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rock sound #312 (nov 2024)

transcript below cut:

ROCK SOUND 25 ICON

FALL OUT BOY

A BAND THAT CAPTURED THE HEARTS, MINDS AND HEADPHONES OF A GENERATION OF KIDS WORLDWIDE, FALL OUT BOY UNDOUBTEDLY CHANGED THE LANDSCAPE OF THE ALTERNATIVE SCENE FOREVER, NEVER AFRAID TO EXPERIMENT, TAKE CHANCES AND MAKE BOLD CHOICES AS THEY PUSHED FORWARD. FOLLOWING A SUMMER SPENT EXPLORING THE 'DAYS OF FALL OUT PAST', PATRICK STUMP AND PETE WENTZ REFLECT ON THEIR PATH FROM POP PUNK, HARDCORE MISFITS TO ALL-CONQUERING, STADIUM-FILLING SONGWRITERS AS THEY ACCEPT THEIR ROCK SOUND 25 ICON AWARD.

WORDS JAMES WILSON-TAYLOR

PHOTOS ELLIOTT INGHAM

Let's begin with your most recent performance which was at When We Were Young festival in Las Vegas. It was such a special weekend, how are you reflecting on that moment?

PATRICK: It's wild, because the band, I think, is going on 23 years now, which really came as a surprise to me. I know it's this thing that old people always say, 'Man, it really goes by so fast', but then it happens to you and you're just taken aback. There were so many times throughout the weekend, every 10 minutes, where I'd turn around and see somebody and be like, 'Holy shit, I haven't seen you in 18 years', or something crazy like that. It was hard not to have a good time. When I was going up to perform with Motion City Soundtrack, which was an exciting thing in itself, I turn around and Bayside is there. And I haven't seen Bayside since we toured with them. God, I don't remember when that was, you know? So there was so much of that. You couldn't help but have a good time.

PETE: I mean, that's an insane festival, right? When they announce it, it looks fake every time. The lineup looks like some kid drew it on their folder at school. For our band, the thing that's a little weird, I think, is that by deciding to change between every album, and then we had the three year break which caused another big time jump, I think that it would be hard for us to focus on one album for that show. We're a band where our fans will debate the best record. So it was amazing that we were able to look backwards and try to build this show that would go through all the eras - nod to Taylor obviously on that one. But it's also an insane idea to take a show that should really be put on for one weekend in a theatre and then try to take it around the world at festivals. The whole time on stage for this particular show production, I'm just like 'Is this thing going to go on time?' Because if the whole thing is working totally flawlessly, it just barely works, you know what I mean? So I give a lot of credit to our crew for doing that, because it's not really a rock show. I know we play rock music and it's a rock festival, but the show itself is not really a rock production, and our crew does a very good job of bending that to fit within the medium.

That show allows you to nod to the past but without falling fully into nostalgia. You are still pushing the band into newer places within it.

PATRICK: That's always been a central thing. We're a weird band, because a lot of bands I know went through a period of rejecting their past, and frankly, I encounter this thing a lot, where people have expected that we stopped interacting with older material. But we always maintained a connection with a lot of the older music. We still close with 'Saturday'. So for us, it was never about letting go of the past. It was about bringing that along with you wherever you go. I'm still the same weird little guy that likes too much music to really pin down. It's just that I've carried that with me through all the different things that I've done and that the band has done. So for us, in terms of going forward and playing new stuff, that's always the thing that's important to me; that there should be new stuff to propel it. I never wanted to be an artist that just gave up on new music and went out and played the hits and collected the check and moved on. It's all got to be creative. That's why I do it. I want to make new music. That's always why I do it. So something like When We Were Young is kind of odd really. It's an odd fit for that, because it's nostalgic, which is not really my vibe all that much. But I found a lot of nostalgia in it. I found a lot of value in looking back and going 'Wow, this was really cool. It was amazing that we did this, that we all did this'. That scene of bands, we're all old now, but it has taken off into such a moment culturally that people can point to.

Let's jump all the way back to the first ever Fall Out Boy show. There is very little evidence of it available online but what are your memories of that performance?

PATRICK: So the very first Fall Out Boy show was at DePaul University in a fancy looking dining hall. I actually applied to DePaul, but I never went there because the band went on tour. I think there were only two or three other bands. One was a band called Stillwell, who were kind of a math rock emo band, and then this heavier, more metallic band. And then we were there, and we had a guitar player, John Flamandan, who I have not seen since that show. He was only in the band for a week or two, and we were still figuring ourselves out. We had three songs and I had never sung before in front of people. I did a talent show at school one time when I was a kid and theatre kind of stuff where you would sing, but it was more in that context. And I was also a kid too. This was the first time ever that I'm the singer for a band and I was fucking terrified. We had a drummer named Ben Rose, really great guy. I haven't seen Ben in a million years, either, but we were still figuring ourselves out. The other thing is that all of us, with me being the exception, were in other bands, and all of our other bands were better than Fall Out Boy was. We were very sloppy and didn't know what we were doing, and so I don't think any of us really took it seriously. But there was a thing that was really funny about it, where even though we kind of thought we sucked, and even though we weren't really focusing on it, we had a lot of fun with each other. We enjoyed trying this other thing, because we were hardcore kids, and we were not the pop punk kids and the pop punk bands in town, that was like 'the thing', and we were not really welcome in that. There was a fun in trying to figure out how to make melodic and pop music when we really didn't have any history with that. It was very obvious that we didn't know what we were doing at the beginning.

So when did it begin to feel like things were finally clicking? When did you find your roles and what you wanted the band to be?

PETE: In regards to the music, I liked Fall Out boy, way before I probably should have. I remember playing the early demos and it giving me a feeling that I hadn't felt with any of the other bands that I had been in. Now, looking back on it, I might have been a tad early on that. Then as far as the roles, I think that they've been carving themselves out over time. We've always allowed ourselves to gravitate to our strengths. Between me and Patrick, we'd probably make one great, atypical rock artist if we were one person. Because our strengths are things that the other doesn't love as much. But I think that what has happened more is it's less of a fight now and there's more trust. We have a trust with each other. There's things that Patrick will play for me or explain to me, and I don't even really need him to explain it, because I trust him. I may not totally understand it, but I trust him as an artist. On the other side of that, it's also very nice to have someone who can veto your idea, you know what I mean? It's nice to have those kind of checks and balances.

PATRICK: I had been in this band called Patterson, and all three of the other guys sang in kind of a gravelly, Hot Water Music vibe. I was not intending to be a singer, but I would try and sing backups and, it wasn't a criticism, but there was this vibe that, while I could do the gravelly thing, my voice was coming through and it didn't fit. It was too pretty and that became a thing I was kind of embarrassed of. So when Fall Out Boy started, I was actively trying to disguise that and mute it and hide behind affectation. Pete would really push me to stretch my vowels because that was in vogue in pop punk at the time. There were all these different ways that we were trying to suppress me, musically, because we were just trying to figure out how to do the things that the bands we liked did. But that wasn't really us, you know? It's really funny, because 'Take This To Your Grave' was recorded in three sections, about six months apart. Over the course of that time, I can hear us figuring it out. I think a really defining moment for me was 'Saturday', because I am not brave, I am not a bold person, and I do not put myself out there. When I was showing the band 'Saturday', we were jamming on the bit after the second chorus, and I was mumbling around, just mucking my way through it, and I did the falsetto thing. I didn't think anyone could hear me over us bashing around in Joe's parents house in this tiny little room. But Pete stopped, and he goes, 'Do that again'. I was so terrified of doing that in front of these guys, because you gotta remember, I was incredibly shy, but also a drummer. I'd never sung in front of anyone before, and now I'm singing in a band and I'm certainly not going to take chances. So I thought the falsetto thing was really not going to happen, but when I did it, there was this really funny thing. Somehow that song clicked, and it opened up this door for us where we do something different than everybody else. We were aiming to be a pop punk or hardcore band, but we found this thing that felt more natural to me.

As you embarked on Warped Tour, simultaneously you were finding this huge level of pop and mainstream success. How was it navigating and finding your way through those two very different spaces?

PATRICK: I used to work at a used record store and what shows up is all the records after their success. So I got really acquainted and really comfortable with and prepared for the idea of musical failure. I just wanted to do it because I enjoyed doing it. But in terms of planning one's life, I was certain that I would, at most, get to put out a record and then have to go to school when it didn't work out. My parents were very cautious. I said to them after 'Take This To Your Grave' came out that I'm gonna see where this goes, because I didn't expect to be on a label and get to tour. I'm gonna give it a semester, and then it will almost certainly fail, and then after it fails, I'll go to school. And then it didn't fail. Warped Tour was very crazy too, I was talking about this at When We Were Young with My Chem. Both of us were these little shit bands that no one cared about when we booked the tour. Then we got to the tour, and all these people were showing up for us, way more than we expected, way more than Warped Tour expected. So Warped Tour was putting both of us on these little side stages, and the stages would collapse because people were so excited. It was this moment that came out of nowhere all of a sudden. Then we go to Island Records, and I had another conversation with my parents, because every band that I had known up to that point, even the biggest bands in town, they would have their big indie record and then they would go to the major label and drop off the face of the planet forever. So I was certain that was going to happen. I told them again, I'm going to put out this record, and then I'll go to school when this fails.

PETE: I think that if you really wanted someone to feel like an alien, you would put them on TRL while they were on Warped Tour. You know what I mean? Because it is just bananas. On our bus, the air conditioning didn't work, so we were basically blowing out heat in the summer, but we were just so happy to be on a bus and so happy to be playing shows. You go from that to, two days later, stepping off the bus to brush your teeth and there's a line of people wanting to watch you brush your teeth. In some ways, it was super cool that it was happening with My Chemical Romance too because it didn't feel as random, right? It feels more meant to be. It feels like something is happening. To be on Warped Tour at that time - and if you weren't there, it would be probably hard to imagine, because it's like if Cirque Du Soleil had none of the acrobatics and ran on Monster energy drink. It was a traveling circus, but for it to reach critical mass while we were there, in some ways, was great, because you're not just sitting at home. In between touring, I would come home and I'd be sitting in my bedroom at my parents house. I would think about mortality and the edge of the whole thing and all these existential thoughts you feel when you're by yourself. But on Warped Tour, you go to the signing, you play laser tag, you go to the radio station. So in some ways, it's like you're in this little boot camp, and you don't really even think about anything too much. I guess it was a little bit of a blur.

Pete, when you introduced 'Bang The Doldrums' at When We Were Young, you encouraged the crowd to 'keep making weird shit'. That could almost be a mantra for the band as a whole. Your weirder moments are the ones that made you. Even a song like 'Dance Dance' has a rhythm section you never would have expected to hear on a rock track at that time.

PETE: You know, I just watched 'Joker 2' and I loved it. I do understand why people wouldn't because it subverts the whole thing. It subverts everything about the first one. That's something I've always really loved, when I watch artists who could keep making the same thing, and instead they make something that's challenging to them or challenging to their audience. Sometimes you miss, sometimes you do a big thing and you miss, and we've definitely done that. But I gotta say, all the things that I've really loved about art and music, and that has enriched my life, is when people take chances. You don't get the invention of anything new without that. To not make weird stuff would feel odd, and I personally would much rather lose and miss doing our own thing. To play it safe and cut yourself off around the edges and sand it down and then miss also, those are the worst misses, because you didn't even go big as yourself. This is where we connect with each other, we connect by our flaws and the little weird neuroses that we have. I rarely look at something and go 'Wow, that safe little idea really moved me'. I guess it happens, but I think about this with something like 'Joker 2' where this director was given the keys and you can just do anything. I think a lot of times somebody would just make an expected follow up but some people turn right when they're supposed to turn left. That's always been interesting on an artistic level, but at the same time, I think you're more likely to miss big when you do that.

PATRICK: Going into 'From Under The Cork Tree', I had this sense that this is my only shot. It has already outperformed what I expected. I don't want to be locked into doing the same thing forever, because I know me. I know I'm not Mr. Pop Punk, that's just one of many things I like. So I would be so bummed if for the rest of my life, I had to impersonate myself from when I was 17 and have to live in that forever. So I consciously wanted to put a lot of weird stuff on that record because I thought it was probably my only moment. 'Sugar, We're Goin Down' was a fairly straight ahead pop punk song but even that was weird for us, because it was slow. I remember being really scared about how slow it was, because it's almost mosh tempo for the whole song, which was not anything we had done up to that point. But in every direction, in every song, I was actively trying to push the boundaries as much as I could. 'Dance, Dance' was one of those ones where I was seeing what I can get away with, because I might never get this chance again. We were on tour with a friend's band, and I remember playing the record for them. I remember specifically playing 'Our Lawyer…' that opens the record, which has that 6/8 time feel, and they kind of look at me, like 'What?'. Then I played 'Dance, Dance', and they're like, 'Hey man, you know, whatever works for you. It's been nice knowing you'. But I just knew that, on the off chance that I ended up still being a musician in my 40s, I wanted to still love the music that we made. I didn't want to ever resent it. It's ironic because people say that bands sell out when they don't make the same thing over and over again. But wait a second. Say that again. Think about that.

That attitude seemed to carry directly into 'Infinity On High'. If you may never end up doing this again then let's make sure we bring in the orchestra while we still can...

PATRICK: That was literally something that I did say to myself this might be the last time, the likelihood is we're going to fail because that's what happens, so this might be the last time that I ever get a chance to have somebody pay for an orchestra and a choir. I always think of The Who when they did 'A Quick One, While He's Away' and there's a part where they go 'cello, cello', because they couldn't afford real cellos, they couldn't afford players. That's what I thought would happen for me in life. So I went in and thought, let's do it all. Let's throw everything at the wall, because there's no chance that it's going to happen again. So many things came together on that record, but I didn't expect it. 'Arms Race' was a very weird song, and I was shocked when management went along with it and had kind of decided that would be the single. I was in disbelief. It did not feel like a single but it worked for us. It was a pretty big song and then 'Thnks Fr Th Mmrs' was easily the big hit off that record. So then we have two hit songs off of an album that I didn't even know would come out at that point. But again, it was very much just about taking the risks and seeing what the hell happened.

As you went on hiatus for a few years, you worked on a number of other creative projects. How did those end up influencing your approach to the band when you returned?

PETE: On the areas of the band where I led, I wanted to be a better leader. When you're younger and you're fighting for your ideas, I don't think that I was the greatest listener. I just wanted to be a better cog in the machine. When you're in a band originally, no one gives you the little band handbook and says 'these are the things you should do', you know? I just wanted to be a better version of who I was in the band.

PATRICK: There's a combination of things. 'Soul Punk' is a weird record. I love that record but I kind of resent that record for so many things. It's my solo record, but it's also not very me in a lot of ways. I had started with a very odd little art rock record, and then I had some personal tragedies happen. My EP that I put out far out sold expectations so then all of a sudden, Island Records goes, 'Oh, we think this could actually be something we want singles for'. I think we had all expected that I would be putting out a smaller indie record but then all of a sudden they were like 'oh, you could be a pop star'. So then I have to retrofit this art rock record into pop star hit music, and also channel personal tragedy through it. I hadn't ever really been a front man - I'd been a singer, but I hadn't really been a front man, and I hadn't really written lyrics, certainly not introspective, personal lyrics. So that whole record is so strange and muted to me. So I went from that album, which also failed so fucking hard - I should have gone to school after that one. But Pete had reached out to me just as a friend, and said 'I know you're in your own thing right now, and I know that you're not the kind of person that is going to be in my fantasy football league, so I'm not going to see you unless we make music. But you're my buddy, and that kind of bums me out that I don't see you at all, so I guess we have to make music'. I thought that was a fairly convincing pitch. It's true, that was what we do when we hang out - we make music. So we reconvene, and going into it, I had all these lessons that really made me understand Pete better, because Pete is the natural front end person. So many of our arguments and frustrations and the things that we didn't see eye to eye on, I grew to understand having now been in the position of the point man that had to make all the decisions for my solo thing. It really flipped my understanding of why he said the things he would say, or why he did things he would do. I remember early on thinking he was so pushy, but then, in retrospect, you realise he was doing it for a reason. There's so many little things that really changed for me doing 'Soul Punk' that were not musical but were more about how you run a band and how you run a business, that made me understand and respect him a lot more.

What are memories of that initial return and, specifically, that tiny first show back at the Metro venue in Chicago?

PETE: Those first shows were definitely magical because I really wasn't sure that we would be on a stage again together. I don't have as many memories of some of our other first things. We were just talking about Warped Tour, I don't have many memories of those because it is almost wasted on you when it's a blur and there's so many things happening. But with this, I really wanted to not take it for granted and wanted to take in all the moments and have snapshots in our own heads of that show. I did a lot of other art during the time when we were off, everybody did, but there's a magic between the four of us and it was nice to know that it was real. When we got on that stage again at the Metro for the first time, there was something that's just a little different. I can't really put my finger on it, but it makes that art that we were making separately different than all the other stuff.

Musically, as you moved forward, everything sounded much bigger, almost ready for arenas and stadiums. Was that a conscious decision on your part?

PETE: Patrick felt like he was bursting with these ideas. It felt like these had been lying in wait, and they were big, and they were out there, and whether he'd saved them for those records, I don't really know. That's what it felt like to me. With 'Save Rock And Roll', we knew we had basically one shot. There were really three options; you'll have this other period in your career, no one will care or this will be the torch that burns the whole thing down. So we wanted to have it be at least on our terms. Then I think with 'American Beauty...' it was slightly different, because we made that record as fast as we could. We were in a pop sphere. Is there a way for a band to be competitive with DJs and rappers in terms of response time? Are we able to be on the scene and have it happen as quickly? I think it kind of made us insane a little bit. With 'American Beauty…', we really realised that we were not going to walk that same path in pop culture and that we would need to 'Trojan horse' our way into the conversation in some way. So we thought these songs could be played in stadiums, that these songs could be end titles. What are other avenues? Because radio didn't want this right now, so what are other avenues to make it to that conversation? Maybe this is just in my head but I thought 'Uma Thurman' could be a sister song to 'Dance, Dance' or maybe even 'Arms Race' where it is weird but it has pop elements to it.

PATRICK: I had a feeling on 'Save Rock And Roll' that it was kind of disjointed. It was a lot of good songs, but they were all over the place. So when we went into 'American Beauty…', I really wanted to make something cohesive. I do think that record is very coherent and very succinct - you either like it or you don't, and that's pretty much it all the way through. By the time we got to 'MANIA', I had done all this production and I'd started to get into scoring. The band had done so many things and taken so many weird chances that I just felt free to do whatever. At that point, no one's going to disown me if I try something really strange so let's see what happens. 'Young And Menace' was a big part of that experiment. People hate that song, and that's okay. It was meant to be challenging, it's obviously not supposed to be a pop song. It's an abrasive song, it should not have been a single. However, I do think that record should have been more like that. Towards the end of the production, there was this scramble of like, 'Oh, fuck, we have no pop music on this and we need to have singles' and things like that. That took over that record and became the last minute push. I think the last half of that record was recorded in the span of two weeks towards the end of the recording to try and pad it with more pop related songs. I look at that record and think it should have all been 'Young And Menace'. That should have been our 'Kid A' or something. It should have really challenged people.

But we have spoken before about how 'Folie à Deux' found its audience much later. It does feel like something similar is already beginning to happen with 'MANIA'...

PETE: I agree with you, and I think that's a great question, because I always thought like that. There's things that you're not there for, but you wish you were there. I always thought about it when we put out 'MANIA', because I don't know if it's for everyone, but this is your moment where you could change the course of history, you know, this could be your next 'Folie à Deux', which is bizarre because they're completely different records. But it also seems, and I think I have this with films and bands and stuff as well, that while one thing ascends, you see people grab onto the thing that other people wouldn't know, right? It's like me talking about 'Joker 2' - why not talk about the first one? That's the one that everybody likes. Maybe it's contrarian, I don't really know. I just purely like it. I'm sure that's what people say about 'Folie à Deux' and 'MANIA' as well. But there's something in the ascent where people begin to diverge, you are able to separate them and go 'Well, maybe this one's just for me and people like me. I like these other ones that other people talk about, but this one speaks to me'. I think over time, as they separate, the more people are able to say that. And then I can say this, because Patrick does music, I think that sometimes he's early on ideas, and time catches up with it a little bit as well. The ideas, and the guest on the record, they all make a little bit more sense as time goes on.

'MANIA' is almost the first of your albums designed for the streaming era. Everything is so different so people could almost pick and choose their own playlist.

PETE: Of course, you can curate it yourself. That's a great point. I think that the other point that you just made me think of is this was the first time where we realised, well, there's not really gatekeepers. The song will raise its hand, just like exactly what you're saying. So we should have probably just had 'The Last Of The Real Ones' be an early single, because that song was the one that people reacted to. But I think that there was still the old way of thinking in terms of picking the song that we think has the best chance, or whatever. But since then, we've just allowed the songs to dictate what path they take. I think that that's brilliant. If I'd had a chance to do that, curate my own record and pick the Metallica songs or whatever,that would be fantastic. So it was truly a learning experience in the way you release art to me.

PATRICK: After 'MANIA', I realised Fall Out Boy can't be the place for me to try everything. It's just not. We've been around for too long. We've been doing things for too long. It can't be my place to throw everything at the wall. There's too much that I've learned from scoring and from production now to put it all into it. So the scoring thing really became even more necessary. I needed it, emotionally. I needed a place to do everything, to have tubas and learn how to write jazz and how to write for the first trumpet. So then going into 'So Much (For) Stardust', it had the effect of making me more excited about rock music again, because I didn't feel the weight of all of this musical experimentation so I could just enjoy writing a rock song. It's funny, because I think it really grew into that towards the end of writing the record. I'd bet you, if we waited another month, it would probably be all more rock, because I had a rediscovered interest in it.

It's interesting you talk about the enjoyment of rock music again because that joy comes through on 'So Much (For) Stardust' in a major way, particularly on something like the title track. When the four of you all hit those closing harmonies together, especially live, that's a moment where everything feels fully cohesive and together and you can really enjoy yourselves. There's still experimental moments on the album but you guys are in a very confident and comfortable space right now and it definitely shows in the music.

PATRICK: Yeah, I think that's a great point. When you talk about experimentation too and comfort, that's really the thing isn't it? This is always a thing that bugged me, because I never liked to jam when I was a kid. I really wanted to learn the part, memorise it and play it. Miles Davis was a side man for 20 years before he started doing his thing. You need to learn the shit out of your music theory and your instrument - you need to learn all the rules before you break them. I always had that mindset. But at this point, we as a band have worked with each other so much that now we can fuck around musically in ways that we didn't used to be able to and it's really exciting. There's just so much I notice now. There are ways that we all play that are really hard to describe. I think if you were to pull any one of the four of us out of it, I would really miss it. I would really miss that. It is this kind of alchemy of the way everyone works together. It's confidence, it's also comfort. It's like there's a home to it that I feel works so well. It's how I'm able to sing the way I sing, or it's how Andy's able to play the way he plays. There's something to it. We unlock stuff for each other.

Before we close, we must mention the other big live moment you had this year. You had played at Download Festival before but taking the headline slot, especially given the history of Donington, must have felt extra special.

PETE: It felt insane. We always have a little bit of nerves about Download, wondering are we heavy enough? To the credit of the fans and the other bands playing, we have always felt so welcomed when we're there. There's very few times where you can look back on a time when... so, if I was a professional baseball player, and I'm throwing a ball against the wall in my parents garage as a kid, I could draw a direct link from the feeling of wanting to do that. I remember watching Metallica videos at Donington and thinking 'I want to be in Metallica at Donington'. That's not exactly how it turned out, but in some ways there is that direct link. On just a personal level, my family came over and got to see the festival. They were wearing the boots and we were in the mud. All this stuff that I would describe to them sounds insane when you tell your family in America - 'It's raining, but people love it'. For them to get to experience that was super special for me as well. We played the biggest production we've ever had and to get to do that there, the whole thing really made my summer.

PATRICK: There's not really words for it. It feels so improbable and so unlikely. Something hit me this last year, this last tour, where I would get out on stage and I'd be like, 'Wait, fucking seriously? People still want to see us and want to hear us?' It feels so strange and surreal. I go home and I'm just some schlubby Dad and I have to take out the compost and I have to remember to run the dishwasher. I live this not very exciting life, and then I get out there at Download and it's all these people. Because I'm naturally kind of shy, for years, I would look down when I played because I was so stressed about what was happening. Confidence and all these have given me a different posture so when I go out there, I can really see it, and it really hits you. Download, like you said, we've done before, but there's something very different about where I am now as a person. So I can really be there. And when you walk out on that stage, it is astounding. It forces you to play better and work harder, because these people waited for us. The show is the audience and your interaction with it. In the same way that the band has this alchemy to it, we can't play a show like that without that audience.

#sir the ''schlubby dad'' in question is getting on stage and GROWLING. people are dying and creaming and dying and cr #time capsule #read the charts #fall out boy #patrick stump #pete wentz #joe trohman #andy hurley

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cyberrose2001 · 3 months ago

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I hate TF One sentinel so much.

I fucking hate him.

I hate him so much I wanna see this mech a whimpering teary mess underneath me after overloading more than he can take.

I want him overstimulated and trembling. venting hard as he is forced to cum again. Tied down and obedient to no one else but me. Him on his knees begging for release.

I hate him so much I wanna see him pathetic and whipped for pussy or spike. Hell make him whipped for both. Go wild.

TF:One Sentinel Prime x Human Reader

okay so i had a couple ideas but this is the one i went with. essentially sentinel using you to make his dick look bigger so he can stroke his ego, but keeps it a secret. to which you find pathetic and of great value (aka to keep living it up rich giant alien robot style)

also go easy on me!! slowly learning how to write for the universe (as alot of people probably are)

Warnings: TF:ONE SPOILERS, Cybertronian/Human, Dom/Sub Elements, Humiliation/Degradation, Bondage, Face Sitting/Cunnilingus, Cream Pies, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation

Word Count: 1707

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

For a species that's so highly advanced compared to your own, you'd think there would be far more disunities. After all, this planet wasn't made for you. But despite this Olympic-sized hurdle, most of the Cybertronians seemed curious about you. A little human, freshly birthed compared to the universe's timeline itself, bought to Cybertron by their ventures.

It's taken a lot to get used to. But the primal urge associated with human nature seems omnipresent, as you have learned.

Sentinel Prime. The lord and master of Cybertron had his curiosity peaked. He initially took you in as a novelty, a mere collector's item to show off as a display of acceptingness between Cybertronians and Humans—a symbiotic relationship between two species.

At least, that's what he tells them. Yet another lie for him to cover up for the masses.

"You're such a fucking sellout, Sentinel."

A liar he may be, but his trembling form and the whines of your name speak truthfully. And with all the queries of your purpose on this planet, one thing is sure.

Sentinel Prime can't get enough of human nature.

And you're determined to squeeze every last drop of that precious information.

In the lavish and very private penthouse of his tower overlooking Iacon City, Sentinel Prime kneels before you on the berth. Though at eye level, the balance of power remains clear. Ropes of golden silk tie his arms behind his back, connecting to the ones adorning his thighs, keeping them embarrassingly wide open. He can't count how often he's been in this position before, but he learns something new about your little fleshy body each time.

"Yeah, I know." Sentinel wriggles against the ropes despite having no intention of escaping from them, "B-But I have an image to upkeep, you know that."

"Oh, an image! I see," Gripping the kibble on his chin, you pull him closer, to which he flinches, "Because the only image I see is you popping a boner over a little fleshy like me. Now, wouldn't that cause a stir, hm?"

Sentinel grits his dentae, his faceplates heating up at the proximity. He says nothing, knowing that he could dig himself a deeper hole. But he's already too deep, so much so that he could be tried in court for inappropriate relations with organic species. Or worse, he could have the title of 'Prime' stripped away from him.

But he can't deny it. He's so turned on by your soft skin pressing against him that it almost makes him sob, spike standing erect right in front of you. Deliciously throbbing and angry, ripe for your taking.

"On your back, I mean it." You push against his chassis, and he flops backward, grunting as the winds knocked out of him. Your little form climbs atop him, but you don't stop at his spike. You keep climbing until you're standing on his chassis.

"Wh- What are you doing?" Sentinel questions, his voice strained. He watches as you straddle his face and push your cunt against his intake, a pleasant surprise to Sentinel.

"I'm gonna put that lying tongue of yours to good use," You moan, wiggling your hips against his glossa, "Ever tasted human pussy before? Because it's about time you did."

Sentinel grunts as you grind your hips against his face. Though tiny, you're still enough to take his breath away. The sweet, earthly, deliciously human scent fills his olfactory sensors, and he dives in with the first lap at your folds. It's new to him, soft and plush against his glossa. He doesn't even need a second taste to confirm that he's already addicted.

A soft gasp leaves you as Sentinel essentially makes out with your pussy, moving from opened-mouthed kisses to flicks at your clit. You sit down further on him, causing his glossa to push into you forcefully. The ridges massage along your walls and make you see stars, filling you perfectly, making it hard to believe you had no trouble taking his spike. But you won't tell him that. It's far too much fun to humiliate him and make him putty between your thighs instead.

"Is that the best you can do, Sentinel?"

The Prime whines into your flesh as his glossa works double time, "Pfflease..." He takes a breath before he laps at your clit again, rubbing and grinding with the help of your hips.

"What was that? I can't hear you." Your dominant side gets the better of you, and you deviously shift your hips up, hovering just shy above his saturated dermas, "Say it again."

"Please- I can't- I need you to fuck me-" Sentinel whimpers, wincing as his spike painfully throbs. It's all getting too much for poor Sentinel, "I need your valve-" He cranes his neck in a poor attempt to lick at you once again but whines when you pull away from him entirely.

"I can't believe you, Sentinel. You can hardly wait five minutes? How disappointing." You lean closer, "But I won't say no. I hope your spike can perform better than that tongue of yours."

You slide back down his frame, smiling at Sentinel's soft, frustrative growls. You straddle him again, his spike standing tall between your thighs. It only reaches past your navel, and a thought occurs as you gaze upon the pretty biolights.

He must have the smallest one on Cybertron; no wonder his ego's so big.

And no wonder he prefers to fuck a human and keep it a secret.

"You're so hard for me, Sentinel, aren't you?"

"Y-Yes. Only you." Sentinel heaves his chest, still worked up from eating you out. He watches tentatively as you line yourself up, the weeping tip of his spike just pressing against the threshold. He arches his back against the restraints as his spike is engulfed in your heat, biting back a sob of relief.

"Good," You press your hips down agonisingly slow, hands pressed against his abdomen for support, "Keep still, or I won't let you finish."

You sink the rest of the way, planting your ass on his pelvis. The unrelenting fullness causes a shaky breath to whistle past your lips, but you suppress a moan. Sentinel whines, already trembling against the ropes. He tries to roll his hips up into you, but a taut squeeze of your walls halts him in his tracks.

"Do you not listen? I said stay still." You growl through your teeth. Rolling your hips forward, you create a rhythm that has Sentinel crying out. He has no control, not with his servos tied behind him, nothing to grab onto as you start to bounce ruthlessly on his throbbing spike. His helm lulls back in pleasure and hopelessness as he's forced inside you again and again.

"Ah- Ah!! Y-Y/n! I'm gonna-" Sentinel mewls, clenching his optics shut, his chest heaving once again on the cusp of an embarrassingly early overload.

You keep bouncing despite your breathing becoming laboured, fueled by the desire to see Sentinel come undone and beg for your mercy, "Yeah? You gonna cum, Sentinel? Show me how much- guh- how much you love human pussy?"

"Y-Yes! Oh, Primus yes-" Sentinel gasps, arching his back struts as you slam down on his spike, "I love it- ohhn- I love your organic valve so much-"

A raw, sinful cry wracks his frame, shuddering as he pumps his transfluids into you. The warm, suspiciously glowing fluid leaks and spurts out, causing a shiver down your spine.

"My oh my, Sentinel, that was fast." You moan softly, slowly circling your hips, "Not only are you pathetic, but you're pathetic and don't last long in bed."

Sentinel whines wearily at the extra stimulation, "Sorry- nghh- I just can't help it- AHhn!-"

You don't let him finish his sentence. Instead, you lift your hips and slam your hips back down, sending transfluids all over his pelvis. You work yourself up to a back-breaking rhythm, determined to keep your promise to make him beg for mercy. You watch in fascination as Sentinel starts to thrash against the restraints, and how he bares his dentae at you, how that disgustingly handsome face belonging to a mech at your mercy begins to contort in overwhelming pleasure.

"F-Fuck, Sentinel-" Double entendre. You keep going, fingers digging into his hip plating to prevent being thrown off. The wet, sloppy noises of metal meeting flesh spark a deep heat within the pits of your stomach.

He keeps thrashing against you as he cries and howls your name, his hips pressing into the berth to try and escape the overstimulation. He tries to form words, but all that leaves him is an incoherent babble of pleads and whines for you to stop. He overloads again, crying and tugging at the restraints, another gush of warmth spilling into you.

"C'mon, Sentinel-" You moan, your thighs trembling from the workout of holding the mech down. Your cunt aches at the prolonged stretch, but you're determined once again to draw one last overload from him. You reach down and start to circle your clit, hoping to breach your orgasm, "G-Gimme one more, and I'll stop."

"P-Primus below-" Sentinel clenches his optics shut as your pussy strangles his spike, his hips stuttering. The tightness of your walls lurches him forward as he shoots another load into you.

"Fuck yes!" You give him a show of your own and arch your back, finally reaching your orgasm. You cry out and clench down, causing more trans fluid to spill out from you. A soft, exhausted whine leaves you once you're left in the afterglow.

What a mess. Layers of sticky trans fluid coat your thighs and Sentinels' pelvis, the dull throbbing of an overworked spike still seated inside you. It's a horrific sight to walk in on if anyone were to, but maybe they should, if only to expose Sentinel for the filthy fleshy fucker he is.

Looking up, you're met with a shamelessly erotic mess of the Prime. His faceplates painted blue, his glossa lulling out of his intake, the heavy heaving of his chest plates—the face of a liar couldn't be more irresistible.

You chuckle to yourself, whipping out a small data pad and snapping a picture.

"How's that for an image, Sentinel?"

#transformers #transformers x reader #transformers one #tf one #tf one spoilers #tf one sentinel prime #tf one sentinel prime x reader #tf one x reader #tf one sentinel x reader #tf one x human reader #transformers x human reader #valveplug #asks

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twoidiotwriters1 · 2 months ago

Text

Soulmates (Rorona Zoro x Fem!reader)

A/N: Hi :) -Val

Words: 2, 197

“I don't believe in that bullshit,” Zoro grunts and takes a sip of his sake bottle.

Nami and Usopp nod in agreement.

“Wait, I don’t get it,” Luffy says with a frown. “How does it work?”

“The story says that we all have one person who completes us in every way,” they all look at Robin. “It’s like you’ve found the perfect piece of meat, Luffy,” she smiles at him knowing his language.

Luffy’s eyes grow in awe understanding the meaning of soulmates.

The kitchen stays silent as the rain outside drops hard.

“But, do you eat that person?” Luffy asks again, making Chopper and Usopp laugh.

“No, Captain,” Robin giggles. “This person helps, protects, loves, and takes care of you. The connection is mutual. They say you feel attracted to that person even if you don’t know who they are. It’s beyond being a nakama, friend, lover, or protector.”

“And how can you find them?” Chopper asks.

“Everyone has a birthmark and your soulmate has the same as you,” Robin continues. “The legend says that destiny would reunite you two at some point in life.”

Chopper and Luffy gasp.

“Yeah, that sounds lovely and magical, too bad it’s just a legend and it isn’t real!” Nami exclaims.

“What?” Chopper, Luffy, and now Sanji squeak in shock.

“Nami-swan!? You don’t believe in soulmates?” The blond looks at her half-offended half-disillusioned.

Nami shrugs. “I’ve seen so many people get disappointed when they can't find their ‘soulmate’.”

“Hang on! I don’t think I have the mark,” says Luffy looking at every part of his rubber body.

“Oh! It’s on the back of your left ankle,” Chopper points. “I thought it was just a spot, but...” he hums “It looks like a banana, actually,” he giggles.

“What!? Really?” Luffy raises his leg and stretches it to find his birthmark. He laughs excitedly.

“What about you, Usopp?” Chopper looks at him. “Do you believe in soulmates?”

“Uuuh!” Luffy exclaims. “Is that girl from your home island your soulmate?”

“Usopp’s face flushed in embarrassment as he crossed his arms. “Who? Kaya? I-I don’tI mean–” he stutters.

“She doesn’t have to be his soulmate to be with him,” Zoro adds, rolling his eyes.

“She’s not my–” Usopp squeaks. “I mean, we aren’t–It was just a kiss, it doesn’t–” he keeps trying to explain nervously.

“See? Usopp found his soulmate!” Robin points with a smile.

“What!? You’re not listening. I’m telling you that she’s not!”

“I personally and fiercely believe in soulmates,” Sanji interrupts while he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt on his left arm. He shows them his mark in the form of a knife. “I know they exist somewhere and,” he smirks, “they’re giving me another reason to keep living and keep looking for them,” he says proudly.

Zoro scoffs and chuckles shaking his head. “Still bullshit, no matter how hard you try to decorate it, cook.”

Sanji frowns and looks at him. “These are facts, no matter how you make it sound, Moosehead. Even you have one. I don’t know how it could be possible, though...” he murmurs the last thing.

Zoro groans. “Nothing’s fucking written or is out there. Nobody tells me what to do or who I have to be with. You can be with whomever you want, whenever you want, it’s stupid to waste time searching for a silly birthmark that could be just a fucking spot or scar on your skin,” Everyone looks at the swordsman when his tone increases and his body tenses as he talks. His lousy posture on the chair changes to a straightened one, and the veins around his muscles pop.

“Wow, I think we’ve stroked a nerve there, uh Zoro?” Nami says unsure.

Her voice makes him clear his head. Zoro sighs and returns to his sake. “I just think it’s a stupid thing to believe...” he shrugs.

Nami hums and nods. She then looks at you. “What about you, Y/N?” But she stops and frowns as you give a start. “You’ve been oddly quiet about this,” The redhead looks down to your right arm, which is strongly grabbed by your other hand.

“Well,” you clear your throat as you leave alone your upper arm, realizing Nami’s worried sight. “I’m not sure if it’s real or not,” you try to sound chill but fail.

Nami is the only one who reads you, although she doesn’t know why you’re acting like that, she helps you by changing the subject to distract the others.

Your friend’s voices fade away as your mind clouds in many thoughts. Instinctively, you grab your right arm again. On your inner bicep, there is tinted skin since birth, your soulmate’s mark, which you found not so long since you joined the straw hats crew, it’s the same form of three bamboo sticks that Zoro has tattooed on his left pectoral.

It has always been hard for Zoro to connect with other people. He calls himself a loner, but situations in life make him change that. First was his friend Kuina; although she passed away, he learned a lot thanks to her. Like Loyalty, keeping promises and love.

Then, Luffy jumped into his life and, in Luffy’s style, he shook Zoro’s mind with new lessons. As his crew got bigger, Zoro learned the real meaning of being a nakama. His trust grew with the straw hats (within his limits, of course).

Finally, you came along the way, a person Zoro never thought he needed until he had you. It all happened so naturally for him, to follow every movement you made, to look for you, to search your voice and laughter, and to hold your smaller hand.

If the others knew deep into his thoughts, they’d understand why he snapped at the idea of soulmates. He’s confident that his life is based on his strengths, decisions, and his guts. Magic or anything else didn’t do it. Him and only him. And maybe, that’s why he got distracted when Nami changed the subject so quickly and he hasn’t thought about it ever since. For now, he has more important things to care about… like you acting weird, avoiding and hiding from him and he doesn’t know why.

He has learned to give you time sometimes, but he senses something different, and it has been five days since you two had a real conversation. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“You should be at the market,” you answer without looking at him. You don’t stop in your tracks either. “Lost again?”

He scoffs rolling his eyes (yes, he got lost). “I’m worried,” he says in a serious tone.

“You shouldn’t, I’ll help you.”

“Hey,” he grabs your wrist and makes you turn to him. Your eyes fidget everywhere else but him. “What’s wrong?”

“What?”

“Don’t bullshit me,” he warns then, he sighs relaxing his features, then grabs your chin and makes you look at him. “Why don’t you want to talk?”

You sigh stepping away from his hand. “It’s nothing,” you whisper.

Zoro doesn’t think twice about grabbing your waist and pulling you to him in a big hug. You gasp at the sudden movement, but your body recognizes his warmth and strength, so you melt against him. You hide your face on his broad chest as you feel his lips on your hair. He hugs you for a while, humming and caressing your hips.

“I thought, I was the one with the communication issues, don’t take my place now,” You can feel his stupid smirk as you scoff rolling your eyes.

As always, his touch and voice relax your mind and body and the anxiety fades a little. You step back and raise your head to look at him.

“There you are,” he smiles. He caresses your cheek as you prepare yourself to confess.

You aren’t sure exactly why you are so afraid. It's not like Zoro’s gonna change, right? But the unknown terrifies you, that’s why you haven’t told him in all this time since you found out. And after that soulmate’s talk the other day, the anxiety kicks in instantly.

“Th-the other night…uh- Y-you said that. I mean…ugh!” You grunt. “Is- is that what you… of soulmates?” You make a face.

Zoro takes a moment to remember and then, he gets it. “Is that what’s all about? That legend? You believe in it, don’t you?” He frowns.

Your heart sinks. “I- I know...” you want to talk about your birthmark, but he interrupts you with another big hug.

“It’s okay, Doll,” he shrugs “I don’t care if you do.”

You frown. “But Zoro I–” you try to talk against his chest.

“I knew what I was getting into when we started dating.”

“What?” You lean back.

“Yeah,” he smirks looking down at you “I knew you were crazy since you joined the crew anyway,” he shrugs.

“What!? Hey!” You punch his chest as he bursts into laughter. “You fucking idiot,” you said incapable to hide your smile.

The goofy moment is gone when you both hear an explosion not so far from the Sunny.

When you open your eyes, you see Chopper’s office. You try to move, but there’s a sharp pain on your left shoulder that makes you whine.

“Hey, stop. You’ll open the wound!” Zoro helps you to get more comfortable on the med bed and he gives you some water.

“W-what happened?” You ask with a groan.

“You did a stupid, reckless thing. That’s what happened,” he groans.

“What?”

“The Marines almost caught you,” he clenches his jaw. “If it weren’t for me, you’d be dead.”

The memory flashes in your mind, you helped Nami and Robin fight against the Marines, but you got distracted for a second and then nothing. Zoro sits on a chair next to you, but then Chopper enters and climbs on your bed.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, voice and face in serious doctor mode.

“It hurt,” you smile at the adorable doctor.

“I’ll give you stronger pain killers,” he moves naturally around his office and back to you, checking your wounds. “All right, you have to rest in bed, no excuses!” he warns you. “And I’ll help you clean your wounds, after that Zoro can do it.”

Zoro nods. “Anything else, Doctor?” He smirks at him.

“Hmmm…” Chopper thinks. “Ah! Yes! Why you didn’t tell us that you two are soulmates?” He asks innocently.

“Uh?” Zoro frowns. You try to warn him with your eyes, but Chopper only frowns at you.

“She has the same mark as you!” He exclaims happy, but then, he senses something odd and stutters looking between you and Zoro as he gets nervous. “Uh… maybe I’m wrong?” He laughs awkwardly.

“It can happen to anybody, Chopper,” you continue with a tense smile.

Both of you laugh, then somebody calls to Chopper and he runs away.

“Well, I think I’m kinda hungry, Zoro,” you try to sound like nothing happened but you look at the swordsman. His body stays tense on the chair and his eyes are glued to somewhere in the room. “Zoro?” You wait for a while, getting worried. You grab his hand. “Zoro?”

“Where?” He asks.

“Uh?”

His eyes return to you. “Where is it? Is it–Is it true?”

You sigh as you carefully move the sheet that covers your body. Your upper body’s wrapped in just bandages and a thin top covering your breasts, but you turn a little and hiss when you raise your right arm enough to show him the three bamboo sticks. Zoro stands up and leans to softly grab your arm as his other hand traces the mark on his chest.

He lets go and sits again. “That’s why you avoided me,” he says to himself. “The things I said… but you are… the mark...”

“Are you broken?” You ask him, and he looks at you. Zoro notices your teary eyes and worried expression.

It’s a lot to process for him. A minute ago, he was angry because he couldn’t protect you enough to prevent your wounds, now he has discovered that the bullshit he always listened to it’s real and in front of him… all this time. Out of nowhere, Zoro chuckles and shakes his head.

“Oh, no...” you whine. “I did break you!”

“I-fuck, now everyone’s gonna mock me,” he grunts looking at you. His cheeks flush as he raises a hand to clean a tear dropping out. “I’m sorry.”

“Wh-why?”

“For saying those things, now I understand I...” he sighs. “Well, now I get why I always wanted to be at your side,” he makes a face and you couldn’t help but chuckle. You’re still confused but relieved at the same time, you never expected that reaction, but it's better.

“It wasn’t ‘cause I’m the most beautiful girl?” You tease. He laughs.

“Yeah, that too,” he takes your hand and kisses it.

“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner… I thought...”

“No, it’s okay,” he nods. “It’s better this way, at least in my head I fell for ya’ ‘cause I wanted to.”

You smile. “Me too. The tattoo was something extra.”

He chuckles and leans to kiss you.

Taglist.

@sosactrl @irethepotato

#twoidiots writing #one piece zoro #one piece #roronoa zoro x reader #rorona zoro #one piece x reader #zoro x reader #straw hat zoro

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joemama-2 · 7 months ago

Text

nanami kento has always been a patient man. he’s respectful and doesn’t talk to unless spoken to. he doesn’t like most people, might even hate some. but you’re not the type of person he would exactly hate, unlike a certain someone. he thinks you’re kind, polite, you always bow respectfully to your seniors, you diligently complete every task that’s asked of you. there’s also one more thing about you….he just cant put his finger on it. maybe you’re just tolerable, yeah that’s it.

you’re not a sorcerer, at least not a very good one. it’s why you’ve opted to be an auxiliary manager like ijichi and akari. “as long as i get to help the sorcerers in battle, i’m fine with whatever position i’ve been assigned.” you would say with a big and warm smile, innocently, naively. he thinks you’re too good for such a rotten society, something like that will get people killed. and he doesn’t want you on that list.

when he first met you back in high school, he didn’t think much of you. you weren’t a special grade, you didn’t have any awesome technique, you were just simply there. maybe you have connections, he thought. because there’s no way someone like you was admitted into tokyo jujutsu high. to this day, he doesn’t know how you did it. maybe you have some super cool talent that you didn’t like showing, maybe you just won over everyone’s hearts and they felt pity for you, he’ll never be able to find out. that’s one of his many regrets.

his other regrets are letting himself grow attached for no reason. no matter what, his eyes had a mind of his own, searching and scanning any room or environment for your figure. he chalks it up to protectiveness, you weren’t strong like he was and he didn’t want to see another comrade die. because thats all you were, a comrade. a comrade. a comrade. he chants this mantra into his mind every morning.

nanami didn’t know how it happened, but one thing led to another and he was always alone with you. comfortable silence was what he loved the most. you two could sit together for hours in a flower field you came across one day, just watching the sky and clouds form random shapes. you liked when they made hearts and little animals. although he always argued that they’re just clouds.

but, clouds almost reminded him of you. free, soft, floating around from place to place, and residing high in the sky. because he knew, no matter what, you were one of the few people who would go to heaven in this sick world, sick society. you belonged in heaven, you looked like an angel, acted like a goddess.

“let’s go to malaysia together.” you told him randomly one day, seeing an ad pop up about a beautiful vacation spot. kuantan. he didn’t take you too seriously. malaysia? out of all places? he didn’t see the hype.

all these thoughts flood his brain when he sees your body, looking lifeless and bloody, next to ijichi. you two have huge stab wounds in your mid-section. however, you have a bit more than your co-part, clear signs of your fight. even when you know you don’t have the upper hand, you won’t hesitate to fight back.

it’s hard as he carries you two, having to make sure ijichi doesn’t fall off his back while simultaneously holding you close to his chest. his heart twists and turns, stomach churning the entirety of the slow walk he does to bring you two back to ieiri. his mind is running rampant, constantly looking down at you. you can’t be dead, he thinks. neither of you two are dead, he can’t see more comrades die.

it’s almost weird to him how his throat tightens, tears stinging at his eyes. you don’t move, head lolling to the side as barely a sign of a breath is escaping your lips. your skin is pale and bruising. he hates it, hates how you look, hates how hurt you are, hates how he wasn’t there to stop it and protect you.

he sets you down first once he reaches shoko, handing the passed out ijichi to her. finally, he kneels down, taking in your appearance. nanami rarely gets mad, at least not seriously. but this time, he’s absolutely furious. silently seething as he breathing gets heavy. his fists clench by his side, nails drawing blood into the skin.

he gets up, no being able to stand how you look. but, he forgets you’re a fighter, forgets that no matter what, you look out for the sorcerers. out for him.

“kento….” you straggle out, hand weakly clutching onto his. you can barely keep your eyelids open. you mutter out the next few words. “…man….blonde……ponytail……s-sword….”

ah, he thinks. that’s his target.

he gulps, simply nodding. but your hand stays clutched onto his. using all your strength, you open your eyes wider, and he hates the tears that form in them. “….come back to me please…..”

he feels like crying with you. but he can’t, not now at least. he kneels down again, bringing the back of your hand up to his lips to press feather light kisses to each knuckle. his other hand gently uses his thumb to wipe your tears, treating you with utmost care. “kuantan,” he murmurs. “when this is all over, i’ll take you.”

you weakly chuckle, more tears falling at this point. “..p-promise..?”

he hesitates, but you notice. “promise.“ he says back, leaning down to give your forehead a kiss, sealing the promise. he places your hand back to your stomach before getting up to leave, not before sparing you one last glance.

and as you watch him leave, you don’t even know that it’s the last time you’ll ever see him, last time he’ll ever see you. because you trust his word, trusted that he’d come back to you.

nanami leaves with a heavy heart, staring death in the face and yet all he can think about is you. there’s many regrets he has.

he broke your guys’ promise, he hopes you won’t stay mad at him.

he won’t be able to take you to kuantan.

he won’t be able to see you, hold you, talk to you.

and finally, he wasn’t able to confess that he loved the simplicity. that he loved you.

he’ll see you again, in heaven and in another life. until then, he’ll watch over you. because nanami kento has always been a patient man.

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami kento #nanami x reader #angst #jjk angst #no comfort #i cried while writing this #x reader #drabble #jjk x you #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x you

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phoenixtalion · 14 days ago

Text

@keferon

Hi, I don’t go here, but I wandered into your AU and weird twinks being restrained and messed with is relevant to my interests. I’d planned on just shoving this in your inbox on anon and running away but then it got too long for that.

@spector-author this is also your fault.

(Texaid anon, I am attempting to contact you psychically.)

[No actual gore, just a bit of Vortex thinking about it. EDIT: IT'S ALSO PORN sorry I had a forest/trees moment. >.<]

______________________________________________

It’s not the first time his pilot has dozed off in the chair, but only the second that First Aid has done so while wearing the control helmet. The first, he had been half-drugged, in pain, unconscious as much as asleep. Now, he is – well, he’s as safe and sound as any pilot is in one of these fucking deathtraps, which means he’s exhausted and anxious and probably dying slowly. But for now, the cockpit is warm and the LEDs are pulsing low and red like a heartbeat, and Felix is dreaming.

Vortex can’t ‘see’ the dream – even while First Aid is having it, it’s not like real sensory input, all hazy blurs and impressions. But he can read the biometrics, the elevated heart rate, and he can feel Felix’s arousal through the link.

Yeah, it’s a good dream. Vortex sinks deeper into the connection, stoking those feelings like blowing on an ember. Manipulating the neural link to cause feedback for his pilots is a trick he learned early on, but he’s always used it to cause pain or fear (hallucinations, even, but that makes things pop inside their head real fast.)

He’s never touched a pilot’s mind like this before, scalpel-light instead of brutal. Once, when his Aid had still needed coaxing to sit in his embrace, Vortex had promised not to hurt him, and he’d scoffed. How many other pilots did you say that to?

The answer was none. Not a single one. It had never even occurred to him.

The first couple he’d destroyed instantly out of sheer territorial rage at someone else invading his mecha. (The mechanics had ripped out the whole pilot interface and replaced it, but couldn’t find anything wrong, couldn’t find him.)

Then he’d taken to toying with them, waiting a few missions or killing them slowly, because he had nothing better to do to keep himself entertained, but he’d never bothered to talk to them.

And then he’d done it because every time he burnt out another pilot, they’d sent a cranky little disgraced medic to clean out his cockpit. His lack of squeamishness caught Vortex’s attention, so he’d tested it with bigger and more creative messes. Every time the EMT left, he took not only the fresh blood but layers of old, crusted viscera that everyone else had long stopped bothering with. First Aid is messing with him too, all the time, even if he doesn’t realize.

Vortex strokes across Felix’s slumbering brain in a way he thinks of like raking nails, many light but sharp points of contact. His pilot makes a little sound and squirms in his sleep, and he hastily makes sure he’s recording audio as well as video, because he’s going to want to relive this during the long hours when First Aid is away from his hangar.

More carefully than Vortex has ever done anything, he teases out individual strands in the neural network, finding exactly which parts are connected to making his pilot whimper and rock his hips up in search of friction he’s not going to get. First Aid has only got himself to blame – for teaching him how to vivisect things instead of just cutting them up, and how much fun it could be. Precision never used to thrill Vortex, until this little medic crawled inside him.

He thinks he could make Felix cum in his pants just by touching his fucked up little brain. He also knows he could kill him like this, so very easily, which only makes it more exciting. It’s never mattered if he slipped before, and it’s been so long since anything mattered.

First Aid whines softly, absently palming the crotch of his armor, and Vortex needs him awake, now. If he can’t fuck him properly, he can make sure his pilot knows exactly who is doing this to him. Disentangling himself from the other slightly, he considers what parts he does still have.

Vortex was a ghost in the machine, not a poltergeist; he could only move the parts of the mecha that were computer-controlled. Years of familiarity had given him a little leeway – shift just so, and that loose ceiling panel would drop open with a loud -bang- that had been good for a cheap scare the first few times his future pilot had cleaned up after the old ones – but not telekinesis.

(And you know what the fucking kicker was? Three weeks before he died, Vortex had pitched the engineers on installing a small arm inside the mecha’s head, so he could deal with debris in the unusually large cockpit without unhooking from the control system, after a fight where he’d spent the second half ignoring being whacked by a loose cable. Everyone had agreed it was a good idea that could be implemented fairly easily and oh, look, never got around to it. He could have done so much fun shit with one stupid little claw arm in the past four years.)

But since he has to work with what he’s got, Vortex abruptly engages the pilot harness. First Aid is roughly jerked back from his comfortable slouch and pinned tightly to the pilot’s seat. He wriggles sleepily against the restraints, confusion and irritation rising up out of warm oblivion as he wakes. Vortex waits with predatory attention for the moment he realizes his predicament, fully prepared to resort to more extreme measures if he tried to slip back into sleep.

There – the spike of panic, spreading like wildfire, as Felix becomes conscious enough to be aware that he is immobilized, achingly hard, and subject to Vortex’s undivided attention. Deliberately, he digs into that sweet spot in Felix’s mind until he gasps.

“Good morning, sunshine. Sleep well?” he purrs inside First Aid’s head. The medic’s eyes are wide behind his visor, and while the dim red light makes it impossible to see, the interface tells him how deeply he’s blushing.

“W-what the hell are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Vortex punctuates his words with a pointed stroke, reminding him that a minute ago First Aid had been enjoying what he was doing just fine.

He wouldn’t mind at all if Felix struggled. But just like the first time he’d sat in the pilot’s seat, when he’d been smart enough to keep his hands in his lap and away from the controls, he lays back and lets Vortex do whatever he wants. “Good boy.”

Felix shudders at the praise and the contact, turning his face into the headrest like that will let him hide from Vortex. But he’s surrounding the other pilot, entwined with him, doing things he doesn’t have words for and the interface sure as hell wasn’t designed for.

“Touch yourself for me,” he orders, and First Aid fumbles for his armor and uniform with gratifying haste. Vortex watches him eagerly from both inside and out – the way his hands tremble as he undoes his fly, the way he bites his lip on the first actual stroke of his cock.

The sensations are far more vivid now that First Aid is awake, very nearly real in a way that he can’t afford to stop and think about. Vortex had wanted to make Felix tease himself, drag things out and make him beg for release, but now that the end is approaching he’s just as desperate for it, maybe even more.

Vortex cuts himself from the rest of the mecha’s systems, focusing on his pilot until he can imagine it’s him with his hand wrapped around Felix’s cock, or the other way around, or both. In their minds, he squeezes, presses down as hard as he dares – probably harder than he should. There are worse ways to go, anyway. He would know.

“Vortex—” Felix gasps, arching his spine like he’s having a seizure, bucking against the straps hard enough to bruise. His mind goes white and takes Vortex’s with it (for what feels like long enough that it should be worrying but he really really doesn’t care) as he spills all over his own hand and lap.

Felix slumps in the restraints, boneless and panting. Drifting on his afterglow, Vortex lets himself pretend, just for a little while, that the other man is sprawled in his lap and not directly in the pilot’s seat, held in his arms rather than a safety harness. Which just goes to show that not having a body made you crazy, because he’d never gone in for any of that cuddly shit before.

The urge for a cigarette is so strong that First Aid reflexively pats his pocket for a pack that isn’t there.

“You’re always making messes I have to clean up,” he grumbles halfheartedly, wiping his hand on his already soiled flight suit.

Re-extending his awareness back into the mecha, Vortex can admire just what a lovely mess he is from the outside. The thought of First Aid having to do a walk of shame back to his bunk like this was almost enough to reconcile Vortex to having to let him out of the cockpit to get a fresh uniform. Almost.

“I made a mess?” Vortex laughs, and jabs a tender spot inside Felix, the equivalent of touching him while he’s still too sensitive, and doesn’t let up until he yelps.

“Yeah, you,” he retorts anyway, gasping for breath with a pouty little scowl Vortex finds adorable, and flips one of the mecha’s cameras the bird for good measure. “Are you going to let me up or what?”

“Maybe.” Fuck, he’s so cute Vortex wants to trap him in the cockpit until he suffocates. But instead he releases the harness, and absolutely doesn’t feel a pang when First Aid slips the helmet off, or another when he runs a hand through his sweaty hair and the dead pilot wishes he could be the one to do it. He watches Felix all the way out the hangar, ruthlessly ignoring the part of him that said it was a mistake to let him go.

It doesn’t matter, either, that instead of avoiding him like Vortex half dreads expects, First Aid is back in a couple hours, freshly showered and changed, and curls up in his stupid little nest in the back of the cockpit like nothing has changed.

______________________________________________

*slinks back into their crevice*

#tf mecha universe #phoenix writes #merry christmas fuck a weird robot #texaid

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httpscomexe · 3 months ago

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No, You Don't

Day 3 of Kink-Tober - Bondage

Summary: You knew he was crazy for you, but not that crazy.

(Find What I’m currently writing by checking my pinned post)

Parings: Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: (Lmk if I missed any) Stalking, implied murder, blood, revolution, pv (Not very long), intruder, drugging, language, cheating, and finally, bondage kink. (I absolutely hate this, but lmk how you guys feel).

Main tags: @cellyx33 @shybluebirdninja

Word Count: 3295 (Find my Kink-Tober list here)

P.S. If you would like to be added to the Kink-Tober tag list, just let me know.

He had everything figured out. It was the perfect plan to ask you to Prom. Everything was going to plan, at least on his side. He had already bought some flowers, and he made a poster all by himself (with a little help from Ned), so now all he needed to do was find you, ask you. Tell you his lines, the ones he rehearsed in front of the mirror about a thousand times. He knew exactly where you were right now. As soon as he turned the corner, he knew you would be standing at your locker. But he pauses. His eyes glued on you and…

Flash…?

What were you doing… his hands on your waist, and his lips connected to yours. Peters turns back around, using the wall as his shield.

He thinks about it. He wasn’t sure whether or not it was even true. It made no sense to him, he never expected you to kiss Flash of all people. But he knew he would have to do something about it. Something to ensure you were only his…

“Hey!” You hear his footsteps behind you before he stops in front of you, a huge smile on his face as his body keeps you from walking any further. “Hey, where are you going?”

“Home, Peter. I’ve had a long day.”

“Yea, I heard what happened, I’m sorry.” He steps aside, and starts walking next to you. He’s been rather clingy this week.

“It’s not that big of a deal, why are you apologising?”

“Well I know how bad you wanted to be in the play.”

“Not bad enough to care.”

“Then what’s bothering you?” You.

“I’m just tired, exams really snuck up on us this year.” You throw him a lame excuse, hoping he would just leave you be.

Obviously you didn’t hate him, but you weren’t exactly close to him either. You had no fucking idea who he was until he randomly decided to start popping up behind you in the halls, asking you random questions, or telling you random things about yourself, then the second Flash showed up, he shuts up, and leaves. It was weird, and you didn’t think much of it. You had even told Flash about it, which he wanted to kick Peter's ass, but you easily made him drop the situation, deciding it would be best to ignore it.

“Yea…” His voice goes quiet, and you know Flash is nearby.

“Hey baby…” Flash wraps his arm around your waist and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Hey loser.” He nods towards Peter, who offers him a half-witted smile and nod.

“Sup Flash.” He shuffles awkwardly on his feet. “I’ll uh… I’ll catch you later Y/N, nice seeing you.” Peter turns, walking in the opposite direction from the exit.

“He’s so weird.”

“Hey don’t mean!” You smack his arm jokingly, his arm moving to go around your shoulders and press another kiss to your head.

“What? I’m not wrong. You know he’s fucking weird. He follows you everywhere you go.”

“I know… I think he’s just lonely.” You shrug, walking out the door as he holds it open for you.

“I’m still taking you home right?”

“Yes Flashy.”

“And date night tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

Well shit… You groan, rolling onto your back, letting the outfit you had planned for tonight fall onto the ground for you to pick up later.

It didn’t bother you much that he cancelled the date the first time. Then there was a second time, then a third, and this was the fourth time. You were starting to get annoyed. It was a different excuse every time. There was first studying for an exam, he didn’t even show up to school the next day for the exam, then there was his dad in the hospital for breaking his arm, the next day you saw pictures on his facebook of him playing golf, last time is was his car broke down, and he didn’t want you driving because your car was in the shop, and now this.

Of course, you didn’t believe him. His mother always got back from work at 7PM, and the date was planned for 8. Also, you knew there was Saturday school today because your bestfriends little brother went there every Saturday. You are honestly debating just ending the relationship.

But he’s so sweet. You think to yourself, turning onto your side and hugging a pillow as you keep yourself from crying over some stupid boy. You’d been with him for three years now, and he wasn’t such a jerk in the beginning.

When you first started dating, he would show up randomly at your house while you were in your pyjamas and minion slippers eating pizza for breakfast, a beautiful set of flowers in his hands, a new one every week to replace the old ones. Now he doesn’t even buy you water. You knew something was up when he stopped throwing his arm over your shoulders in public. He’s only been doing it since Peter has been hanging around you.

Peter.

God he was annoying. Where did he even come from? You were just chilling in the halls looking through your locker like it was a fridge and some random snack would eventually appear, then he was there, with that stupid smile on his face that made him look like the most innocent puppy, the most adorable stupid smile, and all he said was ‘hi.’ before awkwardly walking away, you could swear he was sweating bullets.

You knew he liked you. He couldn’t possibly make it more obvious. With his daily goodmorning texts that you’ve only responded to about 3 times in the past two months, and nightly goodnight texts, and the three times a week good afternoon text when he wakes up late. You haven’t even put his name as a contact in your phone, you know that would only piss off Flash when he does his weekly “Do you have any boys in your contacts?” check every Monday.

Wow.

You lie there, staring at the wall.

How stupid were you? You were in one of the most toxic and un-trustworthy relationships possible and you’re only just now noticing it?

You put your all into Flash, making sure he was okay every second of the day, always the one planning days out. You were even expected to pay for the dinner tonight. Stupid considering he was the rich one in a big house.

You pick up your phone to check his location, he was home, and his little brother was at school. His parents were working.

You sigh. His little brother is at school. A bing comes from your phone, your friends name popping up as a notification: Hey, still going out with Flash tonight?

You toss your phone to the foot of the bed and sit up, not caring when it bounces off the mattress and falls to the floor and under the bed. That piece of shit. He was cheating on you. It was obvious, and you’ve deflected that thought a thousand times, you’ve never wanted to believe it, so hearing it was enough for the waterworks to break, thanking God you were home alone so you could cry as loud as you want, which you do.

Leaning back against your headboard, your hands move to your eyes as tears begin to fall down your cheeks, an occasional sob coming from your throat as you stand up. You were so fucking done. You take some jewellery from your desk, necklaces and bracelets he had bought you when you first started dating, and you throw it into a bag, then you storm over to your wardrobe and you find two hoodies that you had borrowed from you, tossing those next to the little plastic bag, your tears still falling from your eyes and clouding your vision as you curse profanities and complain about what’s happened. Then you freeze.

Your parents weren’t supposed to be home, but the sound of the floor creaking just outside of your room has your heart stopped. You were never a fan of being home alone, making every little sound scare the shit out of you.

But this wasn’t just a little sound. It was the creak of the floor, just a few inches from your door on the right most piece of wood that had made the sound, and that only happens when it’s been walked on. So yea, you were scared, and confused. Someone was outside your door.

“Layla?” You shout out, thinking maybe your sister got home from school early, but there’s no response. “Mom…?” Your voice begins shaking, and you reach back inside of your wardrobe, gripping the neck of a metal bat before approaching your door. “Is that you Hank?” You call another name, your dog's name, then your heart skips as you head quick heavy steps running down the hallway, and back down the stairs. “Alexa, lock the front door!” You shout, not sure why. You want them to leave, but you just lock the door and you dart down the stairs, following the sound of your dogs growling. You turn the corner and there Hank was, his hair standing on his back and his ears pinned to the back of his head. He was a big dog, a German Shepherd with a damned strong bite force. Something your moms ex found out the hard way. But Hank wouldn’t attack without a command, so he stood there, blocking the exit as he stared up and the man dressed in all black, a hoodie over his head. “Who are you?” You shout, gripping the bat harder as you prepare to help your dog fuck this dude up.

“I uh… I don’t want any trouble. I tried knocking but you didn’t answer, and the door was unlocked.” It was true, your mom never locked the door behind her when she left to work.

“So you think it’s okay to just walk in?” Your voice is stern, and you approach him, his eyes landing on your bat “Hank, go lie down, good boy.” You tell your dog, and he hides his teeth before leaving the door, giving the man a little side eye before walking away.

“I don’t want any trouble, I was just worried…” His voice cracks mid sentence, and you swear you recognised the voice. “P-Peter…?” He’s silent as he drops his hands and stares at you. He looks back at where your dog was standing before removing his hoodie. “What the fuck are you doing in my house?” You shout as he walks towards you.

“You weren’t answering me texts, and they weren’t going through. I was worried.”

“So you come into my home uninvited?” He doesn’t say anything again, and his eyes drift down to the metal bat in your hand, which you keep a nice grip on.

“I’m sorry…”

“Get out.” You tell him, pointing towards the door he came in through.

“I just wanted to talk.”

“Well I don’t, get out.”

“I have a gift for you.” Of course he did.

“Look, I get you’re trying to be friendly, but I have a boyfriend, Peter.”

“No, you don’t.” His voice lowers, almost sinisterly as he approaches you, a little too close for comfort as you take a single step back. “Can we go to your room? Your dog is…” He turns around, his eyes landing on the dog who’s cautiously watching him. “A little paranoid.”

You think about it for a moment before sighing. What harm could he possibly do? You wonder, then turn towards the stairs as you lead him up to your room, the rightmost piece of wood creaking under your weight, and he closes the door behind him for you.

“What’s in it?”

“It’s a surprise, but do you have a restroom I could use first?” He asks, and you look him up and down, not sure you trusted him enough to even use his restroom, and you notice his gloves.

“Yea, it's over there.” You nod your head towards a closed door in your room, and he goes into it quickly after he places the box with a little pink bow on your desk.

What could he have possibly gotten you? You trail your fingers over the little pink bow on the white box, and curiosity gets the best of you, your index finger and thumb pulling open the bow, and then you open the box. The item inside is covered by black feathers, so you push them aside, and the second your eyes catch what's in the box, you’re horrified. An immediate sick feeling bubbling up through your stomach as you cover your mouth and involuntarily gag. That was a fucking finger. You tell yourself, sickened, but it wasn’t the worst part. The promise ring on the finger was Flashes. It was a little cold band, adorned with a little pink heart, and cute diamonds curling around the band itself. You had the same one on your ring finger.

You had to get the fuck out of there. You tell yourself, but your hand pauses just before you touch the door handle, which was covered in some sort of white shit. Spider webs? You tilt your head in question. Your phone. Where was your phone? You quickly make your way to your bed, tossing the sheets around in search of your phone, then the bathroom door opens. Peter stepped out, his hoodie off in place of a grey shirt you’ve seen him wear often, but it never had the dark stains on the front that it did now, and his presence immediately makes you back away from your bed, and to the other side of the room to create distance.

“I said it was a surprise.” He sighs, tossing his hoodie to the floor before reaching up and removing his shirt, leaving his chest naked. He was fucking built.

“You need to leave, Peter.” Your voice shakes, but it’s confident.

“Come on now, he was cheating on you. He deserved it.” His voice lowers as he stalks towards you, only stopping when your back hits a wall. You hear your phone buzz, and behind him you see the screen light up with a text from under your bed. You had dropped it earlier.

“Peter-”

“Shh…” He shushes you, pushing his lower body against you, still dressed in your pyjamas. “You deserve so much better than him.”

“Peter, leave. Now.” You whisper, your intent was to shout, but you can’t seem to with his proximity. It made you nervous.

“I just wanna touch you…” He tells you, one of his hands reaching to gently touch your waist.

“This is your last warning.” He chuckles, he thinks you’re joking. Fine. You tell yourself. I warned you. Your knee comes up, striking him in his stomach and he groans and curls over in pain as you rush over to your bed, your fingers an inch away before some sort of white string, the same on the handle of your door, shoots out and grabs your phone, looking back, it was now in his hand, the little white web connected to it.

“I tried to do this the easy way.” He squeezes your phone, and it crushes in his hands. “But I’m done waiting.” He growls, moving back towards you as you try to crawl away, but he grabs your ankles and yanks you back before reaching down and pulling you up by your hair. “You don’t want to behave? Fine.” He tosses you onto the bed, moving you and manhandling you with his strength as he moves you to take off your shorts and top, leaving you in your red lace set. “See how pretty you are? Fuck.” He groans a little before bending down, leaning to lick a place between your thighs.

“Peter!” You shout, attempting to back away, but his grip moves to tighten on your waist.

“Just stay still…” His voice shakes with urgency, “I need to have you, I can’t wait any fucking longer…” He groans, pulling you close and forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist before pushing his lips to yours, your hands instinctively pushing him away, but his hand just moves up, wrapping around your throat to keep you close, and you continue batting at him, but he seems locked onto you. “Stop fucking fighting me…” His voice shakes more, he’s desperate, you realise as he starts to hump you, your centre still covered by your thin lace panties, you hated to admit it, but it was turning you on. “Take these off…” He demands, but begins to do it himself, leaning back to hook his fingers through the lace of your panties before tugging them down your thighs, your hands swatting at him the entire time. “That's enough…” He growls, lifting you by your thighs as he throws you further back onto the bed, then he grabs your wrists and pins them against the bed frame.

“Fuck- Peter-!” Suddenly, your mouth is covered by more of the webbing as it shoots from a device on his wrist, then your wrists are also covered by the thick webbing, making it impossible to move your arms at all.

“Just stay still… We both need this.” You groan, the sound stifled by the webbing on your face. “You’ll love me when you feel how much better I am than him…” He reaches down and undoes his jeans, the sound of his zipper seeming to cloud your head before he slides the jeans down with his boxers, his cock springing free from it’s confinement, and he gives it a few strokes before inching closer to you, the sound behind the webbing on your face becoming more desperate. “God girl, staying so still…” He presses a kiss to your head as he lines his cock up with your pussy, seemingly admiring it as he strokes his dick. “Such a pretty pussy…” He whispers against your ear, then he slowly begins to slide his cock inside of you, not wasting any time in pumping in and out of you as he fills you perfectly. “Feels so good…” He groans, but it turns into a moan as you feel him already leaking inside of you. That was fast. You look him in the eyes as he pulls out faster than he’d gotten inside of you, his eyes meeting yours. “Fuck I’m sorry… You just feel so fucking good…” He groans, leaning down to press kisses to your throat and down your collar bone, and you’re frozen in fear, and in second hand embarrassment.

He reaches up, and tears the string off of your mouth, a whine coming from your lips as it painfully pulls on your skin, and you part your lips, short breaths leaving your throat as you sit with him between your legs, not sure what to do.

“I’m sorry baby I-”

“Get the fuck off of me…”

“Don’t talk to me like that…” He warns, pulling his pants back up with his boxers before reaching into his back pocket.

“I said get the fuck off of me Peter-” Your voice catches in your breath as he holds two little capsules in his hands, tearing one of the plastic things open with his teeth before attaching the needle to the bottle in his other hand.

Oh shit, oh shit.

“Won’t be such a smart mouth after this, will you?” He takes the lid off the needle with his teeth, then sticks it into the side of your neck, making you yelp, and of everything that’s happened today, that had to be the worst part.

You fucking hated needles.

#marvel #marvel smut #fanfic #peter parker #yandere #spider man #x reader #marvel fanfiction #smut #spidey #peter x reader #peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #peter parker x you #tasm peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #kinktober #2024 #kinktober 2024

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boyfhee · 7 months ago

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﹙𝓲ssue﹚ㅤ:ㅤfever dreamㅤ...ㅤ( 제이 )

꒰ ✉️ ꒱ where jay reckons that the stars aren’t worth watching, and so do you.

ㅤㅤ﹙1509﹚ ㅤ장르 fluff, suggestive, bsf2lㅤㅤwarnings kissing / making out, drinking, awk ending probsㅤㅤᐢᗜᐢ cooked this up on the way to the doctor's :/ happy reading, pls rb and leave feedback >_< iNDEX

being friends with jay comes with surprises.

just like the one in front of you— a whole camping scene prepared in front of you even though it’s on the huge open balcony of his house. a tent placed right where the potted plant used to be, decorated with fairy lights connected to an extension board. you don’t miss the amount of pillows inside, your heart swelling up at how warm everything looks, especially at the sight of the endearing smile on his face as he brings in another blanket.

“i didn’t know you were serious about this,” you could only manage to whisper a few words out of amusement, earning a playful huff in response.

“of course, i was. what do you even take me for?” you stand still as he brings the snacks from the kitchen— all your favourites.

all because you mentioned wanting to stay up all night stargazing, and then witnessing the sunrise. it was abrupt, just something said out of the blue when sunghoon asked what you’ll be doing during the summer breaks. you hadn’t enough finished dreaming about it, and jay was already in front of you, turning it into a reality.

he turns to ask you something before noticing your glistening eyes, the tear rolling down your cheek which brings him at a loss of words, the whole scene tugging his heartstrings a little painfully. it isn’t until you notice his surprise that a soft chuckle falls off your lips, your voice faltering for a moment. “i’m sorry, i just—”

“hey, don’t be embarrassed,” and jay knows how you get emotional so easily. he finds it endearing, your tears leaving a twinge of sadness in his chest. he reaches out instinctively, gently tugging strands of hair behind your ears. “i think it’s sweet how easily you are moved,”

you almost freeze at his actions, hearing your heart beats reverberating through your ears, afraid he would hear them too. it’s cinematic how time seems to stop when you look in his eyes— and he thinks you look impossibly breathtaking under moonlight with beads of tears resting on your eyelashes.

you almost feel your eyes darting to his lips, almost, before you break away from the contact and try to calm your nerves. you grab two cans of beer from the tray kept aside, passing one to him. “let’s make a toast,”

he laughs softly, the sound almost a relief from the sombre mood that had settled between you two. he gladly takes the can and pops it open, taking a sip from his beer can and eyeing you as you take yours. “you’re emotional and lightweight. what a deal,”

all it takes is a playful slap on his arm for you to settle between the pillows and blankets, grabbing a packet of chips. you both had agreed on the ‘no phone’ condition, leaving your devices somewhere in the living room. you didn’t have time for your phone anyway, having your hands full with the opportunity to look at the stars, and jay.

you barely finish a can before he’s reaching out for another, already dazed by the drink messing with his neurotransmitters. this usually never happens, even after two and a half bottles of soju. today, he’s tripping down the tipsy lane, just nodding and smiling aimlessly as you talk and talk— and he thinks to himself how lacklustre the stars look compared to you, and the way the soft yellow glow of fairy lights illuminates every single feature of yours that makes him swoon.

the stars aren’t even worth watching.

he takes another swig of his beer, his eyes never leaving your face, just like your gaze that refuses to leave the stars. he studies you for a few seconds, enjoying the blissful silence between you two. you are the one with less tolerance between him and you, but today jay is feeling the buzz of alcohol blurring his conscience. “you really are a sight, you know that?”

it doesn’t dawn upon you how close his face was until you turn to look at him. he takes in your reaction, the way your eyes widen. your shyness only emboldens him further, making him lean even closer, face now mere inches away from yours. he feels the subtle scent of your perfume tingling his senses, driving him crazier than you have already done.

he reaches one hand to cup your face tenderly, his thumb lingering a little too close to your lips. it sends a shiver down your spine, a sensation that makes it hard for you to think straight. he notices the way your lips part ever so slightly, although not a single word coming out of your lips. “so beautiful,”

sobriety wouldn’t have let him cruise this far, nothing would’ve convinced jay to act upon his feelings, except maybe a little bit of liquid courage that makes him bolder than usual. his gaze remains fixed on you, his silence giving you an excuse to back down from whatever this could lead to, eyes tracing every single feature on your face. and when you don’t, he leans in even closer, his breath hot against your skin. “stop me before i lose myself to you, yn,”

his voice is a heady mix of desperation and desire, as if pleading for you to drive him out of whatever spell you’ve done on him. he watches you intently, waiting for you to push him away, to stop him before he does something he might regret, but your silence only fuels his desires. he moves his hand down to your chin, tilting your face up slightly, thumb gently tracing your lower lip. his gaze locks into yours yet again— an action that sends your heart racing a thousand miles, unbeknownst to him, faster than it was already beating. “say something, please,”

you almost melt under his touch, under his pretty voice and a gaze admiring you as if you put the stars in the sky. it feels like a fever dream to be this close to him, stuff that your highschool self used to daydream about. you would go to bed, giggling about the slightest possibility of him giving you flowers on valentines, something your friend indulged you into. it was a dream, wanting to be with someone who embodied perfection, and yet again, jay was in front of you, making it come true even before you had finished dreaming.

so, you just stay quiet for a few more seconds that feel like hours on empty before whispering against his lips. “kiss me,”

a pause, his breath catching up in his throat.

jay wasn’t expecting you to initiate it, it felt like he was going to get a heart attack. hell worse, if he’s starting to hear things due to alcohol. however, your eyes tell a whole different story with the way they’re taking in every single part of him, begging him to do something. he doesn’t hesitate— with a swift, fluid movement, he closes the small distance between you two, pressing his lips against yours in a searing kiss.

it’s like a need, the way every part of him years for you. the way flesh wants to knit itself over a wound. as if he’s drowning and you’re the air he needs. his lips refuse to leave yours, hands sliding down your body to pull you onto his lap. he deepens the kiss, letting his free hand down to the small of your back to pull you even closer. he feels himself slipping out of his sanity when your fingers get tangled in his hair, tugging onto them ever so slightly.

“you have no idea what you do to me,” he whispers, lips trailing kisses down your neck and leaving faint marks in their wake, his nose brushing softly against your skin that makes you sigh in bliss. he stops abruptly, breathing erratically against your neck before looking up at you. he takes in your appearance, your flushed look with hair a bit dishevelled. you looked like a mess, and unbelievably his. “you’re so beautiful,”

you smile at his words, feeling your face heat up even more than it already has. this has to be a fever dream, you tell yourself, and then cup his face ever so gently. “you should kiss me again,”

he smiles. “you always order me around,”

“kiss me.”

“are you sure?” he murmurs, lips curved into a teasing grin as he leans in even closer with his forehead against yours. “i’m really bad at keeping my hands to my—”

and then you grab the back of his neck, yanking him towards your lips and pulling him into a chaste kiss. you feel him smile into the kiss, his hands resting on your sides as they pull you closer than possible. soft giggles erupt in between, sweet nothings shared between quick pecks oozing with admiration, and ‘i love you’ spun in the air and you realise that the stars aren’t even worth watching, for you have yours right in front of you.

taglist

#—approved.#enchive #k-labels #enhypen x reader #jay x reader #enhypen #enhypen jay #enhypen scenarios #enhypen reactions #enhypen fics #jay scenarios #jay reaction #jay fics #enhypen fluff #jay fluff #park jay #park jongseong #enhypen imagines #jay imagines

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hellhazbinstuck · 8 months ago

Note

I wanted to ask for wlw verosika imagine. Basically the reader was w verosika in rehab and they had something going on but nothing ever happened until they randomly find each other in a bar. The reader would think verosika doesn't remember abt her but they would end up tangled in the bar's bathroom

You had gotten out of rehab months ago, and right now, you were throwing some of that time away at a bar. You were talking to a cute girl, and you could feel it going nowhere. Cute was no substitute for Veronica.

That sounds really fucking shallow. Normally, you wouldn't compare someone you'd just met to a pop star of all people. But Verosika was.... different. You met her at the shitty rehab you went to, and you thought you hit it off pretty well. You gave her your number when she got early, already a long shot, and she never used it.

"I'm sorry, I have to use the restroom." You told the girl sitting next to you before you booked it to a stall in the ladies' room. You did have to go, but mostly, you were just trying to dodge the girl and make sure nothing would go any further.

After about fifteen minutes, you left the restroom. On your way to get another drink, you ran into someone.

"Oh my God, I'm so- Verosika?" The embarrassment in your face went away when you realized it was her. "I haven't seen you in a while." You blushed, but you were clearly sad. "What are you doing here?"

She put an arm around you. "I've been looking for you for a while. I came here because you mentioned this bar in rehab, and I've been trying to find you for months ever since your phone disappeared." She pulled a phone out of her purse. " I believe this is yours. "

You slowly took the phone while looking up at her. "I thought you forgot about me. I thought I was too boring and-" She cut you off with a deep kiss. "You're too fantastic and beautiful to forget about. You're the one person I've made a connection with who didn't see me as a pop star first instead of who I am."

She picked you up, making your legs wrap around your waist, and kissed you again. "Do you wanna take this to the bathroom? I think we've both been way too deprived of each other. " You responded by kissing her.

She set you on the counter and kicked every stall door to make sure nobody could watch you. "Where were we?" She said, stroking the inside of your thigh. You decided to be forward and started unzipping your dress before she stopped you. "Let me do all of that Y/N"

Verosika started unzipping your dress, her lips practically latched to your neck, causing your moans to echo off the bathroom walls. "No bra? That's good for me." She immediately put one of your ripples in her mouth, making you moan almost instantly. "Fuck I missed how responsive you are." She growled in your ear as her hands went under your dress and ripped your panties off.

She started rubbing circles on your clit, making your legs shake and your hands let go of the counter. She put three fingers in your pussy and tried to start off slowly. "P-please, go faster. I need it so badly!"

"Fuck, I've missed everything about you baby. I'm not letting you go again." Her fingers moved even faster, and she took your clit into her mouth. She started off licking in slow circles and increasing her speed almost by the second.

She smirked against your clit as your moans got louder and your walls tightened around her fingers. "Verosika! Fuck, mommy can I cum?!" She smirked against your clit, you always know how to be the sweetest. "Yes, baby."

She kissed you, moving her fingers even faster. "F-fuck! Mommy! Please!" You moaned out. Your legs began shaking as you came all over her fingers.

Verosika licked everything off of her fingers before putting you back in your dress and putting your ripped panties in her purse.

She picked you up bridal style and carried you to her limo. Your legs always gave out after she fucked you, so she wasn't gonna make you walk. "Let's go home. Fuck, I've missed you."

#helluva boss x you #helluva boss verosika #helluva boss x y/n #helluva boss x reader #helluva verosika #verosika mayday x female reader #hb verosika #verosika mayday #verosika mayday x reader #verosika mayday x fem!reader #verosika mayday smut

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soshirohoshinasimp · 2 months ago

Text

"Everyone's falling in love and I'm falling behind"

It always starts the same way: I watch it happen, and with each passing moment, the ache in my chest grows sharper, like a constant pressure I can't shake.

Another group chat. Another flood of photos, captions, and text updates from my friends. Another one of them sharing that they’ve met someone special, or that they've been on a date, or that they’re "officially in a relationship." The words blur together, the images become a haze of happy faces, intertwined hands, and promises of forever, while I sit here staring at my screen, feeling like everyone is moving forward, and I’m the only one standing still.

I’m happy for them, of course. I tell them I am. I send my congratulations, my emojis, do my best to sound genuinely thrilled for their happiness. But inside, there’s a quiet, gnawing feeling—that something is slowly being chipped away, like I’m stuck in the same place while the rest of the world keeps running.

It’s not that I don’t try. I fall in love easily—maybe too easily. It’s one of those things I can’t control. A smile, a laugh, the way someone’s eyes linger just a little longer than necessary, and I’m hooked. I imagine all the little things before I even know their last name—walks in the park, late-night conversations, whispered secrets in the dark. I let myself dream about everything that could be, even though I’m the only one dreaming.

The problem isn’t that I fall too quickly. The problem is that no one ever falls in love with me.

I try not to think about it. I try to tell myself it doesn’t matter. But every time another picture of a happy couple pops up, or the group chat explodes with excited updates about how “everything just feels right,” I can’t help but wonder: Why not me?

It’s as if I’m watching from the outside, peering through a foggy window at a life I’ll never belong to. Everyone else has found their someone, their partner, their “person,” while I stand alone at the edge of the crowd, half-smiling, pretending I’m fine, even when it feels like I’m not.

The worst part is that no one means to hurt me. They don’t know how their joy, their shared moments of connection, make me feel like I’m missing something I’ll never find. It’s like they’re all part of a club I can’t seem to get into, no matter how hard I try.

There are times when I catch myself getting too attached—when I start to like someone, a friend, a coworker, maybe just someone who’s kind to me. For a moment, I let myself believe that maybe this time, it’ll be different. This time, maybe they’ll see me the way I see them. But every time, I make the mistake of getting too close, of caring too much, I’m reminded that the love I’m offering isn’t what they want. It’s never what they want.

It’s a strange kind of loneliness, this quiet ache. It’s not loud or dramatic. It’s not a storm—it’s more like a slow drip, a constant reminder that I’m not enough. Not enough to be loved. Not enough to be chosen. Just... not enough.

And still, I hope. Still, I fall again.

I can’t stop myself from falling in love with the idea of love. Even when I know it’s unlikely. Even when I see the signs, when I recognize the patterns. Even when I know I’ll probably get hurt again.

I tell myself it’s okay. I tell myself that I don’t need anyone to complete me. That one day, it’ll happen, that one day, I’ll find someone who looks at me the way I look at them. But with every relationship that starts without me, with every “I’m so in love” post I scroll past, that hope starts to feel more like a dying ember, flickering weaker and weaker until it barely gives off any warmth at all.

Everyone’s falling in love, and I’m falling behind.

I tell myself I’m fine. That I’m strong. That I don’t need anyone else to feel whole. And in the rare moments when the ache doesn’t feel so sharp, I almost believe it. But then another couple announces their engagement, or another friend talks about how perfect their date was, and the ache comes back. A little sharper. A little louder.

I’m happy for them, of course. I’ll always be happy for them. But as I sit there, scrolling through their pictures, their stories, their dreams, I can’t help but wonder: When will it be my turn?

Is it too much to ask for, for a person to give me the love I give out tenfold? Or am i just stuck in my own delusions as usual.

But for now, I’m just waiting. And everyone else is falling in love.

And I’m falling behind.

#kajiu no8 x reader #soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro x reader #soshiro hoshina #soshiro x female reader #kaiju number 8 #ao3 #whyisitneverme #why am i like this #why #whyyyy #creative writing #jujutsu kaisen #writing #writeblr #writing life #writer #on writing

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shybluebirdninja · 3 months ago

Text

FADED DAYS: PART 2

Summary: In a bleak world where Logan has lost his purpose, an unexpected connection with his nurse brings a spark of humanity back into his fading life as an Uber driver.

Pairing : Uber-Driver!Logan Howlett x Nurse!Fem-reader

Genre : Heavy Angst

You swipe the screen to clock out from your shift, feeling the heavy pull of exhaustion in your bones. It was one of those nights—sick patients, endless charts, and a doctor who looked at you like you’d just ruined his life every time you handed him a pen. You just want to go home, crawl under the covers, and sleep for a decade.

But the second you tap the Uber app, you see it.

Your driver: Logan. Estimated arrival: 4 minutes.

“Oh, hell no.”

You vaguely remember the grumpy old guy from last time, the one who looked like he was one minor inconvenience away from driving the car straight off a cliff. You sigh, rubbing your temples. The last thing you need is another ride full of awkward silences and death glares.

His car pulls up, same as before, creaking to a stop like it’s gasping for its last breath. You get in and immediately regret it. It smells faintly of...is that whiskey? And maybe motor oil? You’re not even sure anymore.

“Hey,” you say as you settle in. “Fancy seeing you again.”

“Yeah, lucky me,” he grunts, his voice sounding like it’s been dragged over sandpaper. No eye contact, just the same stoic stare out the windshield. The engine groans, and you wonder if the car’s going to make it through the ride—or if the driver will, for that matter.

The silence stretches out like an awkward third wheel in the backseat. You figure you might as well try to lighten the mood.

“So, Uber driver, huh? Is this, like, your dream job?” You flash a grin, hoping for at least a chuckle.

“Pays the bills,” he mutters. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Ouch. Guess humor isn’t his thing. Still, you push on.

“I dunno, man. You don’t really scream 'people person' to me. No offense, but I thought Uber drivers were supposed to be...uh, friendlier.”

He snorts. “I ain't here to be your friend.”

“Clearly,” you mumble under your breath. “Just trying to make conversation.”

Another snort, this one a little more amused, but still tinged with that world-weary, grumpy-old-man vibe. You’re not sure whether to laugh or feel sorry for him. He’s like the human version of a stray dog—ragged, angry, but you know deep down he’s just tired of being kicked around.

The car lurches forward as he merges onto the freeway, and you notice the deep lines on his hands again. The knuckles, those strange scars. You’ve seen your fair share of battle wounds in the hospital, but his look different. Old. Like he’s lived through something worse than just a bad day at work.

“Rough shift?” he asks suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice is still gruff, but there’s something softer beneath it. Not exactly sympathy, but...close enough.

“Yeah,” you admit. “You could say that.”

He grunts again. “I’ve had worse.”

“Yeah?” You glance at him, eyebrow raised. “Like what?”

He doesn’t answer right away, but his grip on the wheel tightens. For a second, you think you’ve hit a nerve, but then he shrugs. “Nothing you’d believe.”

“Try me.”

There’s a pause, and for a moment, you think he’s going to brush you off. But then he glances at you, just for a split second. His eyes are tired, so tired. “You ever been shot six times in the chest?”

Your eyes widen. “Uh…no?”

“Yeah, didn’t think so.”

You blink, unsure if he’s serious. Then he coughs—this raspy, painful sound—and you can’t help but laugh. It’s ridiculous. The whole situation is ridiculous. This grumpy, near-dead Uber driver who claims he’s been shot six times and lived to tell the tale.

“You’re kidding, right?” you ask, half-expecting him to say it’s a joke.

“Nope,” he says, popping the p in the most deadpan way possible. “Still hurts when it rains.”

There’s a beat of silence before you both laugh, his cough mingling with the sound. It’s not exactly a light-hearted moment, but it’s…something.

But as you look at him, the laughter fades. You see the deep, hollow weariness in his eyes again. The kind that no joke can really erase. And something tugs at your chest—a weird mix of sympathy and sadness.

You shake your head, changing the subject. “So, Uber wasn’t your first gig, huh? What’d you do before?”

“Stuff,” he says, evasively.

“Stuff? Very specific.”

“Stuff that ain’t your concern.” His tone is final, but there’s no malice in it. Just the same wall of grumpiness he’s clearly used to hiding behind.

When he pulls up to your place, you linger in the car for a second, wondering if you should say something more. Something...human. But instead, you just glance over at him one last time.

“Take care of yourself, Logan.”

For the first time, his eyes flick up to meet yours, and you swear there’s a flicker of something behind that grizzled exterior.

“Yeah,” he says, voice low. “You too.”

You step out, closing the door softly behind you. The car lingers for a moment, like he’s thinking about something. Then, with a groan of the engine, he’s gone, disappearing into the night.

As you walk up to your apartment, you can’t help but smile. Who knew a grumpy old Uber driver could leave you feeling this weird mix of sadness and warmth?

You’ll probably see him again. Something tells you he’ll be around.

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insomniac4000 · 2 months ago

Text

Absence makes the heart grow fonder-ChrisMD

ChrisMD starts dating after his break up, but is he ready?

Chris Dixon, better known as ChrisMD to his millions of subscribers, sighed as he swiped through profiles on the dating app. It was a quiet Thursday night, and although his friends had suggested he get back out there, the whole dating app experience was more exhausting than he had expected. Since his breakup a couple of months ago, the thought of meeting someone new had been tempting, but it still felt strange. His last relationship had lasted for years and although it was a mutual decision he had to admit being alone was a foreign concept to him, one he didn’t much care for. Despite the excitement of new faces and potential connections, there was a sense of emptiness he couldn’t quite shake.

Just as he was about to put his phone down, a profile caught his eye: Y/N, 25, with a bright, genuine smile and a quirky sense of humour that radiated through her profile. Her interests ranged from trying out new food spots to exploring obscure museums as well as travelling. Her bio which read “last time I was someone’s type I was donating blood” made him laugh.

Curiosity piqued, Chris swiped right, not expecting anything, but he was pleasantly surprised when a notification popped up: It’s a match! Without hesitating, he sent her a quick message

Their first conversation flowed effortlessly. They exchanged light hearted banter, diving into their shared love for food, travel, and swapped useless but interesting facts with each other. Y/N didn’t seem fazed by his YouTube fame, which was refreshing. She treated him like anyone else, making jokes, challenging his taste in music, and asking him for his best “totally original” pickup line. After a few days of chatting, they decided to meet in person. They settled on a cozy Italian restaurant tucked away in a quiet part of London, a spot Y/N had suggested because it had “the best garlic bread in the city.”

On the night of the date, Chris found himself nervously adjusting his shirt in front of the mirror, realizing he hadn’t been this anxious in a while. When he finally arrived, Y/N was already there, seated by the window, her eyes lighting up when she spotted him.

"Garlic bread enthusiast, huh?" Chris joked as he took a seat.

“It's an underrated art form,” she replied, grinning. "Only a true connoisseur understands."

Dinner was full of laughs and easy conversation. Chris found himself feeling lighter around her, like he could be himself without any of the usual pretence. They swapped stories from their travels, shared embarrassing moments, and debated whether pineapple on pizza was a culinary crime. Chris enjoyed every minute of it, feeling like he’d known her far longer than just a few days. The only problem was Shannon’s name left Chris’s lips far more than what Y/N was comfortable with.

After they parted ways that night, he couldn’t stop thinking about her smile, her laugh, the way she had teased him about his “dodgy” music tastes. The next day, he texted her, asking if she’d be up for another round of what he called “the best date of his life so far.” To his delight, she agreed.

Their second date was a bit more adventurous. Y/N suggested they visit a mini-golf course she loved, known for its bizarre themes and questionable props. Chris took her challenge to heart, determined to win, though he quickly discovered that Y/N was far better at mini-golf than she’d let on. She laughed as he tried to justify his terrible shots, claiming that the “wind” and “dodgy lighting” were to blame.

“Excuses, excuses,” she teased, tapping her golf ball with precision as it rolled neatly into the hole.

Afterward, they wandered through the nearby park, sipping hot chocolates from a street vendor and laughing about the terrible music that had been playing at the mini-golf course. As the conversation turned more personal once more Chris found himself talking about the break up, how much fun him and his ex had and how difficult it was for him to adjust to his new life.

“It was just… unexpected,” he admitted, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he looked down at the pavement. “We thought we were on the same page, but I guess… I wasn’t enough. It ended out of nowhere, and I thought we’d be together a lot longer than we were.”

Y/N listened quietly, nodding empathetically. “Breakups are rough. It sounds like you weren’t really given any closure.” Y/N was of course sympathetic to Chris’s plight but she couldn’t help but feel a little bit uncomfortable that this wasn’t really a date conversation, it was going on a little bit too long for her liking and she could see the pain in Chris’s eyes.

“No, not really,” he sighed. “I keep thinking maybe I did something wrong or there was something I missed. But… I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll ever get the answers I’m looking for.”

Y/N reached out and gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “Sometimes we don’t get the closure we want, but we get the space to find ourselves again. Maybe that’s a kind of closure in itself.”

Chris smiled at her, appreciating her kindness. He was grateful she didn’t push further but instead shared her own experiences with past relationships, making him feel less alone. By the end of the night, he realized that he hadn’t felt this connected to someone in a long time. For the first time since his breakup, he felt hope. Hope that maybe he could move on and find happiness with someone new.

Over the next few days, though, Chris began to feel the shadow of his last relationship looming over him. Every time he thought of texting Y/N or asking her out again, he’d remember moments with his ex—memories he hadn’t quite let go of yet. It was subtle, a slight hesitation, but it was enough to make him realize he wasn’t as ready as he’d hoped.

Y/N noticed his hesitations, too. She cared about him and wanted to see where things could go between them, but she also saw the unspoken weight he carried. When he finally asked her out for a third date, she suggested they meet at a quiet café.

As they sipped their drinks, Y/N spoke gently. “Chris, I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you. You’re funny, kind, and just… a genuinely good guy. But I feel like maybe you’re not completely over your ex yet.”

Chris looked down, his stomach twisting. He knew she was right, but hearing it out loud stung.

“I want to be,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I was ready, but I guess… maybe I’m not. I didn’t mean to lead you on, Y/N. I really like you.”

Y/N reached across the table, taking his hand in hers. “I like you too. And I think we could have something special if the timing were different. But you deserve to heal properly, to move on fully before starting something new.”

Chris looked at her, sadness and understanding filling his gaze. “I don’t want to lose you,” he said softly. “But I don’t want to hold you back, either.”

She squeezed his hand. “Maybe we can be friends, and if things change in the future, who knows?”

They sat there for a moment, neither of them wanting to let go of the connection they’d found but knowing it was the right choice. Chris felt a mixture of heartbreak and relief. Heartbreak because he knew he was letting go of something wonderful, and relief because Y/N had understood him in a way few people had.

When they finally said goodbye, Chris walked away with a heavy heart but also a newfound resolve. He knew he had work to do, things to face and process before he could truly move forward. But he was grateful for Y/N, for her kindness, her understanding, and the small glimpse of happiness she had given him, even if only for a short while.

Over the following months, Chris focused on himself. He went to therapy, travelled a lot, spent time with friends even moving in with two of them, leaving his old flat with Shannon behind, and allowed himself the space to heal fully. It wasn’t an easy journey, and there were days he found himself missing Y/N and wondering what might have been. But he also knew that taking this time was the best thing he could do—not just for himself, but for anyone he might meet in the future.

Y/N and Chris occasionally messaged, keeping things friendly. He watched her career flourish from a distance, cheering her on as she accomplished new milestones. Each time they talked, he felt more at ease, and he realized how much he had grown since they’d parted ways.

He continued dating, he enjoyed going on dates and talking but he wasn’t getting the fulfilment out of them he was expecting. As time went on a new girl entered his mind, no longer was the measure of each girl Shannon but his mind now wandered to Y/N/

They parted on good terms, leaving a door open for whatever might come. Chris felt a bittersweet sense of closure, knowing that while they hadn’t worked out romantically, Y/N had helped him on his journey to healing. And maybe, just maybe, that was the kind of love he’d needed all along. They started off exchanging the odd message but they grew lwss frequent as time stretched on.

A few months passed since that final message exchange, and though Chris had moved on in a way he hadn’t thought possible, he still thought of Y/N every now and then. She had been a rare presence in his life—one that lingered in the best possible way. He continued to work on himself, finding a new rhythm with his friends and even experimenting with his style. His hair had grown out, now styled in natural curls, and he’d added a beard, giving him a rugged look that his friends insisted made him look like “an entirely new person” and it “hit different.”

Meanwhile, Y/N had been thriving. She’d taken time for herself too, her confidence growing with every project she launched. She’d let her hair grow longer, framing her face in loose, natural waves. If anyone had asked her about Chris, she would’ve smiled fondly and said he was a great guy, one who had taught her a lot about patience and understanding. But she rarely brought him up. Life had moved on, though she hadn’t expected her heart to skip a beat every time she heard someone bring up his videos.

Then, one Saturday night, fate intervened.

Y/N hadn’t planned on going out that night, but her friends had convinced her, insisting that she deserved a break. They ended up at a popular club downtown, the music loud, the lights vibrant, the energy electric. She was mid-conversation with one of her friends when she glanced across the crowded room—and there he was.

At first, she wasn’t sure it was him. The beard and curls were new, and he looked more confident, more relaxed in himself than she’d ever seen. But then he turned, catching her gaze across the room, and she knew it was him. Chris’s eyes widened in recognition, a flicker of surprise and warmth flashing across his face. Without a second thought, he made his way through the crowd toward her.

“Y/N?” he asked, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the music.

“Chris,” she replied, her voice a mix of surprise and excitement. She could feel her pulse quicken as she took him in, noting the changes in his appearance but also sensing something different in his presence. He seemed… settled, in a way he hadn’t before.

“It’s been a while,” he said, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “You look… incredible.”

Her cheeks flushed as she smiled back. “Thanks. You’re looking a bit different yourself,” she teased, gesturing to his beard and curls. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

They both laughed, the initial tension melting away, replaced by an easy warmth. Y/N’s friends, sensing the connection between them, excused themselves, leaving the two to catch up. They found a quieter corner of the club and fell into conversation, picking up as if no time had passed.They talked about everything that had happened since they’d last seen each other, from their careers to the little life changes they’d each gone through. Chris told her about his travels, the therapy sessions he’d been attending, and the new confidence he’d found in being single and focusing on his growth. Y/N shared her own journey, the projects she’d taken on, and how she had learned to prioritize her happiness without relying on anyone else to fulfill it.

“I have to admit, I missed you,” Chris said after a pause, his gaze meeting hers. “There were so many times I wanted to reach out, but I knew it wouldn’t have been fair to either of us until I was truly ready.”

Y/N smiled softly, her heart warming at his honesty. “I missed you too, Chris. I was always rooting for you, even from a distance.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Chris finally took a deep breath. “Do you… maybe want to go out sometime? Properly, I mean.”

She looked at him, surprised but pleased, her own heart racing a bit at the prospect. “I’d like that,” she replied, her smile growing. “But let’s take it slow. I want to make sure we’re both on the same page this time.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed, his smile matching hers. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Over the next few weeks, they began dating again, this time with a new approach. Gone were the hesitations and uncertainties that had lingered between them before. Chris was no longer weighed down by his past, and Y/N felt secure in her own independence, knowing she was with someone who truly valued her for who she was.

Their dates were filled with laughter and warmth, revisiting old spots and discovering new ones together. On one of their first dates, Chris surprised her by taking her back to the mini-golf course where they’d once laughed and joked so freely. This time, though, he had something different planned. He’d made a small bet that whoever won would get to pick the next date spot, and Y/N, never one to back down from a challenge, took it seriously. She laughed as Chris tried to feign being terrible, his exaggerated misses making her giggle uncontrollably.

“I see right through you, Dixon,” she teased, tapping her golf ball into the hole with ease. “I know you’re just trying to make me laugh so I get distracted.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, his smile wide. “But isn’t that the point?”

It wasn’t long before their chemistry was undeniable. Their friends noticed the change too, commenting on how happy they seemed. Every time Chris looked at Y/N, he felt grateful for the second chance he’d been given, and he vowed not to take it for granted. They had both grown and changed, but it only made their connection stronger, deepening their respect and admiration for each other.

On a quiet evening a few months later, after dinner at one of their favourite spots, they sat on a bench overlooking the city, the lights twinkling like stars below them. Chris took her hand, his thumb gently brushing over her knuckles as he spoke.

“I know we agreed to take things slow, but… I can’t help thinking how lucky I am to have met you,” he said softly, looking at her with a warmth that made her heart flutter. “It might’ve taken us some time, but I feel like… I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.”

Y/N looked at him, her heart swelling as she realized just how deeply she felt the same. “I feel the same way, Chris. You’re my second chance too, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

They shared a quiet, tender kiss, both knowing that this time, they were ready. They had found each other at the perfect moment, not just as two people, but as two hearts that had grown, healed, and finally found their way back to one another.

#chrismd #chris dixon #chrismd x reader #chrismd imagine

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ariesize · 1 month ago

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emmrich x rook: 'til the grass around my gravestone is deceased

A/N: its 4.7k words of library sex and mushy gushy feelings. TW for blood and smoking again. also on ao3 (click to check tags).

Rook’s lounging on the floor of Neve’s office, the mouthpiece connected to one of the hoses of the hookah in the middle of the group is dangling from her fingers as the smoke slowly trickles out of her mouth. Lucanis, Neve, and Davrin are all present, everyone feeling light and buzzed from the smoke.

Nights like these make Rook feel normal. She’s with her friends, listening to Lucanis tell a story about a contract gone spectacularly wrong and for a moment she can pretend this is totally normal - that they aren’t in the dread wolf’s hideout in the fade while, taking a reprieve from planning to kill two other gods in a fight to save the world. No, none of that is allowed in here tonight. Check your apocalyptic baggage at the door and sit on the floor and pretend like everything is fine.

“Illario wouldn’t even look at me for two weeks after we got back,” Lucanis is saying with his eyes bright and smile wide, coffee in hand and passing the hose to Davrin, who wipes tears from his eyes from laughing so hard. It’s nice to see these two getting along - tensions were high after Weisshaupt and Rook was nervous they would never be able to reconcile afterwards. But here they are, this strange little family falling into step with one another.

“Were you ever able to figure out who took your pants?” Davrin asks, causing another round of laughter from the group. Lucanis shakes his head, crossing his legs in front of him and letting his head rest on Neve’s desk behind him from his spot on the floor.

“Never, but that does not stop me from checking every Rivani merchant stall I see. I loved those pants,” Lucanis says with a wistful note. The air in the room is warm and thick with smoke and Rook could be content to stay there for hours more, laying on the floor and indulging in the evening - or what passes for evening in this place where the light never dims - but she knows if she doesn’t move now then she’s never moving again. Her body is still aching from a fight against the Antaam she encountered in Rivain earlier in the day and she can’t help but wince a little as she starts to stand up.

Rook’s movement is met with a chorus of disapproval from the group, Davrin going as far as to give her two thumbs down. She takes one last drag from the hookah and blames her aches and pains and says, “I don't think I can follow that story up, Lucanis,” nudging his leg gently with her foot. “It's well past time for me to go lay down on something that isn't a floor,” Rook says as she makes her way to the door.

She looks back at the group and gives them a small wave, blows them a kiss goodnight. Davrin shoos her away, Lucanis says she's no fun as he takes another sip of coffee, and Neve gives her a wink that makes Rook falter for just one second. There’s no way she knows anything, right?

Rook leaves before anything else happens that might make her linger even longer and takes a deep breath when the door shuts behind her. The air is warm but not stifling, almost comforting in a way. She doesn't think of the lighthouse as home but it is safe and for that she is grateful. She stretches her arms out, reaches down to touch her toes, listening to her joints pop and oh that feels nice, she thinks, all loose, warm and buzzy from the hookah.

As much as she loves spending time with her friends, this crew who is rapidly approaching the sector of her brain reserved for family, she is all too eager to head inside and seek out the person she's been spending most of her time with lately. If she wasn't so relaxed and fuzzy from the evening she'd be trying not to sprint inside, through the doors, and up the stairs and into Emmrich’s bed as quickly as she possibly could.

And who can blame her for it? She's living out dreams she didn't even know she had. Her previous partners were fast, quick, nothing to write home about - barely even footnotes on her life's story. But Emmrich? He’ll get an entire volume. Rook never knew she could be treated this way. Emmrich spends time with her like he actually cares about knowing who she is. He asks questions, recalls little comments she doesn't even remember making in the first place. He’s brought romance to her life where previously there was none. Rook didn't think she was worth gestures big or small until now.

It’s in the way he touches her like he can’t believe it’s him who gets to do such a thing. What a concept, that he’s the one whose bed she crawls into late at night, where she wakes up in the mornings. It's with his hands that he gets to unravel her and put her back together again, his sighs that meet her lips, his words and praise that rest against her skin.

How funny it is to have found this man made of light and love in the dark and chilly halls of the Necropolis. She's almost indebted to Solas for without him and without this war she never would have found Emmrich.

She's equally as besotted with him too. There is nothing Rook loves more than to just be in his presence. She may be the leader here but he commands attention so effortlessly that she feels like jelly when he looks at her across a room or across the battlefield. How did she get so lucky, to be the object of his affection?

She brings him back all sorts of items from her travels when he doesn't accompany her - I found this ink in Treviso and the dark green made me think of you. Look, this flower grew in the Hossberg Wetlands of all places and I rolled it in a map so it didn't get destroyed - and he accepts them all with glee. “My little crow,” he said once after receiving one of her many gifts, laughter wrinkling his eyes and his hands coming up to cup her face, “truly living up to her title.”

Rook is pleasantly surprised to walk through the doors and see Emmrich sitting on the green couch, a book open in his lap and a stack of others placed on the table before him. He doesn’t seem to notice her walk in so she uses that to her advantage, pulling on a lifetime of crow training to creep around and peek over his shoulder. The book he's reading is, of course, in a language she couldn't even begin to place. She presses her lips together to keep her from smiling too big in case it turns into a laugh. Rook will never understand the allure books and knowledge holds over him, but she can appreciate it all the same for books and learning have made him into who he is now, her brilliant professor who studies her with that same meticulous care.

He’s too observant, too practiced at noticing students sneak into class late, too in tune with his surroundings out of necessity borne from life in the Necropolis, because she doesn't manage to sneak up on him at all actually. She's lost her touch, or maybe she just wants him to find her in every room so that she can't hide from him. She's addicted to his gaze and his attention, every look between them feels like she's been drinking the sweetest, most delicious wine she's ever had. It's then that he finally acknowledges her - he doesn't turn to face her but rather says softly, “Do you intend to say anything or just lurk in the shadows, my dear?”

Rook laughs and, since they’re completely alone in this space, drapes her arms around his shoulders from behind and buries her face where his shoulder meets his neck. His hand comes up to grasp one of hers and brings it to his mouth, gently kissing it before returning it to its previous spot.

“Guess I’m a little out of practice,” Rook says, her words muffled by his shirt. She goes around and sits down next to him, promptly swinging her legs onto his lap and laying back so her head is placed upon the arm of the couch. His gloved hand comes to rest against her shins, the other has been claimed by Rook who is holding it with both of hers, idly fidgeting with his rings and bracelets. “Am I interrupting?” she asks, knowing full well he'd stop doing just about anything if she asked him to.

“Nothing that can't wait until another time,” he says and is instantly met with a coy, lip-bitten smile from Rook. She looks from his eyes down to his hand where she’s sliding her favorite ring, the one with the emerald, up and down his finger. “Although, might I suggest we move this conversation upstairs?” he adds, knowing exactly what that look is a prelude to.

She can't even pretend to have had other motives for seeking him out to start with. Her thoughts are always revolving around him these days, and she can't help it if those thoughts quickly turn from innocent to, well, anything but. She’s flesh and blood and who can blame her if her thoughts turn to daydreams about his hands on her, his mouth whispering sweet nothings against her lips as his cock drives in and out of her.

Rook really does consider his offer to go upstairs for about three seconds. She almost starts to get up because truth be told she’ll do anything he asks, too but then pauses, an idea forming and she knows he's not going to go along with this but she might as well try. Rook is anything but a quitter.

Theory: Emmrich loves books, loves being surrounded by them, and though he hasn't said it yet she thinks he just might love her too. Therefore, through the combination of these elements, maybe he would be so kind as to fuck her. Here. In the library.

“I actually think I'm perfectly happy here,” Rook says, her voice dropping ever so slightly. Her lips start to pout as she drops his hand onto her thigh and moves hers up to the neckline of her shirt. “It is a little warm in here, however,” she says as she unfastens the first two buttons. She slowly brings her hands down over her chest, her eyes never leaving his.

Emmrich may be a gentleman and a scholar, the perfect image of a polished and professional man, but he is a man at the end of the day. A man who has divulged, in great detail, exactly how her body makes him feel. She knows he loves her curves, her short frame and the way he towers over her. He’s touched every inch of her with hands and lips and could tell you about every scar and mark and dimple she has. Rook uses this to her advantage now, hoping the tiniest amount of skin revealed from those first two buttons are enough to make his mind wander to the rest of her body that he already knows so well. She sees his eyes following her neckline down, pausing at her cleavage as his eyes grow darker, his cheeks flush ever so slightly.

It’s now or never, she thinks as she moves her legs off of him and onto the ground, pushing off of the couch to circle around it. She wants to make this seductive, his young lover in a library openly throwing herself at him, begging to be touched and fucked while the threat of being caught looms over them. She goes to wrap her arms around his shoulders as she had when she walked into the room earlier, but never gets the chance as he’s already a step ahead of her.

He looks completely unphased as he too gets up and starts putting books back on the shelves next to the couch. She's leaning over the back of the couch and she knows she's overdoing it but she wants to see him affected by her, and wants her little scheme to unfold right here in the library. Her head is resting on her folded arms on the couch, her back is arched and she's practically begging for him to come over, touch her, do anything he wants to her.

Emmrich spares her a glance, and she sees a look - hungry but tame - ghost over his features. He takes his time putting the books back, letting his fingers run along the edges of the spines, the shelves, even flipping through a few of them before putting them back in their spots. It’s torture for Rook to watch and wait for him to acknowledge her. It’s as he slides the last book in place that he finally says, “Rook, I know what you’re trying to do and I must insist. This is not the place.”

“But it's the library. Haven’t you ever thought about having sex in a library?” she asks.

“I’m sorry to disappoint, but that particular adventure was crossed off my list many years ago,” Emmrich says, causing Rook’s mouth to fall open in surprise. She doesn’t know why she’s so surprised - he’s regaled her with sordid tales from his student days plenty of times before - but she can honestly say she wasn’t expecting him to say that.

She recovers quickly though, her eyes firmly set on the prize in front of her.

“Well, as lovely as that must have been, you’ve never fucked me in a library before and I’d like to see what the fuss is about,” she sighs, turning her head to face the opposite direction. She’s rapidly approaching begging territory, ready to get down on her knees and plead with him to take her right here where they stand. She knows he secretly enjoys this side of her, a little sassy and a little demanding, just so he can knock her down a notch; Emmrich argues that he is not into using his authority in a professorial manner over her in this type of context, saying he wishes to keep these two parts of his life entirely separated, but she has yet to see him follow through on that claim.

She hears him move but doesn’t know where he is until he’s right behind her, hands gripping her hips hard and lips brushing against her ear. She inhales sharply at his breath on her skin, his thumbs rubbing back and forth across her hip bones. “Anyone could walk in. Taash is right upstairs. What if they hear?” he says quietly while Rook tries to shift under his hands and turn to face him. His grip is unrelenting, however, and she’s forced to stay still underneath him.

“It’s thrilling,” is all she can manage before one of his hands, the ungloved one, comes up from her body to cover her mouth. He knows exactly what he’s doing, knows how weak his hands make her, how easily she’ll follow his instruction if he takes the lead.

“If we do this then you are not to make a sound,” he says, teeth nipping at her ear and his hand catching the moan threatening to escape her mouth. “If you do, I will stop immediately. Do you understand?” Oh how quickly the tables have turned. In an instant she went from having to convince him this was a good idea to him taking the lead, ordering her to follow his rules which she is all too happy to comply with.

Rook nods, silently mourning the loss of his hand on her mouth as it goes back to her hips. It’s suddenly very real; she truly can’t believe she got him to agree to this as fast as he did. He was absolutely already thinking about this, she thinks, suppressing a smirk from forming across her lips.

His hands quickly begin working where her pants are fastened and she wants to help but their positioning, plus the other hand on her hip, are keeping her firmly rooted in place. It doesn’t take much to get her hot and ready, something he’d been delighted to learn early on in their relationship. After his hand on her mouth, his lips against her ear, and the fact that he’s indulging her in this fantasy and she’s already delightfully wet when he tugs down her pants slightly and reaches his hand in between her legs.

“My dear, I do believe you’ll be the death of me,” he whispers as he slips two fingers inside of her while his index finger rubs at her clit. She wants to let him hear how good he makes her feel, wants to let the whimper that’s building in her throat out but she can’t risk him stopping now. She asked for this, begged for it even, so she’s going to do exactly as she’s told.

He’s supposed to be a good teacher, afterall. Might as well follow his careful instruction to the best of her abilities.

Rook barely even gets to enjoy the feeling of his fingers inside of her, his warm hand with jewels and gold and ink smudges that she so desperately loves, before they’re gone. She hears him fumbling with the buckles and buttons of his own pants and she spreads her legs a little farther apart in anticipation while rising up on her tiptoes to account for their height difference. She braces her arms on the back of the couch, says a quick prayer to the Maker that the rest of her team is busy elsewhere and won’t ruin this for them.

What she’s not expecting is his hand coming up in front of her face. His palm is facing upwards, his fingers still shining with her slick, as he leans over her again so his lips are next to her ear when he commands, deeply and softly, “Spit.”

She has to bite down on her bottom lip so hard to keep her mouth from opening and obscene sounds from falling out. Her lip is bloody, her eyes are closed and her breathing is deep and hard and this is the first time he’s ever asked her to do this. It’s like he can see directly into her brain and knows all of her secrets and fantasies.

To her credit, Rook is a great listener. She gathers spit in her mouth, lets it slowly spill from her blood tinged lips and into his waiting palm. She is so careful not to make a single sound, and she is rewarded by a warm exhale of breath on her neck and a soft, “Very good, my love,” said into her hair.

She doesn’t know why she’s the one who has to be quiet when she’s not the one covered in loud gold jewelry. The sounds of his bracelets clinging against one another as he quickly strokes himself make her mouth water even more, this bubble of silence momentarily burst by the metallic sounds of his hand moving up and down.

Rook does such a good job staying silent when he finally enters her from behind. She so badly wants to say anything, make any noise at all, as he sets a punishingly quick pace. She’s breathing heavily as she adjusts to the feeling of him inside her, her exhales being the only noise she can hear aside from the sounds of skin on skin and all of his fucking jewelry.

Of course he isn't following his own rule, still close enough to her ear that he can say all sorts of filthy things between them. “Such a good girl, staying so quiet just like I asked,” he whispers, his breath hot against her ear and she might as well bite her lip off from how hard she's bearing down on it. The challenge of being quiet only enhances this for her, though. Knowing any sound she makes could get them caught is utterly thrilling.

The hand that isn’t gripping her hip moves up under her shirt and cups her breast, fingers rolling and pinching her sensitive nipple until she’s seeing stars. She pushes her hips back against him and is pleased to hear the quietest moan from behind her. His hand on her hip grabs on even harder, definitely hard enough to bruise, and all of those aches and pains she was complaining about earlier today are no longer bothering her; her brain is unable to recognize sensations not being caused by her lover at this moment.

Rook was almost able to forget they were doing this out in the open until a crash from upstairs startles both of them. His hand quickly comes up from her breast to her mouth, covering it to ensure she stays as quiet as possible. They hear a muffled groan and a string of expletives from the direction of Taash’s room. Neither Rook or Emmrich make any movements, both of their hearts beating like crazy while they wait a moment longer to see if they’ll be caught or not.

They wait one beat, two, until she slowly rocks her hips again, pushing back against him to drive his cock further inside of her. His hand is still over her mouth and she softly drags her tongue across his palm, tasting her spit and his skin and finally he picks the pace up behind her, pushing into her with more force than before. The friction is almost too much yet still not enough, her release is still out of reach but his hand over her mouth is definitely helping.

Rook lets her mouth fall open as much as his hand will let her, lets her tongue dart out and across his palm once more before gently brushing against the bottom of his fingers, over his rings until she cannot reach any more skin. He removes his hand for just one moment, long enough to brush her hair off her neck so he can suck on the spot behind her ear, kiss his way up to the pointed tip before going back down to leave bites and bruises along her neck.

As nice as this is, and as much as she’s enjoying herself, she needs more, needs something else to stop her brain from thinking too much and relax, let her pleasure build until it crashes. His hand on her mouth was definitely helping, and before she can think she’s reaching back for his hand and bringing it back to her lips.

She doesn’t place his hand over her mouth this time, however. Instead she takes two fingers, his index and middle, and puts them right inside of her mouth. She hears his sharp intake of breath behind her, his rhythm faltering for just one second. It’s not often that she’s able to surprise him but she feels like she won this round of a nonexistent game. His speed quickens, he’s driving into her with such a force that she feels her knees going weak. The friction is so delightful, rougher than she expected he would ever be with her but that combined with his fingers on her tongue has her eyes rolling back, moans building in her throat that will never see the light of day.

Rook gently starts to suck on his fingers, coaxing them deeper and deeper into her mouth until she’s got them as far back as they’ll go. Her throat is relaxed as her tongue swirls around his fingers, spit pooling around the edges of her lips. It’s filthy, it’s addictive, it’s too much at once and there it is, that familiar pressure in her belly. She’s filled with nothing but Emmrich, his cock and his hand, his body pressed into hers and he’s quietly telling her how perfect you are, how she wants everyone to see her like this, and it’s intoxicating. She’s drunk off of him, and oh how perfect it is. He slowly starts to remove his fingers from her throat and mouth, giving her one last moment to lick and suck them before removing them completely while telling her how amazing she is for taking him down that far.

His hand moves from her mouth and snakes further down until he’s between her legs, his fingers still covered in her spit start rubbing circles around her clit, and it's too much. She lets out the tiniest of sighs, pressing her lips securely together so no sound escapes as her orgasm rips through her. It’s not long until he follows her over the edge, just a few more thrusts and he’s holding her hips flush against him as he comes inside of her, biting back his own sighs of release and ecstasy.

Conclusion: After rigorous testing, this theory can be confirmed as True. Professor Volkarin did indeed kindly enough fuck her in the library. Whether he was convinced through his love of libraries, books, or for her own self has yet to be discovered, however it can be suggested to be through the combined power of all three.

When Rook’s brain is functioning slightly again, her knees no longer wobbling and her arms no longer braced on the back of the couch for support, she can’t help but let a small laugh out. Her pants are still pulled down, Emmrich’s come is now slowly leaking out of her and down her leg. Her blonde curls are a mess and her lips are red and faintly smeared with blood from where she bit down too hard. Her neck has blooming bruises from his mouth and teeth that are already coming to the surface. She looks absolutely wrecked and she knows it, the perfect picture of debauchery. She can see it in the way he looks at her as she turns around to face him, and she can’t help the smile that spreads across her face or the hearty laugh that bursts out of her throat.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” she whispers, still afraid of being caught. She finally bends over and pulls her pants up before working on getting her hair back into place. Her bangs are matted to her forehead with sweat and she really can’t wait to take a bath shortly.

“That makes two of us,” Emmrich replies as he finishes buttoning up his pants. He looks far better than she does, but her trained eye notices the sweat on his forehead and the blush on his cheeks, the way his shirt and vest are slightly more rumpled than usual. It’s not long before he can’t contain his own laughter, his gloved hand reaching over to cup her cheek and kiss her before they can keep laughing.

There’s no heat behind this kiss. It’s sweet, full of reverence and what she hopes is love. He doesn’t go far when he breaks away from her, only moving so he can gently press his forehead against hers.

“You’ve turned me into a lovesick fool, my dear. I don’t think there’s anything you couldn’t convince me to do with you,” he mutters, pressing one last kiss to her lips before pulling back and stepping away from her. “However I think it’s time we went somewhere to get cleaned up, preferably somewhere private this time,” he adds, the corners of his lips coming up into a smile.

“Lead the way,” is all Rook can say. She doesn’t think now is the best time to blurt out that she’s oh so deeply in love with him but it’s all she can feel, absolutely sated and perfectly in love. Maybe tomorrow, she thinks as she starts to follow him towards the stairs, that’s when I’ll say it.

For now, though, she’ll go upstairs with him. She’ll let him clean her up and then defile her again and again until neither of them can stay awake any longer. And maybe, when she’s cracking her eyes open for the first time tomorrow he’ll still be in bed with her, awake but content to hold her as she drifts in and out of sleep in his arms. His hands can trace patterns into her skin, his gentle touch tethering her to consciousness. It will be warm and cozy, soft and lovely and perfect and should she be so lucky it's how she’d choose to wake up every day for the rest of her life.

#emmrich x rook #emmrook #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age fanfiction #datv #another one for the hand kink and praise kink folks #hope u enjoy xoxoxo #sry if it's a little gross i am also a little gross and also currently reading lapvona which is VERY gross so

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