasted. This performance was not a big deal, it was not a green light to be a Firelord either. Yet, she can’t help but failing.

Ty Lee rushed up to her, “Azula! There you are,”

Ty Lee already brimming her words of amazement with uncontainable energy, “The way you move the lightning and those dancing flames?! It was so amazing!” she exclaimed, her voice echoed the corridors.

Azula nodded in acknowledgment, “Naturally,” casually shrugging.

“You did well,” Mai soon approached with a small smile, “As always, you know how to leave an impression.”

“Leave an impression?” Ty Lee said, “She set the standard sky-high! Oh, Y/N should’ve seen this. Y/N would’ve been totally wowed!”

Azula almost jolt by the mention of your name. As if she had electrocute herself with her own lightning. Her eyes immediately glare at Ty Lee, usually fierce and controlled, but now it flickered with absolute disappointment. “Y/N or not, the performance would have been the same. I don’t perform for anyone’s approval.”

Azula felt weird. It was something bittersweet. It’s simple in words actually, she just long for your eyes to witness her element; her elegance and her perfection–all blended it in her ‘fiery’ performance, to share the countless training sessions into triumph–but now felt incomplete. Was that too much to ask?

“Maybe not,” Mai observed wryly, “but sometimes certain eyes matter more than other, don’t they?”

Azula’s gaze hardened to Mai, a silent glare that spoke volumes. But Mai was unfazed by the glare, somehow she was used to it.

“Y/N is busy with the date,” Ty Lee tried to defend, completely oblivious to the unspoken glares, “but anyway, we are going to celebrate! What about a dinner in your honor? Come on, it’ll be fun!” 

Azula momentarily lost in the fact that you are busy with something that you had to bail on her performance–wait, what is the date? She decided to ask that later on and quickly set that aside as she straightened her posture, the commanding edge returning to her voice, “A celebration in order, indeed. Lead the way.”

As they started to follow to wherever Ty Lee’s are leading them towards, Azula still let her eyes momentarily drifted back to the empty space where she had hoped to see you. It was a fleeting glance, one filled with a mix of hope and resignation, before she finally turned away.

———

You finally made it to the place, the place your date will be waiting. You stepped into the restaurant, and was immediately taken aback in an atmosphere of elegance. It was bustling with energy, each table almost occupied by well-dressed patrons engaged in lively conversation, the clinking of fine china and glassware creating a harmonious backdrop. Soft, golden lightning bathed the room, casting a warm glow over the sophisticatedly decorated interior, accentuating it’s luxury.

Though you were no stranger to luxury, having spent considerable time in Azula’s opulent surroundings, the ambiance here was a refreshing change—to say the least. This place was a modern version of luxury you’re used to—sleek, polished, and contemporary. It was less about showcasing heritage or history, it is simply about aestheticity.

Comparing this to the Fire Nation’s palace, specifically Azula’s bedroom or her study room—where every corner told a story, every tapestry and artifact held a piece of history. You had always been fascinated by that world, a world where elegance was defined by it’s connection to the past, it’s cultural significance to the Fire Nation. But, if you had to choose: you knew your heart leaned more on the timeless, old and dusty artifacts in no time since you are such a history nerd.

Your mind took you back to the palace. Your mind showed you her face—that damned face. Her stupid beautiful face with her arrogance, her high ego that seemed impenetrable, and her refusal to be vulnerable with you. Then you remembered that today was her ‘fiery’ performance, where she practically show off her skill and power that was undeniably impressive, yet tinged with haughtiness. 

You had deliberately missed it or rather bailed on it. It was a decision that is not easy but felt necessary. You believed Azula needed a lesson, a taste of what it felt like to have someone important to you not acknowledge your hard work, no matter how small or grand it is.

You remembered the countless moments when Azula had to let her ego overshadow their friendship. Azula always keeping a part of herself hidden, always maintaining that edge of superiority, always strive to perfection. You don’t need that perfect princess of Fire Nation; you had always been attracted by what makes Azula human. You love her intense passion, which made her arrogant but also made her deeply committed and earnest. You love her insecurities that she rarely voice out loud—but once she do, you savor her little doubts and asked your thoughts on it. You love her hidden softness in her usual confident and prideful exterior. You simply just love her, by her flaws.

Now, you are searching for a sign if you meant more to Azula than just another person in the friend group. You are reaching for cracks to Azula’s walls, to find a tender glimpse that you, more than anyone else, held a special place in her heart.

This date is more than just a dinner. It is a statement, a silent rebellion against Azula unyielding façade. Tonight, you wanted to feel that sting of absence, the pang of being ignored. You wanted Azula to realize what she was potentially losing. It was a gamble—provoking someone as strong-willed as Azula—but you felt it was necessary. 

You had only one question: Will this finally drop Azula’s barriers?

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” You said to the receptionist, “I believe I’m expected by Chan?”

“Oh yes, Y/N! He’s been looking forward to your arrival. Just follow me, I’ll take you to him.” The receptionist glanced up at you, there was a brief flicker of recognition in her eyes—maybe too quick to be merely courteous acknowledgment from a staff member to a guest. In a place where the staff typically meets countless strangers daily, such a look is a bit odd, as if the receptionist had been expecting you, or perhaps knew of you in some way beyond the scope of a simple dinner reservation. 

The receptionist weaved her way between elegantly set tables and past animated diners as you followed her through the bustling restaurant. The receptionist moved with a practiced ease, guiding you through with a casual grace.

 “Our chef has some delightful specials tonight," she mentioned, gesturing subtly towards the kitchen, where the harmonious chaos of culinary creation was just visible. “Is there a particular type of cuisine you're fond of, or are you looking to be surprised?”

“I’m open to recommendations. Surprise is part of the experience, isn’t it?” you said. You wondered how, in a busy restaurant like this one, the staff could still afford to be so casual and engage in small talk. Perhaps she was just exceptionally good at her job. 

The receptionist nodded, her smile still in place. But you caught a quick, almost imperceptible tap on her pocket. It was a weird gesture, a brief one though—but it made you questioned more. Was there more to this receptionist than met the eye?

No, no, you said to yourself. I’m here on a date. You shook off the thought as a byproduct of your cautious instinct.

Reaching a well-appointed table, the receptionist present you to Chan, who is apparently the restaurant owner, "Y/N, welcome!" Chan exclaimed, rising from his chair with a warm smile. He leaned in to peck your cheeks in a friendly greeting, then smoothly slid aside, gesturing gracefully to the chair, inviting you to take a seat. 

You sat as the receptionist departed, you found your gaze subconsciously trailing the woman’s retreating figure. There was something about her you could not figure out, something like a hidden agenda beneath her polished exterior that catch your curiosity.

“I’m glad you could make it!” Chan interrupted your thoughts. You scolded yourself for possibly reading too much into a simple exchange, a habit you often fell back on— especially now with your thoughts deeply entangled in how Azula might respond to this evening.

“Well, thank you for inviting me, Chan. I heard so many great things about your restaurant.”

“How could I not invite someone as knowledgeable as you in culinary arts? I’ve been looking forward to our conversation all day.” His gaze lingered on you just a moment longer than necessary.

 “And might I add, you look absolutely stunning tonight. Guess it’s not just the food that’s going to be exceptional.” His smile broadening, tone alight. He leaned slightly towards you, trying to close the physical and metaphorical gap between you two. His gestures were smooth and a well-rehearsed play.

The dinner progressed with a steady flow of conversation and laughter. Chan, ever the entertaining host, amused you with tales of the restaurant’s origins and his personal journey in the culinary world. Each story was accompanied by a detail explanation, his knowledge in arts and history were evident— that made you intrigued, his enthusiasm were entirely contagious too.

“I'm definitely interested in those stories,” you confessed, “Did you know I stumbled upon a recipe from Princess Azula’s ancestral line? It’s amazing to see how food connects with history!" 

"No kidding? That’s the kind of stuff that makes my job cool, right? We should totally whip that up sometime. Might impress the Princess or even the Firelord, too. You know, they got quite the taste for the authentic."

You nodded eagerly, you stand up by what he said, your smile brightened, “It's all about the details, isn’t it? She values that in everything, food included.” Your gaze briefly flickered to the door, half-expecting, half-hoping for her to burst in—but the door remained closed.

“Absolutely,” he said, as you two were finishing dessert, “Speaking of details, how about after dinner, we take a closer look at some of the exclusive wines I’ve got? A private tasting, just for us. It said dated a while back to Avatar Roku’s age! Could be a nice way to wind down the evening, you know?”

His invitation was clear, his gaze intent on you, slightly dimming. The suggestion was tempting, it was wrapped in the complex of his stories that you really enjoyed and it was a possibility to continue your fun conversation. But it was also unmistakably laced with an intention that went beyond a simple wine tasting. 

Chan leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a suggestive whisper, his hand finding reasons to brush against yours under the impression of emphasizing a point. He was intruding  your personal space, his body language more assertive than courteous. 

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, your mind’s racing. You were aware of Chan’s motives. And now he was trying his best to lure you into accepting his request. He sensed your hesitation; thus escalate his flirtations even more.

You look around for some form of silent support. You realized you might get none. The staff, loyal to Chan, were unlikely to intervene. The patrons were too absorbed in their own worlds, oblivious in your discomfort. Then, you locked eyes with the woman you noticed earlier— the receptionist. 

Her gaze was intense, not just observing the scene between you and Chan, but seemingly focused on you yourself. In that brief eye contact, you felt a strange sense of safety—a little bit. The receptionist, whatever her role or reason for being there, was a witness, an outsider to the unfolding scenario.

“You know,” Chan said, “I once threw a party back in the day, at my parent’s place.” 

He grew bolder; you could feel it. He was getting impatient with your hesitance, so he decided to shift tactics. 

“There was this girl, like you,” he began, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Sophisticated, smart, but impulsive. We hit it off, and well, let’s just say, we shared a memorable kiss that night.”

He paused for effect, his smile grew. “But here’s the twist— suddenly, we found the house in ruins. Turn out, she had a bit of a wild side. Wrecked the place. My parents were furious and I was too. But she still live up here,” he pointed to his forehead. “I couldn’t help admiring her spirit, now.”

The story, seemingly harmless, but you knew there was something intended; what is he trying to say? You knew he was subtly warning you of your next move. It was a veiled attempt to gauge your response.  The clock ticked on, each minute stretching longer than the last. You found yourself at a crossroads. Part of you wanted to put an end to the evening, to assert your boundaries firmly. Yet another part, the strategist within you, contemplated the potential outcome.

Screw it.  You went this far.  Screw you, Azula.

“I’d be delighted to see your winery,” you said, voice steady. You made your decision.  Chan’s face lit up, he giggled boyishly.

You instantly pictured Azula’s reaction— would it be jealousy, anger, or indifference? The uncertainty was agonizing yet exhilarating. You doubt the effectiveness of this decision; Azula was a fortress of composure and arrogance. Could this be the key to crush her?

Your thoughts swirled as you left the restaurant, hand in hand with Chan. You decided the night was young, and the possibilities were endless. There was no turning back now.

From the corner of your eye, you saw a woman, disheveled and frantic, burst through the restaurant doors, clutching a young boy in her arms. The boy was pale, his condition visibly dire. The restaurant, a moment ago, a peaceful haven of lively diners, plunged into chaos.

“Help!” The woman cried loudly. “My son! He is sick because of your food!”

Chan, caught off guard, hurried back inside, with you following closely behind. Your heart pounded. The mother’s anguish was blatant, her voice breaking through the murmurs of the startled diners.

“Ma’am, please, calm down. Let’s not jump to conclusions. Tell me what happened.” Chan said, trying to maintain control.

“We eat your leftovers, and now he’s like this! You did this to him!” she cried out, almost hysterically. She clutched the poor boy close, her eyes were wild with panic and desperation.

“Everyone, please listen!” the mother continued, “This isn’t just about me and my son. It’s about you too, how can you eat here, not knowing if your food is safe? My son is dying because of this place!” Her voice cut through the room, her desperation resonating with every patron.

 Chan seemed irritated, he blocked her from reaching the diners, “Ma’am, I understand you’re upset, but making unfounded accusations won’t help. Let’s discuss this privately and find a solution, yes?”

The mother, ignoring Chan’s presence altogether, turned to other diners. “Would you all just sit there if it was your child? He was fine before eating the leftovers, but look at him now!” 

“I’ll assure you, our food is prepared to the highest standards. We’ll call for medical help right away, but please, let’s not cause a scene.” Chan tried again, though he was visibly flustered.

“A scene?” The mother shrieked, “My child is dying! How can you talk about scenes? You need to take responsibility!”

Chan struggling to maintain his professional demeanor, signaled his staff to intervene, hoping to move the mother and her son away from the public eye. 

You stood there, a bystander. You froze from the unfolding scene before you. Your plan to provoke Azula suddenly seeming insignificant in the face of such raw human vulnerability. It was heart-wrenching, a stark contrast to the calculated world you’re used to, a world you shared with Azula.

And you loved this. You would love to see it in Azula.

You heard Chan sighed. His earlier confidence had evaporated. This was not how he had envisioned the evening—what was supposed to be a simple date with a girl had spiraled into his career nightmare. He looked back to you, offering a small smile that he tried doing genuinely. He looked tired. You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for him.

As the tension of the restaurant simmered, the sudden arrival of men, dressed in crisp, light blue uniforms with the emblem of public health department prominently displayed. The health inspectors. What are they doing in here?

Accompanying the inspectors were a couple of royal palace guards, adding a layer of urgency to the situation. These officials grabbed the attention of all eyes in the place. 

What the Agni is this about?

“Good evening, Mr. Chan,” the health inspector said, “We’ve received an urgent complaint regarding a health hazard in this establishment. We need to conduct an immediate inspection.”

Chan with his face a mix of confusion and panic, quickly stepped forward to greet them. “This must be some misunderstanding. Our kitchen adheres to the highest of standards. Can we discuss this privately, perhaps?”

“I’m afraid this is a matter of public safety. We must proceed with the inspection now. In full view of your patrons.” He surveyed the restaurant with keen eyes.

“Please, let’s handle this discretely,” Chan practically begged and almost fell to his knees, “I promise, whatever the issue, we’ll cooperate fully. There’s no need for a public spectacle.”

“Our priority is the health and safety of the public, Mr. Chan,” said he firmly, “We need to inspect your kitchen and restrict all activities within. We are ensuring that there are no violations.”

The health inspectors, without warning, walked towards the kitchen, with a pleading Chan following closely behind them. As you stood by the door, left, deserted, you had no idea what to do now. The restaurant buzzed with whispers and speculation from the patrons. The air was thick with tension, drama after drama are unfolding way too fast.

The timing of the inspection was too precise, too perfectly aligned with the chaos the mother had caused. 

You grew suspicious to the inspectors. You observed them; they moved with an air of the outmost confidence and purpose that seemed beyond the usual protocol. Their approach was methodical, almost as if they were following a script.

Moreover, the presence of the guards, royal guards. What are their business with this?

These details, all in different kind that if were put together—it formed a picture. A scheme. An orchestration. You had aligned it all to form it’s real essence—which point to her involvement. 

You knew Azula’s penchant for dramatic flair; you knew this was controlled and design thoroughly, unyielding and impactful; you knew the guards were a show of force, a tactic that Azula often employed to assert dominance and control. And the mother? Was that her plan too?

This wasn’t just a simple health inspection; it was a revenge in a larger game she recently launched, in perfect motion. From this, you knew that this night was far from over, and that the aftermath of Azula’s actions would ripple far beyond the walls of the restaurant.

“Ms. Y/N,” a guard spoke, “Princess Azula request your presence at the palace immediately.”

You expected it, but you were also caught off guard. You were about to dismiss the guard when the receptionist from earlier appeared beside him. She gave you a subtle nod, her expression betraying nothing, yet is trying to tell something. In that instant, you realized the truth—the receptionist was more than she seemed, likely a spy placed by Azula, to monitor your movements.

You acknowledged Azula’s cunning and what a dick move she pulled. You can’t help but respect this carefully designed scheme but frustrated to the supervision that limits your own autonomy. The latter emotion got the best of you than the former. “Tell Princess Azula I’m not at her beck and call. I won’t be going to the palace.”

The guard’s expression remained impassive, but it was the receptionist who stepped forward, breaking her professional facade. In a swift, startling motion, she slapped you across the face, the sound echoed sharply.

“You don’t understand,” she said urgently, “You need to come with us now. It’s not a request.”

The slap left a burning sensation on your cheek. It was unexpected and forceful. The onlookers in the restaurant paused, the scene unfolding before them adding to the night’s surreal quality.

Realizing that resistance might escalate the situation further, you reluctantly nodded in agreement, “Fine, I’ll come. But this isn’t the end of it.” You shifted your eyes to the receptionist, she was somehow surprised herself. Her actions, It was a breach of protocol.

As they escorted you away from the restaurant, you felt a sense of being a pawn in a larger game, a feeling that was becoming all too familiar. ——— Azula sat calmly in her opulent study room, her posture relaxed, unpinning her hairpin and let her hair fall. She was waiting for you, expecting you to burst through the door at any moment, fueled by your anger and frustration.

 Azula had done the evening’s event with precision, pushing you to your limits. She anticipated that this act would be the peak to finally see your raw astonishment that she believed you harbored for her.

The door opened, but not with force or drama that Azula had expected. You entered quietly, your expression unreadable, your usual kindled spirit replaced by an unsettling calm. Azula’s lips curved into a sly smile, intrigued by this new side of you.

“Well, well, Y/N,” Azula started, “I must say, I’m terribly sorry. I was expecting a grand entrance. Did you lose your fire along the date?”

You remained silent, your eyes locking with Azula’s. There was a depth in your gaze, a tumult of emotions you harbored beneath.

“Come now, don’t hold back my account. I know my little game at the restaurant must have… stirred things up for you.”

“Your games are getting old, Princess,” you finally replied, “Do you always need to manipulate situations to feel in control?”

Azula leaned forward, breaking a genuine smile. You hadn’t change at all. And Azula is enjoying this.

“Oh, Y/N, manipulation is such a harsh word. I prefer,” she paused, “strategic planning.”

She saw your faint smile, she knew you would not backing down. “Strategic planning that involves putting a homeless family in distress? You’re losing your touch.”

“On the contrary, I’d say my touch is quite effective. It brought you here, didn’t it?”

You side eyed her, “Maybe I’m just here to tell you that your ‘strategic planning’ is backfiring. You’re not as in control as you think.”

Azula’s eyes narrowed, she was both admired and irritated by your resilience. She had long for your anguish to confront her, but your composed defiance was a curveball she hadn’t anticipated.

She sighed. “Or maybe you’re just afraid to admit that you enjoy my little game. Admit it, Y/N, you love the challenge as much as I do.”

You walked to her, leaning in close, lowering your voice. “There’s a fine line between a challenge and a reckless game, Princess. Be careful not to cross it.”

Azula waved her hand dismissively, “Always so serious. Where’s the fun in playing it safe?”

“This isn’t funny, Azula,” your voice impatient, “Your little game at the restaurant, using that woman and her son—it’s cruel. You manipulated their distress for your own amusement.”

“I’m being cruel to be kind. I gave the boy the best medical attention. Plus, the sister received a job now—but a shame it will be in ruins. Anyway, There’s no need for you to worry about that.”

Your face redden. Azula could sense you’re infuriated. “How dare you use someone’s vulnerability for your own selfish ends? These are people live. Our people!”

Azula, usually unfazed, was taken aback. She felt goosebumps in your intense voice, a seriousness that was rarely encountered.

“You think I don’t know that?” Azula raised from her seat, “Everything I do, I do for a reason. You of all people should understand that.”

“Understand? What is there to understand about exploiting a desperate mother and her dying child? I want to see you vulnerable for once, Azula. I want to see you hurt, to see you break.” You roared as you were shaking. There was a palpable silence in the room as your words hung in the air. It was a raw, emotional confession, one that revealed the depth of your desperate goal to that date.

Azula did not know how to respond, your emotion was too intense for her to handle. Azula felt a twinge of something unfamiliar. Was it guilt? Regret? For a moment, her fortress of composure wavered.

“Is that what you really want, Y/N? To see me broken?” she asked, surprisingly soft and weak.

“I don’t know what I want anymore.” You choked, “But I can’t keep doing this. Not with you, not like this.” Tears, unbidden, spilled from your eyes, your resilience crumbling under the weight of your emotions.

Azula stood there, feeling a sudden urge to reach out, to offer comfort. It was an odd desire that clashed with her self-restraint, her need to always be in control.

You turned to leave. “Where do you think you’re going?” something within Azula compelled her to made you stay. It was a surge of emotion, random and messy, unlike anything she had ever allowed herself to feel. She rushed to you with a determined stride.

You suddenly paused at the door, looked back at Azula, watery eyes. “Every game has it risk, right, Azula?” your voice faltered, barely a whisper.

“What are you getting at, Y/N?”

Azula watched you looked down, thinking something. “In the next of your act, I promise you it would include real danger—a situation I’ll go that even you can’t control.”

Azula scoffed, “You wouldn’t dare, you’re not that reckless.”

That took so much to say for Azula. She half-expected to see your ego arise from the compliment. But as she looked into your eyes, she saw something that gave her a pause. There was no trace of the usual sarcasm or defiance. Instead, there was a deep, unsettling seriousness.

“Y/N, you’re joking, come on laugh it out,” Her heart pounded. “If you’re trying to provoke me, there are better ways.” 

You remained silent, your expression unwavering. You turned to leave for real now, your steps resolute.

Panicked, Azula lunged towards the door. Swift and forceful, she slammed the door shut, effectively blocking your path of escape. Her heart raced with adrenaline and unusually breathless.

“You’re playing with fire, Y/N. Literally and figuratively.” Azula searched your eyes, looking for a sign. But all she found was an empty resolve that send a chill down her spine.

You finally looked back at her, your voice cold and distant, “Sometimes, you have to get burned to see the light. You’ll understand when it’s too late, Azula. When you’ve finally lost.”

Azula felt your words like a physical blow, her face twitching in pain, her mask completely shattered. She knew this was a trap. But the threat brought something in the depth of her own feelings—the potential cost of losing you, forever.

You two just looked at each other, thick with absolute silence. 

“Don’t be stupid.” Azula gritted her teeth.

You pushed Azula away. Then your figure slipped from the door with a slam. The room felt colder. The air was suddenly thick that almost made Azula suffocate. The door closed, leaving Azula alone with her thoughts.

The game had change, and for the first time, Azula was uncertain of her next move.

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

A Court of Fire & Masks

Eris Vanserra x OC

Chapter 5

A Court of Fire and Masks Master List

Summary

Penelope enters the glamorous yet treacherous world of Autumn Court life, where appearances are everything, and even the slightest misstep could ruin her families reputation. As the youngest daughter of a noble family, she's expected to smile, nod, and blend in - just like her older sister. But when Penelope's curiosity about inter-court politics leads to a forbidden mention of unrest, she quickly realizes she may not have the weaponry for the brutal battle of social court, especially when she runs up against heir to the court, Eris Vanserra.

Content Warnings:

Emotional manipulation

Verbal and emotional abuse

Power imbalances

Anxiety and panic

Mentions of sexism & misogyny

Dark themes of cruelty

PHYSICAL ABUSE

Word Count: 6,864

Her father never mentioned what had transpired in the study. Penelope had waited long after Lord Aiden’s departure to return to the manor, slipping through the back gardens in an effort to remain unseen. Even when her sisters called for her from the edge of the orchards, their voices filled with concern, she stayed hidden, the weight of everything pressing down onto her chest like a heavy stone.

Days passed and still her father said nothing. The house moved along with its usual rhythm, the halls filled with the chatter of her sisters, the maids bustling about, and her mother directing the household with her militaristic precision. Whatever had been discussed between her father and Lord Aiden hadn’t shifted her parents’ opinion in the slightest. Her father’s pride in Aiden’s boldness remained unwavering, a smug satisfaction glinting in his eyes whenever the young lord’s name was mentioned. And her mother’s quiet approval hung like a subtle, unspoken command in the air, an expectation that continued to press down on Penelope day in, and day out.

A week later, Penelope found herself sitting in her chambers, wearing only her dressing gown, her fingers fumbling as they attempted to untangle the stubborn knots in her hair. The early morning light had barely begun to creep through the curtains, the sky still painted with the soft hues of dawn, though it felt like an oppressive weight against her eyelids. Sleep had been elusive to her, her mind too full of thoughts and emotions she hadn’t quite been able to sort through.

Today marked the start of the hunting season in the Autumn Court, and as tradition dictated, the High Lord had invited the nobility to attend the first hunt of the season. It was a grand event, steeped in the court’s history and customs, and one that Penelope had always viewed with quiet distaste. There was something barbaric about it, the way they slaughtered innocent animals for sport when the court itself was already drowning in luxury. they had no need for more game, no need for the spectacle of the hunt when their pantries were already stocked with food and delicacies. To her, the whole affair felt primitive and cruel, a show of dominance over nature that seemed unnecessary.

But this year, it was different. This would be her first hunt, the first time she would be expected to attend, to stand among the nobles in the cold morning air, her presence noted and scrutinized by the sharp eyes of the court. To not show up would be seen as an insult, an act of defiance that could not be overlooked.

Penelope yanked at a particularly stubborn knot in her hair, the brush tearing through the tangles, sending a sharp twinge of pain radiating across her scalp as the strands finally loosened. The door to her chambers opened with a soft creak, then clicked shut again, and she glanced in the mirror, expecting to see a maid with her breakfast. But instead, the cold, stoic reflection staring back at her was that of her mother.

Already dressed for the morning, Lady Estelle wore her traditional floor-length gown of deep forest green, the heavy fabric draping elegantly in the chill of early autumn. The high collar, lined with rabbit fur, only emphasized the sharpness of her features, her hair pulled back so tightly into a bun that it seemed to draw her face even tauter.

“Good morning, Mother,” Penelope greeted her, still watching the reflection as she continued to work the brush through another knot in her hair.

Her mother didn’t acknowledge the greeting, not even a flicker of warmth crossing her face. She moved across the room with silent, measured steps, her fingers grazing over the rich fabric of the gown and cloak laid out for Penelope. Lady Estelle rarely came to Penelope’s chambers alone, and as her mother’s presence filled the room, a knot of anxiety settled low in Penelope’s stomach. She gripped the brush tighter but said nothing, knowing from experience that addressing her mother’s unexpected visit before she was ready to speak would only invite her displeasure.

Her mother finished her silent appraisal of Penelope’s outfit and moved toward the vanity, appearing behind her daughter’s reflection like a stern shadow, her gaze sharp yet unreadable. “Here,” Lady Estelle said, extending her hand for the brush. “Let me.”

Penelope hesitated but handed over the brush, feeling a knot of uncertainty tighten in her chest. Her mother rarely showed affection—especially not in the form of something as intimate as brushing her hair. As Lady Estelle ran the bristles through the ends of her daughter’s dark locks, the room fell into a thick, weighted silence. The only sound was the soft whisper of the brush working through the tangles, smooth strokes, deliberate and slow.

Lady Estelle’s gaze remained fixed on her task, never meeting Penelope’s in the mirror, but her voice broke the silence. “How are you feeling about today?”

Penelope blinked, startled. Her mother never asked such personal questions, never showed interest in her emotions beyond the practicalities of court behavior. It was odd enough that she had offered to brush her hair—something Penelope couldn’t remember ever happening—but this inquiry put her even more on edge. She swallowed down the instinct to question it and answered quickly, “Fine.”

Her mother’s hands didn’t falter, but her eyes flicked up, locking with Penelope’s in the reflection. “Are you excited?” she asked, her tone deceptively casual, as though the weight of the question wasn’t pressing heavily between them.

Penelope hesitated, her voice faltering as she replied, “Yes.” It came out more as a question than an answer, and she instantly regretted the uncertainty.

Penelope’s mother let out a low chuckle, the sound almost foreign, almost unsettling as she looked down at her daughter. “I was so nervous before the first hunt I attended,” she mused, her voice softer than usual. “I was terrified they would slaughter the animals right in front of us. I nearly vomited as soon as I stepped into the viewing tent.”

Penelope’s hands swilled in her lap. Shocked didn’t begin to cover it. Lady Estelle never spoke about her feelings — especially not moments of vulnerability like this. The act of brushing her hair was strange enough, but now this revelation felt like an even more jarring intimacy.

“You know, I was first introduced to your father at a hunt,” her mother continued, her tone almost becoming wistful. “He was riding with the High family. When his father approached mine to request my hand on his son’s behalf, I was elated. To finally have a place in court.”

Penelope’s fingers curled slightly around the silk fabric of her dressing gown, her gaze fixed on her mother’s reflection. Her mother’s face seemed distant, as if she were staring into a memory long tucked away.

“And when your father returned from the hunt, all muddy and covered in dirt, smelling of animal and horse,” Lady Estelle’s lips twisted into a small, reluctant smile, “I had to stop myself from turning away in disgust. But that’s how things were then. Courtships were much shorter, more formal. Your generation gets far more time to be with one another before such arrangements are finalized.”

Penelope swallowed hard, her throat tightening as if she were trying to force down the weight of her own apprehension. The way her mother spoke about courtship was so … detached, as though love or desire were never part of the equation — just duty and expectation.

The brush tugged at the stubborn knot, pulling Penelope’s head back slightly, and she hissed softly in pain. Her mother’s eyes flicked up, catching Penelope’s gaze in the mirror with that sharp, discerning look she always wore.

“Lord Aiden is a fine male,” Lady Estelle said, her words pointed, as though testing for a reaction.

“He is,” Penelope replied, her voice tight, the words automatic.

Her mother made a small sound of approval as she continued brushing, smoothing out the tangles. “He would make a fine husband,” she added, her eyes narrowing slightly as they flicked back to Penelope, watching her closely.

“He would,” Penelope replied again, trying to keep eye contact with her mother.

Lady Estelle continued brushing her daughter’s hair, her movements measured but the tension radiating from her was palpable. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the only sound in the room the soft rasp of bristles against tangled strands. Penelope could feel her mother watching her in the mirror, her gaze as sharp as the pull of the brush.

“Lord Aiden is a fine male,” her mother repeated, her voice lower this time, laced with expectation.

Penelope’s mouth felt dry. “Yes, he is,” she murmured, her hands continuing to tighten in the fabric of her gown.

Her mother’s lips pursed, the brush gliding down her hair a little harder now, snagging on another knot. Penelope winced as Lady Estelle tugged, the pressure increasing just enough to make her scalp sting.

“You’ve spent enough time with him, haven’t you?” her mother asked lightly, though there was an edge beneath the surface of her words. “Enough to know of his interests and how fortunate this match would be. It’s not everyday a lord with such status and wealth shows genuine interest.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “I know,” Penelope replied softly, her eyes fixed on her reflection, though she didn’t recognize the girl staring back at her. “It’s… it’s all a lot to consider.”

The brush froze mid-stroke, and her mother's eyes turned to ice. "Consider?" she hissed, the word dripping with venom. "Penelope, this is not a matter you can ponder over. Lord Aiden has made his intentions clear. This is a rare opportunity that must not be taken lightly."

Penelope's throat tightened as she shifted in her seat, her fingers trembling in her lap. "I understand, but-"

But her mother cut her off with a swift tug on the brush, yanking at a particularly stubborn knot. Penelope bit her lip to stop from crying out as pain shot through her scalp.

"You understand, but what?" Lady Estelle demanded, her voice sharp and controlled. "Do you think opportunities like this come knocking often? Are you so foolish to believe that if you reject this offer, another one will come along for someone like you? Lord Aiden is willing to bring our family respect and security. Your father and I have been waiting for a match like this for years, Penelope. And I have tried to let you handle it yourself, but now I see that you are not taking this seriously or perhaps are just too naïve to understand the consequences of turning it down."

A feeling of suffocation overwhelmed Penelope as her mother's hand moved faster and harsher, the brush tugging at her hair without any regard for her discomfort. Each pull felt like a warning.

"Your father has sacrificed so much for us and we cannot let an opportunity like this slip away," Lady Estelle continued, her voice unwavering but pointed. "Especially with Persimmons' failures to find a husband. It would be unforgivable for our family to decline such an offer. Do you understand?"

The brush caught on another knot and this time, Lady Estelle ripped through it, causing Penelope's head to snap back with a painful jolt. Tears welled in her eyes, not from the physical pain but from the overwhelming pressure in the room.

"I won't stand by and let you make foolish mistakes," her mother added, her voice laced with disappointment. "This is not just about you. It's about our entire family. Your sisters. Your father. We need one of our daughters to secure our future and Lord Aiden is offering it to you. I don't know what has made you so selfish as to not see this opportunity, but I will put a stop to it."

Penelope clenched her jaw, trying to steady her breathing. She felt trapped, as if every word her mother spoke pushed her further into a corner. "I'm not trying to throw it away," she managed, her voice strained. "I just...I don't know if-"

"If what?" Lady Estelle cut in, her hand stilling on the brush once more as she stared at Penelope through the mirror. "If you don't want to marry him?"

The words hung between them like a loaded weapon, ready to strike at any moment.

Penelope hesitated, her throat closing up as she struggled to find the right words. But her mother didn't wait for an answer, her expression turning hard. "Do you think I haven't noticed your behavior at court? Sneaking off into dark corners? Flaunting yourself in front of males with your indecency?" Her voice rose with each accusation. "I have kept quiet, hoping that Lord Aiden's interest would temper some of your wildness, but enough is enough. Your infatuation with male attention is disgusting and eventually, even Lord Aiden will tire of it. He will not be seen chasing after a harlot like you. So either fix yourself and satisfy him now, or your father and I will do it for you."

Penelope's expression twisted in bewilderment as her mother accused her of flirting with other men. She knew she hadn't been intentionally trying to garner attention, but a small part of her wondered if she had been too absorbed in her own thoughts and unaware of how she may have been perceived by others. Could it be possible that she had unwittingly given off the wrong impression? “Mother I-”

Lady Estelle’s grip on the brush tightened, her jaw set as she pulled through another knot with little regard for the sharp wince that flashed across Penelope’s face. “Do you think this is a game?” her mother hissed, her voice sharp and unforgiving. “Do you think you can toy with these males and then turn away when you feel like it? You have no idea the damage you are capable of doing to this family with your recklessness.”

Penelope’s heart pounded against her ribs, her mind whirling in confusion. She turned in her chair to face her mother, “I’m not—” she began, her voice small and strained, but before she could even speak, her mother's hand struck her across the cheek with a ringing slap. The force of it nearly knocked her out of her chair, and she instinctively pressed a hand to her burning skin.

“You are!” Lady Estelle snapped, her eyes narrowing down at her daughter. “I have watched you at court, Penelope. You think you may be clever, hiding behind your smiles and stolen glances, but others are watching too. And they won’t be kind. And you’re a fool if you believe Lord Aiden will tolerate that behavior much longer.”

Tears stung at Penelope’s eyes, her face flushed. “I wasn’t… I didn’t mean—” she stammered, struggling to find her footing while also trying to soothe the blinding pain radiating from her cheek.

Lady Estelle merely glared down at her. “You didn’t mean to? That’s no excuse. Intentions don’t matter when your actions speak louder. And now you stand on the edge of ruining everything your father and I have built!”

The cold accusation stung more than her cheek. “Mother, I swear, I haven’t—” she tried to defend herself, her voice trembling, but her mother’s hard stare silenced her.

“You’re lucky Lord Aiden has shown interest in you at all,” her mother continued, her voice lower but no less venomous. “But make no mistake, if you continue down this path — if you continue to act like a foolish, desperate girl — your father and I will have no choice but to take matters into our own hands.”

Penelope’s breath caught in her throat. She stared up at her mother, into those piercing eyes, her chest tightening with panic. “What do you mean?”

Lady Estelle’s eyes flickered with something dark and resolute. “We will betroth you to whomever we see fit,” she said coldly. “You will marry, Penelope. Whether it’s Lord Aiden or another suitable match, you will marry, and you will do it for this family. If you can’t control yourself, we will control it for you.”

The weight of her mother’s words crashed down on her like a tidal way. It wasn’t a threat — it was a promise.

“You have one chance,” Lady Estelle said, her voice quieter now, as though the decision had already been made. “One chance to prove you can do this. To prove you are capable of securing this family’s future without our intervention.”

Penelope felt the burning sting of tears continuing to gather at the corner of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “And if I don’t?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Lady Estelle leaned back, but her face remained hardened. “If you don’t,” she said flatly, “your father and I will choose your future for you.”

Her mother set the brush down on the vanity with a slam of cold finality. “Now,” Lady Estelle said, stepping back, her voice once again cool and composed, “you will attend the hunt today. You will conduct yourself with dignity and grace. And you will secure your future with Lord Aiden. I expect nothing less.”

With that, Lady Estelle turned on her heel and strode out of the room, leaving her daughter alone with the crushing weight of the ultimatum she had been handed. The room seemed too small, the air too thin, and as the door closed behind her mother, the tears Penelope had fought so hard to hold back finally slipped free.

—

The carriage ride from the warmth of Penelope’s home to the edge of the hunting grounds was silent. Her mother sat across from her, peering out the window, not looking at her while her sister sat next to her, sleep still clinging to her heavy eyes. Their father had left before them, eager to get out onto the hunting grounds for an early morning drink with his partners. When they finally arrived, and they stepped out of the carriage, the crisp morning air bit at Penelope’s cheeks. A layer of frost had settled over the grass glistening beneath the early morning light like shards of crystal, while droplets of dew clung to the edges of the leaves, waiting to melt under the sun’s rise. The sky above was a pale blue, streaked with the faint blush of dawn as the first rays began to stretch across the horizon.

Around her, the gathering nobles bustled quietly, their breath visible in the cold as they stood in small clusters on the frost covered field. The males participating in the hunt were outfitted in their finest hunting attire — sturdy leather boots and dark cloaks lined with fur, their tunics embroidered with intricate patterns of autumn leaves, mirroring the fiery colors of the forest around them. Some work high-collared jackets, the buttons gleaming in the faint light while others adorned themselves with feathered caps or leather gloves, marking themselves as seasoned hunters.

The females who were not participating in the hunt stood apart, wrapped in layers of opulent furs and velvet cloaks, their gowns made of thick, richly colored fabrics — deep burgundies, emerald greens, and russets that reflected the turning of the season. Jewels glimmered at their throats and wrists, and their hair was pinned up beneath delicate caps, lined with fur to ward off the morning chill. They spoke in hushed tones, their gloved hands clutching steaming cups of spiced cider or mulled wine as they gathered in the warmth of the viewing tent, which was already buzzing with excitement.

In the distance, the hounds barked and whined eagerly, their tails wagging in anticipation as they were lined up beside their masters. The horses, too, stamped their hooves, their breaths puffing out in clouds of mist as they waited for the signal to begin. The air was thick with the energy of the hunt, the stillness of the morning only broken by the occasional bark of a dog or the clatter of hooves on the frozen ground.

The fur-lined cloak Penelope wore did little to warm the ice creeping up her spine as she approached the viewing tent, her sister just a few steps beside her. Persimmon kept glancing at her, though she said nothing, her earlier attempts at conversation in the carriage having gone ignored. Penelope had kept her responses short, too wary to say much after her mother’s harsh reprimand that morning. Her cheek still stung from the slap, and with the cold biting at her skin, she feared the outline of her mother’s fingers might be visible in red across her face.

Their mother marched ahead, unbothered, her demeanor polished and calm, already being beckoned by the other ladies in the tent. A warm cup was pressed into her hand as she seamlessly blended into the crowd, smiling and laughing as though nothing had happened—no trace of the harsh words or the slap she’d delivered to Penelope just hours before. Penelope couldn’t help but wonder if her mother felt the sting in her hand as keenly as she felt it on her cheek.

As they finally crossed into the tent, its warmth a stark contrast to the icy air outside, Penelope’s thoughts were interrupted by the familiar drawl of Leda’s voice, curling over the chatter of the crowd. “Penelope, Persimmon!”

Persimmon straightened at once, a smooth smile appearing on her face as she adjusted her posture, effortlessly pushing through the sea of richly-dressed ladies with polite remarks about their gowns and cloaks.

Penelope followed quietly, her heart pounding as they wove through small groups of women until they stood face-to-face with Leda, the embodiment of Autumn Court opulence. Her golden hair was pinned back in a braided bun, a striking contrast against the deep velvet green of her cloak, which was lined with luxurious fox fur. The rich red hues of the fur perfectly matched the dark crimson gown she wore beneath, a display of wealth and status that was hard to miss.

Leda’s eyes gleamed as she took them both in, immediately grasping Penelope’s hands in her own. “You two look stunning!” she exclaimed, her voice carrying an air of superiority.

Penelope offered a polite smile, attempting to pull her hands free from Leda's grip, but Leda held on, her hands firm. “Thank the gods you’re here,” Leda continued, her tone laced with relief. “I was beginning to think I’d be the only one of our group here. The boys are all off joining the hunt.”

Our group. Penelope mentally scoffed, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. Leda, who had once been an intimidating predator upon their first meeting, now acted as though Penelope had become part of her inner circle, a fellow lioness in her pride. Perhaps this was what assimilation into court life truly felt like.

“We would never let you suffer alone,” Persimmon chimed in with a knowing wink.

At last, Leda released Penelope’s hands, laughing as though they shared some private joke. “If I had to hear them prattle on about slaughtering some poor creature one more time, I swear I would’ve slaughtered them myself!”

Persimmon and Leda erupted into peals of laughter, the sound high and fake, designed to please the ears of the nearby ladies. Penelope, however, couldn’t summon the same false lightheartedness. She simply smiled, her eyes drifting to the floor below as her mind wandered elsewhere, seeking an escape from the forced gaiety.

From outside the tent, Penelope could hear the raucous laughter of the males drawing closer, the first few appeared at the entrance, their eyes scanning the crowd for their wives or betrothed. It was clear most had been drinking long before the sun had risen, giggling and stumbling as they navigated the crowd of elegantly dressed ladies, their muddy boots dirtying the trains of gowns. Each of the ladies softly scolded them for their foolish behavior through quiet giggles and smiles. All the males carried a small token, a tradition as old as the Autumn Court itself.

Penelope watched as velvet pouches, silver charms, and other trinkets were offered in turn, each gesture a subtle mark of continued commitment, health, and good fortune in the hunt. She had always been told that, in ancient times, the males bestowed the key to the manor or home upon their wives before the hunt, a symbol of power and responsibility should they fall or be wounded. Now, with the hunt little more than a controlled social event, the tokens had shifted to gifts of jewelry, charms, and other small trinkets, gestures more ornamental than functional.

The unmarried ladies looked on with admiration, yearning for the day their own husbands or mates would present them with such tokens of affection. Penelope and Persimmon stood together, watching as their father drunkenly stumbled toward their mother. Lady Estelle maintained a tight, practiced smile as he handed her a midnight blue velvet bag. Inside was an emerald necklace, which immediately drew the admiration and envious whispers of the other ladies gathered around her.

“Lady Penelope,” a voice called from behind. Penelope, her sister, and Leda all turned to see Lord Aiden, dressed in the traditional hunting attire, a finely tailored tunic of rich russet brown and deep forest green, embroidered with golden accents along the cuffs and collar. The weight of his leather riding boots made his steps deliberate and strong, his movements purposeful even as he navigated the crowd with ease.

His blond hair, slightly tousled from the brisk morning air, was pushed back, revealing a flush in his cheeks from the excitement of the hunt and perhaps the remnants of a pre-hunt drink. His cloudy blue eyes seemed to gleam with warmth as he locked his gaze with Penelope’s.

As he approached, Aiden wore a genuine, almost boyish smile that softened his otherwise rugged appearance. There was a calm confidence in his stride, his attention undivided on her.

Penelope’s heart thudded in her chest as Aiden approached. His expression was soft, almost private, she could feel the weight of eyes on them — the quiet whispers of ladies nearby, the subtle glances of the other nobles, and most pressing of all, the sharp gaze of her mother across the tent.

Aiden reached her, his presence warm and steady, a sharp contrast to the knot of tension twisting inside her stomach. He smiled down at her, his voice low, intimate, seemingly meant only for her ears.

“I wanted to give you this,” he said quietly, holding out a burgundy velvet pouch, his eyes pointed to it as he rubbed the soft fabric in his hand. “A small token of luck… for today.”

Penelope felt the heat of the attention surrounding them, the curious eyes watching their every move as she forced her lips into a bright beaming smile. “Oh, Lord Aiden,” she said, her voice carrying a delicate, lilting tone that felt foreign to her even as it left her mouth, “How thoughtful of you.”

She took the pouch from his hand, her fingers brushing against his, and she made a deliberate show of untwisting the ribbon and peering inside. Her breath caught for a moment, not because of what was inside, but because of the tightness building in her chest. She pulled out a finely crafted silver bracelet, simple but elegant, with an intricate design of leaves and vines weaving around the band.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, letting her voice sound soft with gratitude, though a strange detachment lingered behind her words. Her fingers traced the cool metal as she lifted her eyes to meet his. “Thank you, truly. This is more than I deserve.”

Aiden smiled back, a hint of relief in his eyes. “I had noticed you only wore silver jewelry so I hope this is the right color to match what you already have.”

Penelope’s heart clenched at his sincerity, the warmth in his voice, and the ease in which he spoke to her. He had known enough of her to ensure he gave her something he knew she would like, something that would match the pieces she already had. She wished she could feel something other than the heavy obligation and burden that clung to her. Lord Aiden deserved a lady who would swoon over such a small yet measured gesture. But instead, she glanced subtly towards her mother, who stood a few paces away, watching them with hawk-like precision. Penelope knew she had no choice. She had to make it believable.

She glanced up at him, under thick lashes. “It’s perfect, Lord Aiden. Thank you, thank you so much.”

“It’s the least I could do,” Aiden replied, his eyes warm. “I wanted you to have something to remember today,” he murmured. “To remind you that no matter when I am during the hunt, my thoughts are always with you.”

With practiced grace, she allowed herself to lean into the moment. “I’ll treasure it,” she said, her voice laced with what she hoped sounded like earnestness. “I couldn’t ask for a more thoughtful gift.” She slipped the bracelet onto her wrist, turning it slightly as though admiring it, and then let her eyes return to Aiden’s face, her own lighting up with what looked like girlish glee.

She reached for his hand and squeezed it gently. Bringing it up between them. “I feel so lucky to have you,” she said, her voice louder than necessary, just enough to make sure those within earshot, especially her mother, heard every word. “Thank you, Aiden.”

The smile on Aiden’s face widened, his gaze softening at her words. He squeezed her hand in return, bringing it to his lips as he pressed a long kiss into the cold skin. “It’s my honor,” he replied quietly, before leaning in slightly, his voice dropping even lower. “And I mean it, Penelope. You’re never far from my thoughts.”

Penelope’s stomach twisted, though she kept a smile fixed in place, letting out a light, almost musical laugh, as though his words had filled her with warmth. “You’re much too kind,” she replied.

A chilled breeze made its way through the tent, pushing a strand of Penelope’s hair across her face. Aiden reached a hand up to brush it back behind her ear, his touch almost making her recoil. But as he did, a loud horn blast echoed across the grounds. The deep sound rippled through the tent signaling the start of the hunt. Almost immediately, the males began to gather, their easy laughter and drunken joviality now transforming into something more focused and determined.

Aiden, still holding Penelope’s hand, gave her one last lingering look, his smile softening. “Wish me luck,” he said with a teasing gleam in his eye.

“Good luck,” Penelope replied, her voice measured, though the warmth of her earlier smile had already faded. She watched the other males, who crossed the field and began mounting their horses or exchanging brief words of encouragement with each other.

Aiden crossed out of the tent, and Penelope watched as her father clapped his hand on his shoulder and led him to their mounts, standing beside one another. Like father and son. The sight made Penelope’s stomach turn.

Before she even had time to collect herself, Leda and Persimmon descended on her.

Leda’s eyes widened as she reached for Penelope’s wrist, her fingers tracing over the delicate craftsmanship of the bracelet Aiden had just bestowed upon her. The morning sunlight streaming through the tent caught in the intricate details, the silver so polished it shone light diamonds.

“Penelope,” Leda breathed, her voice dripping with awe. “This is absolutely stunning!” She turned Penelope’s wrist to admire it from every angle, her lips curving into a smile. “The detail, the design — it must have been made for you personally, it even has your initials engraved on it. The cost of something like this… I can’t even imagine.”

Penelope offered a polite smile, but the weight of Leda’s admiration only weighed her down heavier.

Leda tilted her head, still grazing the bracelet as if reluctant to let it go. “I mean, I’ve seen gifts from the hunt before, but this?” She laughed, though there was a sharp edge to the sound. “This is in a league of its own, isn’t it? This isn’t just a luck charm — it’s a statement. The metal work alone… you’re a very lucky girl, Penelope.”

Leda sighed dramatically, finally releasing Penelope’s wrist with a wistful look in her eye. “I only wish I could get something this beautiful.” She glanced down at her own bracelet, a delicate silver piece that now seemed dull and insignificant next to Penelope’s. “Not that I’m jealous.” She turned her nose up slightly. “I’m sure come next season I’ll be sporting my own charm. But it is rare to see something this fine. It suits you.”

The compliment felt hollow, a sharp contrast to the way Leda’s gaze lingered on the carvings on the bracelet, her jealousy barely concealed behind her sweet words.

“I supposed it’s what you deserve,” Leda added, her smile tight. “To have something so perfect made just for you. If only the rest of us could be so fortunate.” She winked, but Penelope could feel the unspoken envy behind each syllable. "You’re truly set the standard for us all,” she said. Then, she turned towards Persimmon.

“Tell me, Sim,” Leda continued, linking arms with her, “did you see Lady Alandra’s cloak? It’s practically drowning her — no shape, no style. She looks like she’s being eaten alive by fur!”

Persimmon laughed, shaking her head as they shifted into their own conversation, their voices lowering into whispers, the topics quickly turning to trivial matters. The pair seemed to lose themselves in their own little world of courtly critiques, Leda’s fingers constantly twirling a strand of her golden hair that framed her face as Persimmon nodded along, her laughter bright and fake.

Penelope, now distanced from their conversation and more than glad to no longer be the center of attention, let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She stole a glance around the tent, trying to ground herself in the moment, the weight of the bracelet still pressing cold against her wrist.

She caught onto the gaze of her mother, her breath instinctively catching and the burn in her cheek quickly returning. Lady Estelle’s expression was unreadable for a long beat, her face a mask of stoic authority. But then, ever so subtly, her lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile — a gesture of approval.

Penelope’s heart stuttered in her chest. The knot of tension that had been twisting inside of her seemed to loosen ever so slightly. Her mother’s silent approval was something she had always sought, even though she hated it still held such power over her. For a brief moment, she felt reassured, as if all the careful choices she had made in public — the smiles, the polite gestures, the girly show of affection towards Aiden — had been the right ones.

But with that approval came something heavier. Her heart sank as the realization hit her with full force: this moment, this approval, had sealed her fate.

Her mother’s eyes lingered on her for a second longer, satisfied, and then Lady Estelle turned back to her conversation, leaving her daughter standing there in a crowded tent, feeling both reassured and trapped all at once.

As Penelope lowered her gaze from her mother, a subtle shift at the edge of the tent caught her attention. Her heart stuttered slightly again as she spotted Lord Eris, standing off to the side, separated from the clusters of laughing nobles. He stood tall, his russet cloak draped over his broad shoulders, the intricate gold embroidery catching the faint light from the fires burning in the tent.

He wasn’t mingling. He wasn’t engaging in the rowdy camaraderie of the other males who were preparing for the hunt. Instead, his sharp amber eyes were locked on her.

Penelope froze, the weight of his gaze settling uncomfortably against her skin. His expression, usually so carefully composed into a mask of superiority or wry amusement, was unreadable now — perhaps tinged with something that felt uncomfortably like disapproval. His eyes flicked down to the bracelet she hadn’t realized she was twirling on her wrist for a brief moment before returning to meet her gaze once more.

For a heartbeat, the air between them seemed to thicken. There was something in the way he looked at her — something that made her feel so exposed, as if he could always see through the polished performance she put on for everyone else. It was as though he had seen through her facade.

Her pulse quickened under the weight of that stare, a gnawing unease settling deep within her chest. Did he know how hollow her display had been? Was he silently judging her for how she had given in, had bent to the expectations of her family, her court?

Before she could gather her thoughts or even begin to understand, Eris broke the moment. His lips pressed together in a thin line, and he gave her one last unreadable look, something fleeting and elusive passing over his features. Then, without a word, he turned sharply on his heel, his cloak sweeping behind him as he strode toward the group of males preparing for the hunt.

Penelope watched him go, her heart still pounding in her chest. She wasn’t sure how much of that brief exchange had been real or imagined, but the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach lingered long after he disappeared from her sight.

Why did it matter so much what he thought? She barely knew him and she certainly didn’t like him. And yet, the weight of his gaze, the unspoken judgment in his eyes, gnawed at her.

She shook her head slightly, trying to dispel the growing storm inside her. Eris Vanserra, heir to the Autumn Court, had no bearing on her life. She should view him as another male of court, one who enjoyed his games and provocations. She had no reason to think about this strange, creeping sense of shame that had lodged itself beneath her ribs.

She had played the part of a dutiful daughter and potential wife. She had worked and molded herself to fit into this world. And yet, all it had taken was a single glance from Eris to unravel the carefully constructed mask she had put on. The mask she was supposed to wear for her family, for Aiden, for herself.

Why does it matter what he thinks?

Penelope clenched her jaw, frustration mixing with the uncomfortable vulnerability. Eris’s silent disapproval — whether real or imagined — cut deeper than it should have. And the worst part was, she couldn’t understand why. What did it matter if he thought she was a willing participant in the world of court politics? What did it matter if he saw her as just another female bowing to duty?

But somewhere deep inside, it did matter. More than she wanted to admit.

The sharp blast of a hunting horn again echoed through the crisp morning air, signaling the beginning of the hunt. The sound rippled through the tent, drawing everyone’s attention as the final moments of conversation and laughter hushed in anticipation.

Around her, the ladies began to move, some toward the edge of the viewing tent where they would watch the riders take off into the frost-covered forest, others settled themselves near the fires for warmth. Persimmon and Leda were still absorbed in their discussion, their voices soft with excitement as they speculated about who would return with the finest kill.

Penelope still felt the weight of her mother's approving glance from across the tent. A glance that reassured her but also solidified the sinking feeling in her stomach, a subtle but undeniable confirmation of her sealed fate. She forced a tight smile in return, though her heart was far from calm.

Outside, the hunting party gathered—males laughing and adjusting their saddles, preparing to ride into the forest with the promise of triumph or sport. Penelope’s eyes drifted, scanning the crowd as her gaze once again fell on Eris, standing at the edge of the group. His horse pawed the ground beneath him, steam rising from its flared nostrils as if sensing the tension in the air. Eris sat tall in the saddle, his amber eyes briefly locking with hers from across the field.

That same unreadable expression. Disapproving? Disappointed? She couldn’t tell.

For a fleeting moment, neither of them moved—Eris’s gaze lingering just long enough to stir something in her chest, something she didn’t have the time or the courage to acknowledge. Then, without a word, he broke the connection, turning his attention forward and spurring his horse toward the forest, disappearing into the misty morning as the hunting party charged ahead.

The tent buzzed with renewed energy as the ladies gathered to watch the riders, the thrill of the hunt palpable in the air. But Penelope remained rooted to the spot, torn between the world she had chosen and the one that felt like it was slipping away from her.

A Court of Fire and Masks Master List

Tagged: @mrsjna @lilah-asteria @ambivalence-is-me @rcarbo1 @aaliyahmorielle

[late-to-the-party-81]

You can ring my bell

AN: this is what happens when you see a headcanon on tumblr, share with the group and then get affectionately badgered into writing it…it’s just silly.

Thanks to my cheer-reader @lavenderbuckyy, my beta @alwaysabrighterdarkness and @gay-jewish-bucky for the inspo

This fic also covers the September Adoptable for Stucky Bingo round 5 - “You look so pretty like this.” in place of square G2 on my card (sorry Ice Skater AU) @stuckybingo

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Master list | Stucky Bingo Master list

Summary: Steve has a Pavlovian response to seeing Bucky tie his hair up.

Word Count: 1.2k

CW: Crack fic, Post EG AU where everyone lived, no-one died and nothing hurts, Horny super boyfriends, Tony is done, implied sexy times, everywhere, they are an HR nightmare, referenced 1940’s homophobia, brief references to Hydra control, Bucky is a little shit, Steve is so gone on Bucky, Nat knows what’s up (when does she not?)

It wasn’t hard for anyone to notice, now that the final battle against Thanos had been won and the world was getting slowly back onto an even keel, how happy Bucky and Steve were.

Neither of them could believe that they got to live openly together now and with Bucky being (mostly) recovered they were taking advantage of it whenever and wherever they could. 

Loudly.

Often.

Sometimes in places around the compound they really shouldn’t.

Tony had mentioned, in one of his dressings-down to the two of them, that he was starting to think that Sexual Harassment training had been invented because of horny supersoldiers. Apparently now there were ‘things he couldn’t un-see’… Which is why, he said, pink-faced, that whenever the two semi-stable centenarians weren’t in the privacy of their own rooms he had FRIDAY discreetly keep track of their vitals, and block others entering the area Steve and Bucky were in if their life signs… elevated. Tony also announced that he’d given the cleaning staff a raise. Bucky and Steve should have, in theory, been sorry, but they weren’t. Bucky still remembers how he and Steve had just looked at each other and started giggling, much to Tony’s disgust.

Even when they were keeping it “safe for work”, they were still always touching each other. A hip-pat here, a shoulder clap there. The odd, chaste kiss to the other one's cheek. Movie and game nights were more ‘R rated’, with kissing, cuddling and canoodling. More than once the pair had an empty soda can or cushion thrown at them by one of the others, accompanied by jovial shouts of “Get a room!”. 

Bucky normally flipped whoever it was his middle finger while still making out with Steve and grinding down on his lap. He was enjoying being with his man and couldn’t care less about who knew it. He also didn’t remember the last time he and Steve had seen a group movie all the way through. Normally one or other of them got too wound up and ended dragging the other back to the privacy of their own apartment.

Bucky had heard some of the others talking, debating who was the bad influence on who out of him and Steve. Ha! Nat was the one to point out that the two of them were as bad as each other. As usual, she wasn’t wrong. 

Bucky couldn’t resist Steve when he was trying to concentrate on something, his stoic mask on his face as he tried to be serious. Bucky always wanted to do something - anything - to bring a smile back to Steve’s features. And Steve couldn’t get enough of Bucky, apparently. Steve was a morning person and Bucky was a night owl, something that dated back to the late 1930’s and hadn’t changed over the intervening years. And while Bucky did love his lie-ins, he was never, ever, gonna get upset if Steve woke him up with blowjob, or more.

However, now that they had the opportunity to fully indulge themselves without looking over their shoulders, it didn’t take Bucky long to figure something out about Steve and his sex drive. Apart from the obvious that is. 

Steve had always been ‘hot to trot’, even when he’d been only one hundred pounds and Bucky could tuck him under his arm if he became too uppity. That hadn’t changed post-serum, other than the fact that he, and now Bucky, had a near zero refractory period. No, what Bucky noticed was something different, but just as fun, and was something they would have never discovered back in the day.

Bucky had decided to keep the long hair that he’d grown-out in Wakanda. He’d always liked caring for and styling his hair, even back in the 40’s, but there was something so indulgent about having hair that floated around his shoulders by choice. The ritual of washing, conditioning, detangling and drying his hair helped him to relax and if he was having a bad day, just having Steve brush it for him helped immensely. 

However, long loose hair, no matter how sexy it looked in movies and pornography, just wasn’t practical for sex. Especially super-serum enhanced marathon sex. This meant that whenever he and Steve were getting hot and heavy - hands roaming, clothes loosening - if Bucky’s hair was down, he’d immediately slip the hair tie from his wrist and put his hair up. His go-to was normally a loose bun, but Steve was very fond of a ponytail. For reasons. The tying up of Bucky’s hair signalled to Steve that things were getting serious in the best way, and after that point their activities got a lot more ‘Rated -E’.

What Bucky noticed though, was something that happened one day when they weren’t already at first or second base. Steve was sitting on the sofa, reading through a book on art history. Bucky had been over in the gym, and with his adrenaline high was feeling horny. He’d returned, had a quick shower and then, as he walked out into the lounge, made sure to catch Steve’s eye and then, very pointedly, tie his hair up. For good measure, he’d licked his lower lip too.

The effect was almost instant. Not-so-little-Stevie made his presence known, straining against Steve’s grey sweatpants before Bucky had even made it into the space between Steve’s legs. By the time Bucky’s knees hit the carpet, Steve’s cock was at full mast, ready for whatever was about to happen. Bucky didn’t think much of it at the time - he was rather… busy - but it was an amusing observation all the same. 

A few days later though it happened again and Bucky wasn’t even trying to be tantalising. Steve was in their small kitchen, starting the preparations for dinner, and because most of Steve’s culinary skills were linked to either boiling or over-boiling things, Bucky decided for the sake of his stomach to help out. He stepped up beside Steve, and tied up his hair so it didn’t get in his face. Steve immediately pulled him in for a rough, needy kiss before uttering “You look so pretty like this” and dropping to his knees, hands grabbing at the tie on Bucky’s sweatpants. They ordered take-out that night instead.

However, the first time that Bucky really put two and two together was in the most innocuous of places - the conference room. Tony was talking through the plan for the upcoming mission, in the long winded way only Tony could. The room was stuffy and Bucky was starting to feel a bit warm, so he pulled a hair tie from the pocket of his pants, and looped his hair up. From the corner of his eye he saw Steve shift. That in itself wasn’t an indication of anything, but a few minutes later Steve shifted again. Then uncrossed and recrossed his legs. Then he coughed. Or rather, as Bucky noticed, he let out a small groan that he covered with a cough. 

Bucky turned his head, an inquisitive look of boyfriendly concern on his face, but when he saw what the problem was he thanked god for his poker face, because Steve was sporting a grade-A, top tier boner. It was obscene even though it was still fully covered by Steve’s pants. Bucky wished it weren’t. 

His own dick twitched, and he had to employ all of his old training to stay calm and collected. However, he wouldn’t be James Buchanan Barnes, Little Shit Extraordinaire, if he didn’t take advantage of the situation.

Bucky moved his chair so that he was facing Steve more, but still able to view Tony’s presentation. Then, oh-so-slowly, he slipped off his shoe and stretched his leg out under the table. Steve twitched in his seat as Bucky’s foot met the back of his calf and his eyes were firmly riveted forward indicating to a very amused Bucky that he was desperately trying to keep his composure.  Steve’s brow furrowed and his neck started to flush a delicious shade of pink as Bucky’s foot slid up, and up, and then round. He curled his toes over the top of Steve’s cock, trying not to smirk as Steve coughed again.

As Tony droned on, Bucky kept rocking his foot back and forth, and toying with a lock of his hair, coquettishly. He wasn’t looking directly at Steve, but could feel the heated glances flashed his way, and by the time the meeting came to a close he was finding it difficult to hold back a grin. When the others stood up and started to file out, Bucky removed his foot, grabbed the case file that was in front of him, opened it and pulled his chair up close to Steve’s.

“Steve, I think we should go through our part of the plan. Make sure we’re 100 percent in sync.” Bucky pointedly ignored the knowing eyebrow Nat raised at him as she strolled out. 

“Good idea, Buck.” Steve’s voice was sinfully low and rough, and Bucky knew this was going to be good. Hooray for lube packets that could be as easily stashed as knives…

Five minutes later FRIDAY put the conference room into lockdown and deposited a bonus in the cleaning staff's accounts.

From then on, Bucky had to think very carefully before he put his hair up. It wouldn’t do for Steve to be getting a boner in the middle of a battle, but  afterward, in the jet? Well that was another thing altogether, even if Tony did chew them both out afterwards.

Tag list: @km-ffluv, @christywrites, @alexakeyloveloki, @doasyoudesireandlive

To get on my tag list, see my master list.

[topbanana-art]

Finally making an OC info post- by no means is this all of them, just ones that are most active and/or live in my head rent free.

First up- Rhys (DnD 5e - Rime of the Frostmaiden)

20 years Old, Half Orc, Half Elf (sweet baby angel) , He/Him

Fighter- Echo Knight

Absolute Ray of Sunshine; Rhys is from Icewind Dale; more specifically the Nomadic Reghed Tribe of the Elk.

He's unfamiliar with the outside world and even includes settlements in his own country

He's a Himbo basically a big dog.

This campaign lead him to leaving his tribe for the first time after an unfortunate accident which turned him into a small 'painted child' and searching for his missing sister. (both these are sorted now!)

*Rhys found an old oil painting of this child, blacked out and next thing he knew he was that small elf child. Her skin and clothing having the texture of painted canvas, and bleeds paint.

For a good chunk of the campaign he was just a totally normal elf- whose shadow didn't match with the body

---

Dhalas (DnD 5e Annalor)

36 Years Old, They/Him, Triton

Drunken Master Monk

Chill surfer dude vibes

Part of a travelling circus, They're a balancing act

Extremely laid back, Dhalas talks like they fight- dancing around, seemingly without rhyme or reason and occasionally clumsy.

---

Foxglove (BG3)

138 Years old (tweaked her age a lil), She/They, Drow

Arcane Trickster Rogue

Guild Artisan Background- Locksmith & Apprentice Finesmith

Chill and sassy, that Tav who talks their way out of shit.

Skews Towards Chaotic Good

Presents Androgynous most of the time

Must lockpick everything- she's not actually super interested what's inside, she just wants to see the workmanship of the locks and trashtalk how bad they are.

Yeah she's smooching the vampire. (and Halsin)

Naturally cares for others, even at the cost of her own wellbeing.

Has a Phobia of anything touching/going near her eyes- so the start of the game is A Time for Fox.

---

Arslan Dhoro (FFXIV)

21 Years Old (as of ARR), He/Them

Xaela AuRa

Dragoon - White Mage Main (All healer classes tbh)

Stoic, Resting Angry Face Himbo

He struggles to show emotion but he's just pretty shy and cautious about opening up to others.

From the Azim Steppe, he left in his early teens with his father after the death of his mother, to explore the world beyond the Steppe.

His Father Died in his late teens, attacked in Coerthas thinking he and Arslan were Dravanians.

He's extremely soft and protective for the Scions/his friends

---

Shiv (DnD 5e Saltmarsh- campaign completed)

Awful, terrible lesbian

68 years old, She/Her, Halfling

Celestial Warlock - Unicorn Patron w/ a Baby Phoenix familiar, Toby

A piece of shit. Is an absolute asshole and wont let you know she cares.

Lowkey magical girl

Ex-smuggler, who's patron is literally 'I can fix her', 'she can be a better person'. Part of the 'Beyond Skeletons' Pirate crew, she's the medic of the crew.

---

Pymmyr Tathnel (DnD 5e)

Pym

85 Years Old, He/They, Drow

Gloomstalker Ranger

Emotional Support Blink Dog, Princess Liquorice

This boy is scared all the time

Doesn't talk much, but speaks in a soft voice

Has disordered 'Sleeping' and Eating :)

His plague mask has tinted lenses to help ease the strain with how bright the surface is

I wont tell too much about them as a lot of their info is spoilers to other players. But this sad Drow just rocks up in my head on the regular.

---

Erebus (Anima Beyond Fantasy)

AKA- My first TTRPG character! circa 2011-2 I think???

Real name Sho Yoshimitsu

22 Years Old, He/Him

Duk'Zarist Nephilim

Assassin

Textbook 'strong silent and intimidating hot man'

But basically a big soft boy if you break past the mile thick ice

Tragic backstory™ , used to using his body for the job

He really enjoys cooking!

Also hopelessly in love with a small soft summoner, Caelum (the one hugging him), They're RedxBlue gays

---

I think I'll leave it there for now!

I may add more later, I hope it was interesting?? and I'm still pretty shy with yelling this much about my characters haha.

Thanks for reading if you made it this far! 💜

[usagirln12003]

Kyoko Kirigiri: Hogwarts AU

Kyoko Kirigiri is a Pureblood witch that was born on the 6th of October 1970 and started attending Hogwarts on the 1st of September 1982, being sorted into Ravenclaw House.

She has a Beech wand with a Dragon Heartstring Core.

She has a Non-Corporeal Patronus.

Her favorite subject is Charms and her least favorite is Herbology.

She was one of the Ravenclaw Prefects of her year and eventually Head-Girl.

Kyoko is a stoic, mysterious and intelligent girl who tends to hide her feelings. She usually considered distant and cold and has a calm demeanor and tends to be completely unfazed by most of the events that occur, even at the sight of a dead body, and also seems to be independently investigating herself most of the time having no casualties in the situation. She plays major roles in discovering the mysteries of the killing game that she and a few others in her year is trapped in, and seems to be one of the very few students who look at things objectively and the ones that don't jump to conclusions during the investigations, making her a valuable ally to Makoto.

Kyoko is very sensitive regarding the subject about the School Governor Jin Kirigiri (who later is revealed to be her own father), going as far as to even lose her cool and react with anger when Chihiro mentioned the possibility of one of the school governors being the mastermind (which she knew isn't true). She also doesn't like it when people keep secrets from her, as Makoto finds out.

Behind Kyoko's stone cold personality, she seems to easily get emotionally upset, which is masked by her strong will. Even under calm situations, she may let her emotions get the best of her as shown when Chihiro mentions her father and when Makoto refuses to tell her about Sakura Ogami's odd rivalry with Monokuma (she assumed that Makoto suspected Sakura's betrayal). Furthermore, there are some moments that cause her to be visibly surprised, and she also blushes at Makoto during some rare situations. She appears to grow fond of him during her years at Hogwarts, as she does show him her burned hands, after explaining that she only shows them to people she considers her family. Kyoko has assured Makoto that her emotions work fine but she deliberately hides them to make herself very hard to read, but also to give others a calm and composed person to lean on.

After graduating from Hogwarts, Kyoko has changed a bit. She has become a lot more considerate of her friends and her demeanor is friendlier in their company. She is seen smiling at them and sharing physical contact, like hugging and holding hands (even taking her gloves off while holding hands with Makoto), and she trusts her friends very much. When she's with anyone but them, though, she's still very expressionless and reserved. She is also a bit sharp and annoyed in Koichi Kizakura's company. Being his boss, she is very protective of Makoto, but also admires him greatly (seen as she talks about Makoto with Ryota when Ryota says how he doesn't see much in Makoto).

It have also been revealed that many of Kyoko's emotional issues are caused by the way her grandfather raised her according to the strict family traditions. The family tradition is to take no sides in order to remain as neutral as possible, because the truth has no bias, though this tradition started during a time when being a detective was a more sacred occupation. Fuhito also refused to let Kyoko see her dying mother and even appeared to encourage Kyoko to dislike her father, as he believed that detective work comes before anything else, even a death of a family member. Notably, this was the one family tradition Kyoko didn't fully agree with. Fuhito enforced the idea that her entire sense of self is wrapped up in being a detective, giving the young girl some identity issues. He was also strictly overprotective of her, telling her to not move outside after dark, forbid her from having an owl and always wanted to know what she is doing.

[tiredassmage]

5,10,17 for the interview asks

who am i but a vessel to torture tyr with honesty sknlsfsldf

[oc interview questions]

5. Do you have any role models? Tell us a little bit about them.

A light chuckle tumbles from him, only partially concealed by the way a hand masks the upward tilt of his lips. Just a few. And only if you promise not to tell. The hand scrubs contemplatively against the stubble along his jaw. I’d… never admitted quite so much to the old man’s face, but ah… the Minister, Keeper… He shakes his head slightly, eyes cast to a wall behind you both - or perhaps something you can’t see. I’d always thought he was looking out for me from the start. There’s that faint smile again - only at one corner of his lips, but present all the same. For all that he called me an idealist, I don’t… I don’t believe he ever gave up on them nearly as much as he said he did. Things… Well, this business is rarely ever… Your hands don’t stay clean in this work. Ever. Both hands drop back into his lap, one toying idly with a stylus, twisting it back and forth between and over his fingers in one hand. Fingers of the other tap a pattern against his thigh. He did what he could though. I’ll… I’ll always respect him for that. He was… A lot of the agent I was - am - is his influence. I’d… never wanted to let him down, for everything… Tyr nods, mostly to himself. I… suppose I wish I’d said as much more directly, last we spoke. He puffs a faint breath of an almost-chuckle. He was a good leader. We shouldn’t have lost Intelligence. They don’t know what they lost. But… perhaps, at least, the dejarik games were enough, in the end. At least one for one of us.

10. What’s your biggest goal? How do you hope to achieve this?

This makes him frown before he rolls his jaw. His hands still. Silence for several moments. I’d like to see an end to this war, I think. As bloody unlikely as it seems. He scoffs. Irritation flashes in his pale eyes. Something more fiery than the usual stoic facade. I think I’d burn it all to the ground if I could. Maybe. He blinks, inhales carefully, and twists the stylus around his fingers again before flashing a smile - convincingly cordial, if not quite entirely reaching the corner of his eyes like before. But that’s not for polite society. And it wouldn’t do any real good, anyway. I’m getting too old for all this shit anyway, I suppose. Be a gem and buy us some drinks, why don’t you? That ought to take the edge of it off.

Still, I reckon I'll... settle for just... doing what I can. I'll never change what I was; I wouldn't want to. But I've got a lot of blood on my hands. More than enough. Still, it's given me the tools I have now. So maybe... maybe there's still enough left to actually make change. Good change. Maybe there'll be enough of this galaxy left to actually retire out of some day, eh?

17. Have you ever been in love?

A proper, hearty laugh this time, no effort given to conceal the grin across his lips. I’d certainly hope so, if I’m married. The smile turns sly. Careful, you’ll make Shan blush. Though… wouldn’t be such a shame, I suppose. He's pretty cute, you know? The ex-Cipher winks.

His head shakes slightly with his own amusement. But, yes, in short - and… several times, I suppose. I… knew a brilliant woman once, named Shara; we’d worked together, back in the day. Hard not to want to get to know someone you’ll have in your ear analyzing your every move for a couple hundred hours, I think I’d told her at least once. He leans back, a bit quieter again. A bit of distance has returned to his eyes. It was… unprofessional. She wanted nothing to do with me at first, outside of the work. Still, he smiles faintly. But it was… it was nice. We were… I guess it’s young love. Let it happen, anyway, and I… Eventually, I didn’t want to distract from her promotion; we still had to work together, of course… He shakes his head as if to clear it, though the nostalgic cock of his head suggests there’s more he’s not quite sharing. She was… brilliant. Beautiful, of course, but… a brilliant mind. And a better, sharper sense of humor than she’d ever let you claim on the job. I guess we were both like that, in a way. But, such were the demands of our work… He straightens again. Yes, in short. It’s… Not everything in this galaxy is so doomed, y’know? I… I am thankful for that much, at least.

[jon-withnoh]

Finally answering this question from @gayvillainera (from an ask game a while back).

“🍈 Who’s your blorbo and what are some of your favorite headcanons/ideas about them that repeatedly show up in your fics? Free pass to rant about blorbo opinions.“

I‘ve decided to go all out for this and will be giving you my opinions on Danny, Rebecca and Beatrice, since they‘re all POV characters in my current fic.

1) Danny: No fictional character has had this much of a chokehold on me since I first listened to Wicked in 2018. I don‘t think it‘s possible for me to get enough of this character. Every single actress, acting choice, (un-)official sequel or fic delights me. I love seeing what other people make of her. Personally, I see Danny as a person who knows what it‘s like to be extremely lonely. She has some interesting parallels with Ich in this regard — I imagine her as someone who probably grew up pretty isolated / did not have many friends or family, so when she started working for Rebecca, she was all too ready to pour all of her affection and devotion into her. Another interesting parallel between Danny and Ich is their lack of first names. Both Mrs Danvers and Mrs de Winter are names that almost double as (job) titles. What‘s devastating about Danny‘s name is that the more intimate name we do have for her is a nickname given to her by Rebecca. Almost every aspect of her life is defined by Rebecca and later her absence. In terms of writing her, I adored writing soft, stoic, traumatised Danny for Was Wird Aus Uns. As you‘ll see, Danny in Nie Wirst Du Mir Ganz Gehören is quite different — she still has that tenderness that I think comes through in almost all versions of her, but I‘m leaning into her jealousy and possessiveness over Rebecca a lot more. Bottom line, I adore Danny. I love her complexity and all-consuming yearning.

2) Rebecca: Rebecca fascinates me. I have trouble with readings that paint her as purely evil. The novel is a lot more subtle than that. Another thing that irks me about one-dimensional interpretations of Rebecca is that they have a tendency to leave out important context — for example that Rebecca would have had a much harder time divorcing Maxim than he would have divorcing her. In terms of my own reading of the character, as with Danny, I enjoy Rebecca‘s complexity. I like reading her and Maxim as two people who are actually quite similar in temperament, but have very different approaches to tradition and morality. For my current fic, I‘m trying to figure out Rebecca‘s motivations — what does she want? Does she love Danny and if so, in what way does she love Danny? I like playing around with the idea that putting on the mask of Mrs de Winter would have put quite the strain on Rebecca, no matter how proficient she was at it. She feels like a person who has never fully learned to identify and deal with her emotions, at least partly because Danny is so ready to deal with everything for her. I have a lot more thoughts but they‘re difficult to put into words, so you‘ll have to wait for my next few chapters :)

3) Beatrice: Darling Beatrice. I love her. My favourite Beatrice headcanon is that her marriage to Giles is purely platonic (I like to think of Giles as ace) and that these two are devoted life partners. Part of this headcanon is that Giles actually was the one to introduce Beatrice to her romantic life partner, a woman named Grace (stay tuned for my Beatrice backstory fic). Furthermore, I love Beatrice‘s ability to have chemistry with every single woman in the narrative. I can see her with pretty much everyone. In my current fics, Bee is about 8 years older than Maxim and since I mistakenly assumed Maxim is 45, that makes her 53. I wouldn‘t write Beatrich with this kind of age difference, but I can see it in different contexts. I don‘t want to spoil too much about my current fic, but I‘m in love with the idea that both Danny/Beatrice and Rebecca/Beatrice have hooked up/are hooking up and the messy dynamics this could lead to between the three of them.

I am not writing this on my phone so I‘ll probably post it and then be shocked by how long it is… Anyway, I hope you enjoyed my rambles, I‘m always happy to ramble more! I love these sad messed up women so much.

[a-tale-of-legends]

So uh. I put this in my drafts cause in mobile the asks are written funny when I try to answer them. But for some reason I can't go back and edit it???????? Which is. Weird. Good thing I took a screen shot.

Anyway.

( points to May/Brendan, Calem/Serena, Ethan/Lyra, Dawn/Lucas) Do they mean nothing to you anon /j Buuuut yeah, from the looks of it most protags are separate via timelines. I don't usually have a problem with this, since so far whenever there's an npc protag they aren't really doing....much. If you're lucky you get a Dawn/Lucas or Serena/Calem that tries to be very active in the plot, but outside of that they aren't much of a character. Calem/Serena tried to be buuuuut they failed imo. I think it really comes down the fact that if there's more than one protagonist in the game, one is gonna be less of a blank slate that the player can project on than the other. Which isn't a bad thing, I love giving the protags some personalities ( it's partially what started the Legendverse), but the whole point of the silent protag is for the player to project onto them. That, and Gamefreak sure doesn't make them as interesting as they could be. Lyra/Ethan are the biggest offenders of this imo. They. Really don't do much outside of tutorial stuff. You don't battle them, you don't fight with them, you rarely get any real depth from them like. I hate saying it, but if they weren't in the story at all it wouldn't have changed things, which really sucked to say cause I like HGSS. All of this is to say that this is why I have dual protags in my au. For granted,almost all of them are ocs, but they still share the protag title, just separated by "main" and "secondary".

Okay with all of that out of the way, to your ask anon. When it comes to hc about Juliana and Florian, it's...well it's not hard but it's annoying. Bc visually they're just Gloria and Victor 2. At least at first. Ironically I think the dlc art actually gives me a few ideas. This I'm treating these two as separate characters, so no genderfluid Florian/Juliana today.

Juliana: An excitable girl with a love for battling. Is known to throw rules away in favor of something more "fun"....whatever that is. She's generally very brash, and doesn't exactly think before acting. This bit her in the back Teal Mask, however. Afterwards she kinda.....lessened in terms of her usual energetic self. She became more serious and stoic faced- still Juliana, always Juliana, but the events of Teal Mask really brought her down. The last thing she ever wanted to do is to hurt a friend. In Indigo Disk she kinda adopts this serious, no nonsense persona which is admittedly, very weird, even for her. Seeing Kieran the way he is kinda makes it worse. She's a bit more....angry here. Whether it's at herself, others, Kieran, no one knows. She probably doesn't know. But through it all she just wants to make things right again.

Florian: The opposite of Juliana: a fucking nerd. Moreso wanting to focus on his studies than anything else, Florian is a skittish, rule follower to the T. Too bad the plot of SV ( and Juliana if we're doing dual protags) drags him into nonsense. But honestly it's a good thing overall. He becomes less rigid, a bit less fearful. He actually ends up enjoying himself more than he ever does and even makes some amazing friends to boot. Teal Mask was great for him! Until it wasn't. I like to think he bonded with Kieran very easily, both being somewhat shy, and an admiration of those who they deem stronger than them. When things hit the fan I think Florian was.....off. He was hurt. Very hurt. And he definitely beat himself over it. But he never let it show? In fact it seems that he's gotten more carefree as time goes on and a smidge more interested in battling. By Indigo Disk, Florian just seems like a brand new person. He seems more confident, more carefree, even leaning into Drayton's jokes a little. And yet, when he sees Kieran that mask sorta cracks. He's scared out of his mind. He doesn't know what to say or do no matter how much he thinks about it. But better do retreat, than face it head on, right? In the end, he just wants the same thing as Juliana, but is struggling to find an answer.

This post is getting long so I'm just gonna end it here. Sorry to anyone who wanted to see Gloria and Victor! But I hope you enjoy these hcs! They were fun to make!

[greatlydelirious]

𝐃𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬, 𝐊𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬

Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

wordcount: 6.1k words

summary: The night that death granted you mercy you swore to never let yourself become vulnerable again. That was until you started to be haunted by a man who knew your feelings all too well.

warnings: smut, mask stays on, slight breeding kink, angst, injury, mentions of past trauma, super fluffy, established relationships, (Ghost is highkey obsessed with you)

“Who’s your crew?” Laswell asks while sighing, exasperated by Price’s persistence. He swipes up the stack of files she got for him before going through them.

“Sergeant Garrick.”

“Kyle?” she recalls.

“They call him ‘Gaz’. He never said anything.” Laswell looks over the front of the file before he pulls out another. “John MacTavish, SAS. Sniper- demolitions. Goes by ‘Soap’.” Once again Price hands it to Laswell.

“Why?”

“That’s classified.” Price’s tone is even before he moves on chuckling. “There he is… Simon Riley.” When he places this one down, Laswell’s eyebrows knit, “There’s no picture.”

“Never.”

He softly whistles before saying your name, “… but she only answers to ‘Rose’.”

“Rose? That’s a delicate name.” Laswell arches a brow when Price lets out a dry laugh.

“Anything but.” Price taps the photo attached to the folder. The woman was mean mugging the camera with a hardened expression that made even him shudder and was the envy of any of the men who joined her ranks.

“Now the rest…” Price swipes the files back while staring down the CIA station chief across from him. “That’s need to know. Unless we got a deal.”

Laswell stares back at him equally stoic, “What are you calling this task force?”

A light smirk plays on Price’s lips, “1-4-1.”

Sweat percolates from every inch of your skin as you make your way to your designated post. The heavy fatigues and protective gear that use to bother you now act as a comforting weight. A reminder of where you are and the mission you are about to accomplish with your team. Not some sissy team, but Task Force 141; a special operations task force military unit that housed the best and… wildest.

Wildest was far more apt than the word brightest to describe the band of seasoned soldiers Captain Price brought together. He recruited you from the United States military special force known as 75th Ranger Regiment. Anyone who has met someone you fought alongside knew the female killing machine that holds the moniker “Rose”.

At first, you wanted to decline Price’s proposition to join. You’d worked under the command of General Shepherd before during your time with the U.S. Army Rangers, but you were still hesitant. After surviving unspeakable horrors in Afghanistan, you became far too deep in your itch to maim and kill.

Not only did you need the structure being a part of a force gave you, but the thrill. When your old captain tried to give you a base job after recovering from severe injuries you went berserk. Hell, you were even moments away from joining the French Foreign Legion. Of course, Price caught wind of this and promised to put you to work. Luckily for him, he kept up his promise.

You are a specially trained fucking soldier; not a rookie, not a gun polisher, but a sharpshooter that rivaled the likes of Simon “Ghost” Riley. The statement might sound crass, but you didn’t have the luxury to lapse in confidence. Every corner you turn, every order you follow, and every shot you take must be concise and without a shred of hesitation. This wasn’t fun and games, it was life and death.

Well… maybe it’s a little bit of fun sometimes.

Scuffling noises and grunts fill the coms until they abruptly cease.

“Rose, do you copy?”

Silence.

“Answer me, Rose. Do. You. Copy.” Now the question turned into gritted demands. Each word leaves a sharper bite than the last.

Silence is the only answer yet again. Before Ghost can crush the radio in his steely grip, static meets his ears.

Grunting you push the now limp body on your chest to the ground. “Copy Lt.” Blood audibly squelches as you reclaim your knife. “Can’t get rid of me that easily.” Wiping the trusty blade on your pant leg you chuckle at a joke in your head, “What has two arms, two legs, and ten holes?

Soap can be heard groaning. You are just as bad as Ghost when it comes to so-called “army humor”. “You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin-“ Someone clicks their mic to cut off Soap’s grumbling.

“What?” A gravelly voice that gives you goosebumps plays along.

“The guy I just stabbed.”

“Ten holes huh?”

“Men have nine, thought he could use an extra one in the neck.”

“You’re bloody sick.”

“No, I’m quite blood free right now and I don’t have a stuffy nose. Thanks for your concern.”

A deep huff cuts through the coms and you recognize it as Ghost’s version of a laugh. Triumph fills you with being the one to elicit that rare sound. Thankfully, no one else was around to catch the subtle blush rising on your cheeks.

Focus, Rose.

“What do you call a Russian sniper from the Soviet Army who never misses his target?” Ghost asks you right after you finish clearing the hallway that held the stairway leading to the roof of the building.

“Go on.” You encourage as you start to make your ascent.

“The most skilled marxman in the military.” Now that had to be the most military dad joke you’ve ever heard.

“Please tell me you’re at your spot Rose.” Soap once again groans and for a second he regrets every decision that got him stuck with the two of you.

With an amused lilt in your voice, you push open a metal door, cold night air giving a second of reprieve against your hot skin. “Fortunately for you and unfortunately for me, affirmative.”

Taking a deep breath, you crouch before setting your M21 EBR sniper rifle on the edge of the roof and maneuvering the ACOG Scope attached. The semi-automatic rifle has extremely low recoil and you liked its dual use for medium and longer ranges. Other soldiers had a hard time with the scope’s slight sway, but you tamed the gun how one would a horse; using a subtle, soft touch to steer it in the right direction.

Electricity thrums through you as you anticipate what is about to take place. You adjust your scope until you’re finally focused on the building across the street. Standing behind one of the windows was your target, Nabeel Bashar, drinking and laughing with other men in the room.

Nabeel Bashar is a close associate of Hassan Zyani and one of the lower-ranked leaders in the terrorist organization Al-Qatala. Although he’s not important enough to give you information you don’t already have, his death is important enough to make an impact.

That’s it Nabeel. Move one more inch to the left and I got you.

Your leather gloves slightly squeak as you adjust the grip on your sniper rifle. The gun is an extension of yourself, and it’s about to send a message to Hassan. After a few minutes that feel like hours, the man steps perfectly into your line of sight.

“Rose to Bravo 0-6. I’m in position and have a clear shot.”

“Hold your position until Ghost gives the order.”

“Copy.”

Captain Price’s command sits at the forefront of your mind as your anticipation grows. You might have an itchy trigger finger, but you’re too seasoned to pull it prematurely. Years of training and discipline that started when you were a child kept you steadfast in waiting.

To say your father was proud of you was an understatement. As a U.S. Army Vietnam Veteran, he was a stickler for raising tough kids. Sprain something? Walk it off. Lose at a sport? Try harder. His motto is, “When all else fails, your mind is the only thing that can save you.” Advice that not only helped save your life but was engrained in your bones.

Over the years and during your time in Afghanistan, you accrued accomplishments and honorary medals that you thought of as just “chest candy,” but your father gladly took them to display in his living room to show off to his fishing buddies. Based on the way he constantly brags about you; you are most definitely his favorite.

So much so that he has more than once grilled you endlessly about the man you told your mother about. Simply calling him a man didn’t do enough justice though. Simon “Ghost” Riley isn’t just an apparition, but a carnal animal outside and inside the bedroom. Unforgivingly rough as he gets to what he wants while thrumming with a deathly power that practically begs for someone to challenge him.

Unsurprising to everyone, that’s what you did when you joined Task Force 141. The tales of the heartless Lieutenant with the seemingly permanent skull-patterned balaclava never scared you. If anything, it made you want to test your sparring skills with him. When you finally convinced him to practice with you and he managed to pin you down after an hour, he was far more than impressed. Intrigued, surprised, and aroused captured the essence of how he felt.

Ghost admires your brutality. You never hesitate, never give anyone the inkling that you’ll be an easy target. Some would say the element of surprise could work in your favor, but you like a rough fight. If you’re not feeling the aching reminder of it the next day, you don’t feel like you won. That philosophy may be dangerous, but that’s what Ghost loves about you.

Yet what he covets the most is the vulnerability you gave him the pleasure of witnessing. Everyone got to see the bloodthirsty soldier, but he got to see the resilient woman who soaked in her complex emotions behind closed doors. A woman who liked his stern voice and uncharacteristically soft touches.

You always melted in his hands like a kitten snuggling close for warmth. At times the rumbled moans that came straight from your chest even sounded like purrs. Ghost craved that soothing sound. A rare sign of mindless comfort from his “pretty rose.”

“Red Rose” was the full cover name you were given. You were as fresh as a rose when you joined the 75th Ranger Regiment, the only experience under your belt being from your short time in the army. During those beginning years of your career it was just “Rose”, but it became far too tame to describe the person you are now.

Anytime you clean sweep a room that had more than enough men to overpower you, Gaz said you “painted the roses red”. Are you a part of Task Force 141 if you didn’t have a sense of dark humor?

Like any rose, thorns covered the outside of you, not a protective shield, but a visible threat that you will bite back when handled. It wasn’t a secret what was done to you; as unspeakable as it may be. Not only did your mind plague you with vivid memories in the middle of the night, but it manifested physically as well.

Deep scars that left phantom pains in their wake littered your body. No matter how hard you itched or rubbed the pangs hit you with a vengeance. They were etched reminders of not only the pains of living but the miracle of survival. You were deeply respected for surviving what you went through, but it morphed into fear when you continued to be a part of the force.

Some people let the venom of the past take them down, but others will use the searing pain as motivation to push forward. You’re the latter.

Despite your hardened exterior and savage nature amidst combat, you get along with your team swimmingly. Yes, you snap, bark, and bite, but like any good Doberman when someone shows you they are trustworthy, you are fiercely loyal. And by this point, 141 felt more like home than anywhere else. They treated you like any other man on the team and would take a bullet for you without hesitation.

The only thing that was akin to what you feel like, is a Doberman shaking with the excitement for its next command. All you needed was that one word. Once you get that command the metaphorical leash can be dropped so the beast can attack.

“Shoot.”

In a millisecond your finger pulls the trigger. Glass shattering mixed with the whistling shot is like music to your ears, a symphony of justice executing its judgment. You watch as Nabeel Bashar falls limply to the ground, the hole in his head forming a crimson puddle underneath him. Pulling away from your rifle you grab your radio, “Nabeel’s down. Enemy K.I.A.”

One down.

“Clean shot, Rose.” Price praises through the coms. “Now let’s get you-“

Yelling erupting below makes your focus turn to the street. Stationed soldiers yell in a language you don’t understand while rushing into the building you’re in.

Shit.

You manage to duck when bullets ricochet off the concrete next to you, making dust spread in the air. “I’m under fire and they’re making their way inside.” You have to practically scream to be heard over the sudden gunfire. The cadence of your voice held not even a semblance of a quiver as you barked the information. You’ve stared at the face of death before; you can do it again.

“You will do it again.” Ghost’s voice pops in your head almost in a warning. The last time you were trapped in a situation like this you had the infamous man alongside you. Except then you had a nasty stab wound to your side and Ghost had even nastier gunshot wounds to the thigh and shoulder.

Enemies are everywhere. Stray bullets whizz past your head as you make it into the empty house with half of Ghost’s weight against your hip. The plan didn’t go awry, but totally nuclear. Now you both are left surrounded and injured. Concerningly so based on the dark stain your partner was leaving on the floor. He tried to help you barricade the room, but the moment he started to tip to the ground you helped him sit down. No matter how bullheaded he is, he can only withstand so much blood loss.

Ghost’s head slowly starts to fall forward as he sits against the wall. The chopper is on its way and the only body you planned to haul with you was a breathing one. Thick fabric meets your palm as you slap Ghost awake. Even though he is sluggish, he captures your wrist before you can step back. When you try to tug out of his grip, he only squeezes harder.

You opt to instead crouch in front of him, eyes blazing, “If you leave me now, I’ll come after you.”

When he simply blinks at you, you move your face until it’s inches away from his masked one. “Do you hear me, you bloody bastard? I mean it.”

A wet chuckle leaves the man below you, “Bloody, eh? I’ve rubbed off on yah already?”

“Make it through this and you can rub off on me all you want.” Now Ghost truly laughs despite himself. Despite the pain. Jokes made the hurt go away, mental or physical, but what really made the bleeding man tick was the way your eyes twinkled with promise. You truly do mean it.

Slippery fingers intertwine as Ghost holds your other hand as well. Despite the danger and the blood, there was something so intimate about his touch.

“Deal.”

That was the night you officially fell in love with Simon “Ghost” Riley.

“Backup is on its way now. Stand your ground, Rose.” Price’s words are meant to be comforting, but they only make you curse.

You know the team is set up in houses nearby, but these men are coming in fast. The sound of heavy footsteps pounding against metal steps further confirms your thought. Rolling your shoulders, you let a cold smile spread across your face.

Game on.

-

“Fuckin’ hell…” Ghost couldn’t help but breathe out the words when he finally makes it to you. He’s never mowed down enemies so fast. Any person who got in his way was given a swift death, and apparently, so did any in yours.

You’re a vision in red. Blood and entrails cling to your body as you stand in the middle of the wreckage. Fingers still twitched around the blades in both your hands, sniper rifle long forgotten somewhere. When your bullets ran out you opted to use it as a baton, cracking enemies until it got lost during a scuffle. Bodies are strewn across the rooftop like it was nothing. Like it was normal for someone to have the capabilities to fight all these men by themself; let alone a woman half their size.

Ghost has never seen anything more breathtaking. The gore only illuminates the primal energy that surged through you, through him. Every instinct urges him to run to you, feel you, and claim you just as you are now.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

With a shaky laugh, you sheath your weapons, not looking away from the man in front of you. The air is fraught with tension not stemming from the surprise attack. “Sorry, you missed the party, sir. I hope you can forgive me.” Your voice practically keens with a desire only Ghost can quell.

“Sir”, a formality laced with sin that unfurls from your tongue to snake into his ears. The sound of it coming from you so desperately, so needy, for him, calls to every fiber of Ghost’s being. You take without recourse every day; lives, commands, jests, anything you could while leaving nothing in return. Until it came to him. That three-letter title was you giving your power over to Ghost. An exchange of trust that never ceased to rock him to his core.

A grunt is given to you in response. A silent warning that said, “If you keep it up with that, I can’t be held accountable for what happens next.”

You knew that verbatim since the last time he grunted like that and you continued to push his limits, you were left with such a bad limp the next day that Captain Price made you go to medical for a check-up since he was convinced you were injured. Technically with how bad you were aching, it did qualify as an injury, but the dull throb between your legs indicated it was the good kind.

Before Ghost can make a step forward, Soap and Gaz run up in quick succession. They stop short just as Ghost did as they also take in the sight. Dark eyes continue to stay transfixed on you. Almost like you were the only person in the whole city.

Although, after a couple of minutes of three pairs of eyes ogling you, you decide you had enough for one day. Exasperated, you reach for your radio, “All clear Captain.”

-

By the time the team makes it to the safe house, you are utterly drained. Everything aches. The thick layer of sticky human splatter covering your form begins to gnaw at your senses. The lights feel too bright, the air too hot, and the atmosphere too quiet.

You tug off the pounds of clunky armor and gear, tossing it on an open countertop like the others. For a moment you just stare at the items. The dismantling got the surface mucked with dirty substances. Not only that but your hands, arms, and the sweat rolling down your forehead makes it spread even more.

Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. The mantra leaves you frozen, not knowing what to do, not knowing what else to say.

Someone pats you firmly on the shoulder, “I’ll take care of it, eh? Go clean up. Lord knows you deserve it.”

You can’t distinguish the voice of who’s talking when your feet begin to move at the command before your mind can register it. Normally you didn’t become this frazzled so soon, but you haven’t had time to be alone for weeks now. No time to scream into a pillow or cry in your room or feel his touch.

Every high has a crash, and you are free-falling. Fast.

Soap lets out a sigh of concern before grabbing a rag to start getting to work. He doesn’t say anything when he sees a dark shadow larger than your own follow you down the hallway.

When the bathroom door closes seemingly by itself you don’t hesitate. Nails scratch your skin as you practically tear off the clothes clinging to you. When you hear the fabric of your shirt rip you don’t care. You don’t have the wherewithal to even try. Yanking back the curtain, you blindly search for the handle. When water starts pouring down you practically jump into the shower.

You arch your head back into the stream of water. Clear, turns red, then turns black with the mixture of blood and soot as it sinks into the drain, taking your adrenaline with it. Limbs quake and memories flood uninvited into your brain. To escape the onslaught of emotions you close your eyes and try to focus on the sounds around you. Water is dripping, slipping, and sliding in your mouth. Water that was meant to soothe, but once smothered you and used as a tool to make you talk, to make you break.

Large hands encompass the sides of your head and pull you from the stream internally ripping you apart. Only then do you hear the sobs spilling from your mouth. Your eyes fly open and are confronted with misty blue ones surrounded by pitch blackness, equally searching and equally pained. Pained not only for you but for the fact that he knows exactly what you’re feeling. He knows how the past is twisting your guts until the only thing your body wants to do is destroy or be destroyed.

“Focus, angel.”

The words come out in a deep yet soft command. A shiver travels across your skin and an ache settles in your heart. Ghost is here with you. You aren’t in that place anymore. Your hands cling so desperately around his wrists as if he would drift away at any moment. Like he’s the answer to your salvation.

In actuality, you’re his.

With a harsh tug, hungry lips slam into yours. You hadn’t noticed that his balaclava was pushed up, but you couldn’t be more relieved to truly feel him. The kiss is as possessive as it is sloppy. Tongues don’t dance but spar as Ghost uses his grip on your head to keep you locked in place. Not that you would ever dream about pulling away.

He tastes of metal, grit, and something addictively sweet. He’s like one of those candies in sketchy wrapping, but when you pop it in your mouth it’s the best thing to ever grace your tastebuds. Moaning you back up against the cold shower wall to make room for the large man. His lips only move to start descending on your neck. Lips and teeth and tongue tease with a fiery passion that make you gasp at each little assault of his mouth on your skin.

Something hard presses against your slick stomach as Ghost blankets your body with his own. He towers over you not only in stature but width. Your body is perfectly hidden in front of his own like a human shield. The pure notion of what he can do to you makes heat pool in your core.

Your sudden reaction doesn’t go unnoticed. They seldom do.

A thick finger instantly meets your folds, sliding through the wet sensitive flesh in agonizingly slow pets. Ghost lets out a satisfied grunt at how willing and wet you already are for him. He pushes the digit inside your pussy with ease. You desperately grab his biceps to keep yourself from melting into a puddle at his touch.

“Please.” The wobbled plead comes out like a mewling kitten. When you say it so sweetly how could he ever deny you? When a second finger joins the first the delightful stretch that follows makes your nails dig into his taut skin. Ghost doesn’t pause as he begins to fuck you with deep, slow thrusts. Fingers curve to hit the spongy sweet spot inside your pussy that has you clenching around him like a vice.

The hardness against your stomach twitches at the sound, feel, and look of you. So devastatingly perfect, devastatingly his.

In your haze, you look down at where his body meets yours. Each stroke of his fingers makes you dizzy, but all you can focus on is his cock. The tip is ruby red as it throbs and leaks with precum with the anticipation to take you.

“Simon.” His head snaps up to search your face. The name comes out in a whisper as your eyes say a thousand more words you can’t possibly string together in a coherent sentence.

His lips ghost the shell of your ear, “My strong girl did so well today. She deserves my cock don’t yah think?” You feebly nod, unable to make any sounds except for pathetic moans. Strong hands lift your legs so they’re dangling atop his muscular thighs. He’s like a makeshift seat as he keeps your back pressed against the wall to keep you propped up for him. Now the head of his cock is resting between the lips of your sex.

Breath eludes you as you watch Ghost look at where your bodies are joined. He gently rocks against your pussy, rubbing your clit with each slow stroke. The new position leaves you no room to buck against him. You’re completely left at his mercy.

“…so fuckin’ pretty.” The admiring words rumble from his chest as he finally pushes inside. It’s almost too much. His cock never fails to split you open to the point that you think you might rip in half. He’s too hard, too long, too thick, too big. Yet you can’t help but whine when he stops moving after only half of his cock is nestled in your pussy.

Ghost shoves his face in your neck and you can feel his body trembling, not from physical exertion, but from the force he was using to control himself. Teeth nip and scrape at the tender flesh above your collarbone as he begins to slowly push more of himself into your quivering pussy. In silent submission, you crane your neck further to give him better access to your pulse point.  

You don’t want Ghost to hold back. You want the delicious pain that comes from him tearing you apart because you know he’ll always sew you back together again.

“Fuck me, bite me, take me, please.”

“Copy.” Ghost’s tone is deceptively playful and you swear you feel him smirk against your neck.

Cheeky bastard.

Any semblance of lightheartedness quickly disappears when he slams the rest of his cock inside you. Instead of biting, he sucks the spot his teeth were previously teasing. Ghost’s hands settle on your ass to pull you on and off his cock in tandem with his thrusts. He’s everywhere all at once and all you can do is desperately moan at the contact you’ve starved for.

The pace starts deep and languid before rapidly turning rough and downright feral. Gravelly groans tumble from the usually composed man as your tight walls cling to him at every pull of his cock. You’re almost too tight and he’s almost too big. Almost.

“That’s it... take my cock, angel.” Your bottom lip trembles when Ghost moves to rest his forehead against yours while continuing to fuck into you hard enough to bruise. The soft skin at his pelvis abuses your clit to the point of overstimulation with the onslaught of movement. It’s so intense that you’re sure you’ll fall apart by the next jut of his hips, but he never gives you more than you can handle. Ghost is the only person you’ve trusted with your body in many years; and for that, he’ll be forever grateful.

His eyes never leave yours as he takes in every little emotion swirling in their depths. Before you were on the brink of darkness, now all he sees is lust and a four-letter word that would be his undoing.

Once you almost died and went to hell. Now you feel like you’ve died and gone to heaven. Euphoria made you docile and pliable, a mewling, dizzy, sweet mess that only made Ghost fuck you harder. The sounds he’s making are like brimstone and ash as he fucks his fallen angel.

“Angel” was an especially fond nickname Ghost gave you at the beginning of your relationship. One he saved for your most intimate moments together. To him, you’re a celestial being; too good to be with the likes of him. He sees your drive to do good, to protect people from the torment you’d endured. Outsiders may see a bloodthirsty soldier, but he saw you for who you really are. A woman who strived to do good, to protect people from horrors unimaginable. Even if it meant sacrificing herself. Although Ghost may not be as noble, he is as driven. He’ll be your patron saint, your protector till the end of days; but even then, he’ll be too selfish to let you go. Ghost would cut down Gods and travel through hell and back for you. Anything for his angel.

A particularly sharp thrust makes you cry out. You’re so close you can feel the electricity crackling between the two of you. But neither of you cared for things that came easy. In an instant Ghost pulls out of you and flips you around with the grace of a seasoned fighter. The spray of water hits the sides of your bodies as you’re bent with your front against the shower wall.

Your forearms support your weight as you slam your palms into the wall in a poor attempt for leverage. Each aching muscle in your legs shakes from the pressure of standing on your tiptoes to reach closer to Ghost’s hips. Emptiness gives way to fullness when your pussy is once again invaded by his cock. His front molds into your back like you are made for him. You fit so perfectly tight against him, around him, pushing and squeezing as your velvet walls flutter to accommodate him.

Fingers slip between your own in an act so tender it betrays the rough slap of his hips against you. Truly an enigma even you had yet to completely figure out. But with your fast-approaching climax, you didn’t have the room to dwell on the concept. You can tell Ghost is close too; his thrusts are growing sloppy and his fingers that are intertwined with yours squeeze in a white-knuckled grip to attempt to ground himself.

His hands slip from yours to find purchase on your hip with one hand while the other snakes around to descend on your clit. Even lost in desire his movements are precise and expert in how they derive pleasure from you.

“Do you want me to fill you up, angel? Make you mine?” Ghost’s voice is distorted by growls and full-blown lust. Your emphatic moans and confirmations blend only to heighten as he slams into you and rolls your sensitive bud just right. Ghost’s ministrations, cock, voice, words, and noises all blend together in perfect symphony as you reach your rapture.

His grip on you is like steel as you meet each of Ghost’s thrusts. Your heart thumps like a hummingbird and sparks feel as though they’re lighting under your skin. A loud groan reverberates next to your ear as heat blooms in your core. You’re so tight in the throes of your own orgasm, milking Ghost for everything he’s got.

Ghost continues to push his cum inside you, thrusting in deep, hard strokes to secure it in and make it stick. The insatiable need to make you his in a permanent way motivates the overstimulating pounding. His fingers knead the flesh at your hips, coaxing you to stay open for him.

Only when your whimpers waver and turn whiny does he reluctantly slow his movements before coming to a complete stop. Ghost pulls you from the wall so he can lean you against his chest, cock still buried deep inside you. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest would lull you to sleep if you weren’t acutely aware of your surroundings again. You don’t know how much time has passed, but when Ghost pulls out of you, you shiver from the newfound emptiness.

When you start to adjust your limbs, you feel that the skin on your fingertips is pruned, indicating that you’ve overstayed your welcome. You turn around in Ghost’s grip so you can properly gaze up at him (even if you still have to crane your neck). Your hands absentmindedly rub the muscles in his chest that rumbles like a dragon. Truly an unwavering force in every sense of the word. Unfortunately for both of you, you couldn’t stay like this forever.

“We have to get out sometime, big guy.” Grunting, Ghost grabs your hand before pulling it to his lips, kissing your knuckles like he was memorizing the feel of them. Satiated blue eyes look at you with an emotion that makes you swallow thickly. He was going to be the death of you.

Wordlessly, Ghost reaches around to finally stop the stream of water before scooping you into his arms. A part of you wanted to protest that you could move on your own, but you wouldn’t ever deprive his need to feel you. You wince as Ghost helps you out of the shower. At first, you think it’s from the ache between your thighs, but the pain stems from somewhere lower.

In an instant, you’re plopped on the bathroom counter. “Didn’t care to tell me about this?” Ghost elevates your right leg with an edge of anger in his voice. Not at you per se, but the fact that you’re injured. A streak of red is trailing down your outer thigh with the other droplets of water to the floor. The gash isn’t concerningly deep, but after your exertions, the area was irritated from being neglected.

“I’ve been so caught up I didn’t even feel the damn thing.” The knife wound must have occurred when you were fighting off those men on the rooftop. Everything happened so fast since you came to the safe house that you didn’t take the time to look over yourself.

When a white-hot bolt of pain hits your gut, you’re reminded of your oversight again. You sure as hell can feel it now though. Sighing, Ghost makes quick work of cleaning and wrapping your wound with items from his bag. Of course, he brought it into the bathroom with him. The man is never unprepared.

“Wish you gave me the chance to kill those bastards, love.” The comment only makes you laugh. Leave it to Ghost to think of vengeance right after fucking your brains out.

You admire his concentration in silence. Before you met him you always “licked your own wounds” after every mission you went on, never having someone care so intimately about you to tend to your injuries themself. Now you had Ghost’s expert hands piecing you back together. Despite your pride, you cherish that those hands, invisibly coated in so many people’s blood, takes extra precaution while cleaning up yours. At this moment you feel nothing but lingering bliss and something you thought you’d never feel again… love.

Lightly twisting your leg, Ghost looks over his handiwork with a satisfied grunt. Thick fingers start to card through your wet strands of hair before moving down to cup your cheeks. His thumbs draw small circles on your skin in a manner so soothing it made butterflies awaken in your stomach.

“Do you think they heard us?” They had to of heard, but you knew that they would make themselves think they didn’t. If one of them even uttered a single syllable about it Ghost would pop their head off like a cherry stem.

“That’s the goal.” A wicked blush flames your cheeks as you playfully swat his chest.

Possessive bastard.

Sighing, you hop off the counter and grab your undergarments. Can’t delay facing the team any longer. The comfortable silence continues to stretch as you both get re-dressed. Thankfully Ghost hands you a spare shirt since you tore yours before getting in the shower. It all feels strangely domestic, especially when putting where you are into consideration. But home is where the heart is, and Ghost has yours in the palm of his hand.

Strong arms pull you to a hard chest once you’re fully dressed. A ghost of a smile plays on your lover’s lips and the sight makes you smile in return. Ghost leaves you with one last searing kiss before pulling his balaclava back down and exiting the bathroom.

Amidst war, death, and a lingering past you were able to fight your demons and find love. And as fate would have it, you love the angel of death himself.

Any and all interactions are greatly appreciated.

[apompkwrites]

reader impact || first meeting

series masterlist characters: xiao, albedo genre: fluff summary: a game has been released entitled genshin impact, consisting of otherworldly abilities relying on the basic elements of nature. the game follows the story of an interdimensional traveling twin in search of their other half. along this journey, they meet different characters that live in this world. including you. notes: have i read a few genshin impact x game character reader stories and impulsively decided to make one too? maybe. you can't prove anything. i don't know if this will be a series but we'll see :D

xiao's playthrough -

xiao, named as alatus on his streaming platform, has made himself known as a gaming streamer with an awkward personality and blunt words.

he's the type of streamer who wouldn't have a set type of game and would, instead, play whatever his viewers recommended.

valorant? sure, he'll try it out.

hitman? why not?

animal crossing? it's a complete 180 from the other games, but sure.

when one of his viewers recommended genshin impact, he was quick to say yes and search for the game.

once the game finishes downloading, he quickly begins the game.

once the opening cutscene passes, he compliments the overall aesthetic of the game, pointing out the smaller details such as the footprints made by his character and the sound their clothes make when they move.

as always, his expressions are quite monotone to a point where it seems nothing draws his attention towards the game.

one of his mods, however, knows xiao well enough to where he knows which character he would like.

they convince xiao that the game is worth sticking with towards the second half of chapter 1, act 1.

he doesn't understand but he trusts his mods so he promises to continue.

it takes a few hours, especially because of the grinding, but a few streams later he's finally made it.

after fighting a one-sided argument with cloud retainer, he immediately begins his trek to the wangshu inn. and yes, trek, he enjoys walking/gliding through the world of teyvat rather than fast traveling everywhere.

he walks up the stairs to the top floor of the inn, resting his hands in his lap as the cutscene begins.

"to the blind, everything may not be as it appears..."

xiao is normally stoic during games, even ones with scenes made to fluster the player and catch them off guard.

but not this time.

once xiao's character is faced with yours, he just stops. his chat is spamming messages, asking if he's okay and if he's actually emoting for once.

he just stares at your character for a good five minutes.

and trust me, at least half of his viewers clipped that.

"... who are they?"

that was his only question after those minutes of silence. never before had he been attached to a character within the first few minutes of meeting them. his mind is racing and all he can think about is how amazing your character design is and how nice your voice is and how cool your character is and--

oh right, he's streaming right now...

anyway, the more your conversation goes on, the more he loves your character.

you're just so sassy and snappy but he loves you either way.

once you turn away with your back towards the camera, he just stares.

he stares at the intricate tattoo on your exposed arm and the mask hanging off of your belt.

and then you're gone.

his face drops so quickly and his viewers are very quick to point it out. he grimaces once paimon starts talking and he's very tempted to just speed through her dialogue.

he just wants to see you again.

once he hears from verr goldet that you've never smiled (at least around her), he immediately turns to the camera and says, "we better make them smile in this game."

once he finds out about your favorite food, he's already asking his viewers if he's able to get the recipe for it.

the next time he gets to talk to you, his face just lights up once he sees your character standing on the balcony.

however, once his characters tell you about rex lapis's death, his heart sinks when he hears how sad your voice becomes, even if your tone is still as harsh as before.

he gets all sad again when the quest ends and he has to wait to unlock the next archon quest.

he ends the game there and decides to spend the last few minutes talking to his viewers.

"i'll stream genshin again soon."

his viewers all know it's only because he met you.

albedo's playthrough -

albedo often does art streams and the occasional science-y stream.

if he does games, he mainly uses them to admire the art/mechanics of the gameplay.

genshin impact was one of those games he decided to play on his own solely because of the beautiful scenary.

(and the opportunity to draw more characters).

he's definitely the player that cares about elemental reactions above all else. pretty much every character he uses is built for elemental damage instead of physical.

most of his genshin streams are him walking around teyvat and pointing out the scenary.

he was definitely excited for the dragonspine event because that meant a better view of teyvat!

what he wasn't prepared for, however, was the reveal of a new character: you.

he isn't too into looking at the updates for genshin on his own, so he didn't find out about who you were until his stream asked about it.

he decided to react to the newest updates live since his chat seemed excited to hear his input.

once he pulled up the latest update details, he spent a few minutes talking about the new subzero mechanic.

but once he scrolled down to the characters... OH BOY

he's able to keep his composure but he definitely spends longer talking about you.

he almost gasped when he saw you were the chief alchemist of mondstadt.

combine that with the fact that you rely on elemental damage instead of physical...

your honor, he's fallen hard.

he'll put a countdown on stream to when your character and event drops, even on his non-genshin streams.

speaking of those streams, on the week just before your event, his streams will all be based around you and the information he's seen on you.

his art streams will consist of you and how he thinks your attacks will work just based on the description (he purposely avoided all pictures of your attacks for this stream).

his science-y streams would probably be based on your element.

once your event drops, that's the only thing he'll stream until it's over.

your assistant used to be his favorite character to play as but they just never clicked. it's not like he hates your assistant, it's just he didn't immediately fall in love with them.

his party definitely has your assistant in it, though.

he would have normally taken his time to look around dragonspine and admire the new scenery, but he couldn't help but speed through it until he finally gets to see you onscreen.

once the cutscene officially introduces you in front of a canvas, he's internally panicking.

you like art too?! and science?! how perfect can you be?!?!?!

he will genuinely feel bad when he scares the hilichurls because he knows that that's what you were sketching.

"who are you? why did you alarm them?"

NOW HE FEELS EVEN WORSE

even when you tell him you've finished sketching, he wants to make it up to you :((

if he were able to, he would've lured more hilichurls to let you sketch more.

some people in his chat would probably spam him to skip your dialogue because it's so wordy, but that's the exact reason why he listens to it all.

he likes listening to your character ramble on, especially because you have a soothing voice.

anytime your character does their idle animation where you give life to something, he will always let it play. even if your dialogue is finished before the animation, he would not progress until it's completed.

once your character asks for help, he would immediately agree before you finished your sentence.

man just wants to spend more time with you.

he likes staring at the tattoo on your neck whenever the camera is close to you. he just thinks it's really pretty on you.

once your other nonplayable assistant begins talking, he'll skip through the dialogue. he doesn't care if it goes more in depth into this world's alchemy, he just wants to hear it from you.

"hmm, looks like the potion's ready. i'll try a little first."

"please don't..."

he doesn't want you to try it just in case it hurts you :(

anytime he is allowed to walk freely with you around, he'd definitely put his traveler character next to you for a few minutes and just let you two stare at each other.

someone asks him why he spends a few minutes doodling on his desk when you talk.

he shows them the notebook that he had been writing notes in. it's filled with little doodles of you and some more information you give on the world of alchemy.

for future streams the involve you, he'd set up another camera to show the notes and doodles he's making about you.

sometimes he'll spend a few minutes on a single section where the camera is focused on you just to recreate the picture in the notebook.

he absolutely loves whoever planned out the camera angles because of how cute you look in every one of them.

he definitely gets a bad vibe from rosaria when she hints at the fact that you may be using alchemy against him.

he will defend you and alchemy to his grave!

that one scene where you create a flower in front of you is one he will always treasure.

he makes sure someone clipped that moment just so he can draw that, make it a print, and put it on his wall.

since most of his viewers most likely consist of artists, he will encourage them to draw you and send him fanart. he will put them all on a wall and dedicate every picture that goes there to you.

"if i one day lose control... destroy mondstadt... as well as everything around it..."

"huh?"

"will you be there to stop me?"

"wait... no."

if people were only listening to that portion, they would still be able to hear the pout on his face.

he'll end the game there but change his stream into an impromptu art stream.

he will only be drawing you in nice situations to distract himself from the fact that there is something going on with you.

"hm? what do you mean something's wrong with (name)? i have no idea what you're talking about."

poor boy's in denial...

[hotwings0203]

I feel like Dabi would be the type of dude who would bully you incessantly at the LOV and for the life of you you can’t figure out why. He’s always around you and making snarky comments or pulling your hair, trying to catch you messing up on missions. You’re sure he hates you, and you do well to stay out of his way, or sometimes when you feel bold you’ll offer a quip of your own. The bullying increases whenever you talk to other guys at the bar, especially when you make Tomura crack a smile, Dabi’s breathing down your neck the second your leader leaves, calling you terrible names and pushing past your boundaries.

Cw: language, nsfw, noncon, manga spoilers, some angst?

In a perfect world, Touya would not have been abandoned and rejected by his family. In a perfect world, Dabi would not exist, and Touya would be eating dinner with his family right now as he shows his little brother how to properly wield fire to its fullest extent.

But there was no such thing as a perfect world, and therefore Dabi did exist. And Dabi doesn’t care for anyone, or anything.

Or so he tells himself.

“Slut”

“Nothing but eye candy, and shitty eye candy at that”

It’s nothing you haven’t heard before, but it doesn’t make it any easier to ignore him

“What was that all about, huh? The fuck are you and crusty snickering about?”

Fed up with his continuous antics, you decide to mouth off a little too.

“Oh nothing, just talking about how adorable you and Hawks would make as a couple. And wipe that sneer off your face, it looks like some of your staples fell out of your mouth.”

It’s nothing too snarky, but in a second he’s shoving you in some dark room, forearm pinned against your throat as his hand is lit up with blue flames merely inches away from you, snarling in your face.

“You wanna be funny, bitch? I got jokes of my own too, why dont I show you what happens to dumb little girls who don’t know their fucking place? I think that would be real funny.”

But his hand is stopped from drawing near your wide eyes when you both hear Twice and Toga calling everyone for their next meeting.

He pushes you away from him, giving you a murderous look over his shoulder as he leaves the room, not paying mind to the way you slide down the wall in the dark.

You take extra precaution to try avoiding him for the next few days, not even making eye contact with him when you two get teamed up for tasks. He never mentions the room incident, if anything he acts as if it never happens. It’s like whiplash for you, he tries to weirdly talk to you more but all you offer him is mumbles and hums of agreement.

The conversation is never long, but it starts to be less talk of degrading you and more of begrudging questioning of what you’ve been up to. You never engage, opting to pretend like you never heard him, and strangely enough he leaves it be.

You give him a side eye one day as he joins you at the bar (much to your discontent), downing your glass just to fill another.

He says nothing as he slides into the stool right next to you, and pours a glass of whiskey for himself as well.

It’s awkwardly silent, you’re not sure if you should leave or not, but you’d be damned if you try to initiate small talk with this psycho.

But then, he speaks.

“Is Shigaraki sending you on the mission to get that UA kid?”

His gravely voice rumbles and cracks from his usual lack of use, and he clears his throat after he talks.

“No.”

“Oh.”

This is excruciating, you think to yourself as he mulls over the drink in his hand for a silent minute or two.

Toga calls you over thankfully at the exact same moment, and you breathe out an inaudible sigh of relief as you slip off the stool to join her.

“Wait-“ Dabi grabs your arm and you flinch out of instinct, expecting a slap or a burn to come from him.

He sees your reaction and shakes his head dismissively, letting you go and muttering a “Nevermind”. You don’t ponder over it as you trip over your own feet to join the eccentric blond.

A week passes, and then two. With each day you maneuver your way around him, request to be partnered up with different people in private, and busy yourself in random tasks. Every time you pass him by the bar he lifts his head from whatever he’s doing and tries to maintain eye contact with you, even going so far as to open his mouth to say or ask god-knows-what.

You try to ignore the foreign hopeful glint in his glacial eyes as you walk right past him, ducking your head as you do so.

It drives Dabi crazy.

He can’t handle any more rejection, he thought his family would be the last straw for him to ever want recognition or love validation from again. He wants to talk to you, to hear your voice as it snaps back with witty comebacks of your own that he secretly enjoys so much, even if it means he has to force it out of you with hateful words. He wants to feel your hair underneath his scarred hands, even if he has to mask the soft wanting of you in forms of yanking the strands. He wants nothing more than to see your eyes fill up with no other sight than him and think only of him, even if it means he has to corner you and scare you into submission.

But your silence is something he’s not used to.

Well, to be fair, you weren’t silent completely, but the only sentences he was hearing from you nowadays was when you were speaking to Shigaraki or the other League members.

You were the only idiot who didn’t notice the smoke curling from his nostrils and ears comically when he’d finally see you stop your stoic act just to open up to other men apart from him. Spinner, Twice, and Compress backed off almost immediately from talking to you for too long when they’d see the look on his face as he watched you surrounded by them, but Tomura would merely smirk from behind your shoulders and keep a level gaze with his subordinate, knowing fully well why he was so pissed off.

You began to notice the weird energy at the base soon after the rest of the men would keep curt conversations with you in comparison to your long talks about video games, sex, and life after you would all win the war.

So you thought it would be best to ask the most semi-normal person there that wasn’t fueled with testosterone and aggression.

“I just don’t get it, why are they all being weird? I mean, we all used to talk so much and now they just...try avoiding me. Except for Tomura of course, he’s still normal I guess. But he always has this smirk on his face when I’m with him and I can’t figure out why.”

Toga stops cleaning her blood-laced needle to give you a sly look, all fangs and glinting white.

“And Dabi?”

“What about him?”

She sits back on her haunches and cocks her head at you. “You really don’t know what’s happening here, do ya?”

“No,” you roll your eyes in exasperation. “But I’ll gladly take any theories here, since apparently I’m the only one who doesn’t get it.”

“He likes you.”

You gape at her for a moment and then burst out laughing.

“What? That’s crazy, he doesn’t like me, he hates me!” He can barely stand being in a room with me, all he does is talk shit and harass me.”

The blond curiously licks at a bead of red from the top of the weapon and you cringe when her own tongue rips from the sharp point.

“You say he can’t stand being in a room with you, so then why is it that he’s always there? He might talk shit, but he talks to you out of everyone else right? Regardless of if it’s something mean.”

You’re thoroughly flabbergasted. She had a point, but it was too much to wrap your head around. She cheerfully hums and gets up to flounce around the room, cleaning her already-tidy room up to a T.

“And that little silent treatment act you’re giving him isn’t helping either. I swear, Jin told me Dabi almost burned his mouth off that one day you, him and Spinner were talking about GTA. He totally cornered the poor guy and threatened his life if he didn’t stop talking to you.”

“You’re joking.”

“Am not. He wanted to do the same to Tomura but I figure he wants to keep his job, so he won’t. Doesnt make it any better for him when you’re all chummy with the one person Dabi can’t stand the most, though.”

No wonder your leader was so smug whenever you two were in the same room, your attention solely focused on him.

You run your hands down your face, moaning about the whole situation being fucked. It’s just your luck that you couldn’t take a clue, but to be fair, how could you? Being called worthless and a waste of space wasn’t exactly what you had in mind for flirty banter.

“Soooo what’re you gonna do now? I heard he’s gonna try talking to you for realsies like, tomorrow or something.”

“Tomorrow?” You yelp, jumping up to your feet. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I can’t face him!”

“Oops,” she giggles, twirling with outstretched arms around her room and falling down onto her bed.

“Oh god, I can’t do this. I don’t even know if I like him! He’s such an ass, and even when he tries to come off as normal he’s just so..unsettling. I don’t think I’ve ever had a good conversation with him.”

Toga props her elbow up to rest her chin on her hand, frowning in thought.

“Why not just tell him how you feel?”

You snort and fold your arms. “Yeah, because the psycho arsonist is really gonna take the word no well.”

“Hmm.. I see what you mean. Oh well, whatever you choose, I’ll support you!”

And with that she skips out of the room sing songing for Twice to make a clone for her.

You were fucked.

And sure enough, the next day he approaches you, hands stuffed in his pockets and an almost bored look on his face.

“Yo newbie, I gotta talk to you for a second. Come with me”.

You look blearily up at him through eye bags and mussed hair, a direct telling of your sleepless night. Your stomach drops when you hear his words, but you nod your head and take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself of the speech you practiced till the sun rose.

No one else is bothering you both today, Shigaraki having gone to visit All For One and the rest of the League left to their own devices. It was something you weren’t so comfortable with, but you doubted a hero would come to save you.

He leads you through the short winding hallways, each step of his growing louder and heavier as the space started growing smaller. Finally, he reaches a dimly lit room and stops outside the door, gesturing for you to go in with a casual wave of his patched wrist.

“After you.”

You raise an unsure eyebrow at his uncharacteristic show of consideration, and do as he says. You’re sweating bullets, fists balled so that your nails are digging into your palms, and vision going in and out of focus as your eyes begin to adjust to your surroundings.

A loud bang pulls you out of your stupor, and you whip around at the sound.

Dabi is already staring back at you with lidded eyes, leaning his weight against the door, his arms crossing over each other.

You shift on both feet, picking at your nails nervously.

“So, what did you wanna talk about?”

He says nothing, but just observes you, his head slightly tilted as if you were some abstract art piece.

“Dabi.”

“You got a lot of nerve, y’know that?”

He pushes himself off the wall and advances slowly towards you, hands stuffed in his trench coat pockets.

You immediately back up with raised palms, sputtering indignantly at his offensive movements coming closer and closer. However you thought his ‘confession’ would go, this was most definitely not starting out like how you planned

“Excuse me? What’re you talking about-“

“I know what you’re doing. You think whoring yourself out to ol’ crusty and the rest of the guys here is gonna make everyone forget just how useless you actually are. What the fuck do you even do here? You fuck up half the missions which I have to come bail your ass out of, you constantly put us in jeopardy by being all friendly with everyone, and you can’t even keep your mouth shut when I need to let off a little steam, as I rightfully should.”

In a perfect world, Dabi would be the light of your eyes, the hero of your world. In a perfect world, Dabi would be able to hold your hand in his smooth one and tell you that he wants you so much that it impairs his rational judgement and makes him say things he doesn’t mean. He’d tell you that your presence is like a weight lifted off his chest, your presence means he doesn’t have to think or worry about the outside world, he just wants you all to himself without anyone interfering.

But this is not a perfect world, and Dabi is not a hero, but rather one of the worst villains.

So he does exactly what one does as a villain.

Instead of a loving look that he knows he’s incapable of, Dabi looks down into your horrified gaze as he traps you against the wall between his scarred arms, spewing misplaced venom at you.

“I don’t know what your problem is, but you need to chill out. First you go ballistic on me ‘cause I talked to Tomura for no reason, then you act all weird and quiet as if you’re some decent person, and now you think you can just bring me in here and tell me how worthless I am? Go fuck yourself, seriously.”

You scoff and make your way to push him but stop when he does what he did a couple weeks ago. You hold bated breath as he casually brings an inflamed hand to scratch at his face as if he can’t feel the hellfire emitting from it, and let out a whine of distress as he lowers his head mere inches from yours, lips almost touching.

“Stop talking to the rest of the guys,” he breaths. “Stop smiling, laughing, or going near anyone who isn’t me.”

You wonder if he knows how insane he sounds. He does, but that’s nothing he doesn’t know already. If anything, it solidifies in his mind that if he is to be as bad as the world has made him out to be, then he is acting exactly fit for the role.

“Why?”

“I don’t need to give sluts like you a reason. It should come as easy, right? What’s putting out for one more person?”

Your eyes are brimming with tears now, your stoic facade showing cracks as you sniffle a little bit.

He eats it up and groans watching salty rivers cascade down your cheeks. Suddenly, he feels as though he can no longer hold back anymore, he feels as though if he thinks for one more second he’ll combust.

So, acting on instinct, he surges forward and presses his lips against yours, swallowing your cries of distress and holding your hands above your head in midst of them frantically beating on his chest.

Your lips are so, so soft compared to his and it’s making him sink deeper into this instinctual daze. He puffs against your writhing lips as he thrusts his hot tongue in your mouth.

You try to bite him but when his hands heat up against your skin you resign to your fate and wail, allowing him to pull his hips flush against yours and start humping your thighs.

He draws back and bites your lips, teeth clacking against yours as he does so. You open your terrified eyes and blanch when you see the look on his face.

Lust is clearly drawn everywhere, from his blown pupils to his heaving chest, all the way to his flushed face and wild eyes. He looks as though he’s about to eat you alive and it’s appropriate that you feel like a lamb about to be slaughtered.

“Dabi, wait, please stop-“

But he cuts your pants off again in favor of slamming his hips against yours again and grinding impossibly hard on your legs, the friction of his jeans catching on your clothed cunt and forcing a mewl out of you.

“I’m not gonna stop. I’ve had enough of you teasing. You’re mine now, and if it takes burning our dear leader alive and this whole place down for you to understand that then I’ll fucking do it.”

He thought that terrorizing you would ease the empty feeling in his heart, that continuously berating you would force him to see you as what he always said you were, just another empty headed cunt. He thought that distancing himself from you and focusing on other things would make him forget about the soft feelings he longed to share with you, feelings he thought perished in the fire he was in when he was a young boy .

Even now, there is an ache in his chest as he hears you beg for him to stop, to let you go, that you’re sorry for whatever you did.

But this is not a perfect world, and not everyone gets their way in life.

You should really learn that, because Dabi already has.

And so Dabi will act accordingly to what life has put out before him .

[pies-writes-and-more]

things they do when they love you

Characters: Kageyama Tobio, Tsukishima Kei, Tanaka Ryūnosuke, Yamaguchi Tadashi, Kozume Kenma, Tendō Satori, & Ushijima Wakatoshi, all with a Fem!Reader

Warnings: literally nothing - pure fluff <3

A/N: sorry for the lack of content lately! I’ve been super busy with work and school and I feel myself starting to get selfconscious of my work again so I’m hoping I can break through the writers block it comes with! Hope you enjoy! Also thank you to @thisnoodlewritesao3​ and @satan-ruler-of-hells​ for listening to me talk about this fic probably a million times lol

haikyuu masterlist

Kageyama is awkward with telling you how he feels so he just tries to give you things to show you. like you mentioned once you liked the protein bar that Coach gave you guys and now he bought every single one of them from the store and is bringing it to your house. Oh did you say you liked milk too? Well I guess he’ll just have to bring you the whole fucking vending machine. Just wants to show he will provide you with all the things you love, pls love him back. I feel like he’d also be bugging his older sister all the time - asking her all sorts of questions about girls. She’s the reason your first date wasn’t at a volleyball game (and also the reason why he no longer thinks your first date was the first time you attended his games. “Tobio, a date is supposed to be where the two of you are hanging out together.” “But.... we are together. She’s watching me play.” “.... somewhere where your whole team and the whole of the Miyagi prefecture isn’t!”)

Tsukishima will let you pamper him lol. He likes the attention so when you’re doing face masks, he’ll like look through them and ask you questions about them. Sometimes it comes off as he’s judging you for spending money on this stuff but he’s really just waiting for you to ask if he wants to try one. You bought a dino face mask specifically for him but you thought he’d laugh at you if you asked. So you just kept it with the rest of your sheet masks. You’re putting one on one day and he’s like …. is that a dinosaur. And you’re like…. no? And immediately he’s like well now I have to have it please show me how to put this one. Lol cut to: it does nOT look like a dinosaur (have yall seen those ones that’s supposed to like look like a penguin or lion or something and just looks psychotic??? yeah that). He still likes it and even lets you take a picture of his first face mask cause you just look so happy that you’re doing it with him. It becomes a ritual and any time you’re doing face masks, he’ll do it with you and you just spill all the tea to him about shit you’ve heard at work or school and he just listens and aggressively calls everyone stupid  lol

Tanaka aggressively praises you non stop but like in a good way haha. Did you just post a photo on instagram? He’s liked it first, commented a thousand different things about how he loves your outfit and your expression and how you’re the light of his life, and then he sHARES the photo to his story and is like look at how pretty my girlfriend is yall wish this was you. Oh did you just get a good grade at school??? Non stop bragging to his teammates about how he’s dating a genius (“I mean anyone’s a genius compared to you” “Tsukishima that is NO WAY TO TALK TO YOUR UPPERCLASSMAN YOU ASSHOLE”). If you’re feeling upset about something, he’ll comfort you and all but also tell you that you’re such a badass you could handle anything. And it’s not like empty compliments either - he genuinely believes that you are the most amazing human being to ever walk the planet

Yamaguchi (okay I got this idea partially from @/paige.ipairs on tiktok but it’s so cute that i had to put it here) likes doing anything with you so he likes it when you’re out shopping and you help him pick a new outfit or you style something for him. But his favourite thing is when you’re painting your nails and he’s like … that’s a nice colour… and you’re like Yamaguchi would you like… your nails painted? And at first it’s just the one finger and it’s a matching colour with you. Like on his ring finger to symbolize he’s with you but then soon he’s with you at the mall looking at different colours and picks out one’s he would like for you to paint for him and he just carries them over to you like .. o.o pls

Kenma will actively look for 2 player games that he can play with you. He’ll pretend like it’s nothing and that he just wants to try the game for the 1 player story but he’ll leave a controller out and just kind waits for you to ask to play or pick up the controller. He really likes it when you play, even if you wander around a lot and aren’t super focused on the story line. Minecraft with the two of you is always fun. He thinks it’s really funny how aggressive you get trying to save your animals from the zombies even though they won’t get hurt. You teared up once cause the pen you made for your chickens got blown up by a Creeper and he actually felt so bad even though you told him it was definitely not his fault. Cut to: you screaming aggressively when it comes to any Creeper as revenge for the chickens who were lost in the battle.

Tendō starts reading your favourite mangas and watches all of your favourite series/movies before you two really started dating because he wanted to know what to talk to you about. But now that you guys are together, he’ll plan dates where you can binge-watch all of your favourite movies/shows or just lie around and trade mangas (you had this man actually crying at some of them, he wasn’t ready for the hURT). If you’re not the biggest fan of horror films, he’ll insist that you guys don’t need to watch them but he loves when you stick it out with him cause it means extra cuddles and more snacks as comfort! If you do love horror films, he’ll always buy tickets to the new movies so the two of you can watch it together right away.

Ushijima will hold you no matter where you guys are. Big beefy boy doesn’t really understand why he wouldn’t hold you, even if you guys were in public. When you guys first started dating, you’d avoid reaching out for his hand because you figured big stoic guy like Ushijima, he wouldn’t really be a PDA kind of guy would he? Wrong. Well right, but also wrong. Boy probably doesn’t even realize what PDA is but he’ll reach for your hand and hold it anytime. And if you guys are waiting in line somewhere, he’ll just hold you in his arms in front of him. He has no sense of when not to do this. It’s like you’re his comfort person (which you are). In front of his Coach? Suddenly has you in front of him, hugging you to him. Being interviewed by some reporters? Oh look, you’re here too. Reminding Oikawa that he should’ve come to Shiratorizawa? You’re right in front sticking your tongue out at the Aoba Josai boi like the child you are lol. Honestly, he doesn’t think it’s weird but he knows deep down that he’s just really scared you’ll leave. He likes knowing you’re around because it reminds him you’re always there. 

Haikyuu taglist (let me know if you’d like to join!)

@al0ehas​ @aurumk​ @devilkittymusic​ @thisnoodlewritesao3​ @satan-ruler-of-hells​ @trashy-simp​ @jeppiet​ @lucyheartfilias-wife​ @darkvadeeer​ @haikyuutothetop​ @livy384​ @babyshoyo​

[spookykittyboo]

✨🌸I saw that requests are open and if you're still doing them I have a simple one!✨🌸

💕(if you're comfortable writing it of course!)💕

✨🌸How would Michael react to his s/o wearing tight dresses?~✨🌸

🌸✨Like not anything super nsfw^^✨🌸

✨🌸Just a little bit 🤏✨🌸

💕✨Thank you for you're time! And I hope you're doing well!✨🌸

✨✨✨✨✨

With love 💕

✨✨✨✨

-𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓁 ☙

LOOK U CAN KILL ME OR WHATEVER, BUT MAN... I CANT HOLD IT IN!

Lets call this uhhhh uhmmm

HEAT!

Michael was never the one who cared for whatever material you put on you body. As long as you put something enough to cover your body while you're outside, he's all down for it. He's not someone who would see you for what you're wearing, for all he see is you. Your skin, your hair, your breathing, or even your warmth. That's all he know. You. But maybe, that night was different for him. A little darker than his devilish eyes, yet it felt so familiar and more like a heaven for the shape himself.

...

You were standing there, in the bedroom. Eyes nailed to the reflection the mirror had of you. A body of somehow you just recognized. A dress with the similae colour of the night sky. Your gaze where once against your own body now turned to a gaze of a man who's intoxicated in the sight of a woman's figure. "Look at me..." you mumbled under your breath. Eyes hazy in the pleasure of your own body, you flexed your hands up in the air, pretending you were being in someone elses body as you watched the body reflected in the mirror. Your hand moved down to the end of your dress, around your thigh. Lifting the material up to revealed more skin. You were like a woman posessed, driving into madness over your own body. Unaware of the stoic man behind the white door. Standing in his mind, staring at you, your act. He was in a pool of his own confusion, looking at the woman he own. She was dancing her fingers around her body dragging it across just to fill her own body, with her own touch. But that thing?

That thing on you. What is that?

A tight, hugging material that fit you curves perfectly.

Oh so perfect to be on you.

He moved towards you, taking in all of his urges or just his primal ardour. Which is it? Like he could care, all he knew was what he wanted in that moment. Is this a game? A show she put on for me? He pushed the door with his strong figure surprizing you, which made you turned around and jolted a little. "Michael! gosh..." you put you hand on your chest, feeling the heavy pour of relieved as you saw it was him, that came in from your back. "Mi-michael, god... you startled me. Don't do that!" but he was still. Without her realizing his eyes widened behind that dirty white mask, as he got a closer look of your body in that tight black dress. Your clevage was looking like an offer to him. Hell! Your whole body is his, he can think of it, bend it, use it the way he want it to. He held you by your waist, twisting your body so he faced your back. This was new, not that you were afraid to wear something short around him. But this one caught his attention short and burned him right in the spot. "Hey- honey what ar- ah!" he pushed you down to the bed, forming a "Doggy" position with him behind you. But then a cold, metal feeling was tracing up your thigh and just like that...

He cut you dress in one move, making it easy for him to torn even more with his hands. "Michael! No!" he pushed you even more with his weight as his hands wandered behind you. "M-m-michael..." you started to feel a hard rock bulge grinding against your entrance. But that's not the end of it. You know when you heard he torned your underwear with his knife in one swift move, he's going to be that obsessed creature that won't stop for his own satisfaction.

Then, a tear fell down to the bed.