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fanaticsnail · 1 year ago

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You Kissed the Clown? Part 5

Part 5 is complete! I loved writing the last one so much, especially the bonus section at the end - so I needed more.

Part 4 is back here.

Echoes of seemingly incohesive sentences could be heard reverberating the chasm within the red and white tent housing the Buggy Pirates.

Cabaji could recall some of his favourite one-liners exclaimed through the lips of his captain being: “It’s like you’re willingly sashaying head-first directly into a fucking circular saw!”, “don’t accept a job from that shady asshole. He’s flirting with you! That’s my job,”, “A stiff drink? A stiff drink?!”, or more quietly uttered; “you can wear any pretty dress you want, my queen. Never let anyone tell you otherwise.”

He simply had not a single clue as to what his Captain was talking about until he finally decided to clue him in.

“Cabaji!” he heard his captain call him, prompting him to spring to his feet and enter the Captain’s quarters. He looked him over, slightly unnerved at the sight that was before him.

Several pages of loose parchment paper were littering the desk of the painted captain, all map locations of a variety of towns. Buggy traced his gloved hands over the loose pages before ushering Cabaji next to him, wrapping his arm around his shoulders and forcing him to look at the pages below.

“What do you make of this?” Buggy asked him, gesturing to the unorganised pages skewed throughout the desk. Cabaji furrowed his brows and looked at the pages before turning his head over to his Captain.

“You’re going to need to fill me in on a couple of steps, Captain,” Cabaji uttered, “you’ve been saying some weird stuff lately and I just want to make sure I have all the information before I answer.”

Buggy groaned, gesturing to his missing ear with a gloved index finger.

“I chucked this on the rubber brat with the straw hat before he left,” he growled at Cabaji.

“I believe you,” Cabaji confirmed with a nod, “and what does that have to do with the paper?”

Buggy threw his head back and released Cabaji from his firm hold on his shoulder.

“Keep up,” Buggy ordered, “my ear is with the brat, right?”

“Right,” Cabaji confirmed again with another nod of his head, following his captain with his eyes.

“Right,” Buggy affirmed him before continuing, “so I’m able to track them, right?”

“Yes, boss,” Cabaji acknowledged his captain and nodding at him to continue his explanation.

Buggy sighed and gestured to the paper displayed atop the table, prompting Cabaji to turn to truly look and decipher the images he was seeing. Many of them were maps of distant towns, which is something he could understand; as his boss was attempting to track his missing body part. Others were family owned jewellery business fliers, articles of critical acclaim thrown among them. Several costume designers for fine women’s clothes were also thrown into the mix, prompting Cabaji to not quite piece together exactly what his boss was looking for.

“You’re going to have to give me something more, Captain,” he uttered while gesturing to the pages, “we’re going to a town to get your ear and the map of the grand line along with it? They’re in a jewellery shop or at a particular seamstress?”

Buggy slumped his body with a loud thump into a chair at the head of the table, slouching his shoulders over.

“Ok, I give up,” Buggy muttered to the floor, his eyes full of a mixture of both sadness and confusion.

“Captain?” Cabaji asked, stepping towards his captain, “just tell me what I’m looking for and I’ll find it for you. Honest.”

Buggy let out a half-hearted laugh which resembled more of a sigh than anything else.

“I want her,” he said into the floor.

“Her?” Cabaji asked him, arching his brow slightly at his captain’s confession.

“Yes, her!” Buggy yelled, bringing his gaze up to meet Cabaji’s, “the her, the only her. The one that-,” Buggy halted his words before he continued to confess to Cabaji.

“The one that,” he exclaimed before lowering his tone just above a whisper, “kissed me.”

Cabaji’s eyes widened slightly and a small smile came to his face. His boss has a crush, and felt comfortable enough with him to share his dirty little secret.

“You wanna know who she is,” Cabaji said with a sly smile and a slight nod of his head.

“Yes,” Buggy hissed out angrily from between his teeth. Cabaji hummed and nodded again, turning to the pages.

“And what have you got so far?” Cabaji asked, picking up two pieces of paper containing family businesses within the East Blue. As soon as those words were asked, it was like he opened the flood-gates to his bosses inner thoughts.

“She’s intelligent,” he said, rising to his feet from his prior sitting position, “really intelligent. A tinkerer in her family’s jewellery business. She makes treasure, Cabaji. And she’s so witty.”

Cabaji was slightly taken aback by his boss’s exclamation but was curious enough to want to hear the rest of what he had to say.

“Her dad runs the show,” he said, hurrying over to the pages and collecting a few samples from within the greater pile, “but she travels with him for negotiation. Her latest was making some jewel axe-head for ol’ Axe-Hand.”

He thrust some pages at Cabaji of ship logs between ports within the East Blue.

“Is that all?” Cabaji asked, almost desperate for a little more gossip from his boss. Buggy had a wide sinister grin plaster on his face.

“She’s educated,” he continued, “she studied languages, novels, poetry. Hell; she sings.”

Cabaji chuckled a little at the last comment, knowing Buggy had been in the market for someone of your talents in the few months prior.

“Anything else?” Cabaji asked, looking down at the pages before looking back up to his Captain.

Buggy wiggled his eyebrows at his subordinate in slight suggestion before kicking his feet slightly like a child.

“She loves me, Cabaji,” he uttered before hiding his face in his hands, “she loves me! Can you believe it?”

“What do you mean, she loves you?” Cabaji asked, slightly alarmed at the thought that someone would be spouting lies in the hopes of destroying his captain’s confidence, “what happened?”

“She confessed to herself in the bathroom,” he said nonchalantly, arching his brow up and gazing at the backs of his glove adorning hands with a smug smile.

“And that was enough for you to-,” Cabaji began before being cut off by his captain.

“Shut the fuck up for a minute,” Buggy hushed him hurriedly, bringing his right hand over the place that was missing his ear and listening intently before declaring, “that one.”

He pointed to a piece of paper in Cabaji’s hands. Cabaji looked at it before presenting it to him.

“The one with fifteen children?” Cabaji confirmed with him, passing it successfully to his boss, “the one that’s wife passed away four years ago?”

“That’s her,” he whispered almost lovingly, bringing up the page to his eyeline. He smoothed over the article depicting a variety of compliments to your father’s skill as a craftsman of fine tinkering abilities, cradling what appeared to be the youngest child in his arms. He fixed his gaze at the fifteen children, focussing on a woman standing proudly, leaning her elbow on her fathers shoulder while cradling a smaller child at her feet: “there she is. There’s my girl,” he cooed at the page.

Cabaji searched through some other pages containing the title of your family’s business and scouring the words to find some semblance of your first name. He sifted through the pages, trailing them back to front to search for any mention of who you could be while Buggy continued to fix his eyes on your photograph.

“She’s beautiful,” Cabaji heard Buggy whisper, “she deserves the prettiest dresses and to be twirled like the queen she truly is.”

Cabaji smirked slightly to himself, knowing how completely smitten his Captain is with a woman he has absolutely no inkling as to her even her name. He couldn’t recall them having any type of conversation while the Strawhat crew were here, which continued to puzzle Cabaji as to how his Captain fell so hard for this woman.

Suddenly, Buggy dropped the page he was holding and stared off blankly at the wall.

“What is it boss?” Cabaji asked him.

“Oh no,” he began, walking over to the map of Syrup-village splayed on one of the draws in his room, “oh no, no, no, no, no, no, no.”

“What is it? What’s happened?” Cabaji asked again, standing up and alert at his boss’s sudden outburst. Cabaji walked over and looked at the map Buggy was holding.

“The butler,” Buggy whispered before turning to face Cabaji, “it’s always the fucking butler.”

“The Butler?” Cabaji asked him, prompting Buggy to reach toward another article with a young, blonde woman standing beside a tall, dark-haired individual wearing a suit and circular spectacles.

“She’s going to die,” Buggy whispered, “she’s going to die if I don’t do something.”

“What do you mean?” Cabaji asked him, prompting him to further clarify.

“The butler that’s been flirting with my girl this whole time,” Buggy went on, thrusting the page he was holding at Cabaji, “he’s going to kill her.”

Cabaji brought his attention to the new piece of paper that Buggy unceremoniously thrust his way and looked at the darker haired individual on the page.

“That’s Captain Kuro of the Black-Cat Pirates,” Cabaji exclaimed with a small amount of shock, “isn’t he meant to be dead?”

“Oh he’s going to be if he touches a single fucking hair on my queen’s head, that’s for sure,” Buggy spat in a threatening tone.

Buggy turned around again suddenly, alerted to something approaching off into the distance.

“Here or there, boss?” Cabaji asked him, referring to his current state of alarm. Buggy creased his brows and focussed his ears on the several sounds emitting in the area.

“Here,” he said, opening his eyes and turning towards the entrance to the large tent, “something’s here.”

------------------------------

After retiring to the guest quarters of the large mansion, you began pacing the entrance way of the room. Nami had retired to her bed after changing into some sleep clothes, whereas Luffy and Zoro immediately decided to go on a quest to find more food and booze with your new associate, Usopp.

When Nami questioned you as to why you hadn’t changed and gotten ready for bed; you immediately confessed to unintentionally loaning your skills as a tinkerer to the unnerving butler, Klahadore. She was surprised at your admission, prodding slightly as to whether you truly were accepting a job or something else, which had you groaning and hung your head in your hands.

“It’s not like that,” you argued with your orange-haired associate, “he freaks me out!”

“And you’d never go for someone unnerving, right?” she quipped back with a small, knowing smirk.

You shot her a slight glare, but before you could say anything in response; a small tap appeared at the door. You turned to face the unopened gateway and acknowledged the source of the noise.

“Goodnight, Nami,” you said before opening the door to reveal the suit-clad butler you were just speaking about.

“Are you ready, Miss Tinkerer?” he asked you while craning his elbow out towards you. You accepted his elbow and laced your arm within his for him to guide you into the workspace he had created for you.

“I am, Mister Klahadore,” you replied with a small smile. He led you through the corridor and down the steps, stopping slightly at the entrance to the cellar before readjusting his glasses with the palm of his hand and continuing to lead you to the workshop.

Sure enough, there was a heavily lit workspace with all of the items you had half-heartedly asked for hours prior; including what you assume was a strong drink for you to enjoy while you worked. You walked over to the workbench and allowed a warm smile to grace it’s way over your face as you ghosted your fingers slightly over the finely kept tools. You quirked your head to the side and pursed your lips as you claimed a multi-purpose tool in the palm of your hand.

“You can keep that, once you’re done of course,” you heard Klahadore offer you, continuing to keep up his proper posture in the work space. You smiled at him and looked back down to the tool, testing it’s weight in your hands.

“And where is the piece I’ll be working on, sir?” you asked him, returning your gaze to the shifty butler who began circling you to seemingly slowly assess your reaction.

“Before I hand them over to you,” he began in a low tone, “I must ask you keep this matter purely confidential. Strictly for our eyes and ears only.”

You kept your gaze on his, weighing up the danger you potentially placed yourself in and knowing he could absolutely kill you if you spurted a wrong answer.

“Confidentiality is not my specialty, Klahadore,” you responded, keeping your tone monotonous, “however, some discretion can be arranged; under dire circumstances.”

He hummed in response, a small smirk beginning to twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Know this, tinkerer,” he seemingly purred at you, “once I hand this over, I will be completely exposed to you. You will know everything, understand?”

You held your chin high and narrowed your eyes at him; “you’re giving me one final out, am I correct in my assumptions?”

He nodded slightly before readjusting his glasses up his nose and fixing them in place with the palm of his hand. You placed the small multi-tool back down on the workbench before you.

“I am not afraid of a challenge,” you twitched your eyebrow slightly and made your way over to his body and extended your hands out to his, awaiting to receive your chosen task.

“So it would seem,” he allowed an unsettling smile to overcome his face. He reached behind his back and presented two black gloves to you, placing them within your outstretched hands. You furrowed your brows and bore your eyes onto the material of them, noticing small fixtures at the tips of the fingers.

“Claws?” you asked him, turning your gaze back to meet Klahadore’s. His expression held an unnerving intensity as he continued to fix his attention on your eyes. You chose to not engage or acknowledge his unnerving countenance, as you were priorly instructed by your father in life and death situations.

“Where are the blades?” you asked him, bringing your right hand to the tips of the gloved fingers.

“No longer attached,” he stated, looking down at the material he gave to you. You arched your brow and brought your attention back to his.

“And what would you have me do, Klahadore?” you asked him.

“Reattach them,” he replied with a smug, tight-lipped smile.

Part 6

#buggy the clown x reader #one piece #buggy x you #one piece live action #buggy #buggy fic #captain buggy #creative writing #opla #opla buggy

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idksmtms · 11 months ago

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The Prettiest Trophy (Capitol Elite!Aegon II Targaryen x Games Winner!reader (Hunger Games AU)

Summary: You never thought you would make it out of the hunger games, but now you have another fight ahead of you. What do you do when one of the most powerful citizens of the capitol has chosen you to be his?

Word count: 3.5k

Trigger Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, profanity, innuendo, Dub-con due to power imbalance, coercion too ig (???), some angst (reader talks about survivor’s guilt from the games), p in v s*x, unprotected s*x, oral f receiving, degradation (constantly referring to lesser status of districts), objectification and ownership, (please let me know if I missed any)

Rating: 18+, MDNI

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not claim to own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so.

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

AN: Aaaaa my first fic finally! Didn't mean to make it this long but I got a bit carried away! I hope you enjoy! (Side note: I was imagining his hair as the style in the black and white pic, just with Targaryen white, Side note 2: I def realise the references to the way Gollum talks about the ring, IT WAS ON PURPOSE)

You never thought you would leave the arena. Every second could have been your last and you still didn’t quite believe you had made it out, that you were standing outside the President’s mansion at a lavish party, dressed in silks and jewels. No one told you how to live after the games were over. It had taken you three days just to be able to get out of bed and move around again after leaving the arena. Being at this party? It felt like a betrayal to all the people who had died so you could live. You sipped from the sickly sweet drink that almost seemed to glow in the night, and looked around the garden.

Most people had finally left you alone thankfully, though you could still see eyes turning your way, whispers and conversations pointed toward your presence in the garden. At least no one was trying to force you into a picture like some capitol celebrity anymore.

People in the most lavish costumes customary of the capitol milled about, talking, whispering, cackling like witches in their modified bodies with their modified voices. It was a horror show. The gardens had been decorated with delicate yellow fairy lights strung up in the trees and over poles around the tables. You assumed they wanted to give it a warm and welcoming look with the yellow lighting but it only cast grotesque shadows on the building that was not only the backdrop to this party, but to all your nightmares. There were tables set up with stark white tablecloths draped over them, an area cleared away for a dance floor, and more noise coming from the entrance to the mansion. Avoxes walked around carrying trays of food and drink between their hands, heads bent low, and shame began to rise inside you. What were you doing here? Why were you forced to be here?

There was someone behind you. You didn’t know when you had become so aware of any presence, probably somewhere between fending off humans and wildlife alike in the arena, and you could distinctly feel someone behind you. A slight shadow fell over your shoulders. A small touch rustled the train of your dress. Someone cleared their throat. You turned around, hands quivering, and looked at the man smirking broadly at you. Your first thought, shamefully: was he even real?

His hair was so blond it was white, cut short and combed back so perfectly he could be no less than an aristocrat. He wore a suit of dark grey over a black shirt, one of the less eccentrically dressed people at the party. But his shoes were lavish. Black and shinier than anything you had ever seen, embroidered with gold thread, gold jewellery dangling from the laces and gems stamped into the fabric. Surely this man was of the richest of the rich, because even in the capitol people were wont to have shoes so lavish. You stared at his shoes for a good minute, whole body frozen, when he cleared his throat once more. You looked at his eyes. You couldn’t tell if they were more blue or grey, like ice had formed over a stormy ocean.

“And who might you be?” He asked, mouth still smiling, before he brought his glass up to his lips and took a drink while waiting for your answer.

“You don’t know who I am?” You asked, almost taking a step back. That couldn’t be true. Viewing was mandatory, your face had been plastered across every screen in Panem for weeks, it couldn’t be true that he didn’t know you. And yet�� for a moment… it felt so good not to be recognised. You were just some other girl, lost in the crowd at a party, who hadn’t gone through what you had gone through.

“Well, I may know of you, but I don’t know you know you,” his smile had softened and he stepped closer until his elbow lightly brushed yours and you were both looking out at the party.

“I suppose that’s true,” you answered quietly, still watching his face. His skin was almost as dangerously pale as his hair, and sallow, like he was never quite in the best of health. Though you couldn’t deny the truth, he was a handsome man regardless of his slightly ragged appearance.

“Aegon Targaryen the second,” he held out his hand, running his eyes over your face like he hadn’t gathered enough of it the first time, “and you?”

“Y/n L/n,” you breathed out, reaching out an unsteady hand to limply shake his own. He gently clasped your fingers and brought your hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to your knuckles before releasing your hand. It was such an odd sensation, his hot breath brushing over the back of your hand, his fingertips slightly rough - but not enough to suggest any sort of manual labour - clasping the skin of your palm. Your cheeks went hot, the tips of your ears tingling, and you continued staring at this enigma.

“How has the capitol been treating you?” He asked, chugging the rest of his drink and depositing it on the tray of an Avox as they passed by like some well-practised dance. You didn’t want to reply. “Well, I suppose you haven’t had the time to truly enjoy it. At least, not the truly fun bits anyway,” he shrugged, tilting his head and looking at you like it was a particularly amusing thing he just said.

You couldn’t understand this at all. Who was this man? What was this interaction? What did he want with you? Why was he acting so mundane, like this was normal?! None of this was normal.

Noticing the look on your face, Aegon chuckled and reached forward to push some hair over your shoulder. It took everything within you to hold in your shiver.

“Ah, you must be confused about who I am! I shouldn’t have assumed you would understand the name Targaryen. We may be famous in the capitol but who knows what goes on in the districts,” you swallowed hard and nodded, trying not to flinch at the dig. “Our family works in all sorts of sectors, for example, my uncle Daemon is responsible for manufacturing arms for the state, my younger brother Aemond works under the president in some position or other - god knows he never shuts up about it - and my father currently runs the peacekeeper program. Of course I’m expected to step up to that eventually but- I won’t bore you with the details.”

You didn’t really consider that work. You had seen the way your parents toiled in the factory every day, had seen the way every member of your family slowly became a hunchback from their work. But you weren’t going to say anything to him.

“What does your family do?” He asked, and again you almost moved out of surprise. His face seemed so sincere as he watched you, waiting for an answer.

“I’m from District 8, so my parents work the looms,” you answered slowly. You almost sounded condescending, like you were talking to someone who couldn’t quite understand your words, but Aegon understood it was the shock of him speaking to you. After all, it had only been a week since you had left the arena, he understood how difficult it would be to gain your confidence. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t try. And Aegon was a firm believer that flattery could get you anywhere, especially a girl’s bed. So he decided to change course.

“Do you see that man over there?” He pointed discreetly to a spot just to your right and you shuffled back so you could look over without being noticed. You sipped from your glass as you noticed the man, an older gentleman wearing a full fursuit topped with a lion’s mane going around his head. Even his face had been painted with fur and whiskers to resemble a lion with the body of a human. You nodded to Aegon, turning away from the man. Something about that picture made you uncomfortable in a way you had never been before. “Well, rumour has it that he wears that entire get up, face paint and all mind you, every time he fucks.” You gasped, staring at Aegon with eyes so wide they started to hurt.

“You can’t be serious,” you whispered sharply.

“I am the most serious, dearest. Why would I lie to you?” He smirked, leaning closer once more. He draped his arm over your shoulder and you stiffened for a moment before continuing to listen to his next story.

You were slowly beginning to relax in Aegon’s company as he continued to chatter to you. He no longer asked questions or expected you to speak, just pointed out people in the crowd and made colourful commentary that had you hiding your face in his shoulder and giggling against the fabric of his suit. He gazed at you with sparkling eyes full of mirth and shared his ever-full glass of whatever drink they were serving at the time. You couldn’t help but be charmed. Maybe, just maybe, not everyone in the capitol was as bad as they seemed.

“D’you wanna go somewhere quieter?” He finally asked after completely relieving another stranger of their dignity. You took a moment to catch your breath and looked at him, at the sudden darkening of his eyes and the way his tongue poked out to lick his lips. He watched you like a tiger readying to pounce. You nodded without a second thought. Though he had made the party bearable, anywhere would be better than here. He smiled and reached down, sliding his fingers over your inner wrist, then your palm, then grasping your hand in his own. “Come on.”

Aegon led you into the house and up the stairs, nodding at random people (who sometimes you could barely recognise as people), skilfully dodging attempts at conversation. Up and up the lavish stairs you went before walking down a large hallway and stopping in front of a wall. Aegon pushed at the wall and it gave way, revealing a spiral staircase in the dark that led up into an abyss.

“Um, are you sure you know where you’re going?” You asked, pausing at the entrance to the rather dingy looking chamber.

“There are some perks to having been at the president’s mansion practically since I was born. One of those being secret access to the roof, now come on!” He dragged you into the dark and shut the door behind him, before ushering you up the first steps.

The staircase really wasn’t all that tall. In fact, you could see the top and light bled down from the opening. Your heels clanked against each step and you almost toppled back into Aegon more than once. Then you were at the top. Then you could see the whole Capitol. Oh it was breathtaking! The whole city, laid out before you like a miniature scene to play with. There were lights glimmering in houses and cars on the roads and life! There were signs of life everywhere. Oh you couldn’t believe it. You almost believed you could see to the very edges of Panem.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Aegon asked, and you turned to meet his eyes. Both of you had moved right to the edge of the rooftop so you could look out over the party, and he moved to stand directly behind you. You could feel his chest press into your back. The fabric of his shirt rubbed against the skin of your back and he was a solid pressure behind you, like the comfort of a wall at your back when you slept. “Hm?” He asked again, bending his head down to run his nose up your neck. You shivered, the light graze was just ticklish enough to start a spark inside of you.

“Yes,” you breathed out, clenching your hands on the concrete to stop yourself from leaning back into him. You didn’t know him. You didn’t really know him. You didn’t know him at all.

“You know,” he began slowly, hands going to your shoulders and turning you around to face him. “When I first saw you on the television, the day of the reaping, I knew you would win.” Your breath caught in your throat. Your mouth was so dry. You wished you hadn’t discarded that sweet drink so quickly. “And look at you now,” he leaned in closer, cupping your face to force your eyes to meet his, “you’re the winner, the greatest person in Panem, to come out of the districts anyway.” He gently kissed your right cheek, warm lips on plush skin, and when he pulled away the breeze cooled the hint of saliva he had left behind. “You’re the greatest treasure one could possess, you know?” He kissed your other cheek, firmer this time, like he was trying to leave the imprint of his lips on your skin. “Everyone knows the winner of the Hunger Games, and to say you own them? To parade them on your arm for everyone to see, saying you own the very concept of survival?” He seemed to groan in pleasure, and then everything was moving.

His lips were on yours, slightly wet and forceful. His tongue was delving into your mouth, tasting like sugar, too much sugar, and you wanted to pull back because it was so overwhelming and everything he had just said and and and… and it felt so good too. It was warm, and desperate, like no one had ever been for you before.

A hand moved into your hair and grasped the strands at the back of your head tight, pulling slightly to tilt your head back so you had to look up at him. He was almost leaning over you so your spine bent over the edge of the roof, and the skin of your back scratched against the unpainted concrete. He huffed against your mouth then pulled back, his other hand coming up to trace your mouth with his thumb. You stared into his eyes but he wasn’t looking back at you, not really anyway. He was watching his prize, the reward that no one but him deserved.

You whimpered, a small and pathetic sound that only seemed to make his skin hotter, and he let go of your hair to begin pulling the straps of your dress down your arms. It was a heavy thing, and it felt good to finally be rid of the weight, but you were keenly aware of the cold night and the party in full swing just underneath you. If someone in the garden decided to look up, they would surely see you bent over the edge.

“Wait-” you began to protest, but Aegon was past listening, past caring. He just shoved the dress under your breasts and down your legs, before grabbing your face and bringing your mouth to his own again. His hands travelled over your neck, then caressed your shoulders. He gently pressed the red indents the straps of the dress had left and you sighed into his mouth, leaning onto his chest. Your nipples rubbed against the fabric of his shirt and you gasped into the kiss before moving your chest slightly. The warm little tingles travelled all the way through your torso and you clung to his arms.

Aegon kissed sloppily over your cheeks, your neck, pausing to bite into it until you grunted with pain and pushed at his shoulder. He licked all the way down to your chest, his tongue warm and wet, then the slick trail of spit suddenly cold. Your legs felt unsteady, and you leaned back against the barrier as he began mouthing at your breasts, little circles of warmth formed everywhere he kissed, and then his mouth closed over your nipple and you clenched. It was so… weird. A wet suction formed over your nipple and it seemed to make the inside of your breast spark, your stomach jolt, and the space between your thighs tingle and turn to mush.

“Come on precious,” he mumbled against your skin, “you can be louder,” and he bit the flesh. It really was a live wire attached to your skin, so easy to spark, so easy to create a fire that spread all throughout your body.

Aegon was quicker with the other nipple, licking over it like a dog with a bowl of water, before making his way down to the apex of your thighs. He seemed to be in a hurry with the way he dove his face between your legs. A cry left your lips, loud and shriek-like, at the overwhelming activity. His nose slipped between your lips and pressed to your clit, his tongue out and flat and lapping against the sticky slick that covered the puffy folds that hid your hole. He was ravenous, pressing his face in in in until you stood on your tiptoes and half your weight was balanced against his face. The contours of his face pressed at your hole, his nose rubbed at your clit, and he moved his face back and forth so his tongue could poke inside of you then slip back into his mouth. He began speaking into you, rumbling words you couldn’t understand over the rushing in your head.

“Come on, cum on my face,” he huffed, grabbing your thighs and licking at your clit until it was puffy and swollen. “I wan’ you to cum on my face, give me what I want.” He pressed his tongue inside you. In. Out. He licked your clit. In. Out. He sucked it into his mouth, and your legs shook so much that you would’ve fallen onto the floor if you weren’t practically laying on the barrier already. It was a release. That’s all it could be called. Every muscle clenched then released. Even your mind felt like it had slowly been clenching and now it had been unravelled and was slowly dripping out of your skull.

“Fuck, that’s right,” Aegon mumbled as he pulled away, standing to full height and pulling your hips against his own. His hair had fallen forward into his eyes and his mouth and nose glistened in the low light, but he didn’t seem to care one bit. He had leaned over your body again, pressing his face into your neck. The slick on his chin stuck to your skin and squished whenever he moved. He humped into you a few times, grunting and groaning, before hurriedly reaching down and fumbling with his belt and zipper. You could hear the clanking of metal, the rustle of fabric, and then something warm pressing to your thigh.

There was no waiting with Aegon. His body simply didn’t contain the patience for it, and really why would you wait when the prize you had so long coveted lay bare before you, just ripe for the taking? A shift here, a push there, and he caught at your entrance. He finally pulled away from your neck and looked into your eyes. He caressed your cheek, and you could tell all he saw was a trophy he had just won.

Then Aegon pressed into you, and his veins rubbed at your slick insides, pressing against your walls and sliding against your own textured flesh and you were leaning back to moan into the night sky, chest heaving. He kissed your breasts and pushed into you again, his lower stomach pressing your clit. Again, he moved into you and the sparks flashed and you clenched around him, onto him, and he moaned against your ear, hot breath fanning the shell.

“Fuck yes, you’re my precious little thing aren’t you? Huh? You’re my special little prize?” His hips slapped against yours and the sound echoed over the roof. His mouth biting into your neck sent sparks through you. Back and forth and back and forth and back and forth and oh god it was too much! You clenched onto him and screamed into his neck, open mouth pressed to the sweaty skin. You clenched and unclenched onto him as waves passed through you, melting your flesh and your bones. It was over too soon yet it lasted too long. He pushed once more, twice more, and you could feel him quiver against you, even as you tried to push him away from the pulsing flesh of your insides. You could feel the spurts inside you, hot and gushing. You felt it trickle out of you, slide down your thighs in warm rivulets and you shuddered.

Aegon still lay on top of you, huffing heavily into your neck. You didn’t know what to do, so you stayed still, waiting for guidance, waiting for the other shoe to fall. He slowly pushed up on his arms so his face hovered above yours, and he smiled a dazed and delirious smile. Was it always there, or had it just appeared, that insanity in his eyes?

“Oh my precious,” he sighed, cupping your cheek, “we have so much ahead.”

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musings-of-miss-j · 3 months ago

Text

the magician and the sparrow

a lyney x reader fic

notes: fluff fluff soooo much fluff, lots of plot too though and a sprinkle of angst to taste, set in the canon genshin universe but follows a fictional turn of events, they/them pronouns used for reader but they do wear makeup/skirts

author's notes: this was so much fun to write i fear also please don't hate the closing scene guys i'm so bad at romance

word count: 7045 bc i am simply incapable of anything less

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘

You and the other members of the wandering troupe were always awake at the crack of dawn, when the watery sunlight spilled over the edge of the horizon and dappled every surface with a splash of muted gold, when the earliest and most ambitious of birds let loose their melodic cries. Similarly ambitious and hardworking, the troupe’s grandmaster and magician extraordinaire Lyney personally barged into every compartment on the train to make sure the entire crew was ready for the ridiculously early rehearsal he’d insisted on carrying out. You were less than thrilled with the prospect; normally the troupe’s mornings consisted of checking on props and skimming lines over cups of coffee, while a full-on rehearsal brought about a set of much more trying procedures. Like putting on the finicky, elaborate costumes and doing bloody stage makeup.

You stifled a yawn as you threaded your corset with red ribbons, tailored to match the troupe’s current colour scheme of reds, teals and blacks, your fingers constantly missing the grommets and making you considerably frustrated. With a curse, you dropped the corset and ribbons and muttered a simple spell under your breath so it would lace itself up while you struggled with the sheer black tights you wore beneath your skirt. Really, it was a miracle none of the troupe members had killed Lyney for enforcing such senseless appointments, and you were stewing over the inconsiderate nature of his scheduling when he knocked against the doorway of your compartment as you wriggled into the corset and tightened the lacings. You shot him a withering glare through your ancient, gilded mirror while you applied a swipe of lipstain. He grinned back.

Lyney and Lynette had started the wandering troupe, now known throughout the lands as Cirque Extravaganza, when they were only fourteen years old. They were prodigies, plain and simple, and they’d built themselves a considerable reputation and a proper troupe to boot in the past few years. You were one of the oldest members. After running away from the overbearingly aristocratic Lawrence family in Mondstadt you’d snuck onto their train and bartered with Lyney for passage to Inazuma; one of the rare moments where you appreciated your parents for forcing you to conduct political debates as a child. You were eleven years old on that fateful night when Lyney, only a handful of years your senior, threatened to throw you off the moving train. Now you were, and you quote, ‘an indispensable member of Cirque Extravaganza.’

“Lyney, I hope you’ve been told that you’re an utter ass for this,” you said, pulling on your gloves.

“By the nineteen other people on this train save for my darling sister, who called me a name I’d rather not relay in your presence,” he replied. He never really shrugged off the magician persona, you’d realised; even after a show, the instinct to sweet-talk and smooth over the rough edges of his words with fanciful phrases was always imbedded within him. A stark contrast to your own matter-of-factness; after spending a decade of your life weaving your speech with meaningless niceties you gladly embraced the chance to bluntly speak your mind.

“Your sister is the hero this troupe needs,” you muttered in response, sitting on the floor to lace up your shoes. They were probably your most prized possession after the diamond jewellery you stole from your parents when you ran away; the soles were carefully inscribed with a charm of balance to protect you on the tightrope, one of the first spells you’d ever written, and the laces you’d spun by hand from the finest spider silk that cost you a month’s worth of wages while chanting an invocation of grace that Lynette had taught you.

Well worth their weight in gold.

“Every day you awaken with the intent to wound my heart, it seems,” Lyney mourned. You didn’t miss the hint of amusement in his tone and the twinkling in his eyes; years of travelling and performing together left you as open to each other as books.

With a final tug, you tied the laces of your shoes into place. “Be grateful I only choose to wound it figuratively rather than literally.” You rose to your feet in a fluid motion that came as naturally as breathing, tipping the brim of Lyney’s top hat over his eyes as you walked past. He chuckled under his breath, watching you hop down from the train and scale onto the makeshift tightrope. The little clearing by the train tracks bustled with activity, from stunt performers swallowing swords, contortionists folding themselves into impossibly small boxes, vision holders shaping flames and water and crackles of lightning into beautiful patterns and illusionists practicing their tricks in front of mirrors, making horns grow out of their skull only to retreat moments after and pulling colourful handkerchiefs from their noses.

You stepped onto the tightrope and walked across it a few times to warm up, then began your newest routine while the mechanics of the troupe finalised the model stage. You heard Lyney’s voice calling out advice and instructions, Lynette close behind him tweaking costumes and props and correcting people’s forms as she strode past. They made a fantastic duo, and the Cirque Extravaganza flourished under their guidance. You used to wonder how a pair of fourteen year olds had such a remarkable grasp on magic and leadership, until on the night of Lyney’s eighteenth birthday when he got black-out drunk and revealed that this was part of their ‘training’ to become fully fledged members of the Fatui. You’d stared at him, slightly shocked but mostly worried that he wasn’t meant to reveal this information; to your dismay, he’d kept talking, explaining how their ‘Father’ adopted them before leaving them to fend for themselves once more to prove themselves worthy. He’d grabbed the ruffled sleeve of your old costume and pouted when you’d tried to leave before he could divulge anything more, and you found yourself powerless to resist his drunken pleas. You learned more than you’d wanted that night.

Now, a few years later, you sprinted across the tightrope with the troupe’s yelling and pacing back and forth stretched out below you. You heard Lyney release an ear-piercing whistle, and a flock of snow-white doves emerged from the trees, flapping their wings and chirping back at him. You paused mid-motion to watch them, frozen on the tightrope and eyes glazed with wonder; no matter how many times you saw Lyney pull this exact trick, you couldn’t help but be amazed. How you envied birds and their unfettered freedom; you could swing from a trapeze and dance across a tightrope all you wished, but you’d never have wings of your own to unfurl and take to the sky with. It brought a half-hearted, melancholy smile to your face as you watched the doves flutter across the achingly blue sky in perfect formation again under Lyney’s guidance. You still didn’t know how in Teyvat he’d managed to train them.

The rehearsal went off without a hitch. In everyone else’s opinion, at least; the troupe’s magician extraordinaire insisted that there were still a few wrinkles that needed ironing out. You had to resist the urge to throw your shoe at him when he asked why you did three flips in the air rather than four, and only refrained because they were too valuable to accidentally ruin.

“I’d like to see you stay in mid-air long enough to pull off four backflips,” you’d retorted, grumpy thanks to the post-session muscle pains. The dent in the back of your knees was redeveloping the mottled bruises that rarely faded from the press of the trapeze’s bar, and every inch of your body throbbed. You loved it. You hoped this would be the rest of your life.

“Ah, mon moineau, I’m but a humble magician!” He protested with a grin. “How could you possibly expect me to ever compete with your boundless grace?”

You groaned, lying back on the grass to stare up at the setting sun. Rehearsals were no joke; it had taken almost twelve hours.

“Shut up, Lyney. I’ll give you four flips onstage tomorrow. And a fist to your face right now if you don’t stop nagging.”

“So generous,” he replied, collapsing next to you on the ground. You watched the sky darken from blues to oranges to dusky purple, and he watched the same colours reflected in your eyes. Infinitely more beautiful than any sunset, he thought. The familiar snapping sound of his cards brought you out of your thoughtful stupor.

“Pick a card, any card,” he said in his stage voice, the one that oozed charisma and urged the listener to believe him, trust him and his magic. You reached over and pulled out a card from the deck without looking; this little ritual was something of a routine. While Lyney could easily find the card you picked with his magic alone, he liked to practice genuine sleight of hand in private, with you or Lynette. Lynette, while her magic wasn’t quite as flashy as Lyney’s, was much more skilled in sleight of hand than him and frequently criticised his technique. Sometimes Lyney just wanted a starry-eyed member of the audience to applaud him, and while you were resolutely unmoved by his charm he knew you enjoyed his little displays. So he graciously accepted your compliments when he correctly picked your card.

“The magician extraordinaire strikes again,” you remarked, propping yourself up on your elbows.

“Yet he can never strike gold when it comes to what he truly covet; the heart of his beloved.”

You cackled unabashedly; that was definitely one of his cheesier lines. With a bracing smack to his shoulder, you rose to your feet.

“You’re losing your touch, old man.” You stretched your arms above your head, then loosened your hair from its elaborate up-do and made your way to the train before night could fall in earnest.

“You wound me so, ma cherie,” he said, putting on a rather good show of looking distraught. Still, the amused twinkle in his eyes didn’t escape you.

Lyney was a chronic flirt, plain and simple. You supposed it came with the trade; magicians were masters of deceit, after all, convincing the audience to see what they wanted them to see and nothing more. Such a philosophy could be applied to many other circumstances; he could make people feel wanted, desirable, with a few well-placed honeyed words. Besides, Lyney liked flirting. He found it amusing, an enjoyable and effortless little pastime that he frequently employed to get what he wanted, whether that be an additional attendant for the night’s show or a dance partner at the latest ball. So you didn’t take it personally; Lyney was a chronic flirt who could flatter the sky into being red if he so wished but still couldn’t get you to blush. It irked him greatly, your immunity to his charm; but it made you all the more attractive. He’d tried to chalk it up to himself liking a challenge, and you presenting just that in the past; but deep down, he’d always known he wouldn’t be able to fool himself for much longer. Now the box of his feelings was starting to strain at the seams, and you still showed no signs of surrendering to his smooth, flattering whispers.

You smiled at him before sliding the door of your compartment shut. He was a goner. He’d been a goner for a long time, now, and Lynette took the liberty of appearing out of thin air to reinforce the fact.

“Lyney. Focus, you can’t afford to get distracted.” Twins they may be, in many ways Lynette was his polar opposite. Where he lured others into rooms of smoke and mirrors with his sliver tongue, Lynette was blunt and to the point, intimidating where Lyney was welcoming. Regardless, they employed different methods to achieve the same goal; trick the right people into doing what they wanted. Lynette raised her eyebrows in his direction. “Or confess and get it over with.”

Lyney sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Dearest sister. You make it sound so simple.”

“That’s because it is, and you’re just a coward,” she replied unapologetically, dragging him away. “Keep your head on your shoulders, this show is important.”

“Sometimes I forget I’m the older one because of how bossy you are,” he grumbled.

“Not my fault you don’t take initiative and live up to your position.”

He huffed and pinched her cheek until she slapped his hands away.

You slept like a rock and woke up to find the train on a new track; the one leading directly to Fontaine. Flinging open the window, you stuck your head out and relished the familiar sound of the turning wheels and grinding gears, taking in the sight of the lush countryside whizzing past. A contented sigh slipped past your lips, and you propped your elbows on the windowsill and your face in your hands to watch the rows of trees fade to clusters of bushes and miles and miles of flowers. A series of knocks on your door startled you out of reverie, and you grudgingly opened with it complete certainty of who you would find on the other side.

Lyney beamed down at you.

“Good morning, mon moineau.”

You covered your mouth with the back of your hand to stifle a yawn. “Morning, Lyney. When will we reach the city?”

“If old Jacques is right, then we should be eating the finest of Fontaine’s cuisine before noon.”

He was clearly excited; you could tell from the way he couldn’t stand still and the perpetual little smile on his face, one of the genuine upturns of his lips that weren’t merely for show.

“Someone’s excited,” you remarked, running a hand through your hair to tame the mess.

“Ah, can you blame me?” He chuckled, leaning against the entrance of your room. “Nothing compares to the Nation of Justice, truly.”

His enthusiasm was infectious, and you couldn’t help the little bounce in your step as you got ready. The show may have been hours away, but there was an infinite number of loose ends that needed to be tied before then. Lyney pulled his trademark deck of crimson cards out of nowhere, shuffling them back and forth absent-mindedly and exuding zeal and vigour; now that they were back in Fontaine, his father could perhaps see how far he and his sister had come. Maybe they’d finally be recruited into the Fatui. His heart hammered at the thought until his gaze landed on you, leaned over the shelf below your mirror and tying up your hair. A strand slipped out of the ribbon you were trying to tie it into, and he was seized by the urge to tuck it behind your ear. He would be forced to abandon the troupe if he was recruited. The thought had occurred to him, countlessly, endlessly, ceaseless and persistent and much more discomforting than he preferred; at some point between you mopping the floor with him in your very first argument where you bartered your way into the troupe and now, where he watched you get ready and predicted your next move without thinking from your tiny gestures and expressions, you’d wormed your way into his life and he wasn’t sure how he’d fare without you in it. The knowledge that you’d adapt without him just fine made it sting all the more.

“Lyney,” you said impatiently, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “Quit staring at me like I threatened to steal your wages.”

“Apologies, mon amour. I was entranced by your beauty.” Even after contemplating such a dizzying prospect as not seeing you again, complimenting you came so naturally. He firmly believed it was duty to do so, with how effortlessly you took his breath away.

“Flirt,” you muttered under your breath, half exasperatedly and half affectionately. It made his stomach swarm with butterflies and his brain cloud over with visions of you with him. Archons. You were ruining his life without even lifting a single finger.

“You know, getting to Fontaine was my initial goal when I ran away from home,” you remarked to his as you rummaged through the trunk of clothes by the foot of your bed. “I’m as far as I could possibly be from that life.” You tossed something in his direction, and he caught it without thinking. “I have you to thank for that.”

He opened his fist to reveal a delicate silver chain from which a teardrop shaped diamond hung. He looked up at you, incredulous.

“What… what is this?”

“A necklace, you numbskull,” you replied simply, pausing at the gilded mirror to brush away a smear of rouge from your face. You made your way to him, tugging him down by the frilled collar of his shirt to plant a kiss on his cheek. He was quite certain he caught a glimpse of Celestia when your lips touched his skin. “It’s my thank you. And your very late birthday gift.”

There really was no saving him.

“(Name), wait. You can’t- I can’t accept this.”

You laughed. Every last drop of his easy charisma had completely evaporated, leaving him hot and bothered and flushed to the tips of his ears. It was… cute.

“You think I’m stupid? You’ll be disappearing with your darling sister soon, won’t you?” You said, raising your eyebrows. There was a touch of glitter dusted across your cheekbone, probably from the previous day’s rehearsal. He wondered in a daze how it would look on his lips instead. “And once you’re gone, you’ll need something to remember the person you failed to charm by, no?”

“But- this is an heirloom,” he said, staring down at you. “You told me yourself.”

“Didn’t think you were so attentive.”

As if you could do anything without capturing his complete attention.

“Ma cherie, I-”

“Shut it, Lyney. Accept the damn gift. Maybe you won’t be whisked off after this show and you can sell it and treat yourself. Celestia knows you need a proper pair of stage shoes.”

He watched you disappear into the costumes compartment, utterly dumbfounded. Being members of a circus, savings were worth double their value due to the erratic nature of the amount and timing of wages. You’d given him a genuine diamond necklace. As thanks. As a birthday gift. Something in his chest wouldn’t stop fluttering.

Fontaine was stunning in every sense of the word, from the meandering streams slicing through pristine strips of greenery to the towering buildings and bronzed mechanical arrays. You understood why Lyney loved it so much, and even Lynette was smiling to herself instead of her usual impassive expression. This show would likely be the grandest one yet; Lady Furina was well known for her love of dramatics and the troupe was eager to impress. Performers, you’d discovered when you became one of them, thrived off two things: an audience’s avid praise and the thrill of a perfect show, and the Cirque Extravaganza was indeed extravagant enough to cater to both. Your life had been a performance, before, but without the inherent whimsy of stage lights and silk curtains and the sheer ecstasy of doing something that made your head spin and heart hammer. You performed for your parents, for other nobles, and unwilling actor on a stage you wanted nothing more than to burn down; the next best thing was yelling a good few obscenities at the cast you so despised then leaping off it, which you wholeheartedly did when you ran away. Nothing, not even the saccharinity of a certain magician’s whispers, was sweeter than the knowledge that you’d well and truly escaped the life in which you were forced to fill a role you had no interest in. Freedom was a drug you unreservedly savoured, waking up on a circus train with its taste on your tongue as the engine huffed and puffed, a place where tattered silk and velvet adorned every surface and the scent of passion and perfume hung heavy in the air.

You and the troupe made a quiet arrival through the gates of the city. The grand introduction would come later that night, when Lyney would take to the stage, captivating the crowd with his magic and mesmerising them with his charm as you and your fellow performers offered tantalising glimpses of your own tricks and left them with dazzled expressions and gossip to last at least a month or two. The familiar buzz of anticipation rushed through your veins as you prepared for that night’s show, and you welcomed it with open arms. The troupe’s yelling, the clattering of props and the faint sound of the classical music Lyney and Lynette always played before a show for good luck formed the cacophony of a chaotic circus, the top floor of the Hotel Debord thrumming with excitement.

Lyney waltzed through the open door of your room, wearing the black and maroon outfit he’d recently acquired and a wide smile.

“Well, ma cherie? How are you feeling?” He asked, leaning against the vanity as you perfected your hair and stage makeup. Superstitious as you were, doing these touch-ups in front of a mirror that wasn’t the old, gilded one in your train compartment was a little unnerving. You were so accustomed to seeing the ornate golden roses frame your reflection, the plain steel of this hotel mirror was… lacklustre.

“How are you feeling, magician extraordinaire?” You countered with a teasing wiggle of your eyebrows. “Looking awfully dapper, that’s for sure.”

He hid his blush behind a gloved hand, laughing. “Why, thank you. I never thought I’d have the honour of bringing you to my homeland. It makes everything all the more delightful.” That was the problem with Lyney; try to tease him with a borderline flirtatious remark and he’d return it tenfold.

“Hope it’s delightful enough to get you through this show,” you said, slipping on your shoes. “Six hours onstage is nothing to turn your nose up at.”

He shifted just behind you to glance at his reflection in the mirror, adjusting his top hat. Out of habit, you reached up and nudged its brim over his eyes.

“It will be the grandest show we’ve ever put on,” he declared with a grin, readjusting the hat. You shot him an amused look.

“Grander than last year’s show during the summer festival?”

Lyney groaned, hiding his face in his hand. You cackled; it was considered taboo to mention that. It had been an utter fiasco.

“Ah, why must you remind me of that, ma cherie? Surely it’s bad luck to mention disastrous events before such an important show as this one.”

“Performers’ superstition,” you muttered under your breath.

“As if you don’t paint your nails red for good luck!” He returned with a chuckle.

“You’ve infected me,” you deadpanned, grabbing the bow on the back of his suit and dragging him with you to the door. You refrained from telling him that red was your lucky colour because it was his trademark, and Lyney was truly the first blessing fortune had bestowed upon you. No doubt he’d never let you live it down if he found out. “Let’s go, magician. This audience won’t dazzle itself.”

And of course, the troupe did indeed dazzle the audience. Cards and confetti flew through the air, vibrant smoke from coloured flames hovered over the crowd, kittens and tigers leapt through hoops and then exploded into clouds of glitter, all while the orchestra played a hauntingly beautiful melody that echoed unnaturally through the Opera Epiclese’s soaring hall.

You did a fair bit of soaring yourself, on your trusty trapeze from one post to another then bounding over the tightrope as though it were a bridge miles wide with the air rushing past you and ruffling your hair, the ribbons tied to your wrists and ankles streaming behind you.

Lyney’s grand finale involved a tenuous dance with Lynette while dodging various pyrotechnics that flared up at random intervals across the stage, stepping through a wall of fire then twirling Lynette into nothingness with a flick of his wrist. From the rehearsals alone, it promised to be a magnificent trick.

One problem: Lynette was nowhere to be found. Or at least, that’s what Lyney wanted you to believe as he watched you perfectly execute the four somersaults you’d promised him and land directly- in his arms?

This wasn’t right. How did Lyney intercept your landing? And so seamlessly, without a single hitch, for that matter? (Quite simple. He’d watched you obsessively every time you rehearsed, terrified you’d slip, fall, topple off the impossibly thin rope and down onto the unforgiving ground. Your pride would never allow for a net, so Lyney took it in his own hands to make sure he could be your safety measure if the need ever arose, to make sure he could protect you from your own determination, your own certainty that you were truly unconquerable while metres up in the air. Sometimes he half-expected wings to burst from your shoulder blades, other times he nearly tore his gloves into ribbons from how hard he clenched his fists, frozen with dread and surety that this time your grace would fail you, that your balance would never come and you’d be yet another body bleeding through the chapters of the book that was his life.) No matter. You were here now, on the stage with the golden lights bathing the two of you in warmth, and most importantly, every eye trained on you. If practice and repetition were the bread and butter of any artist, then as performers improvisation was the layer of jam, the extra sweetness and embellishment that set the art form apart; and now, in this unpractised, unrehearsed position with Lyney’s hands on your waist and the audience’s attention on you and the still-present hum of adrenaline from the tightrope in your veins, you exhaled and placed your hand on Lyney’s shoulder. The opening stance of the dance. His lilac eyes met yours, and you gave him an imperceptible nod. The orchestra swelled once more, and you let yourself relax, muscle memory from hours upon hours in the ballroom of your family’s estate taking over. A searing flame surged up from the floor, and you twisted to only just dodge it. Another pillar of blazing red, dangerously close to Lyney’s top hat; he swept into a bow, hat off, as though inviting you to another dance. You curtsied in response, and the same flame missed your hair by half an inch as your head dipped down. Crackling sparks behind you; Lyney pulled you to his chest. A roaring fire to your right; you led him in a slow, purposeful circle around it. Red, red, red, raging and hot; sweat dripped down the back of your neck and smoke tickled the back of your throat. The audience gasped and cheered as you deftly side-stepped every last flicker, the sound mingling with the roaring inferno and the distant music from the orchestra; a trumpet note here and a skilful bit of piano there, and most of all, Lyney’s off-kilter breathing and faint panting for air. His touch seared your skin, more scorching than any fire. With a final gasp, he lifted you above his head as a tower of sizzling fireworks exploded from where you’d stood a moment before. A last quivering chord from the violin. Lyney’s face just inches from yours, sharing the same smoke-tinged breath. For a brief, horrifying moment, nothing; a curtain of blackness so deep and impenetrable you almost feared you’d never be found again. You supposed this was the part where he made you disappear. Sensations rushed back. Dimly, the eruption of wild applause and his chest heaving against yours.

Archons, he wanted to kiss you so badly. He doubted a more tempting dilemma could ever be presented to him. Before he gave in and crushed his lips to yours, he pivoted on his heel and bowed to the audience with a flourish. You followed suit, and the stage was soon littered with flowers. You could discern Lady Furina’s voice, high and clear, shouting ‘Bravo! Bravo! Magnifique! Enchanteur!”

The greatest of all performances, indeed, thrown in hopes that his Father would witness their accomplishments and take them back. So why was he so relieved that he didn’t glimpse her piercing, unmistakable gaze throughout the whole show? Why could he think of nothing besides your glowing eyes, your features softened then sharpened by the fire, the scent of your perfume mixing with the smoke?

Backstage, you picked at the singed ribbons on your wrists and ankles while the rest of the troupe hurried about, exhausted down to the bone and ashes in your throat. Eventually you gave up on a particularly stubborn knot, leaning your head back against the wall and sighing, only for Lyney to appear at your side and work at the ribbon with his nimble fingers instead.

“Are you alright?” He asked, propping your limp wrist in his lap.

“What happened? Where did Lynette go?”

“Answer my question,” he replied sternly, pulling the ribbon off your wrist and tracing the veins there with his fingertips.

“Answer mine,” you immediately retorted, stubbornness flaring. He chuckled.

“If you’ve got enough energy to argue I suppose you’re fine.”

“Well?” You demanded after a brief pause where you simply sat together in tired silence. “What went wrong with your trick?”

Surprise crossed his face. “Went wrong? I thought it was perfect.”

You lifted your head to shoot him an incredulous look. His fingertips continued to trace the network of veins snaking across your wrist.

“Lyney. You know what I mean. I wasn’t supposed to be involved at all!”

“Maybe it was meant to be, then,” he suggested with a wink. You groaned, running a hand though your hair.

“It’s impossible for you to take anything seriously, isn’t it?” He was inclined to disagree. There was nothing he took more seriously than your safety and presence in his life.

“Is Lynette alright?” You asked next, curling up and leaning your weight against him, tiredness rapidly setting in. Lyney held very still, afraid to make a wrong move and have your comforting warmth removed.

“She’s… she’s fine. Making tea, I suspect.”

You hummed in agreement, resting your head on his shoulder. “You’re not a very comfortable pillow,” you remarked. “You should eat more.”

“Anything for you, cherie,” he all but choked out, desperately flustered by the way you’d draped yourself over him. He could acutely feel every curve and dip of your body pressed against his. Was death by overheating possible?

You grumbled, pinching his arm. “Shut up, this isn’t the time for flirting.” Any time was perfect for reminding you how wonderful you were and how much you meant to him. “And don’t try to catch me like that again, it scared me. You’re not supposed to interrupt my routine.”

“I apologise.” “Damn right you do,” you retorted, pushing yourself off him and stretching. There was a very unsavoury pain in your lower back, and you hissed as the tender muscle strained. “So.” You turned to properly face Lyney, crossing your legs beneath you and grinning. “Was your Father there? In the audience?”

You were determined to be supportive, to share his enthusiasm at returning to the Fatui, even if your heart wobbled strangely at the thought of him leaving. He faltered in the face of you excitement. Were you that eager to have him gone…?

“…No,” he finally replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty. You misread the sudden disheartened sag in his shoulders and downwards tip of his mouth as disappointment, and rushed to somehow comfort him.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure word of your incredible performance will reach every ear in Fontaine. It’s only a matter of time,” you said, not unkindly. When his dejected expression didn’t budge, you sighed and pulled sharply at the bow on his shoulder to regain his attention. “Hey. Stop frowning like that. A pretty face like yours shouldn’t be ruined by premature wrinkles.” You didn’t tell him that seeing him so lost and hesitant made your stomach drop, or that the sight of his smile would bring one to your face. A magician who could make your heart disappear the moment he had it in his grasp didn’t need to know that.

“…Is it pleasing to you?” He murmured with a touch of his usual teasing, glancing back up at you while his fingers still lingered on your wrist, tracing an invisible pattern. “My face?”

“To me and every young lady within a five metre radius, I’d wager.”

“But especially to you?” Lyney pressed, smiling in earnest now. You had a terrifying way of doing that, flipping his emotions with nothing but a few sweet words from your lips, and he was quite happy to surrender his heart to your whims if it meant he could have these precious few moments where he could almost fool himself into thinking you reciprocated.

You sighed, turning slightly so you could lean your back against his side. It’d be better if he couldn’t see the way you blushed at your reply, so soft it was almost drowned out by the sounds of the troupe celebrating another successful show. “Yes, Lyney. Especially to me.”

(The troupe quieted down when they saw the two of you fast asleep backstage, propped against each other with your head on Lyney’s shoulder and his fingers loosely wrapped around your wrist. If several Kameras ran out of storage that day, then it was strictly an everyone-knows-except-you-two situation. The particularly adorable photos become a secret currency. Everyone wants the singular copy of the one where you’re both smiling gently in your sleep. Lynette smugly refuses to part with it.)

Life in Fontaine was so jarringly steady, an uninterrupted flow of café visits and wandering the countryside and tossing spare change into the Fountain of Lucine, fields of flowers and an endlessly blue sky forming a mild backdrop for picture-perfect moments. It was so different than what you’d grown accustomed to; the constant rush of being on the move, the train’s constant rumbling and puffing, haphazard memorabilia strewn across every surface and late night drinking and card games with the boundless night as your only witness. The first few weeks off the train find you and many of the other members with wobbly legs, unused to solid land rather than the shifting and swaying you were familiar with. Jokes about being akin to sailors are popular and repeated in every possible iteration during this time, and you were in such good spirits that you laugh at every single one.

As you’ve come to expect, the initial rush from yet another one of the Cirque Extravaganza’s triumphs in conquering a new stage quickly gave way to throngs of over-enthusiastic fans cropping up through the city streets, country roads and anywhere else you decided to venture. The little children are sweet and eager, and you regale them with clumsy attempts at sleight-of-hand when Lyney isn’t there, offering them flowers and candy that they gleefully accepted. Some, those who are sceptical about the validity of your skill, ask you to scale the nearest tree or lamp-post, or do a backflip, or some other trial to prove that you weren’t a fraud of some sort. You humour these requests, and any disbelievers leave in a state of awe with an autograph clutched in their hands. One girl, bolder than most with a grin bright enough to be on stage, asked for one of the ribbons you wore during the performance. Charmed by her confidence, you gave her the least singed one, and in that instance you also left with a piece of paper, one where she scrawled her address with a heart doodled in the corner. Lyney was oddly indignant when he found it, and sulked rather impressively all day until you dragged him to an ice cream parlour you’d heard word of even back in Mondstadt. It was, in a way, a tribute to your older sister Eula; the two of you would often daydream together about prancing freely about in a faraway place and eating desserts with no concern for etiquette or the reputation of your family. You wished you could share this experience with her, but she’d been adamant on staying and becoming a Knight. Although- you cut a glance towards Lyney, who’d ordered a blackberry and cherry mix that matched almost perfectly with the hues he was currently fond of wearing- this is nice too. You took the lift to the highest floor it could reach, then scaled the wall surrounding the city with considerable difficulty, ice creams in hand, to sit on the edge and admire the sprawling view of the water dotted with light from the stars.

Lyney hadn’t quite forgotten the overzealous advances you’d entertained, but being in your company in the City of Love, sharing laughter and smiles and anecdotes over treats every bit as saccharine as the affection he held for you was the most effective soothing balm against the sting of knowing your attention wasn’t solely devoted to him the same way his was to you. The moonlight helped, too; it added to atmosphere and greatly appeased his romantic side.

(You stole glances at him when he wasn’t paying attention, tucking glimpses of his relaxed expression away in your memory. It was nice to see your Lyney every now and then, rather than the magician extraordinaire of the Cirque Extravaganza.)

You reached over to steal a spoonful of Lyney’s ice cream, and he swerved away to avoid you so energetically that he nearly fell off the edge of the enormous wall surrounding the Court of Fontaine. You grabbed the hood of his cape to steady him before he could tumble down to a painful death.

“Don’t go falling off after all the trouble I went to get us up here,” you said, amused, and Lyney huffed indignantly as you smugly ate the bite of ice cream you’d managed to steal from him.

“I doubt the fall would be half as painful as falling for you, mon amour,” he smoothly replied, even having the unparalleled audacity to shoot you a wink as if he hadn’t been on the precipice of his demise mere moments before.

“That’s it, I’m pushing you myself,” you deadpanned, kicking his foot with your own where they dangled off the edge.

“You’re all bark and no bite,” he accused with a laugh. “You couldn’t survive a day without me.”

You levelled him with an unimpressed look, lifting a spoonful of ice cream to your mouth.

“Every day you astonish me with your sheer arrogance.”

He grinned, leaning forward to emphasise his next words. “You didn’t deny it,” he pointed out in a slightly sing-song voice. “Admit it, cherie.” Lyney’s heart hammered dizzyingly loud in his ears. This felt like such dangerous territory to tread, perched as high off the ground as you made him feel. Should he retreat, let your delicate waltz of quips and flirtations go on?

“Admit what?” You replied, trying to sound dismissive but failing when your breath caught in your throat as he inched closer. Surely you only felt dizzy because of the height. Surely it wasn’t because Lyney’s eyes refracted into a hundred shades of violet, stars reflected in their surface, or because he was so close a strand of his hair brushed your cheek. “You make it sound as if I’m a criminal on trial, about to plead guilty and confess.”

“Maybe you should confess,” he breathed, lifting his hand to your face. You watched his movements raptly, heart racing. “Archons know you’re guilty of stealing my heart, mon moineau, and there’s nowhere for you to fly away and evade your charges.”

Words died on your tongue when his knuckles brushed gently across your cheek, and your heart fluttered like the sparrows he was so fond of comparing you to. This wasn’t like his usual flirting, you distantly realised. He was seriously asking you to confess. His fingers twirled a strand of your hair before tucking it behind your ear, bringing you closer by the nape of your neck. You frowned at him.

“I am not verbally admitting to liking you in this lifetime.” He looked so crestfallen you could almost laugh. “They do say actions speak louder than words, though,” you added with a whisper, then carefully leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips. Lyney, to his credit, quickly recovered from his initial surprise and the overwhelming fact that you tasted like ice cream, then made shockingly swift work of trying to deepen the kiss by grazing his teeth along your lower lip, to which you responded with a choked yelp and jumping away. You couldn’t possibly fathom the effort it took not to grab you and drag you back to continue where you left off.

“Archons, Lyney!” You hissed, out of breath and red-faced, fingers carefully pressing against your tender, swollen lips. Lyney subconsciously licked his own at the sight, completely and utterly devoid of any semblance of shame, in awe of how the moonlight set you aglow. He marvelled at how easily it was to exasperate you as one of his hands moved to your waist, trying not-so-subtly to bring you closer again.

His grin could only be described as self-congratulatory. “What?” He asked, not even bothering to feign innocence. Before you had the chance to heatedly respond, he swooped in to peck your cheek, then your lips, flustering you all over again.

“The one time I try to be romantic and you ruin it by being greedy,” you lamented, shooting him a joking glare.

“You’ll have plenty more chances to be romantic in the future, amour,” he replied with a grin. “Just kiss me for now.”

“So demanding,” you breathed. “What makes you so sure there’ll be future chances, hm?”

“Come now,” he coaxed, tilting your chin up just so. “You know you can’t resist me.”

“Shut up, you arrogant magician,” you grumbled, then silenced him with your lips on his, because maybe, just maybe, he was right.

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘

#how are we feeling about this one chat #genshin impact #genshin #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin lyney #genshin lyney x reader #genshin lyney fluff #genshin impact lyney #genshin impact lyney x reader #lyney x reader #genshin fluff #genshin scenarios #ARE THERE ANY TAGS LEFT BRUH

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deadgxrlsuperstar · 1 year ago

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Pro Hero Bakugou Katsuki x Wife Fem!Reader Headcanons.

Tags: Established relationship, both are pro hero's, fluff, dash of angst, NSFW later on, Swearing, Praise, M!masturbation, F!masturbation, Cockwarming, Spanking, Mask Kink, Oral (F and M receiving and giving)

SFW:

- Katsuki would be the best and most loyal husband ever fr, any attention he gets from other women or fangirls he immediately shuts down with a simple "fuck off I'm married".

- He definitely cooks for you even though you are capable enough in the kitchen it's always "not as good as my cooking"

- He would keep any pictures of you from magazine or advert shoots in his office because "you look hot babe"

- Katsuki would spoil you with extravagant holidays, gifts, jewellery, clothes etc (even though you can pay for yourself) and he would definitely secretly enjoy taking you shopping and picking out items for you.

- You guys never left the honeymoon phase really, things definitely slowed down after a couple of years due to work but the passion is still there and you both can't keep yours hands to yourselves.

- You both support each other after a failed or particularly devastating mission by cuddling and crying into each other.

- Both your lockscreens are pictures of each other taken during one of your exotic holidays.

- Katsuki and you hates it when the press pry to much into your personal lives with awkward or down right insulting questions.

- You collaborate with Katsuki a lot during sponsorships as either of you don't want to be paired with any other Pro Hero or influencer

- Katsuki VERY occasionally does instagram lives (due to pressure from his team) whenever you come across it you read out any disrespectful comments and completely destroy them with insults.

- The Bakusquad tease you guys at lot in being complete simps for each other.

- Expect a lot of random hugs and kisses from behind you from Katsuki, he loves how he feels as if he is protecting you and how soft you feel in his arms.

- If Katsuki or you are late back from patrol, the other one would stay up late waiting...which means on more than one occasion one of you have come home to the other sleeping on the sofa.

- Katsuki MELTS whenever you laugh at one of his jokes, he feels like a awkward love struck middle school kid inside.

- You both flip of paparazzi together, almost every shot has you guys giving the annoying fucks the finger.

- If anyone flirts with you, Katsuki WILL try and fight them.

- He once came home to find you trying on his hero costume and he got completely flustered at the sight.

- He often has panic attacks about losing you and it often keeps him awake, shaking non stop.

- You often feel like you aren't good enough for him and you have cried to him about "finding someone in your league" and "you deserve a supermodel for a wife instead of me"

NSFW:

- Katsuki often wears his hero mask when fucking you in missionary because he know you go crazy for it.

- He LOVES eating you out and always gets hard while doing it.

- He also loves it when you give him blowjobs and seeing your eyeliner run down your cheeks as you choke on his dick, how he prefers giving than receiving.

- Quickies in His office 100%

- Katsuki loves it when you are on top of him, riding him relentlessly..watching you go up and down on him.

- He enjoys lightly spanking you whenever you bend over and seeing your ass giggle.

- You love it when he grinds against you and get each other off while still clothed and seeing the damp patch on his sweats driving him insane with lust.

- Katsuki likes it when you cockwarm him at work while he is doing paperwork in his office, only to bounce you up and down after a while so you feel good too.

- YALL PRAISE EACHOTHER SO MUCH. he doesn't like degrading you at all because he thinks of you to be above "all the extras"

-Lowkey likes it when you call him a good boy.

- You both have had your fair share of steamy moments in your bathtub.

- He has a tounge peircing ;)

- He won't actually go inside of you until you've came once.

- When you argue it often leads to a make up hatefuck.

- He loves it when you take your time to kiss all over his body, especially his neck, nipples and scars while saying how great and handsome he is.

"He will leave hickeys in somewhat obvious places to remind the rest of the world that he is loyal to only you.

- Loves the feeling of your Thighs pressing against his head.

- KING of after care and foreplay.

- secretly likes it when you tease him with his Hero name Dynamight during sex.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou x fem!reader #x reader #bakugou katsuki #mha #katsuki bakugo #mha bakugou #Spotify

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generational-atrophy · 11 months ago

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hetalia axis & allies (+ canada) xmas headcanons

1.6k words ~ gender neutral headcanons

tw: uhhh christmas obviously. mention of religion and underwear?? uh... i think that's it

a/n: this is my first christmas as a jewish convert so that's been weird. anyway I just wanted something quick, so its mostly a list of gift ideas (:

America

Alfred is SUCH a huge Christmas fan. I mean, canonically he dresses up as Santa, so he goes all out for the entire month of December. He's been working on a huge holiday home display for decades, and it shows.

He plays Santa at his local mall during the weeks leading up to Christmas; and on the night of, he hands out hot cocoa outside his house. It's fun, but it also means he's a little distracted when it comes to you.

What he would get you: Posters of your favourite movies, super comfy pyjamas, expensive figures of characters you like, candy you like but never get for yourself, model planes or Legos for you two to build together, novelty pens, a stupid cowboy costume so you can match <3, those handmade coupons because he 1. Loves you and 2. Forgot about Christmas until yesterday

What he would want: Any video games, Funko Pops, vinyls of music he likes, those big packs of shirts (he is constantly running out of shirts because he rips or irreparably stains them,) Marvel comics, anything with an eagle on it, those mini wacky waving inflatable tube men things, bulk pens and pencils because he also breaks those constantly-

England

Arthur is not big into Christmas and never has been. He'll celebrate with you, but he's not going out when it comes to any aspect. If anything, he finds it a little exhausting getting gifts for everyone

But, he does adore walking around and looking at all the lights. He'll do that a couple times with you in December.

What he would get you: Any novel you’ve mentioned even once, tickets to a concert both of you will enjoy, classy jackets that fit you perfectly, cute keychains, fancy art supplies, fragrances that remind him of you, bags/purses that fit your style, CDs

What he would want: Sewing supplies (thread, new needles, new fabric scissors,) framed photos of the two of you, Doctor Who merch, foreign tea, a book on how to take care of your eyebrows properly (he will not learn otherwise,) slippers, those sarcastic magnets that all millennial women have at least one of, any ridiculous piece of merch with the union jack on it

France

Francis has very mixed feelings about Christmas. On one hand, he hates how consumerist it has become, but on the other hand, nothing makes him happier than seeing the joy the season brings to others.

Plus, he does enjoy giving and receiving presents. The music too? Wonderful. As long as you don't get too stressed out, the holiday should be perfect.

What he would get you: Tons of clothes; stuff that's already your style, and completely new stuff, room decorations (NOT posters,) a reservation at a nice restaurant, bracelets that he made for you, makeup (if you like that kind of thing,) candles that smell like his cologne, CHEESE

What he would want: Fancy fabric, any clothes (he doesn’t care what they are as long as you think they’d look good on him…) paintings or photography, literally ANYTHING creative you’ve made, hair ties (he loses at least 5 a day,) bird stuffed animals, (Basically anything! Francis is not picky)

China

Christmas is a new occurrence for Yao, and he isn't the biggest fan. He'll buy you stuff for it, but he would do that normally. The lights and the music aren't anything special to him either. Basically, he won't celebrate unless you want to.

What he would get you: Elaborate, very expensive jewellery, huge stuff like a car, Chinese cookbooks, traditional clothes that he made specifically to represent you (: luxury handbags (that he got at SUCH a good discount,) tons of weird off-brand merch of your favourite show, probably a nice meal too!

What he would want: Yao is hard to buy for. Soft robes, stuff to help with back pain, face masks, Hello Kitty keychains… reading glasses maybe?

Russia

Although he isn't as excited about Christmas as he is about the New Year, he still loves the holiday. It's a nice excuse to see family, and everyone is just so happy around the season! He's especially excited to celebrate it with you.

He's not the best at giving gifts, but he could be worse. Regardless of whether you like all of it, you're gonna get a lot of stuff.

(Also, he plays Santa for the kids sometimes. It's so cute-)

What he would get you: Random knick-knacks he probably found at a local market, knitted hats and gloves in your favourite colour, a scarf to match his, tickets to go somewhere warm on vacation, stuffed animals! books that made him think of you (usually philosophical or religious novels,) pretty rocks (:

What he would want: SUNFLOWERS! (This works for every occasion,) baked goods, clothes that aren’t 250 years old- new doilies and paintings to decorate his house, pictures of yourself, friendship bracelets, stuffed animals, if you can make a scarf somehow, DO THAT

North Italy

Feliciano cares about Christmas in a more religious way, but he's never mad about getting presents. So, he'll probably spend most of the day in church, but he still did put a lot of effort into getting you stuff you love.

What he would get you: Pajamas & bath robes, shitty romance novels that he wants you to read, weird hand-made knick-knacks, makeup, strange mugs that he found at a thrift store, a painting of you (: probably a pair of his boxers-

What he would want: New paint brushes, novelty pasta shapes, fancy jackets, any art that you’ve made (regardless of quality,) cat stuffed animals, The Ability To Get A Grip, skincare products, shiny garbage (For art purposes, duh,) those handmade coupon things

Germany

Ludwig does not enjoy Christmas particularly. He's terrible at giving gifts but he wants to so desperately that he spends all of winter stressing out about it. Yes, he's excited to see your reaction to his gifts, but at what cost?!

Although he does still like all the decorations at least. Maybe he just likes re-decorating though.

What he would get you: Puzzles you can complete together, soft sweaters, practical stuff you need (like book bags, lens cloths, that kind of thing,) stationery, reservations for private tours at museums you would find interesting, a subscription to whatever silly service you want (:

What he would want: Books about city planning, nerdy card games, a fun lanyard, a new coffee machine, those aroma-therapy diffuser things, household tools like vacuums and stuff (Get him an air fryer. He’s going to be fascinated.) stress balls, pens (He is boring.)

Japan

Kiku really has no particular feelings towards Christmas. If you weren't there, the most he would do was put up a mini tree. He's stressed out by both giving and receiving presents and is only willing to do that kind of thing if you want to.

What he would get you: Electronics, merch of your favourite Sanrio character, books that he thinks you’ll like, stickers, a bento box, comfy sweatpants, cute hairpins, plushies from your favourite media, a bunch of pillows, some obscure Japanese snacks too!

What he would want: Miku figures, posters, video games, manga, general nerdy stuff, history novels (he likes to correct them,) blackout curtains, cute face masks, a Polaroid camera, a guide on socialization (Seriously.) a knit scarf, if you can knit (:

South Italy

Romano desperately wants to care about Jesus more than getting gifts. He's a devout catholic, g*ddamnit! But... he does just really love eating baked goods and getting gifts more than anything. Getting together with family, the music, the lights, he just ADORES the holiday.

What he would get you: Blankets and pillows, your favourite snacks, clothes that are a little more revealing- cruise tickets (if going on wouldn’t be hell for you,) a journal where he wrote down all of the things he loves about you (completely honestly,) religious items, fancy perfumes

What he would want: Paintings from local artists, post-its (so he can finally remember SOMETHING,) anything with the Italian flag on it, stupid bumper stickers, pictures of the other nations that you’ve written insults on, fancy patterned scarves and fabric

Prussia

Like Alfred, Gilbert loves Christmas in a very childish way. He embraces that side of himself during the holidays and he'd love it if you joined him in that. He constantly insists on going out to see the lights, and he just can't get enough of Christmas movies. Even the bad ones (He's a Hallmark girlie.)

What he would get you: A vintage music box, hair dye, DVDs of your favourite movies (just to have,) stationery, random snacks he picked up from a gas station an hour ago, weirdly sentimental jewellery? Vintage journals, pictures of himself

What he would want: Coupons (???) goofy temporary tattoos, metal CDs, tea (he’s weirdly embarrassed about liking tea and doesn’t buy it for himself?) vintage maps that he can frame and hang up, probably like, WD40? DC comics, novelty trophies, Pokemon cards, video games

Canada

More than anything, Matthew loves winter. So, therefore, he loves Christmas! Seeing you smile when you open your gifts, he looks forward to it all season. It seems like the only time of year when everyone else is either as miserable or as happy as he is, so it's his favourite holiday.

Cuddling up in front of the fireplace with hot cocoa, watching some old Christmas movie, its all he wants.

What he would get you: Comfy hoodies, comfy slippers too, hot cocoa packs, big stuff like a new PC or fridge or smth- decorations for your room, face masks, fidget toys, novelty Canadian keychains, figures of your favourite characters, festive sweets (like candy-canes and stuff.)

What he would want: Anything with a maple leaf (yes, he wants MORE of that,) boring stuff like socks, wood-working tools or like a new snow shovel, fairy lights, DVDs (because he still uses them? Why.) a new phone case, gift cards (HES BORING,) pre-packaged crafts, lotion and cologne that smells like pine

merry christmas if you celebrate! this'll probably be the last full thing I post until 2024, so thanks to all you readers for sticking around this year (: you have no idea how much it means to me. i love yall. and to all a good night or whatever santa said

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snotty-zombie · 5 days ago

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Rageous-tober part 3!!

Day 19: Velchid

Day 21: Vampire

Day 26: Orchid

More under the cut 😉

Day 19: Velchid

This kinda marks the spot where I started doing more and more for each entry and making life so much more difficult for myself haha I started like adding extra little bits beside the main piece just for fun which made the pressure of posting on time a lot tougher (I eventually said fuck it and just posted them late cuz who gives af haha)

I honestly love drawing full bodies of Rhinestone because she wears such bright clothing and accessories all covered in stickers and charms (her miku keychain is based off of one I own myself reeheehee) and she’s always pulling a funny face

Stark contrast to Velvet with her neat pearl jewellery and tidy hair and delicate acrylic nails. I try to make each part of her outfit somewhat matching and colour coordinated because I feel like her and Veneer are so anal retentive about that sort of thing like they FREAK if something is like slightly off like their shoes and top are different shades of black or whatever- exhibit A, Velvet’s witch costume which is all matching colours as well as her lovely nails and ring

Then there on the bonus pics is Vels tormenting the smelly boys as well as some Velstone angst, they’ll be ok

Day 21: vampire 🧛‍♂️ 🦇 🩸

QUITE PROUD OF THIS ONE, would you believe me if I said I finished it back in mid September because I was so excited for Halloween? I didn’t know I was going to be doing an inktober event this year so when I saw the vampire prompt I shoved this in a box to wait until then to post it

Veneer couldn’t decide between being a cowboy or a vampire for Halloween so he had the genius idea of combining both into one costume… a vampire cowboy! Cowboy vampire- either works. Veneer gives me HUGE vampire energy, just the inherent cuntyness of a vampire mixed with Veneer’s annoying teenage sass is chefs kiss- plus he’s as pale as a vampire anyway so no need for makeup

And his smelly hairy werewolf bf that he can drag along with his lasso and order to bite people

Day 26: Orchid Rhinestone!

Kidding the prompt was Orchid but it was referring to the same Rageon so

This is a really big one haha it was just an excuse to vomit some of my Rhinestone headcannons onto a page and it was sooooo fun

Starting off at the top, she’s a big video game person, only things she spends her hard earned cash on are video games and cosplay materials but she’ll never admit it.

Secret Easter egg moment there of her and Veneer from Jobiesayscheese’s fanfic (my favourite ever fyi, you should totes read it), the girls who know, know.

Sea urchin Rhinestone appearance! Will definitely be seeing more of her because I’m so proud of my furry designs for them all haha omfg, she makes rattling sounds when she moves, particularly when her spines aren’t tied back- I’m sure you can imagine the sound they make, sort of like hollow bamboo being clinked together mixed with jewellery tinkling

AND HER COSPLAY YIPPEE YIPPEE YIPPEE (another ten points if you can name all the cosplays) she’s as hands on as it gets, nothing is bought, everything is hand sewn and glued and all that, she does everything by hand with her own patterns (most of the time), she even managed to convince Velvet to let her make a costume for her one time so they could have a couples cosplay. She also does literally every kind of craft out there and is always knitting or crocheting something for her friends or gf to wear like a cute jumper or a warm winter hat (she’s a giver) or felting holiday decorations as gifts :3c

Part 1! Part 2! Part 3! Part 4!

#mount rageon oc #mount rageous #trolls 3 #velvet and veneer #kid ritz #trolls orchid #trolls band together #rageoustober #velchid

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flowerandblood · 1 year ago

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The Pearl and the Sapphire (2)

[ modern! • Aemond x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: sexual tension, anxiety, angst ]

[ description: As a representative of a large family-owned gemstone business, Aemond is attending a major jewellery event where jewellery makers from all over the world are exhibiting. One of them is the Baratheon family. Aemond is tasked with focusing on attracting new customers, but his attention is diverted by the youngest daughter of the eminent maker Borros Baratheon. Slow burn, bitchy, possessive and obsessive Aemond, lots of dark angst and sexual tension. ]

A story which is an alternative universe of The Impossbile Choice taking place in modern times. The characters are all the same as in the main series, however, for obvious reasons they will behave differently and experience things differently from medieval times. You can read this without having to delve into the main series.

Series moodboard: Aemond & Miss Baratheon

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

Working on costumes for their family's show at Crystal EXPO was the only thing that kept her from sinking into her grief and sadness after Cregan told her he felt he wasn't ready for a serious relationship yet. Although they had been together officially for several months, he had apparently realised that he was still attracted to other women and didn't want to deny himself from adventures with them.

Cregan was a handsome, warm and open men, constantly making her laugh. She met him when he came to their house to pick up an order for his father's jewellery shop and stayed for dinner with them. They immediately caught a great connection, found each other on Facebook and frequently wrote to one another.

She experienced her first time with him.

He was affectionate and gentle, took his time and gave her a huge sense of comfort, for which she was grateful. Before he even entered her he brought her to orgasm with his tongue, wanting to make sure she was definitely well moistened, and then with slow, gentle movements he took her on her bed in her bedroom, kissing her face tenderly.

Cregan was always frank and direct; she felt safe with him. However, she could see that at some point something was off, that something was wrong. One day she plucked up the courage to finally ask him what was going on and that's when he told her.

"There is a woman in my work. There is chemistry between us, but I would never hurt you or humiliate you with betrayal. However, the way I feel when I look at her has made me realise that I don't think I'm suited to a relationship with one person." He said and covered his face with his hands, his voice breaking as if he was about to cry.

She felt a tightness in her throat and stomach as she looked at him, sitting next to him on the couch, her hands clenched into fists on her lap.

"I'm so sorry. I like and appreciate you so much, I'm so comfortable with you. But…but I think I'd rather end this before I hurt you, you deserve better. Forgive me." He said and broke into sobs.

She stroked his back, feeling strange with the fact that she was the one who had to comfort him. She swallowed with difficulty tears that ran down her face.

He begged her to remain friends, to keep writing to each other, to keep in touch, but she said she needed a break and that she understood him. That she was grateful to him for telling her before he did anything bad.

Still, she felt pain at the thought that she wasn't enough.

She wasn't enough for him to want only her.

She didn't show in front of him how badly she had broken down so as not to further deepen his remorse, however, as soon as he left she called Royce and started sobbing into the receiver. Royce had finished work at his father's workshop early to come to her and spent the night in her room, just sleeping next to her and stroking her head.

He couldn't put his feelings into words, but he was always there for her when she needed him.

When she suggested to her father that their show this year would be themed and that she would sew outfits in which they would present their jewellery pieces he was delighted and kissed her forehead, teasing her skin with his rough beard. Her sisters were also thrilled that they would be able to perform in beautiful costumes at such a prestigious festival tailor-made especially for them.

Thinking about the show, planning everything and sewing filled her days between college classes making her feel better and better.

Once every few days she would get a message from Cregan telling her about his day, each time announcing at the end that he hoped she was doing well and that he was thinking about her constantly. On the one hand, she was glad that he hadn't forgotten her; on the other hand, she found it even harder to understand why they had broken up in the first place.

Months flew through her fingers and she didn't even know when there was only a week left until the whole event. Everyone was excited and had gone there early to prepare their stand. Royce poked her on the shoulder as they arranged the ruby necklaces made by their father on display.

"Have some fun. Pick out some rich snob and spend a nice time with him." He said, and she looked at him with pity.

"I don't think that would make me feel any better." She said amused, a wide smile on her face.

If it had only been about the adventure, breaking up with Cregan wouldn't have hurt her so much.

Before the show itself, she began to feel stressed. She and her sister looked beautiful, on the backstage she was still tweaking their hairstyles and tightening their gowns to make them look their best. Cassandra looked at herself in the mirror, turning with satisfaction.

"Great job, sister. I look like Marie Antoinette!"

Filled with euphoria and adrenaline, she remembered little of it when she and Royce stepped out into the middle, the lights directed at them so that she couldn't see the faces of those sitting around her. Her older brother's presence and smile gave her courage, she just looked at him to avoid distraction.

They knew the dance routines by heart and both had an excellent sense of rhythm, so dancing with him was a pleasure. She was frightened when she turned around during one of the moves and a blue glow flashed before her eyes.

What was that?

She turned again, falling into Royce's embrace, and they continued on for a while until finally the music ended and they moved into their final position. There was thunderous applause all around them. Royce took her hand and pressed it to his lips, placing a respectful kiss on her skin.

"I think you sold us perfectly, sister." He said amused, and she laughed lightly at his words, stepping closer to the audience with him to bow.

"We'll see about that yet, I'm curious…" She said and froze, seeing out of the corner of her eye a men looking at her with a look as if he wanted to kill her, in his left eye socket a large, sparkling sapphire.

Who is this?

She pressed her lips together, unsure of what to do, and blinked, reminding herself that she'd broken off in the middle of a sentence.

"…I'm curious if our father liked it." She said smiling again, bowing along with him, her brother's only response was 'I'm sure he did.'

She breathed a sigh of relief afterwards, when they returned backstage her sisters hugged her saying that it was a great experience and that they should do something similar next year.

She was glad that although they didn't always agree, this time she had the support of her whole family. Her father approached her in tears of emotion, saying that his works of art had never looked more beautiful and the audience was delighted.

For the first time since her split with Cregan, she felt happiness and warmth filling her body.

She and Royce decided to stay in their costumes at the banquet, wanting to draw attention to their father and their products. Borros thought this was an excellent idea and they entered the hall as a trio.

Indeed, they were surrounded by various celebrities congratulating them on their idea and workmanship, asking who was responsible for their attires and expressing admiration when her father boasted that his own daughter had sewn them.

"This is my greatest jewel." He said curtly. She felt embarrassed and looked away, feeling her cheeks burning.

She cast a glance around the hall and spotted from afar the man who had been watching her so demonically during her dance. He was looking at her again, but in the lamplight he looked less dark than she had originally thought.

He was tall, his light hair slicked back, dressed in a black turtleneck, jacket and trousers that perfectly emphasised how well built he was. His artificial sapphire eye sparkled, his scar stretching across the entire left half of his face aroused her curiosity.

She thought he was very brave and clever creating an asset out of his wound and smiled in his direction, wanting to show him that his appearance did not scare her at all.

She saw him tighten his lips and avert his gaze immediately, taking a greedy sip of alcohol from his glass, a mature woman in a long, tight gold dress was saying something to him, but he did not seem to be listening to her.

She wondered if they were together, but the age difference between them was striking.

Perhaps it was his mother?

When she finally pulled off all the layers of her gown in the evening and changed into a Tshirt she breathed a sigh of relief, feeling lighter. She got lots of messages on Instagram from people who found her after the show.

Once she had written them back she remembered the man she had seen during the dance and his disturbing fake sapphire eye. She asked her father at dinner if he knew who he was, and when he found out it was someone without an eye he said it was definitely Viserys Targaryen's son.

She knew that her father had turned down an offer from his grandfather to be their exclusive supplier. Her father, however, did not want to hear about it.

"They want to lock us in their golden cage, fill us with their paperwork and make us dependent. I'd rather be independent and pay more for the stones than let them put a collar on me." He told them then furiously, and none of them had the courage to contradict him.

She involuntarily typed the name 'Targaryen' into a google search to read a little more.

She knew that Viserys Targaryen was his father and one of the main directors of the company, but who was Aemond? She clicked on that suggestion and immediately knew she had hit on it. The first thing that popped up was a newspaper article, so she opened it right away.

She felt an unpleasant tightness in her stomach reading it all. She thought that if she read such things about herself in newspapers she would be horrified and heartbroken. The realisation that their own employees were reporting them to the press to make a bit of money on the side seemed horrible to her, let alone trying to maintain any privacy.

She thought she was not surprised to see no satisfaction or joy on his face, as he had no reason to be happy. He looked as if he was prepared to take a hit from either side, but only now did she understand why.

She thought she felt sorry for him.

The title 'One-eyed heir to a fortune' seemed cruel and mocking to her, as if the absence of his eye was the only thing that defined him as a man. She remembered the sapphire he wore and felt a kind of pride in the fact that he had turned his weakness into strength.

She thought she would like to get to know him.

To see what kind of man he was.

The opportunity came the next day. She was just choosing her tea at breakfast when she heard someone stand down beside her and place his cup under the coffee machine. She glanced involuntarily to the side and saw that Aemond Targaryen in the flesh was again looking at her as if he wanted to murder her. Her lips twitched in amusement, a smile appeared on her face.

"Good morning." She said softly, curious to see if he would answer her, dropping a bag of Earl Grey into her mug.

"Good morning." He replied after a moment, lowly, languidly, with some kind of tension, pressing the button for a double espresso in a reluctant manner, the machine rattled and liquid began to pour out of it.

She pressed her lips together, not knowing if she should say something or if he felt like talking. She poured two teaspoons of sugar into her cup, waiting for his machine to free up so she could pour herself some water, and glanced at him again.

She swallowed loudly when she saw that his gaze had moved from her mug to her face again, looking at her as if he wanted to say something but couldn't.

She lowered her head, tightening her lips, not wanting to offend him, amused that for some reason she had apparently also piqued his interest, which he had been unable to verbally articulate in any way.

She saw that at her gesture he tensed all over and with a swift movement grabbed his cup, apparently wanting to leave. Her heart pounded harder and she looked behind him.

"Your sapphire eye. It's beautiful." She said, and only when it came out of her mouth did she realise how pathetic it sounded.

She wanted to use it to say how much she appreciated his bravery, but it sounded like she, like everyone else, was only paying attention to that one thing about his whole person.

She felt ashamed.

She placed her cup under the vending machine he was using, stepping closer, feeling her heart pounding hard. He didn't walk away, he stood looking at her, his gaze almost burning her.

"Who made these for you?" She added, pressing the button that caused hot water to start pouring into her mug. He was silent for a moment, but didn't move from his place.

"The Hightowers." He replied coolly and she looked at him again, his gaze full of tension, dark and indifferent, there was a vast, black void. She swallowed loudly at the thought, lowering her gaze and nodded.

"The jewellery you were wearing at the show. Will it be possible to see it up close?" He asked uncertainly, with difficulty, and she looked at him surprised, not expecting him to say anything else.

"Yes, of course. At our stand, they will be on display along with other works of my father and brother worn yesterday by me and my sisters." She said softly, and he furrowed his brow, as if something she said had puzzled him.

They both flinched and moved away with their mugs when a man apparently also wanting to make himself a coffee stopped behind them.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, his gaze still fixed on her, piercing and disturbing, making her shiver.

Why was he looking at her like that?

"See you later." She said lightly, and he merely nodded.

She moved towards the table where her family were sitting, feeling that her legs were as soft as cotton wool, her heart pounding in her chest like mad, her cheeks were all red from the effort that this exchange of words had turned out to be for her.

She glanced from the corner of her eye at the table where he was sitting, saw that he had said something to the woman sitting opposite him, the same one she had taken for his mother, his expression one of displeasure.

They were arguing about something.

She shuddered when she saw him get up suddenly and move to the exit, leaving the woman alone. She swallowed loudly when the woman turned her gaze on her, as if accusing her of something, and then took her things and left as well. She lowered her gaze to her tea and began to think hard.

What if they weren't family or co-workers?

She felt a squeeze in her heart at the thought of Cregan. She involuntarily grabbed her phone lying on the table and unlocked it only to see two new messages from him.

She pressed her lips together, feeling the pain, not knowing what to do. She knew that he wanted to continue their friendship, that in his own way he still loved her, but she felt tears under her eyelids.

She thought maybe it would have been better if he had left her alone, instead of tearing her wound over and over again whenever she thought it had had time to heal. She swallowed quietly and wrote him back quickly.

She locked and muted her phone, then set it aside so that she wasn't looking at the display. Royce looked at her anxiously, but didn't want to broach the subject in front of his father.

After they broke up Cregan was his number one enemy.

She managed to distract herself from her gloomy thoughts when they started working on the stand, they were attracting more interest than ever. Their show had been a huge success and she felt a burst of pride.

They had several ancillary rooms with illuminated tables. On one of them she laid out the jewellery she had worn the day before and other items in which sapphires had been used, to show them to Targaryen when he arrived, as promised.

After a couple of hours, when she had just finished talking to a customer, Royce approached her and grunted, a clear embarrassment on his face.

"Listen… young Targaryen wanted to talk to our father, but he said he didn't want to see him. He came with his grandfather. I don't know what to tell them, they just came here. Will you talk to him somehow? You have a talent for diplomatic refusal." He said, scratching his chin, and she laughed under her breath.

"I'll listen to what he has to say and then politely refuse him. If he say anything interesting, I'll pass it on to my father myself, maybe then he'll take it better." She said lightly and her brother nodded, patting her on the back and said he would replace her.

She stepped out from behind the counter and that's when she spotted him, standing in front of one of their shop windows, watching her vigilantly from the side.

"Come with me." She said softly and heard him move behind her with an unhurried step.

She led him into the dark room she had prepared for him earlier and made him realise that whatever he had to say to her father, he would have to pass it on to her first.

He looked at her from across the room like a predator, frowning his eyebrows, clearly not expecting this turn of events. She could see that he was thinking about something strenuously, saw his tongue involuntarily hit the inside wall of his cheek.

"We'll talk on my terms." He said coolly, and she tensed all over feeling that he was not happy with what he had just heard. She thought he was going to tell her that he wouldn't talk about business and such big contracts with a child.

"Tonight at 7 p.m. You, me, wine and a hotel restaurant."

She felt her lips part involuntarily, her heart stopping for a moment. She blinked, wanting to see something in his face that would tell her he was joking.

What?

She swallowed loudly feeling that she hadn't answered for too long, his gaze grew darker, he turned his face to the side, tightening his lips, impatient.

"I… yes, of course." She choked out finally, not knowing what else she could say. He looked at her again then.

"Mmm." It came out of his throat like a murmur, his lips curving for a second into what she could call a smirk of satisfaction. He turned and left without saying goodbye, closing the door behind him.

She was tired and sleepy after a full day on the stand; however, she also felt a strong rush of adrenaline at the thought that she was about to meet him. She opened the wardrobe in her hotel room, scratching her head, wondering strenuously what she should wear.

This wasn't a date, was it?

It was official meeting, but she wasn't prepared for such an occasion.

In the end her choice was a black suede fitted knee-length dress with a white collar and long sleeves, deciding it was the most elegant thing she had.

She decided to leave the blue ribbon in her hair, not wanting to look like she was going to a funeral, and took her pastel blue clutch bag with her, throwing her phone into it, not looking from the morning to see if she had received any messages.

She was afraid to look in there.

She walked down the stairs to the ground floor, heading for the hotel restaurant. She had no idea why but felt her legs shaking with stress. She turned up five minutes early and was pleased to find that he wasn't late either.

He was sitting at a two-person table arranged at the very end of the room, gazing out the window, his hand outstretched on the table moving restlessly. He was dressed in a black leather jacket, black Tshirt and black trousers.

She felt ashamed that she had dressed like a girl for the end of the school year, but it was too late to go back to change into something more lightweight. When she stopped in front of him he flinched suddenly and looked at her as if frightened. He stood up and they both looked at each other uncertainly, not knowing how they should greet each other.

She thought that she certainly couldn't embrace him, however, as a woman, she had to offer something else. She held out her hand to him and he swallowed loudly before shaking it, his hand was large and warm. She sat down opposite him, putting her clutch bag aside, smiling at him, trying to hide how stressed she was. She saw his gaze escape to the side, raised his hand and nodded towards the waiter.

After a moment a young men, not much older than her, approached them asking what they wanted to order. She was silent for a moment and then saw that Targaryen was looking at her expectantly, clearly wanting to hear what she wanted to drink. She leaned quickly over the card and glanced at him uncertainly.

"Red semi-sweet wine?" She asked more than stated, and he nodded.

"We'll have the whole bottle, please." He added, and she swallowed loudly, wondering how long this conversation was going to be and why.

Was he trying to tire her out and muddle her so that she would eventually succumb and accept his terms on behalf of her father?

She twisted uneasily in her seat at the thought, sensing that he was watching her closely and feeling like he could see her cheeks burning.

"Why did your father refuse to speak to me in person?" He asked abruptly. She looked up at him and grunted quietly, rubbing her palms against her knees in an attempt to calm herself.

She had no intention of lying to him.

"My father doesn't want to tie himself to you for a monopoly on supplies. He wants a free hand in this." She said, looking bravely into his face. His gaze was so intense that she felt a tightening in her pit. He tapped his finger on the table top involuntarily, as if he was thinking about something.

"It's a condition for such good prices. We can change them, but then the prices will also go up." He said coolly, and she pressed her lips together.

"That's why in his opinion it doesn't make sense. Why should he engage with you if at the end of the day you will offer him the same prices as the others, and you will be more demanding and restrict him more?" She asked and shuddered as the waiter placed a glass in front of her and then in front of him.

She fell silent as she waited patiently for the boy to pour them some wine and smiled as she saw his hands tremble, she thought he had worked here for a short time. She shuddered and moved away when a few drops fell on the tablecloth right next to her clutch bag, Targaryen gave him a warning look.

"I'm very, very sorry." The boy said, and she and he reached for a napkin, but she was quicker and applied it quickly to the stain, looking at him with a smile.

"Nothing happened, thank you very much." She said softly. He nodded and apologised a few more times before walking away, taking the dirty handkerchief from her.

She glanced at her companion, he was sitting leaning casually against the back of the chair watching her closely with the same gaze she had seen on their show.

"What do you mean by 'restricted'?" He alluded to her earlier statement as if something about it frustrated him. She swallowed loudly at the thought, wondering how to explain it to him so as not to offend him.

"My father values freedom of action. Also the choice of materials to work with. He now works with who he wants and decides for himself what is best for him. He fears that your company, with lawyers deliberating over every comma in the contract, will arrange it so as to influence his decisions as much as possible." She said finally, saw that he furrowed his brow at her words.

"You think we're going to try to trick your father?" He asked with a note of irritation, and she threw him an impatient look.

"Can I trust you?" She asked suddenly and saw that he froze, his lips slightly parted. He clenched his jaw and began to play with his fingers extended on the armrest.

Silence.

"What do you mean?" He asked cautiously, she could feel her heart pounding. She sighed quietly, not taking her eyes off him.

"I mean exactly what I asked. Can I trust you?" She repeated, looking at him pleadingly, simply wanting to hear that he meant well and understood what she was saying. His lips twitched impassively.

"No."

She looked at him and blinked rapidly, unable to believe he had said that.

No?

So what was the point of this conversation?

"You can't trust me, just as I can't trust you. You will protect your father's interests and I will protect mine. There is no friendship in business or holding hands in the sunset light." He said dryly and lowly, looking at her as if he thought she was out of her mind.

She furrowed her brow, feeling humiliation spread across her face, felt a burning sensation under her eyelids, but did not allow herself to show anything more.

"I didn't know that to trust someone you had to be able to be friends and hold hands. I thought it was enough to be a decent human being." She said in pain and for the first time she saw something twitch in his face, as if an electric current had passed through him, his hand clenched into a fist.

She reached for her glass and took a deep sip from it, feeling the dryness in her throat, her heart pounding like mad. She saw him turn his face away, running his hand over his chin, impatient, apparently trying to calm himself down internally. He, too, took his glass and took a deep sip from it, setting it down with a loud clink of glass.

"I'm not a decent person." He said finally, and she felt a tightening in her throat, as if he had slapped her.

Why did she feel around him like she did around Cregan when he broke up with her?

"Nevertheless, I have with me the terms and conditions of our company written down on paper, without paragraphs written in small print. You can look them over and determine whether you want to pass them on to your father or not." He said a little softer, biting his lower lip.

"We can't be together, I'm not ready, I want to have some fun. But we can be friends, I want to know what's going on with you, I miss you."

She felt tears running down her cheeks in embarrassment, her lower lip trembling involuntarily at the same feeling of humiliation.

She saw his healthy eye widen in shock, his lips parted. He swallowed loudly, looking at her in disbelief, and wanted to say something clearly, but they both flinched when her phone began to vibrate in her clutch bag.

She wiped her cheeks quickly, wondering what she had actually been doing, and with a trembling hand opened her purse, thinking it was her father or Royce looking for her. She felt a tightening in her stomach and turned pale when she saw that she had four new messages from Cregan and three missed calls from him, including one incoming.

The phone vibrated in her hand and she didn't know what to do, so she dismissed the call, slipping it quickly back into her bag. Targaryen looked at her as if he thought she was about to faint.

"… Are you all right?" He choked out finally, clearly horrified by her condition.

"No." She mumbled at the same time bursting out laughing, making an essentially pathetic mixture of it, grabbing the bottle standing next to her and pouring herself a full glass of wine, struggling to hold back the tears that were once again pushing their way into her eyes.

She drew in a loud breath and took a large sip, setting the glass down, looking at her hands, trying to calm herself.

She saw that he moved uncomfortably in his seat, swallowing loudly, his fingers rubbing together quickly in a sign of his anxiety. She looked at him surprised when, after a long moment, he suddenly leaned forward, took a bottle of wine from her side of the table and poured himself a full glass, as did she.

For a while they sat and drank in silence.

She felt embarrassment at the thought that she had taken it out on him for what Cregan was doing to her.

Whoever Aemond Targaryen was at least he did not lie and tried to be honest when she accused him of false intentions towards her father.

He had said nothing for which she had any right to condemn him.

She swallowed quietly at the thought and looked at him.

"I'm sorry. Thank you for your honesty. Can I have these documents?" She asked in a slightly hoarse voice.

He looked at her for a moment surprised, then nodded and reached for the folder lying next to him on the windowsill. He leaned towards her handing it to her.

She took it from him and saw that he had placed his elbows on the table, remained bent over, being closer to her. She smelled the scent of his perfume and aftershave, a pleasant, intense, masculine smell that made her head spin.

"Go over it calmly. You don't have to rush. My grandfather really cares about this and is willing to wait and read your version of the agreement if you want to present us with one." He said in a slightly softer, calmer tone, and she smiled gratefully at him and nodded.

"All right. Thank you." She said and squeezed her eyes shut as she heard her phone vibrate again.

She took it out and turned the sound off, putting it back in her purse. She saw that he was looking in that direction, involuntarily running his tongue over his lower lip.

"Someone doesn't understand the word 'no'?" He asked suddenly, and she looked at him surprised, not expecting him to dare ask anything private.

She could see that he too was surprised that the question had escaped his throat and swallowed loudly, waiting to see if she would answer him.

She lowered her gaze, embarrassed, not knowing how she would explain her situation without going into detail.

"In a way." She said finally, grabbing for her glass again, feeling that at the moment the one thing that could calm her down was alcohol.

"Mmm." Came out of his throat, he lowered his gaze for a moment, as if thoughtful. He reached for his glass and also took a sip of wine from it.

"Let's move to my room." He said suddenly, throwing her an intense, anxious look, and she felt a shiver pass through her.

Not a proposal, not a question.

A statement.

What was he planning?

She swallowed loudly.

What if he did something to her?

What if he hurt her?

It seemed to her that he saw all these questions on her face, because he pressed his lips together, playing with his glass in his hand.

"We can think together about what to answer to a man who won't let you alone." He suggested, lifting his gaze to her again, a challenge in his eye.

She swallowed loudly, playing nervously with her fingers resting in her lap, her heart pounding hard like crazy, the alcohol slowly humming in her head.

Have some fun, she heard her brother's voice in her head.

"All right."

_____

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drainthehero · 15 days ago

Text

Superboy and the Pink K, Ch 2

In the weeks following the incident with the pink Kryptonite, Superboy threw himself into his crime fighting activities. He would try to tell himself that the frenzy of effort was about making his town a safer place, but he could not dispel the gnawing emotions which raged within him following that humiliating encounter.

The young hero also told himself that his relocation to the booming city of Metropolis was to finally confront a new level of criminal element, but in truth he had been hounded by images from that day which could now never be fully erased. Every time someone in the town talked to him in his tight fitting costume he would assume they were imagining his diminutive cock beneath those skimpy red briefs.

Metropolis offered him a wonderful chance to be appreciated by a new sea of people that he was charged to protect. And the opportunities to be admired were plentiful. Having prevented bank robberies, car jackings, jewellery thefts and artefact heists, the Boy of Steel had quickly gained the adoration of the city.

One clear morning Superboy was flying over the city as he tuned his super powered senses toward any crimes underway. Quickly picking up on something he flew down to confront two thugs as they attempted to mug a well-dressed couple in a quiet laneway. The Teen of Steel landed and faced the thugs, blocking their access to protect the pair, hearing a sigh of relief from behind.

A wry smile lit the face of the handsome hero as he shook his head and raised an eyebrow. “Those guns are not going to do you any good against me.” Superboy folded his arms as he spoke, flexing his big biceps and puffing out his powerfully muscled chest as he cast a derisive glare at the weapons. “You should just put them down and come quietly.”

Not to be dissuaded the two thugs opened fire on the handsome young hero who just stood stoically as the bullets fell to the ground in front of his red boots. Superboy reached forward in a smooth motion and took a weapon in each hand, crushing them effortlessly with one hand.

The two thugs watched in disbelief as the superpowered teenager disintegrated their weapons, then rushed at him in a vain attempt to overpower him. Superboy merely grabbed each around the waist and picked them up in his powerful arms, before flying them off to the closest police station. As he deposited the two he wasted no time in returning to his rounds of the city.

Flying towards a new disturbance, the Boy of Steel landed in an abandoned warehouse where he discovered crates of drugs being unloaded for distribution. Superboy decided to make an entrance, causing the force of his landing to make a small sonic shock which grabbed the attention of the criminals, causing them to stop in their tracks.

The men were in a ragged semi-circle around him. “This criminal scheme of yours stops now, I won’t allow these drugs to be sold here in Metropolis.” As he addressed the group of men, he assumed his heroic hands-on-hips pose, flexing the impressive muscles which were barely concealed by his skin tight costume.

One man – likely the leader of this gang – stepped forward with his hands stretched forward in supplication. “Ahh. The one they call Superboy – so you are real then.” The Boy of Steel held his ground firmly and continued to look imposing at the leader. “Surely we can come to some kind of arrangement,” he had the gleam of a negotiator in his eye, “so you can look the other way.”

“The only arrangement we will be making today is for you - and all these drugs - to be handed over to the authorities.”

The leader shook his head slowly, “We outnumber you 8 to 1 kid. And I don’t think you have any weapons or tricks hidden in those skimpy tights of yours.” Superboy bristled at the disrespect to his classic costume. “So why don’t you leave us alone before we have to mash up your pretty face.”

“I had hoped to not need to show you my abilities in person, but it seems you would like this the hard way.” Even before he had finished speaking the group of men was rushing toward him with fists and weapons brandished. Not wanting to cause too much harm, the Boy of Steel easily disarmed them and bound them up with various pieces of steel from the warehouse.

Clapping his hands before him as he observed the subdued villains, Superboy called out, “Ok we’ve had our fun. Now it’s time for us to…” the voice of the young hero faltered as he felt his concentration wavering, unable to focus on what he had been saying.

His mind rapidly clouded over and no matter how much he shook his head to clear his thoughts, the thick fog would not lift. To make matters worse he could feel a strangely familiar heat spreading across his body.

The gang leader stepped around and into the view of the Boy of Steel, holding a necklace before the handsome but slackened face of the young hero. Superboy struggled to even focus his vision on the glowing pink gem attached to the necklace, but found himself starting to run his hands over his spandex covered muscles. “Ughhhh,” he moaned as he shook his head weakly. “No… no… not that.”

“Of course you remember this, Superboy?” said the criminal with mock dripping in his voice. As he continued to speak he placed the necklace over the head of the immobilised young hero and let it rest around his neck, with the gem hanging inside the iconic yellow S covering his chest. “You were exposed to this from the moment you interrupted us, so by now I presume the effects are running rampant across that sexy muscled body of yours.” As the pendant came to rest on the boy’s muscular chest, he let out a whimpering sigh which was accompanied by a pained expression on his handsome features.

“Now. Stop touching yourself, Superboy.” When he did not immediately comply, the leader placed one hand firmly on the thick muscled pectoral of the young hero, causing an immediate whimper from the very aroused Teen of Steel. As the hand was withdrawn Superboy gave a small whine and looked up with eyes of a hurt puppy.

“Please…” he started but was immediately cut off.

“I said,” reiterated the criminal firmly. “Stop touching yourself.” Superboy immediately complied and forced his arms to his side and managed to focus his gaze on the hand, as it then resumed its position on his chest. “Good boy,” he continued. “Do as you are told and you will get more of this than you can handle. Now put your hands on your head and flex your biceps, Superboy.”

A look of longing had settled on the beautiful young face of the hero and he nodded, “yes sir.” The Boy of Steel complied without hesitation, forcing his big biceps to harden beneath the bright blue spandex, and was then rewarded with the other hand feeling a bicep before the criminal leaned in to kiss the young hero, who returned the passionate kiss eagerly.

After the kiss was finished both hands were removed from the Teen of Steel, who once more looked like a hurt puppy.

“Aww, look at those big sad blue eyes,” commented the leader. “Do you want some more worship, Superboy?” was met with an emphatic nodding of the head. “Good boy, now free my men so they can get back to work.”

In a blue and red blur of movement, Superboy freed all of the men before resuming his position with hands on his head.

“Collins and Masters,” barked the leader. “Over here and get to work like we practiced. The rest of you continue to load those crates.”

As the thugs returned to their tasks, two young men moved to stand in front of Superboy and then slowly removed their clothing, each revealing a duplicate costume of the super powered teen beneath their outer clothes. Both men had amazingly ripped physiques which were easily bigger than the Boy of Steel, who was mesmerised by the beauty of the costumed muscle hunks which were god-like copies of himself.

At a nod, the two men sandwiched the young hero, pressing their spandex clad muscles firmly against him before running their hands over his biceps and body. Finally, one boy locked his lips onto the Boy of Steel for a deep and passionate kiss while the other sucked on the sensitive neck of the hapless hero.

For his part, Superboy was completely lost to the bliss of this muscle orgy, moaning and writhing uncontrollably. The leader simply stood back and enjoyed the spectacle as it unfolded, his hard cock visibly outlined beneath his tight denim jeans.

“Are you enjoying them Superboy?” The only response was a gurgled moan through the kiss which had not yet been broken. The young men had been hand picked for their attributes by the leader, believing that their superior muscles would evoke even more submissiveness from the musclebound Teen of Steel. “Good. Phase two.”

Collins broke the kiss and took a step back from the young superhero, leaving Masters to run his hands freely over the muscled body. Collins then proceeded to flex and pose his huge muscles, causing Superboy to gaze and moan with undisguised lust.

“Do you like his muscles Superboy? Doesn’t the costume show them off nicely?” Superboy nodded enthusiastically. “I think he might have even bigger muscles than you, Boy of Steel.”

A confused look crossed his face as he absently nodded in agreement, continuing to watch the flexing. “May I please feel his muscles, Sir?”

“Good manners, my boy, but first we need to compare your muscles.”

Standing across from each other both young men proceeded to flex their muscles as the measurements were read out by Masters. As each number was announced and it was clear that Collins had bigger muscles than Superboy across the board, the mind of the poor hero was overwhelmed by his inadequacy and the ongoing lack of touch from either of the muscled hunks.

As the last measurement was confirmed, Superboy looked up in defeat. “He is truly bigger than me, Sir. He fits that costume even better than me.”

During the process all the boys maintained rock hard boners, which continued to drive Superboy crazy with lust, as precum stained the bright red briefs of his costume.

“He does indeed Superboy,” agreed the leader in thought. “Maybe it is you who should be doing the worshipping?”

“Yes please, Sir. Command me and it shall be so.”

“In good time. But we have not yet finished. I did say all muscles didn’t I?” he said as he let his eyes drift lazily down to the precum stained red pouch and its contents.

Superboy immediately felt his cheeks burn red with shame. “Ah… every… muscle?”

“Of course, and it looks to me as though you are all ready to be measured. Let’s whip them out, but I will help you with yours Superboy as your hands must remain where they are.”

As Superboy moaned a protest to the imminent humiliation, Collins and Masters immediately undid their bright yellow belts and pulled their hard cocks out of their briefs, displaying their monstrous meats.

Meanwhile, the leader moved over to the young hero and carefully removed the yellow belt. Ignoring the poor heroes please of, “please sir, don’t,” he lowered the red briefs and reached his hand inside to free the shaft and balls from their confinement. The Teen of Steel was torn by conflicting emotions as the shame of his diminutive member was clearly put on display while he was massively turned on by his hard little cock being touched and played with. “Ughhhh, your hand feels so good sir.”

“My, my, Superboy. From here it looks as though my boys might have you beaten for this muscle too.” He positioned Collins so that his big 9” cock engulfed the small cock of the hero. “What do you think? Shall we measure them?”

Superboy gulped and shook his head, feeling his cheeks burn an even brighter shade of red. “Please don’t,” he implored. “My little dick is so tiny, Sir. I can’t even see it under that monster cock.”

Despite the protests by the Boy of Steel, the measuring tape was quickly deployed and read out. “8.5 inches for Masters, 9.5 inches for Collins and…” a dramatic pause while the tape was held once more alongside the hard shaft, “4 inches for the … Rod of Steel.”

“That is pretty clear Superboy, all of your muscles are inferior to those of my Supermen.”

The defeated and humiliated hero hung his head in shame. “It is true, Sir. They are superior to me in every way, and even look better in my costume. Please, sir, may I touch and worship them?”

At that query, Collins brought his arms up and flexed all of his huge muscles through the spandex, eliciting a whimper from Superboy. “Please Sir, I will do anything you ask.”

“Alright, I will consider your offer while you worship the true super muscled body here.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Without pause, and with his small cock still on display and leaking precum, the Boy of Steel proceeded to feel, kiss and lick all over the flexing form of the hunky criminal. “Please Sir, may I cum? My cock is so hard and my balls are so full.”

“You mean your pathetic little cock?” corrected the leader. “You are not permitted to stroke yourself. Ask the real Supermen if they would like to help you cum.”

“Yes Sir,” replied Superboy, shame dripping from his voice as he corrected himself. “My pathetic little cock is so hard and throbbing. Please,” he directed at Collins and Masters, “would you stroke my pathetic little cock so I can cum?”

Collins gave a disgusted look as he replied. “Do you see our cocks, Superboy? Wrap your hands around them.” The young hero complied, letting out guttural moans as he felt the girthy shafts. “Good boy. Now, tell me, why would we want to touch your tiny little rod when we have these big shafts to properly fill our hands?”

A few tears of shame rolled down the handsome face of the young hero as he slowly stroked the two big cocks and replied, “you wouldn’t, Sir. They feel so good to hold.” A spark of initiative flashed across his eyes as he stroked the big members. “May I make you cum then, Sirs?”

“Soon Superboy,” interjected the leader. “But first, you promised me a favour and it is time for you to deliver.”

“Of course, Sir,” replied the honourable young hero. “Anything if I can worship these Supermen.”

A strengthened alloy dildo was lifted out of a wooden box, causing the eyes of the young hero to widen with apprehension as he gulped and took in its meaning.

“Given the inferior nature of your muscles compared to my own Supermen, you are the logical one to have your super ass fucked like a good submissive boy.”

The conflict was clear on the handsome face of the Teen of Steel. But even as he considered the request, he continued to feel the muscles of the spandex clad “Supermen”, feeling his need for release grow even further. “And when,” he ventured, “I am wearing these. Please will you permit me to stroke your Supermen to cum?” The lust was clearly evident as Superboy continued to feel the magnificent muscled bodies.

“Of course, Superboy,” came the response. “A deal is a deal, and the big cocks of my Supermen deserve to blow their loads after all.”

“Oh god,” moaned Superboy as the criminals continued to flex and pose under his touch, also touching the muscles of the teen hero to increase his arousal and desperation. “God, yes please do it. I need to stroke these huge cocks and watch them blow.”

The big dildo was affixed to a bolt in the floor as the iconic red briefs were lowered, exposing his smooth bubble butt.

“Good boy, my handsome hero. Spread your legs and lets get this dildo into you so it is nice and tight.” Superboy spread his legs wide as the leader took a large amount of lubricant in his hand then leaned in for another passionate kiss as he ventured a finger down to cover the tight smooth hole in lubricant. The contact and intimacy caused the hero to moan and shudder as erotic convulsions wracked across his muscled frame.

“Oh god, Sir. Your finger feels so good on my ass.”

Liberal amounts of lubricant were then applied to the domed head of the dildo and Superboy used his power of flight to hover above it with legs spread wide before lowering himself onto the reinforced alloy shaft, moaning from the pain as his tight virgin hole was penetrated for the first time. The alloy shuddered from the force of the tight Hole of Steel, so the leader wrapped his hands around the balls and shaft as he whispered, “relax, Superboy.” He very lightly massaged the head, careful not to make the Teen hero blow his load. “Don’t fight it, just relax your body and let it glide inside of you.”

Superboy let out a relaxed sigh which was immediately followed by a cry of pain as he sank a few inches down and felt the dildo enter his virgin hole. The Supermen continued to worship the muscular hero, while pushing down on his shoulders to drive him further down and deeper onto the shaft, until finally 7 inches of metal were buried deep in the ass and guts of the Boy of Steel.

“Well done, Superboy,” congratulated the leader. “How does that feel inside you?”

“Arghhh,” groaned the hero, continuing to drive himself all the way down the shaft until he sat on the ground. “It hurts so much, like my ass is being torn open. But it also feels good to be doing this for you, Sir, and for your hand to be on my little Rod of Steel.”

“Now you may stroke my real Supermen and make them cum.”

“Ughhh, thank you sir,” groaned Superboy in bliss. The two muscle studs moved up to point their big hard cocks directly at the Boy of Steel, who realised that they would empty their load over his chest and stomach.

Eagerly taking a cock in each hand, Superboy enjoyed the sensation of the full girth in his hands and started to stroke with earnest.

“Oh sir, it feels so great to hold and stroke real cocks. They make my hands feels so small!”

The two Supermen flexed their bodes for the visual enjoyment of Superboy, also reaching forward and running their free hands over his muscles, causing Superboy to moan and leak even more precum from his rock hard little boner.

As he continued to enjoy himself, it became clear that Superboy was even raising and lowering himself on the dildo, clearly liking the feeling of the metal alloy fucking his ass. For their part, Collins and Masters were lost in the sensation of being jerked by the sexy young hero and were clearly approaching climax.

The leader positioned himself behind the Boy of Steel and added his own roaming hands, whispering into his ear. “Such a good boy, hero. Ass filled and jerking two cocks.” Superboy merely moaned in ecstasy and continued to pump the two big cocks.

The two Supermen both moaned they were about to cum. Moments later, thick jets of cum erupted powerfully from the two studs, lashing the Boy of Steel with multiple blasts of jizz. He felt the heat of the juice as it landed on his chin, chest and stomach and continued to milk the cocks while the two men moaned.

In a frenzy of lustful need, Superboy drove himself deeper still onto the dildo and without any warning felt his own hands-free climax hit. He shouted in joy as large gobs of superpowered cum shot from his cock to fly over the heads of the muscled studs and land far off in the distance. The glow from the synthetic pink kryptonite faded and it once more became a dull lifeless rock.

The leader quickly took in the unexpected turn of events and realised it was time to go. Signalling to all his men they rapidly dropped everything and made a hasty escape. While the poor Boy of Steel merely continued to sit impaled on the alloy dildo as his small and soft shaft dribbled cum.

When the pink K haze finally lifted, Superboy found himself alone, covered in cum and still impaled by the big dildo. Groaning, he exercised his power of flight and lifted himself off slowly, confused by an unexpectedly enjoyable sensation as the dildo pulled out of him.

He grabbed at the pendant swinging from his neck but noticed that it was no longer glowing. With a quick nod of decision, Superboy grabbed both the pendant and the alloy dildo and flew off to clean himself up.

#superhero #superman defeated #superboy #pink kryptonite

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somecunttookmyurl · 1 year ago

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right but. the fibre arts take way more time and practice and "talent" (which does not exist. talent is not a real thing. the myth of talent is fundamentally what stops people from trying to do things in the first place)

the disparity is the point. the whole, entire, complete point. there is no side point, additional point, or extra point. the disparity is what is weird.

all of this "ah but akshualllylylylylylyly" about the costs involved.......... do also apply to the other one. they apply to both. if anything every single "well actually" cost applies more to fibre arts. every. single. overhead cost including the time learning to do it is orders of magnitude lower for jewellery

i get paid £5 an hour for a skill that took me 10 years to develop and £165 an hour for costume jewellery i could have started selling the same day i picked up pliers. i only waited longer to build up stock.

if i went for an extremely reasonable labour rate of £25 an hour earrings would cost £1.25

but fine. double it for the nebulous talent that doesn't exist and the one (1) day i spent initially figuring it out.

pay me £50 an hour. i think we can all agree that's extremely generous, right? earrings are £2

neither £165/h or £5/h are sensible rates, and it's a laughably surreal disparity to have developed as the norm in mainstream society such that people will pay big chain stores barely more for a t-shirt than a charm on a string.

being a crafter is so weird because it's like. here's a necklace that between materials and minimum wage labour cost me £1 to make. you will happilly pay me £6 for it because the same thing in claire's is £15. here's a blanket that between materials and half minimum wage labour cost me £700 to make. you will tell me to fuck off because you can buy a blanket in a shop for £100.

#but also no i dont think i deserve £165 an hour for stringing together costume jewellery.#if i charged claire's prices it it would be £250/h plus #and all the crafts people are throwing out here as 'gochas' are literally things that take #inifnitely more #startup cost or practice and everything else #and all of them. every single one. yes even that one which is expensive. that one too. yes and that one #even when paid well #are a fraction the hourly rate of costume jewellery #the startup cost for jewellery that isnt. the actual materials for making stuff #is about £5 #zero pounds if you already possess a pair of pliers #im sorry you will simply never convince me this is not a fucking weird thing to have developed #hot take: nobody should get paid more than £150 an hour for anything actually! ever!#you should absolutely get bare minimum £15 but preferably £20 for anything #which most people don't. and is a separate probem for a separate post #i'm not underselling anything wrt jewellery here #a sandwich maker isn't underselling themselves if they say it's easier than michelin star restaurant culinary arts #that's simply the truth #the disparity literally comes from people thinking it's way harder and expensive than it is #BECAUSE big box capital sells it to you at the same price as items of clothing #so they must be as difficult and time consuming as expensive to produce #when the truth is they are not comparable levels of skill at all in the slightest #the AMOUNT of fudging the numbers you have to do to make the resultant hourly rate of jewellery seem even close to reasonable is hilarious #people pay for it because on the whole £5-10 isn't a lot of money for a purchase #that doesn't make it not hilarious when you do a cost breakdown tho

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zayray030 · 2 months ago

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Your favorite ship with ace and headcanons about it?

I'm such an indecisive bitch so I quite literally do not have a favourite ship. However I do know which shops I prefer and which ships I don't care for so we're doing ones that I prefer!!

Treyace! Trey enjoys having Ace sit on the counters when he's baking and anytime he's baking cookies he let's Ace eat the cookie dough

Catace! Constantly couple photos. In fact Cater takes them out to fancy places because Ace's eyes widening cutely and he flushes prettily and Cater can never have enough photos of his boyfriend being that gorgeous

Leoace! Leona let's Ace skip classes in his dorm so long as Ace let's Leona use his thighs as a pillow and doesn't speak so Ace can speak. Also Leona encourages Ace to grow out his hair and Leona loves running his fingers through it

Rugace! The two of them together would have the combined dental problem of the entire school lmao. Those two enjoy buying the other bakes goods and when the other isn't looking they'll steal a bite of each others food.

FloAce! Floyd enjoys carrying Ace in many different positions. Bridal, over his shoulder, piggyback, like a newborn, legit any way he can carry Ace is a win for him

JadAce! Jade pierced Ace's ear and used one of his gemstones to get Ace a custom little earring like his

Jamiace! They enjoy making little golden jewellery for each other!!

Vilace! Ace routinely bullies Bils more rabid fans who try and make fun of Ace. He bullies them by taking pictures of Vils hands wrapped around him and sending them saying: "could never be you"

RookAce!! They have their wierd stalker thing that people wanna question but don't. Also Rook enjoys buying Ace clothes and makeup

IdiAce!! Idia begs Ace to wear cosplay outfits for him. Ace has repeatedly been restrained by Ortho so he doesn't burn the costumes

Malace!! Malleus tries to make meals for Ace but always ends up burning them. He then ends up restoring to giving Ace ice cream

Liliace!! Lilis is Ace's sugar daddy and I refuse to take critism

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teal-fiend · 11 months ago

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The New Hire

An assistant for a wealthy business owner is given the task of hiring a pred to perform at their party

Content: fatal vore, digestion, observer pov

—

The assistant had a party to plan. It was part of their job as a personal assistant to one of the most terrifying people in the world. Although their employer never did anything terribly illegal, the assistant had the feeling that there were dark things happening that even they didn’t know about.

There were dark things that they did know about too. For example, their bosses' borderline obsession with predators.

Their boss had a kind of motif for the unconventional and disturbing. Their company crest was a serpent, which is already a devious animal. Instead of collecting valuable art, like a normal rich person, they purposefully bought forgeries that had been in museums and books for years before they were discovered. They bought houses where tragedies had taken place. And they loved finding old jewellery with no one left willing to inherit it.

Despite, or maybe because they weren’t a predator, the boss effused about preds whenever the opportunity arose. Telling the assistant about famous people who were preds, or business associates who were. However, this was an avenue of themselves that had yet to be truly indulged. In fact, the boss had never hired one before, the assistant suspected they went out of their way to avoid it. Until today.

One of the things the assistant had to organise, was finding a predator to be at the party. This is how the boss phrased it: “I want you to find one who can keep down their prey, who can keep still for several hours. Maybe one who has experience as a figure painting model - I don’t know - I don’t really care, I know this was kind of last minute.”

It was last minute, it was the day-of.

“-But, just as long as you can find a predator who doesn’t have ‘stage fright’ or ‘performance anxiety’, someone moderately professional - that’s really all I need. You will pay them whatever they ask, of course. I know it’s a strange request, but it would really bring something to this party; there’s a few people I want to scare the shit out of, and this'll do it.”

The boss hired them for a reason: the assistant could get anyone, at any time, exactly where the boss wanted them. They had many, many feelers. And it didn’t take them long to get a bite.

One of their scouts had found someone who was free that night, a pred, a masters student, broke and willing to take a sketchy job. But their LinkedIn looked reliable, and they worked at a local theatre. They played the donkey in a modern rendition of MidSummer Nights Dream... A perfect hire, really. They could probably handle some weird shit.

The new hire was picked up and delivered to the event’s location on time (one of the bosses’ cursed apartments, a place where they specifically hosted parties). The assistant took the opportunity to formally debrief them.

“You will be dressed and prepared by our costume designers, and the hair and makeup team; we have a few other performers that you need to match - you’ll meet them soon. Your job after that is to consume the prey provided for you, you only have to eat one, and then you must begin digesting and continue until you are dismissed. The choreographer will guide you on how to compose yourself before you begin the performance.

If you need a break, there’s a discreet button you can press, you will be able to go backstage for a short time, and someone will get you what you need.”

The pred looked overwhelmed, but eager to impress them. They nodded and said something, but the assistant was already busy with someone else.

—

An enclosure was set up for the pred and a couple other performers to be contained in. The rest of them would be serving drinks, or performing other acts in separate areas across the venue.

The enclosure was visible from most angles, almost in the centre of the room, although there was a backdoor that the performers could exit from. Inside was like a small, midas forest, with faberge-like flowers and funguses. It matched the decorations of the rest of the venue, except it was more dense and atmospheric.

The enclosure was inaccessible to the audience, although there was no actual barrier, more of a circumference of props that would be impossible to navigate. The assistant had requested this, so that the view of the performance would not be obstructed.

Soon, the predator emerged, glittering under the moody, dappled lights. They had in contacts that made their eyes a solid, iridescent gold. On their back was a thin cape that looked like butterfly wings. On their head were some kind of horn or antler piece, decorated with primrose blooms. On their arms and legs were a metal lace, with a flowing transparent garment over top.

The curves of their body, especially their now plump abdomen, was lined with the finest paint brush, of intricate, organic patterns. They looked like a bounty, the cornucopia, or a paegan god. Their prey visibly wriggled under their skin, trying in a futile attempt to escape the stomach acids that were just beginning to release. The movements of the meal made a strange optical illusion under the temporary tattoos, it glittered as it shifted in the dim lights.

This was not the same person who came in two hours ago. Frazzled, mousy-haired, rectangle glasses, exceedingly average appearance. The person who the assistant was looking at really wasn’t a person at all. It moved, but it wasn’t a person.

The assistant was impressed, to say the least. They’d have to give credit to the makeup department. Maybe even give them a raise. Maybe.

They’d have to hear what their boss thought about this whole thing. Was it too much? Where was their boss anyway?

The assistant suddenly got a sinking feeling. Had the predator they hired somehow eaten their boss? But no, just then, they appeared behind a crowd of people. Although it was early, it would only get more crowded later on.

The assistant watched their reaction closely. Laughing at some joke, their boss turned to look at the stage. Their eyes went wide, but only for a second before they regained composure and guided their group forward to get a better look at the performance.

---

The assistant stayed close to the predator for most of the night, this was not a time for them to network. And they also made sure two security guards stayed nearby, just in case any guests got carried away and tried to get in the enclosure.

The other reason they stayed by, though, is to gauge reactions of the guests. Their boss couldn’t pay close attention to these things, but if the assistant gathered data, they would be able to tell how successful the idea was.

There were mixed reactions. Some guests gawked like the pred was a zoo animal, trying to get a reaction from them, which thankfully was unsuccessful. The most the pred would do is stare at a party-goer, unspeaking, with their emotionless, ethereal golden eyes. The pred did it once to the assistant, a good, long stare, and it did send a shiver down their spine. It was a primal fear, being spotted by a predator, their belly obviously full of one of your fellow prey. But were they still hungry? Am I next? What was going on behind those eyes…? Even though the assistant of all people knew it was an act, they couldn’t help but endure those thoughts.

Other guests let the assistant know that they thought it was obscene. A predator out in public, digesting a person alive, right in front of everyone? It was frankly unacceptable. And dressing them up didn’t make it any better. The assistant listened to these people sympathetically, but unfortunately for them, this was exactly the reaction that their boss wanted.

The party went on and the pred laid down on a kind of mossy platform that the enclosure featured. They spread across it languidly on their side, belly resting heavily on the moss. They traced gentle patterns on it with a clawed fingertip, tracing the curves of the prey.

With a slightly sickening realisation, the assistant noticed the prey wasn’t struggling any more. They knew this was what happened when one put prey in the stomach of a predator, but they never had seen it happen in real time. They couldn’t help but feel a sense of injustice as the pred lay there smug, satisfied, petting at their engorged belly.

The assistant shook the thought away. It’s what the boss wanted. What the boss wants, the boss gets.

—

It was getting late, many guests had already left. The assistant looked for their employer, who wasn’t hard to find.

“Boss,”

They were wearing all black, like an oil spill.

“You’ve done well today,” they said, “I’m impressed, I’m inspired, I have so many ideas. Everyone was upset about it- it was great. And the predator…” they sighed. “Perfect. Maybe a little over the top with the costuming, but the idea came across perfectly.”

“Thank you.”

“They’re a keeper, don’t you think? I’d love to see them here again. In fact, let’s go over there right now.” The assistant was led back to the main room with the enclosure.

Another sinking feeling. The pred’s stomach was rounder, the curves that the pred had been tracing were faint if not non-existent. And now that the party had died down, the assistant could hear the stomach over the music growling, murmuring, with deep digestive gurgles.

The boss clasped their hands together, “magnificent. Look at how far along they are already - what a brutally efficient stomach you have,” the boss said to the predator.

The boss rarely complimented people. The pred rested a hand on their stomach, maybe self-consciously, and avoided looking at their audience.

“They won’t acknowledge you,” the assistant reminded their boss, “by your request.”

“Oh I know.” the boss waved their hand, “and that is how I want it to be. More mysterious that way. People fear what they don’t understand, you know.”

—

After the party was over and the boss went home and to bed, the assistant still had work to do. Packing down, making sure everyone got paid.

By the time they next saw the predator, they had reverted back to their former selves; wearing the clothes they arrived in, make up washed from their face (except for a faint gold smudge), and their eyes were brown and with pupils again. They looked tired. It was nearly 10am, they had been on location for over 12 hours by this point. Still, when they saw the assistant, they sat up straighter and anxiously waited to hear what they thought.

The assistant looked down at the pred’s bloated stomach. They thought about warning them; They might not want to put up with the bosses’ antics.

They should get out before it is too late.

But then again, the boss wanted this pred, and what the boss wants, the boss gets. The assistant was the last person on the earth who would sabotage that.

So all they said was “well done,” and gave the pred an envelope with ten thousand dollars cash. They would be back.

#v.ore #soft vore #digestion #vore digestion #implied digestion #vore fic #v/ore #tw vore #fatal vore #vore writing #voreblr #v0re #same size vore #vore talk #observer pov

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