#extremely icy territory for me personally

[ravenousgf]

does anyone have good wesper fic recs i am desperate

[simp4konig]

Okay okay I have to ask, what’s your fav head canons of Nikto then? I love hearing other people’s ideas and head canons of cod characters ^^ 💕

Ngl, i get inspired by other people's headcanons, and i make headcanons off THEIR headcanons 🥲👍… I'm unoriginal 😔💔

SOOOO, im “” Tagging”” (by that i mean putting // after the @ so the original creators dont get the notifcation for this LMAO=) blogs whose own works inspired me to create my own headcanons 🥰❤️

General Nikto Headcanons ❤️

Word Count: 1,584.

Tag List: ♡ @simpforkonig ♡ @rustic-guitar-notes ♡ @best-soup ☆ @lotionlamp ♡ @trepaika ☆ @luci4theminorannoyance ☆ @happy-mushrooms ♡ @nightlyvoids ♡ @skeletalgoats ♡ @aethelwyneleigh27 ☆ @arrozyfrijoles23 ♡ @dobaddo ☆ @the-second-sage ☆ @wil-xyz ☆ @revnatheshadow ☆ @feelya

Allusions to NSFW beneath the cut! Readers are warned.

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Blunt and straight to the point. Sees no rhyme nor reason in beating around the bush and sugarcoating his words. As a result, he can be viewed as insensitive and lacking in empathy.

Impatient, and has a short fuse, so blows up often. Only you are able to be the calm after his storm, subduing him with soft reassurances and whispered words.

To say that he is possessive would be an understatement — he is extremely territorial.

After his torture, he is wary of the few things that he posesses and can actually call his own (you). His biggest phobia is losing you, and his irrational fear is someone stealing you away. Any prick unlucky enough to not catch on to you two dating will be lucky enough to survive the beating that he is given.

On that note, he is simultaneously self-assured, and insecure.

His mask is a part of him, and personal. It will take him months for him to shed said part of him.

Constantly fears that you will leave him once he reveals his face to you, so puts it off for as long as he possibly can. The day that he takes off his mask, only for you to be so casual about it and passing it off as your day-to-day, is the day that became cemented in his hard, stony heart.

Has conflicting views towards marriage. On the one hand, is an official document declaring your relationship really so necessary? Isn't an expensive wedding superfluous, and too sensational? To him, all of that is redundant — he's yours, and you're his…

…On the other hand, a glistening ring on your finger invokes a primal desire to make you more his than you are already. It would be a declaration of a love which even death wouldn't do part. Maybe he should pay more attention to the rings on display at the jewellery stores you pass by when shopping occasionally together.

An introverted man, who finds solace in solitude; excluding you, his partner, he has no companions, and rarely associates with anyone else. The voices in his head are bothersome enough, so why does he need additional voices bothering him? With that said, you would think that your presence would be a bother — especially with your mindless chatter when Nikto doesn't grunt at the idle small talk at times, wholly unresponsive for the majority of the time — but the moment you give any indication of leaving, he seizes your wrist, his cold, icy eyes silently pleading for you to stay. And you do. You always do.

Bringing me onto my next point: he is a good listener. Your ramblings are all that to you; ramblings. To Nikto, however, it's his chance to unpick all the information about you, down to the littlest of details. You wrongly assume that your words fall on deaf ears, but he listens, and he memorises every opinion you have, every statement you make, and even the small anecdotes that you share, which becoming engraved in his brain. He goes over every sentence religiously, as if it was the Bible.

He has an exceptionally good memory, tending to remember things that you had forgotten. Mention something that you craved in passing? He would surprise you with it the next time you bring it up. Alluded to someone who insulted you and ruined your day? Well, it would be no surprise that that person would never ruin your day ever again.

He is like a cat in the sense that he is an unwanted stray. However, when you came to want him, it dawned on you that he was no cat, but a panther. A predator — savage, vicious.

He would kill for you, no questions asked (He has already done it, but you don't know about that. After all, you hadn't asked him that question yet, only in jest. Truth be told, he has made so many death threats that you have become desensitised to them, dismissing them as nothing more than that: threats).

He would have died for you (PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE @//charliemwrites’s DEPICTIONNOF NIKTO IN THIS SCENE??????? HAD ME ON MY KNEES 🛐💍🧎🏼‍♀️ PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE VI NEED HIM SOVBAD); however, when you were hyperventilating as you sobbed and were close to reaching hysterics, that's when he realised that he should value his life more.

Incredibly stealthy. You've seen his execution animations… 🤒 Uses that stealth to sneak up on you whenever your guard is down to smack your ass. 🤭

Insomnia troubles him at night, the relief of sleep rarely coming to him; therefore, he tends to be nocturnal, buying groceries and going about the usual errands you would have otherwise done during the day. When you wake up, that empty fridge is magically stocked with your favourite food, your bear snoozing sometimes — most of the time he stares at you like a creep. 💀 /aff

When he does sleep, it tends to be during the day, and it's almost as if he is a bear entering hibernation

He sleeps like a plank — on his back, his arms by his sides, and his legs straight. You'll curl onto his side, your head on his chest, his legs between your core, and a strong arm wrapped around your waist.

Snores. REALLY loud. 😬 ONLY when you are in his arms 🙄 — when he sleeps alone, he is eerily silent.

Subsequently finding him laying in bed, still and silent, you were sobbing, thinking that he died in his sleep. Finally, after minutes of shaking him awake, he opened one eye, and grumbled groggily: “Дорогая, shut up. I am not dead. Not when I have you to live for. Now, come.”

Once he is asleep, good luck getting him to wake up again; unless you somehow manage to disentangle yourself from his arms — only then, when his myshka is missing, does he begrudgingly get up from bed, stand outside the bathroom door, and whisk you back to bed, willfully ignoring your complaints.

Proud of being your protector. Always has his hand[s] on you in some way or other, protectively keeping you by his side.

Has 20/20 vision, and perfect hearing.

Don't mistake his opening of pickle jars and water bottles for you as chivalry — he is taking advantage of it to show off his muscles for you. Doesn't want you to ask if you want to cup a squeeze of his bicep — when he sees you staring, he will forcibly take your hand and put it on his arm, positively smirking beneath that mask of his.

Has a staring problem and is unashamed of it. From his point of view, there is no problem in staring at you all day and every day.

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Eye contact with him is intense. Whenever you avert your gaze, he instantly grabs your chin to angle it so it's facing him. Eye contact during sex is a given.

Despite not wanting to be a father, he has an insatiable breeding kink (does not care whether you are a female, a male, an infertile female, or other — he is delusional in that sense).

Although he isn't against children per se — mainly indifferent to them, if I'm honest — wouldn't want to pass on the generational trauma onto his brood. He would prefer his bloodline ending with him.

His dirty talk is so filthy that you get wet from just his voice and innuendo. (Thank you @//xoxunhinged for your headcanon 😫💦)

His animalistic instincts are so prominent that you've become convinced that he purrs whenever you stroke that sensitive spot on his scalp, and growls in between grunts as he thrusts into you.

Is rough, leaving dark hickeys and bruises, but he would never, ever hurt you. He's rougher than most, but has sufficient self-restraint to be realise ahead of time if he is making you uncomfortable.

You are his deity, and he worships you — if he was to ever hurt you, he would enter a state of loathing. Since you were a merciful God, he would take the liberty of punishing himself — retribution suited to his crime.

One time you two were play wrestling and he almost dislocated your hip on accident. He didn't touch you again for at least two weeks, until he finally considered himself worthy of your touch.

Is dominant in bed, for two major reasons: because he prefers exerting the control which was forced upon him, relishing in having you submit to him; manhandling you to showcase his strength

A third reason is because if you were to ever top him, he'd cum embarrassingly quickly.

Probably gets off to being stronger than you. Deliberately puts you in positions which render you powerless, only able to take what he gives you.

Whenever you enter his room, he always sits in the darkness. Insists: “I do not need lights. Lights are wasted when I can see in the dark.”

Which is true... but it is also a pretence to hide the concerningly detailed shrine taking up an entire wall, dedicated to you. You'll come to find all of your lost trivial belongings when you mistakenly flick on the light switch.

His loyalty and devotion is unparalleled to any other's. He is utterly and unashamedly down bad for you, and he is willing to do anything and everything to keep it that way.

Thankfully, he doesn't have to do much, because you, too, love him. A lot.

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A/N I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIMI NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEEDH IM I NEED—

Yeaah i thought comparing him to a panther would be cool 🐈‍⬛

“Guard dog” and just anything to do with a “dog” is an overused trope to me at this point 😐. Dont get me wrong!!!! , it doesnt mean that i dont LIKE the trope!!!! , but my own interpretation of Nikto is a little different, abd i think it suits him better,, Esp bc panthers technically 🤓☝️ do *not* exist, which links to how the definition of his name in Russian is “Nobody” :)

An unconventional animal for a very unconventionally attractive man😽,,

Anyways, it is time for a cigarette 🚬🤏😪. I will return in approximately 56 business days (trust me guys 😋✌️).

[la2yn0va]

Yandere High Cloud Quintet x Male Reader Headcanons

Cw: Stalking, Manipulation, Abuse, Blood, Daggers, sadism, unhealthy obsession, 18+ shit/topics.

Characters: Jingliu, Jing yuan, Dan Feng/Heng, Blade/Yangxinq, Baiheng. (Separate and Together)

———

Jingliu

Jingliu is a very gentle lover, sure she’s a little (massively) possessive of you, but it’s fine. She teaches you swords fighting, she protects you from any threats, and she’s a joy to be around with the quintet.

You relationship started like any other cliche love story. She saw you walking around aimlessly and feel in love. To her, you were beautiful. In fact, she was convinced you were idrilia or at the least her descendent.

So, she watched (stalked) you. For a LONG time. Watching as you walk around without purpose, as others glare jealously at you, as others OGLE at you.

It disgusted her, to see others practically drool or even dare to face you. Her eyes twitching involuntarily, her pupils shrinking in size, looking like a rabid animal.

So, using her skills as a seasoned warrior, she leads those people into very dangerous territory. Watching as the abominations of the abundance tear them to shreds.

She then accidentally bumps into you, and that’s how your relationship started. You know, the normal cliche romance novel beginnings. (Call me crazy….but I don’t think she bumped into you accidentally..I think she did that shit on PURPOSE)

Jingliu only feels comfortable allowing the quintet to touch/look at you. To her, it’s another win over them, she got the best looking person the entire xianzhou will ever have.

But then, when we got Mara-struck. Things changed. HORRIFICALLY.

Mara-Struck jingliu doesn’t bother to hide her obsession for you. Before she escapes the luofu, she steals you away, even breaking your legs so you couldn’t resist.

But don’t worry, she didn’t break them to the point you won’t heal from it. You will, you HAVE to. Your beauty simply couldn’t allow such a disgusting thing to exist to your body.

She cuffs you and ties your legs together, making sure you couldn’t resist any of her loving gestures. A kiss here, a cut there, a slap here, a gut punch there.

Looking down at your bloody and bruised body below her, she can’t help but smile. Your tears and blood making your skin glow beautifully, making her weak in the knees.

She dips down and grabs your chin, harshly lifting your head up to face her as she leaned in to lick your tears.

Jingliu: Your so fucking beautiful~

Her voice trembles as she kisses you, forcing her tongue deep down your throat. Forming a small icy dagger to draw more blood from your angelic body.

Jingliu: Mmm~ All bloody and bruised for me—BY. ME. You have no idea what you do to me~~!

She moaned out, cutting open another wound into your body. Feeling euphoric as she hears you sing your beautiful screams of pain—Pleasure

Jingliu: You did this too me~ YOUR the reason I’m Mara-struck! It’s your fault for being so FUCKING gorgeous~! For that.. YOU. OWE ME YOUR LOVE. YOUR VERY EXISTENCE ITSELF~~!

10/10. A terrifying yandere.

Sadistic, Impulsive, Delusional, Possessive, Obsessive and Clingy Yandere.

Baiheng

(I know she isn’t meant to have the horns but I couldn’t find a better picture)

Unlike jingliu (and pretty much everyone here) bai heng could never have the heart to physically harm you.

No no no, such an atrocious act like that never crossed her mind. How could she ever harm your delicate body?

Baiheng would much more comfortably gaslight—Manipulate—would much more comfortably win you over with her humor.. and alcohol.

She’s generally good at hiding her obsessive tendencies from you, besides being extremely clingy. If she doesn’t have a hand wrapped around you she feels like she’s loosing her mind.

Baiheng would take you on expeditions to other planets, protecting you, tasting different types of alcohol, showing you off.

She lets you do her hair and groom her tail, and touch her ears. She also keeps her tail wrapped around your waist.

Baiheng would manipulate you into believing and only being completely reliant on her and her only. Your family? Leave em’ they’re holding you back. They wouldn’t accept your relationship with her.

Your friends? She’s the only person you can trust, those others are trying to steal you away from HER! Why have such boring friends when you can hang with her and the quintet?

Your job? Quit. You don’t need money or anything like that. She has your back, she’ll simply TAKE money from others and support you like that.

Baiheng is an emotional and mental manipulator and isolationist with a ‘healthy’ dose of controlling—Type of yandere.

One thing your don’t have to worry about is physical abuse. She’d never harm your body in any way.. that and she fucking dies.

Also she’d probably give you a pet name that has something to do with alcohol or stars/trailblazing

Bai Heng: My dear~! I brought alcohol from another planet! Come taste it with me and the quintet!

Bai Heng: Come my star, your family isn’t important. IM the only person who’ll treat you right~ I have money, a high status, a ship that can travel to different planets~

Bai Heng’s tail hugs your waist and her hands cup your face, pepper kissing your face to no end, only finding your embarrassed face adorable and using it as motivation to continue.

2/10, probably the best yandere here to have obsess over you.

A Manipulative, Isolating, Possessive yandere.



Jing Yuan

He is also a relatively relaxed yandere. He doesn’t even have to try hard to get others to leave you alone.

Similar to bai heng, jing yuan would never physically harm you. He’s much more comfortable manipulating you.

Also similar to BaiHeng, he’d isolate you and forge your mind to be utterly and even pathetically reliable on him.

Using his status as general of the luofu, he’d forge some fraudulent evidence on your friends and family, having them arrested and even humiliated in public.

Then he swoops in again, and lifts you and your family up. He offers you reassurance, he suddenly finds the TRUE criminals, he punishes those who verbally assaulted you and your people.

Jing yuan still wishes to have your family’s blessing in a normal, everyday person would. But he isn’t afraid of just taking you away from your family and friends.

He’s a blend of baiheng and jingliu, he has bai hengs manipulative tendencies and jingliu’s violent behavior on others to secure you for himself.

Jing yuan: Come with me Love. I wish to teach you swords technique.

Jing Yuan: My love, would you care for some chess lessons?

Jing Yuan: Seize these criminals! Being those who have harmed the L/n’s to me. I shall allow the l/n’s to punish them accordingly.

4/10–Similar to baiheng but a little more dangerous as he does have violent tendencies.

A Manipulative, Possessive, even Self-Indulgent Yandere.

Blade/Yingxing

Yingxing is also surprisingly normal. He uses his charm and crafts things for you to win you over.

He gets Dan Feng to tell him how to crafts those arm braces the Vidyadhara use to feel others warmth from miles away, so he can craft one for you.

He crafts you multiple weapons you have interest in. A sword that can morph into a scythe, a spear that elongates, a chain that has blades (takeda from MKX and 1)

The only negative tendency I see him having is being overly possessive and clingy to you. So he’s controlling, but that’s it. Until he becomes blade.

BLADE—Remembers you, his mind is completely fulled with imagines of you. His obsession and yandere-ness upgrading 10 folds.

Blade takes you in broad daylight, he doesn’t bother any types of subtleties. Your his, you always were.

He’s not suave as yingxing is, he’s just blunt and clingy. A scary violent dog that WILL kill anyone who even looks at you besides the stellaron hunters.

A part of him is annoyed that you’re scared of him, stop shaking and just hug him back you ungrateful fuck!

But there’s a part of him that thrives on it, that breaths it in, swims in your fear. Knowing that your fear will control you, and using it to destroy any hope building in you.

And when the Mara acts up and Kafka isn’t there to stop it..you sir, are fucked. His darker and unhinged personality takes hold, purposefully instilling fear in you.

He throws you in the woods and chases you down like the weak little prey you are. Using the dark, foggy, creepy environment to make you more paranoid.

Sneaking up behind you and breathing on your neck just to disappear as you flick around to face him. Then when he catches you, he reassures you that he’ll protect you, before using his sword to make you bleed.

Unlike jingliu, blade is happier and more then willing to completely rip off your limbs to keep you in place, so don’t push him.

Also similar to her, he loves your tears and blood, enjoying how it makes your skin shine even more than usual.

Yingxing: Your not distracting me dear. Infact, I find myself working better when you’re on my lap.

Blade: Sit still. Or will slit open your throat.

10/10 a more dangerous jingliu.

Delusional, Overprotective, Sadistic, Clingy and Possessive Yandere.

Dan Heng/Feng

Dan Feng is a clingy yandere. Knowing that he’s eventually gonna be reincarnated, he wants you to worship him so you’d love him in his next life.

He isn’t afraid of just taking you in daylight. After all, who would challenge the High elder Vidyadhara?

He ALWAYS wraps his tail around your body. It normally stays on your waist. Thighs if he’s getting jealous or angry, ankles if he feels your challenging him.

Dan Feng keeps you beside him at all times, he the type to teach you history, magic, aeons. But he never teaches you how to fight, he wouldn’t want you to fight back against him.

Dan Feng is a self-indulgent and Possessive Yandere. But what about Dan Heng?

Dan Heng at first doesn’t want to approach you. He knows your Dan Feng lover but also knows how much he’s hurt you.

He tries and TRIES his damnedest to stay away from you. But it seemed Dan Feng love to you transferred to him.

Dan Heng, unlike Dan Feng is a much more softer yandere. He’s clingy and protective of you, allowing you personal space that Dan Feng would’ve never given you.

Dan Heng never transforms into his dragon form, as he knows you’ll get a panic attack if he did. He’s much more happier loving you as Dan Heng then Imbibitor Lunae.

Dan Feng obsession over you also transferred to Dan Heng, so in case that obsession takes over him, he teaches you how to fight, how to exploit his weaknesses.

Dan Feng: Cease your struggles. It’s pointless to fight back.

Dan Feng: Correct~ see how much more knowledgeable you get when you’re around me?

Dan Heng: Forgive me… I don’t wish to make you uncomfortable.

Dan Heng: I am not Dan Feng. I will not harm you or push your boundaries.

Dan Feng: 5/10–Self Indulgent and Possessive yandere

Dan Heng: 3/10–Possessive and Protective yandere.

The Quintet

Your fucked. There’s just other no way to put it, your fucked.

At first they find it hard to share you, they want you all to themselves, it’s too damn suffocating to share you with four other people.

So, they take turns. Jingliu gets Monday’s, Yingxing gets Tuesday’s, Dan Feng gets Wednesday’s, Jing Yuan gets Thursdays, and Bai Heng gets you Friday.

They all share you on the weekends. Taking you on dates privately from the citizens of the luofu.

Escaping them is an absolutely laughable concept. It’s not possible to get away from them, so you might as well learn how to live with them.

The five of them would try to manipulate you into hating the others and liking them more. But they wouldn’t use the others insecurities or share their secrets. Mearly telling you why THEY’RE better.

Speaking of, what are dates like with them? Jingliu’s dates are a murder spree, she takes you to a territory full of the abundance creatures and makes you watch as she kills them all. In her mind, this shows you how well she can protect you.

BaiHeng is more traditional, taking you on a picnic in a nearby planet. Yangxinq would take you on scenic walks dates.

Jing yuan dates are lessons in fighting and chess. Dan Feng’s dates are library ones.

Jingliu and Dan Feng don’t care about your personal space. It’s there’s space too. The other three would try to pry them off of you but be unsuccessful.

You have accessories of them on your body. A glove from Yangxinq, a necklace from Jingliu, a bracelet from bai heng, a weapon from Jing yuan, an arm brace from Dan Feng.

When bai heng dies and jingliu gets Mara-struck shit hits the fan. Jingliu is much more obsessive with you, trying to repeatedly steal you away from Jing yuan who is protecting you from her.

Dan Feng tries to input a forbidden protective barrier on you that causes him to get outcasted and furthers his desire to bring back Bai Heng.

Yangxing and jing yuan gets more protective and possessive over you, with jing yuan’s protectiveness being amplified once yangxing dies and Dan Feng is banished.

Jing yuan isolated you completely from anyone and everything besides him. He can’t take anymore of him friends dying or leaving.

He cries into your chest, hugging you deathly while promising to protect you and degrading himself for not doing more to save his old friends.

Jingliu would try to find you, but eventually she’d leave the luofu, believing jing yuan was hiding you somewhere in the cosmos.

Years pass and the only person you ever need and ever interact with is jing yuan. He’s in a much more better mental state but still extremely overprotective and isolating you.

Blade try’s to find you but falls, Dan Heng represses his obsession of you. No one finds you, and that’s good, no one can take you away nothing can hurt you.

Until SHE finds you. Jingliu comes back and she somehow finds you. Of course he hid you here. Right under where the high cloud quintet would hang out.

She doesn’t steal you immediately. No no no, she needs to make sure it’s you and that jing yuan hasn’t corrupted you in any way.

She gets angry when you mistake her for Jing yuan, so, she decides to cleanse you of him. She steals you away and leaves the luofu and the xianzhou entirely. She doesn’t need that trauma machine of a ship anymore.

She has you, that’s all she needs, all she WANTS.

———-

God fucking damn I’m never doing this again ;-; (maybe)

[kyokutsu-sama]

As a black clover fan, came FLOCKING to your account😭❤️ i got a req for you, take as much time as you’d like!

William, Nozel and Yuno jealousy headcanons? You could make a lil scenario if you like for each, but just how’d they act? I feel like all 3 of them would get extremely petty at one point😭 THANK YOU!!!

Hi!!! I'm grateful and I really hope you're enjoying my account❤️

It was really interesting to write for these three since they have such calm and closed personalities and it was funny to see them trying to deal with the situation😅

_____________________________

William :

William is definitely not a jealous man. He trusts you a lot and seeing you talking to other people doesn't make him uncomfortable. However, it may happen that this man has to fight against the bad thoughts in his mind when he sees you talking to another man for a long time, like when he came across you at a party where the captains and the members of their squads were together. He thought it was a little unnecessary of him to be a little jealous, but the truth is that it got to a point where his eyes started to fall on you more often than expected. Along with the feeling of jealousy, came the fear and insecurity that you might be more interested in someone else than him, due to the scar. Even after you were the first person who came close to him and kissed that mark, accepting it without fear or prejudice. He's not the type to make a scene when he's jealous, so he just came close to you when you were talking to the guy and hold your hand and stood there close to you, without saying anything. Even when he was just innocently marking his territory, you already knew him well enough to be able to read the look in his eyes and not be able to hide a little smile when you saw him jealous. You'll definitely tease him about this on the way home. "You seemed a little strange just now, is everything okay?" "Yes, why not?" He smiled, trying not to give too many signs "Nothing, I could have sworn you were jealous..." "Jealousy?" He choked a little, feeling a certain blush on his cheeks and you giggled, seeing him all embarrassed "You're cute when you're jealous, you know?" You poked his cheek and he smiled. "But you don't need to be. I love you." You kissed him and hugged him, making his heart ease and melt The captain apologized to you but you said that everything was fine and that he didn't have to apologize because he didn't do anything wrong. He was always so kind and cute. I want a William, where can I find one?🥺👉👈

Nozel :

Nozel, in turn, is more controlling of you even without saying a word. Like William, he won't say a word but his actions spoke loudly as did his look, he will make sure that his actions are visible enough and understood by both the individual and you. Like for example when you were talking to his rival, Fuegoleon, and he saw you in the background laughing with the other man and that made his icy eyes fall on you without straying for even a moment. Nozel approached the two of you and that was when Fuegoleon looked at him as he put an arm around you and returned a serious look to the other captain. You were a little surprised when he suddenly appeared, without understand what that attitude was initially about. Fuegoleon, in turn, immediately understood what was happening but just smiled at both of you, leaving the place. You looked at Nozel and saw him narrow his eyes at you a little and you couldn't help but question him. "You seemed a little uncomfortable just now, was it your rival's presence?" "I'm not uncomfortable around my rival but confident knowing that I'm above him." Nozel said, coldly as he walked and you smiled "Oh, I see...So what if he are too close to me, won't you be bothered?" Nozel turned to face you and you gave him a teasing smile, only to see him lose his royal posture "If he or another guy is near you, I'll deal with them... and then with you." Nozel whispered next to your ear and left That man's serious, low voice sent a shiver down your spine and made your knees weak. He was undoubtedly jealous and was letting it show more than he would have liked.

(Okay I'll have to write this scenario later✍️)

Yuno :

Of the three, this may be surprisingly the most obvious, even if he thinks he can't leave any evidence of it. Yuno is very reserved and very closed off. Exactly the opposite of his best friend and rival, Asta... But when faced with a situation like this, he may even be a little more talkative than usual. He always tries to keep you in his sight to protect you at all times. Yes, he has feelings even if he's not that good at expressing them in words. He was looking for you, at the headquarters, when he saw you talking and laughing with another member of Golden Dawn. It caused a "strange feeling" in him, especially when he saw that you seemed to be trying something. Even if it was nothing more than an idea in his head. He trusted you and wasn't insecure about it but, no, please stay away from her. "Is everything okay here?" Yuno asked, approaching the two of you "Yes, and you?" "Oh, nice to see you, Yuno!" The other member greeted Yuno just looking at him, with a cold gaze that followed him from top to bottom "Are you alright, Yuno?" You asked again, feeling a certain tension in the air. "Yes...Come with me, the captain needs to talk to us."He informed, without taking his eyes off the other man, who was already getting uncomfortable "Well... then I'll leave. See you later." He said goodbye to the two, a little nervous, following his path shortly after You furrowed your eyebrows and looked at Yuno, still trying to understand what had just happened. "What was that just now?" You asked " 'That' what?" He looked at you "That...You didn't take that cold look off the poor guy. What did he do to you?" "Nothing. Let's go." He turned around and you looked at him A light bulb went off over your head and you soon came to the answer. Yuno was jealous and you smiled. "Did it bother you to see me close to that man?" You asked and he stopped looking at you for a moment but only to turn around again and make his way Well, his silence was a response in itself and you just shook your head, following behind him.

[greatideas-badwriter]

Sacrificed To The Banished Prince Ch. 28

The icy wind stung Sasuke’s face. In an attempt to avoid his oblivious wife for just a while longer, Shadow was only traveling at a leisurely pace. Last night, Akuma did something unforgivable and that was to lie to Sakura about his identity. The prince’s teeth gritted as he imagined the pinkette’s devastation when she eventually finds out. He couldn’t hide the truth from her. It was wrong enough that he didn’t immediately come clean about it upon waking this morning. 

Sakura had just been so charming with her bashful glances and sweet words of appreciation during breakfast. Sasuke was grateful for an excuse to head to town to buy some clothing and supplies because he needed time alone to prepare himself to ruin the wonderful bond they’d built before Akuma did what he did. 

‘She’ll blame herself for not noticing. That’s just how she is,’ he mused with a frown. ‘It’s always her first instinct to take responsibility for everything bad that happens. That’s just how she was raised.’ It was a trait the prince desperately wished wasn’t fact. How many times had the poor woman been unfairly punished for deeds that weren’t her own over the years? If her spoiled sister and narcissistic brother were any hint, the number was large. 

A deep sadness chilled him more than the winter weather as they neared their honeymoon cabin. The Curse had spoken to himself after Sakura fell asleep last night. He’d expressed words of great regret and pleaded with the prince to allow him to explain to the clueless woman. Such desperation was extremely out of character. 

Sasuke was beyond livid and refused. He had half a mind to begin locking himself up at sunset like before so nothing like this happened again. 

‘She’s my wife. Mine. That beast had no right.’ An odd, territorial anger began warming his chest as he thought about the tense situation. ‘Sakura even made it clear to him that she’s chosen me over him, and he still betrayed her trust.’ 

If Akuma wasn’t literally sharing his body, Sasuke would love to tear him to shreds. 

The seething man attempted to calm himself while dismounting Shadow and guiding him into the stable. It was difficult because yet another person had proven themselves untrustworthy. First, her father sent her to die, then, her brother committed an unspeakable act, now, the demon she’d taken a risk by befriending had lied as well. She’ll be heartbroken when she finds out. 

After slinging the pack of supplies onto his back, Sasuke sighed and began trekking through the snow toward the cabin. He lifted his tired eyes onto the door, only to drop the sack in surprise. Multiple sets of footprints were left in the snow, almost all of them too large to be his wife’s. The door was ajar, too. 

Fearing the worst, Sasuke rushed inside, “Sakura!” No response came. 

He hurried through the den, eyes pausing on the half-chopped vegetables sitting on the cutting board next to a large knife. Praying he was wrong that she’d been taken, the prince threw the bedroom door open only to have his fear confirmed. Her name left his lips again, more breathlessly. Little puffs of breath were visible in the cold air as he helplessly looked around at the abandoned cabin for any sign. None were to be found. 

She was gone. 

Sasuke immediately left for the capital, riding as fast as possible with only a few short breaks so Shadow wouldn’t become exhausted. When he approached the palace gates, a few guards began jogging over, obviously not recognizing his unruly appearance. “Stop there-” “Get Itachi. Now!” He cut them off, the fire of the need to locate and rescue his wife fueling his rage. 

Moments later, the first Uchiha prince appeared. He was visibly confused by his younger brother’s demeanor, “Sasuke? What are you-” “They took her!” He was still panting for breath from riding so hard for many consecutive hours. The man was utterly exhausted but couldn’t bear to rest when so much was unknown. 

Itachi motioned for the guards to tend to the horse before guiding his brother into the castle, “Sakura? Who took her?” 

Sasuke spat angrily, “I don’t know. She was only alone for a few hours. I made sure the area was clear before I left!” 

“Nephew? This is unexpected. I was sure your honeymoon would last longer,” Madara smiled teasingly, oblivious to the situation. 

“Sakura’s been taken, Uncle. We should act immediately,” Itachi’s gaze was fierce with concern. 

Madara’s grin melted, “Of course. Tell me where to send my best and it shall be done.” 

After getting all the information they could from Sasuke, they demanded he bathe, change his clothes, and rest. 

One of the maid’s brought tea to his room, and Itachi joined him for a glass. It was nearing sunset, so the demon was sure to take over soon. “Drink, Brother. It’ll help you sleep.” 

“I don’t need sleep. I need to find Sakura,” the prince bit, but he took a sip anyway. Regardless of his desperation, he knew he’d be useless if he didn’t maintain his health. 

All was silent for a few moments, the elder Uchiha prince studying the younger one. Eventually, he sighed, “To think the princess would be forced to undergo such hardships again.” 

A quiet sound of agreement left Sasuke. He was unbelievably upset with himself. No matter how badly he needed some alone time, he should’ve known better than to leave his wife defenseless. If he’d only brought her along, or packed more supplies for their trip to begin with, she’d be preparing to rest in one of her feminine nightgowns right now. 

“You don’t suppose her family is involved?” 

Sasuke’s frown deepened, if possible. He shook his head, glaring into his teacup, “If they are, they won’t escape with their lives.” 

Surprise met Itachi’s face, only to quickly sink into bittersweet understanding, “Perhaps this is why she was taken.” 

This, too, Sasuke had considered, though he was stunned to hear his brother say something so obviously treacherous to the king. 

‘There’s no proof that Madara has done anything, but the possibility can’t be ruled out. He’ll do anything he deems necessary to protect the family name.’ His hands shook. His emotions were spiraling out of control. He downed the rest of the tea in one big gulp, ‘I can’t let her die. Not now, after everything she’s done for me.’ The thought of somehow co-existing with Akuma wasn’t positive, but it was preferable to losing the one person in this life who was honestly and truly innocent. 

‘It’s for this exact reason that Madara might’ve had her taken. If she’s killed….’ He couldn’t even finish the thought. 

“You’ve little reason to put your faith in me, but I’ll do what I can, Little Brother. I promise you this.” 

It was unspoken between the brothers that Itachi was keeping numerous secrets. Expecting him to confide in the banished prince would be foolish. Sasuke nodded once, not moving from the table as the first prince excused himself for the evening. He’d just have to trust that Itachi was a man of his word.

One day of searching every inch of the kingdom passed, then another, and more. Before Sasuke knew it, a month of sleepless nights and restless days had passed. He could feel his sanity slipping. Sure, small clues of Sakura’s whereabouts had been found, all by the kingdom’s magic users. The fact that he wasn’t sure if the king was lying about the reports was driving him insane, but Itachi’s promise to do all he could helped him barely hold on. 

‘Where is she? Is she scared? Are they treating her well? Is she hungry or cold? Does she think I’ve abandoned her?’ The questions were endless and refused to cease. 

One night, while staying at an inn with a small group of soldiers, Sasuke was interrupted from his worries by a sudden presence behind him. He smoothly brandished his sword, swinging around and onto his feet to point it at whoever’d appeared, “Explain yourself before I behead you.” 

To his surprise, a familiar face was there. The wizard who’d visited his estate with Itachi stood proudly, his overbearing physical presence unable to be entirely ignored. ‘His name is Kisame, right? Itachi seemed to trust him.’ Sasuke still didn’t lower his blade, though, because the muscular man had appeared like a ghost in his personal room. His intentions were unclear. 

“The first prince sends his regards,” Kisame spoke gruffly, with little emotion. 

“Itachi sent you?” 

“Yes. There’s been a discovery.” 

Sasuke put pressure on his blade so that it dug into Kisame’s chest. If he pushed any harder, it’d surely draw blood, “What is it?” 

“It seems one of the men involved in the princess’s disappearance is someone I’ve personally worked with in the past. He’s a mercenary.” 

Sasuke’s blade lowered ever so slightly, “What does this mean?” 

Kisame’s eyes narrowed, but otherwise his expression and tone remained the same, “After our last encounter, I did some research on the man, so I’m familiar with some of his known hideouts. If we’re lucky, he may be keeping her at one.” 

“I’m asking-!” Sasuke paused, having raised his voice. He took a calming breath before trying again with a better grasp on his composure, “I’m asking what this means for my wife.” 

This time, the wizard’s stoicism dropped, if only slightly, “Hidan is bloodthirsty and short-tempered, but he takes his jobs seriously. So long as the princess isn’t defiant and his mission is to keep her alive, I believe he won’t seriously harm her.” 

The prince nodded slowly. The idea that the poor woman might’ve been dead all along crossed his mind the moment he realized she was taken, but he wouldn’t entertain it until he saw proof with his own eyes. If he thought about it too much, it became unbearable to even sit and exist. 

So, early the next morning, the small group headed out in the direction of the closest known hideout of Hidan’s mercenary group. 

Kisame had joined them, claiming to be following the royal family’s orders. Sasuke still wasn’t sure if he could trust him, but what other choice did he have? Aimlessly searching for the past month has yielded almost zero results. 

Each moment he was apart from Sakura and unsure of her safety, the more unstable he felt. His last memories of her were the sweetest of them all, the image of a bashful bride the morning after spending a night together. They’d entrusted one another with their souls. They’d become one, so the Uchiha man felt as though he was only half of a person in her absence. 

The group traveled throughout the day, and Akuma took over once the sun was set. They didn’t stop, though, because they were nearing the first hideout. Using the cover of night, it’d be easier to sneak around unseen if it so happened enemies were present. Akuma was filled to the brim with self-disgust. He was desperate to find Sakura if only to apologize for betraying her trust. Hell, he’d abandon this realm of his own volition so long as she just came back safely. 

‘The last thing I did to her can’t have been that.’ 

The demon hadn’t felt such emotions ever in his life. This month in her absence had been a rollercoaster of adapting to such human sentiments. He wanted to run away from it all, but he was no coward. Whether or not she hated him for what he’d done, Akuma wouldn’t let his flower be taken by anyone else. 

So, he rode with focus and ferocity. Suddenly, a dark building became visible in the distance. It was semi-camouflaged into the forest with thick branches and trees covering most of its appearance. If he wasn’t in control of this body, Sasuke might not have noticed. Akuma had enhanced senses, though, so he easily spotted it. 

Eagerly, he shook the reins of his horse to speed it up. The blue-haired wizard shouted at him to not stray too far ahead of the group, but he ignored it. In fact, as the disguised building came closer, the anticipation was too much to handle. Akuma leapt off the horse and sprinted in that direction, energy stinging his fingertips as he readied himself to disembowel any who opposed him. 

Just before he could reach the small house, Sakura’s faint scent met his nose. He skidded to a stop, neck turning quickly to the south. ‘She was recently here but not anymore.’ The demon’s blood boiled with frustration. ‘So close! I was so close to finding her!’ 

The others in the search party caught up, Kisame asking, “You found something?” 

“They left within the last twenty-four hours. We should follow while I can still detect her scent.” 

The wizard nodded, “Let’s search this place quickly, then.” 

[loosealcina]

ANTONIO CESTI'S L'ORONTEA AT LA SCALA, OCTOBER 5, 2024

Way before Mario Cavaradossi set eyes on the Marchesa Attavanti in Sant’Andrea della Valle, another young man was already painting his way into operatic stardom, putting some newly discovered beauty on the canvas: enter Alidoro. He used to work for Arnea, Queen of Phoenicia; now a fugitive running for his life, he finds shelter and is showered with affection (both royal and not royal) at the court of Orontea, Queen of Egypt. The first appearance of L’Orontea at La Scala in sixty-three years (back in 1961 it was the Piccola Scala, and the cast was headlined by Teresa Berganza) is a Robert Carsen/Giovanni Antonini collaboration that, to me, qualifies as an absolute hit in many respects. Robert Carsen’s staging was but a crude, plain snapshot of the way we (it’s us—there’s no mistaking that) are currently dealing with two specific subjects: love and art. I’ve got a bit of a spoiler: it’s an extremely bitter snapshot. I suspect it might put a full serving of Unicum® to shame, but it was never overblown or emphatic. You could easily imagine a voice-over part be like, look, our experience of love (and art) is utterly empty. Superficial. Vain. We’re just hopeless (and clueless to boot), but nobody needs to pretend anybody should be excited about it: it’s old news about very old people. (I’m thinking of inner/spiritual age here). The how was a virtuoso display of realism where a number of Duane Hanson’s humans seemed to somehow meet a pretty sarcastic/prankish version of Alessandro Michele and/or Francesco Vezzoli (with entourage). As for the orchestra conducted by Giovanni Antonini, they treated us to a spectacular journey through unfamiliar territories.

The prominence of such instruments as harp, theorbos (three of them), harpsichords (two, plus one organ), and viola da gamba put L’Orontea in the middle of a pensive, somewhat muted musical landscape. Besides, the relatively conventional bits played by tutti (where the whole string section would kick in, together with regular/measured rhythm) sounded like eerie mechanical dances from some remote region of our past. Zooming out in order to embrace the entire night, I’d say a certain cold/rational vibe—made of detachment, abstraction, possibly a dose of contempt—was everywhere. And that vibe found a perfectly coherent champion in Stéphanie d’Oustrac: her Orontea—the icy ruler who absolutely won’t, but should, but would, but cannot, but maybe ultimately will…—was a memorable, puzzling mix of refinement and mediocrity. Quite interestingly, Francesca Pia Vitale as Silandra (Orontea’s aide/lady in waiting; she passionately loves Corindo, then Alidoro, then Corindo again) came with a decidedly different set of colors. Her singing was wide open, flexuous, impromptu-like. And her glossy timbre made it all the more absorbing. If I had to produce a personal shortlist of highlights, I think I’d go with a couple of hazy, positively brooding solo intros played by the concertmaster during Act III. And I’d definitely go with the two opening parties (one for a nameless artist’s exhibition [end of Act I], one for Alidoro’s own exhibition [end of Act III]): each of those buzzy, defiantly blunt codas—to some extent fabricated (in short: interpolated, non-Cesti music), to some extent indispensable—was downright exceptional.

[fallstreakfeathers]

[More] Obey Me Headcanons

[ I didn’t edit this at all, really, but I have around 30 headcanons so far that I’m using for my fic and would like several backups- so, I’m posting it here.) 

The ‘Devildom’ is a planet that is larger than ours. ‘Hell’ refers to a part of each territory the Avatar’s govern that is reserved for retaining and torturing human souls. These areas are actually quite small compared to the rest of the land. Each environment is unique, with its own native flora, fauna, land formations, climates, and dangers.

The Devildom resides on a tall, mountain-ringed plateau that towers over the lands around it. It is not the tallest point in the demon world.

Demons have elemental affinities that also define certain weaknesses. A demon that’s used to the heat and gasses of flowing magma would have difficulties in the colder parts of the world, or fighting against a demon or creature who uses a lot of freezing attacks.

There are many places in their realm that even Demons refrain from going, or simply cannot. One such area is a vast frozen land in the far northeast that drops to temperatures low enough that even demons that are developed for icy area’s cannot survive without magical assistance. However, this also makes the area a great place for criminals and the exiled to live should they be able to fight the cold. Demons and such that failed to pass the test of the cold are frequently found encased in the tall, pointed ice spires that jut from the ground- trapped in an unending preservation until the end of days.

There’s a massive crater in one part of the world, in the land Mammon governs, that’s referred to as the ‘Fear Pit’. It’s the aftermath of a massive battle between two demons, and the entire area is cursed with illusions that prey on your fears. It gets worse the closer you are to the bottom. Demons occasionally travel to test their own resolve, though few ever make it to the center- usually opting to turn back before their fear drives them mad.

Beelzebub dislikes thunder because it sounds similar to some sounds he heard in the war

Demon’s are immortal only in that time cannot destroy them, They can still die from wounds and even disease.

Not all demons can speak human languages. There’s plenty in the Devildom/Hell who’ve never set foot in the human realm and have never bothered to learn the realms languages.

On that note, there are more than a few specific demonic dialects spoken in the devildom. The Avatars and most high nobility are required to be fluent in the most common 3 demonic languages.

Demons who came to the Devildom by falling from the Celestial Realm are not considered ‘true demons’, and many have challenged the Avatars solely because of their origins

Demons may have pacts with multiple humans. If a demon who has more than one pact is ordered to do something by multiple pact holders, the demon will obey whoever has the strongest bond with them OR the orders will cancel each other out.

Many species found in the Devildom/Hell and the Celestial Realm are not exclusive to one or the other- dragons and unicorns are found in both, for example, but with different traits and personalities. Dragons in the Devildom are ugly things that spit an acidic venom, while those in the Celestial Realm are sleek and able to shoot blasts of fire from their throats. Some creatures remain the same in each realm, but are referred to by different names. Many mythic creatures from every human culture can be found in both the Devildom and Celestial realm

Though their human forms look rather perfect, everyone who fought in the Celestial War bears a great number of physical scars, some of which affect their human guise as well

Belphegor's right eye is completely blind in all his forms. He tends to hide it in his human appearance because it’s sometimes seen as a weakness by other demons who might try to challenge him. He has the most trouble with demon’s attempting to fight him because he’s often seen as the weakest Avatar due to his sleeping habits and general outward appearance. This is, of course, a massive mistake.

Belphegor frequently wraps his tail around himself (like a hug) for comfort- particularly when he’s alone

Belphegor’s horseshoe was broken during a fight with a demon who wanted to challenge his title/status.

Demons don't usually bury their dead because many simply disappear upon death. How they disappear depends on their primary sin (Wrath erupts in a blast of fire)

Leviathan changes the order of the smiley pins on his clothes depending on his mood (green for happy/content, yellow for neutral, red for angry/upset)

Satan dislikes chocolate

Demons are practically infertile. Children born naturally (human standard) are extremely rare. As such, all demon children are cherished and protected by modern demonic societies as a whole, and intending to harm one is punished harshly.

Lucifer may have birthed Satan from rage, but a demon can create another being from any emotion so long as it’s powerful enough (love, envy, etc). This is much more common than the physical way of creating children. The offspring will generally exhibit whatever emotion spawned them and will behave accordingly to whoever the emotion was directed at. After their birth, they grow very fast until they appear 10-15 years old, and their growth slows immensely.

A specific ritual is required for a demon( or angel) and human to crossbreed with each other, as they are completely different species. It would be like trying to cross a dog with a giraffe. These births are always extremely dangerous for the human mother. There are a few exceptions to this, such as Incubi/Succubi but successful crossbreeding is still extremely rare.

The older a demon is, the more horrific their true forms are. Anyone who has existed before the Celestial War is referred to as an ‘Ancient/Old World’ demon. Those born after and those who fell are considered ‘New Age/Modern’ demons. There are a handful of creatures referred to as ‘Primordials’. These beings are neither demons nor angels, but are immensely powerful and are very secretive. Not much is known about any of them, and they rarely show themselves. They also rarely partake in the social/political conflicts of the three realms. They did not have a presence in the Celestial War.

These titles have no bearing on how civilised someone may be.

There are technically four realms known. The Celestial, Devildom, and Human realms are commonly spoken about but the fourth realm is known as ‘Oblivion’ and isn’t so much a world as it is multitudes of platforms floating throughout a nebula. It’s useless overall but is used as a prison and punishment for the worst of demonkind. Few have ever made it out, but those that have come back a blubbering, maddened shell of who they were. Diavolo and Barbatos both are capable of opening a portal to it.

All demons/Fallen have the capability to return to a monstrous form, but Ancient demons have a particularly difficult time making themselves look human again (some Ancient’s are incapable of returning at all). New Age demons are able to transform much more freely, but if the transformation is brought on by strong negative emotion (rage, fear, or a physical reaction such as pain), it takes much longer to change back

The final stage of demonic courtship involves seeing each other's truest self. This display is a form of trust in the highest regard, the goal being total acceptance of each other. It should never be taken lightly. Not every couple goes through this, but those that do form a deeply personal and permanent bond.

A demon in full form is rare outside battle, though some choose to remain in their appearance as a way of showing off.

Some demons (nobility and such) have several forms outside of their human/humanoid guises

Demons are compelled to chew on things. There are several businesses specializing in ‘demon chew toys’. Gnawing on these can release both stress and anxiety and also helps maintain healthy teeth.

Demons shed their horns, scales, teeth and fur, and will often use these shed materials in their own clothing, jewelry, and other such items. Shedding season differs for every demon- it happens to some every half year, year, couple years, or even centuries. Being given an item made from a demon’s shed is considered a personal gift

Demons can tell the basic emotional state of any human they have a pact with. Whether they react to it or care is another story.

Despite the common opinion that the Devildom doesn’t have a sun, the sky brightens every 3 human world days thanks to the passing of a dwarf star. However, it would be a mistake to believe that the demon world is devoid of light without it! There are plenty of natural light sources that provide the lands with a way to see (for those without night vision), such as glowing crystals and mushrooms, magma, etc.

The Devildom’s planet’s core burns hotter than ours, which counteracts how cold it would be otherwise (though it’s still quite chilly in many parts of the planet)

When Diavolo ordered that no human be harmed in the Devildom again, he also banned all media portraying humans as prey. These books, videos, and movies are now sold on the black markets and hoarded by those who disagree with Diavolo

[omgkalyppso]

The Unforgotten King

A Dimimari drabble that fits into Fae's post canon.

The icy winds pouring down from the frigid Fraldarian mountains were starting to upset the horses with how cold they were. Many roads this far north were impassable for carriages; even the main roads, which in many cases were the only option, were made to constrict the approach of enemies and allies alike, venturing to and from the historically chaotic northern border, and the capital to the south.

They had come first by boat and then followed the trade routes carved out by the fishing villages on the eastern coast.

Marianne held her scarf against the chill, wincing and shaking her head about Dimitri, with his scarf pulled down around his smile as he spoke about his homeland. He'd long ago let his hat fall back around his shoulders, secured by a cord about his neck, and his bound hair was a tangle as a result of the gales. He was going home, and it was as clear in his person as it was in his temperament. His nose and cheeks were pink and frozen, and his beard was gelid with frost, but the Faerghan climate suited him. Marianne even suspected that the temperature might have been harsh on another man's injuries, but Dimitri was only livelier by the mile.

Some might have said he was as a boy gone to the fair, but she knew him too well now, and could see the flit of his eye as he watched the forests. He was fighting his hauntings and his memories of war, and trusting her and their guard with his insecurities. A vast improvement when compared to the dreary state of his heart and mind during the year or two past.

Marianne had worried that despite Dimitri's growth, that returning to Faerghus was going to upset him and his friends, when he and they found him without the crown, without the armour and attire one expected of a king, and with the continued trauma of never having achieved his vengeance. She was overjoyed that it was nothing so simple.

.

"Do you see how the trees have turned from green to blue here?" Dimitri asked, gesturing to the evergreens, brightening as Marianne nodded. "They say the Goddess took pity on the verdant evergreens of Fodlan after her first ice storm, and blessed all the trees north of Conand River with a piece of her home on the Blue Sea Star, that they might from then on weather the storms."

Marianne held her scarf from her face as she replied, "They're quite beautiful. I hear they house wildlife too? I would have expected we'd only find migratory birds out in these temperatures."

"It would be wonderful to hear an owl at night," Dimitri mused. "You are right, though. There are a variety of creatures in the underbrush."

"As stubborn as any Faerghan," Marianne joked. "Although I suspect, in regards to your tale of a blessing, that similar accounts are told of the seas themselves, rather than only of Faerghan forests. Anything blue."

Dimitri had blushed and laughed awkwardly at Marianne's initial declaration, knowing that it was true that sailors in Faerghus were revered and worried perhaps even that he had misremembered his own short yarn, but then he'd smiled and contributed softly, "It is a color dear to my heart."

"Because of your house banner?" Marianne asked as if to confirm, offering Dimitri no space to argue. "Perhaps a square or kerchief could be sewn in one of your pillows? Or some other secret space? I am sorry that you're only clad as one of my guards."

Dimitri shook his head. "An honor. I am glad to ride beside you, Mari— my lady, and ... maybe with the right materials, I could try to award myself with the gift you suggest. It would be a small and challenging project for a man of my extremely limited skill."

.

Upon their arrival at the manor in Fraldarius, they were escorted to the entrance hall, where Dimitri embarrassed Rodrigue with a bow and an embrace.

"Dimitri," Rodrigue said softly, as a reprimand and a prayer, testing the name, free of title and ornamentation. "It is good to see you again. If Felix had not seen you himself, I would have assumed a ruse or extortion." He pulled away, a hand still on his once and fallen king's shoulder. "To bury you, would be as burying another son—"

"Rodrigue—" Dimitri said, meaning to interrupt.

"Humor me," he begged. "Hear me. Not only am I proud to host you, in secret, in public, but should you ever need a home in Faerghus, we will never turn you away." Rodrigue swept a tear from his eyes, "Hm. I think you'll find my lack of decorum is your fault, for hugging me first—"

"My sincerest—"

Rodrigue chuckled. "Don't apologize. Just know that I intended to be more reserved, for the sake of Lady Marianne, if not for that of my son."

"Where is Felix?" asked Dimitri, as a door to the entrance hall opened at the top of a far stair, and Felix, Annette, Sylvain and Ingrid rushed out of it.

Although Felix had been to visit him in Margrave Edmund's territory three times, Dimitri could not suppress his joy at his friend's reveal, and after Rodrigue's admission, he could either hope that Felix too thought of him more fondly, or else worry that he needed to apologize to the younger Fraldarius for what he'd inspired in his father. "Felix!"

Dimitri spared a glance for Marianne, who waved him off delicately so that he could rush to his friends at the base of the stair. She shared a far more respectable greeting with Duke Fraldarius.

.

"Wait—!" Felix started to object, but too late or with too little conviction to keep Dimitri from fitting his arms around him and Ingrid and squeezing them to his chest.

Ingrid laughed happily, and Felix scoffed when Sylvain was greeted with only a joined hand and a clap on the shoulder, though Annette then jumped into Dimitri's arms.

"I half worried it was an exaggeration," Dimitri said softly. "That you all could make it."

"Mercedes and Dedue's boat is expected tomorrow," Sylvain said to assure him.

"Ashe won't be here for a week," Annette lamented as her feet hit the floor, "but I hear that will be long enough to see you?"

"I won't leave before," Dimitri promised. "It would break my heart if his journey from Gaspard was fruitless."

"Did you know that he needed to wait for Linhardt to take up residence in Gaspard?" asked Ingrid. "To deter the Adrestians from overreaching — even now."

"As well as general rebellion," Felix supplied. "Things aren't exactly settled that far west."

"You're helping him?" Dimitri confirmed, and a part of his heart stirred to be able to have this conversation with Felix in person, rather than over a period of days by letter.

"Fhirdiad's helping him," Felix said and then frowned when the others around Dimitri looked at him more directly, and corrected himself. "Yes, I'm helping him."

Fhirdiad had been Felix's home and his charge these past few years. He had taken up the title of Archduke and wielded his role with purpose. He always intended to return to Fraldarius, imagining that there would be an opportunity to suggest another lord be honoured with the capital region, but some days he worried he had sealed his fate. His father, and Sylvain, were less subtle in their matching inquiries about his return, but it seemed all others were slowly becoming accustomed to him sitting in that place of kings in the more temperate south.

"I appreciate it," Dimitri said carefully.

"There'll be plenty of time to worry about the shadow of dissent tomorrow," Sylvain said, looking to change the subject. "What are you wearing?"

"Oh," Dimitri said in surprise, looking down at himself, dressed as a Leicester soldier in wool and armour.

"Are you warm enough?" asked Annette, turning over a side of his cloak to assess its thickness.

Dimitri chuckled. "I'm plenty warm, I—"

"How many layers is that?" Ingrid inquired critically.

"Do the rest of Marianne's escorts have hats like this?" asked Sylvain, propping Dimitri's upon his golden hair.

"Four. No, most have wool lined leather caps."

"Four? Like this? That's not enough," Ingrid worried.

"We'll warm him with drink and games," Sylvain suggested. "Maybe dancing if Annette feels like singing?"

Annette squeaked in protest, but Felix spoke first.

"You're being ridiculous. Dimitri's had a long ride—"

Dimitri's lips tightened to hear Felix call him by name, and he spoke gently, worried he might break this simple spell of friendship when he spoke in favour of Sylvain's suggestions, "I think it would be nice to drink with everyone, but I might like to bathe first. I fear as soon as I loosen my collar my sweat will thaw from where it's frozen upon me."

Three exaggerated tongues of disgust extended in sympathy.

"Do you want to stay inside?" asked Felix. "Wood fires can heat baths in the lower levels."

"Oh, no, lets show Marianne the hot springs," Annette said, as if pleading with Dimitri, though he would have agreed without any provocation.

"I would like that," he agreed, looking at Felix for permission.

With an expression of vague annoyance, Felix nodded, and then he and Dimitri each glanced to where Marianne continued her conversation with Rodrigue.

.

There was a social element to the hot springs that Marianne feared, but Sylvain made a joke that set her at ease, and challenged her to try the new experience.

Dimitri half expected Felix to return home after dutifully guiding their group to their destination, and thanked him for his continued company and conversation, such as it was, while they sat together in the steaming water. Sylvain was kind and assertive, inspecting Dimitri's right side as he stretched his arm and took advantage of the heat, to massage strong fingers into his shoulder.

Elsewhere, Ingrid and Annette had Marianne giggling as the trio raced from the spring to the snow and back again each time they grew over-red from being boiled together.

Later, they drank and reminisced, and Ingrid pulled Dimitri aside, to reaffirm that she would have been his knight and protector ... and that she still would, if he wanted to pursue his place in Fhirdiad. She saw no reason to defer to the law in Garreg Mach when Faerghus could still have its own king, and if not that, then at least he could be recognized, as the rest of them were, within Fodlan's nobility.

The shock that overtook Dimitri frightened her, when she had only meant to offer him his ancestral home, and the respect many had died to get him.

Sylvain and Felix were in listening distance, and Ingrid had known that; the four of them looked to Marianne, weaving Annette's hair in a five strand braid, while they spoke of seals and bears and other creatures that plagued the harbours.

Felix hissed about how Ingrid would throw them from one war into another, reminding her that Dimitri was hidden away precisely to avoid what she was suggesting: that there would be people willing to die for their rightful king to reclaim his place in Fhirdiad.

Everything would change if Dimitri returned, and they'd lose the trust of the Adrestians, especially Ferdinand, when they had already been caught in another lie.

"You can't come back," Felix said to finish his argument. Aggressive, nervous, cruel.

"Dimitri should be given a choice now that he's recovered," Ingrid said, firm.

"He's recovering," Sylvain insisted.

With a great expression of self control, Dimitri maintained his volume as he declared for his friends' forgotten benefit, "I am right here." He waited for the shame to silence them before he went on. "And things are not ... how I envisioned them — how I wanted them? My mind and upbringing feel ... wasteful, at times; and yet I have been consulted," he sighed, "on strategy and trade, customs and etiquette — by Felix and Marianne both. My input is heard in Faerghus and Leicester, and if I willed it, I am sure that Garreg Mach is within my reach ... even Almyra."

Sylvain raised his tankard in salute as he walked away then, seeing that a fight wasn't about to break out, and that Dimitri had their conversation well in hand. He complimented Annette's hair, and strove to further distract the ladies from the dark turn of that other corner of the room.

"If Faerghus was threatened, I would find my way back here, lance in hand. But I trust the peace that's been building. And the crown, as it was, only invited duplicity and massacres. Faerghus will thrive without me." With one arm he embraced Ingrid, pressing a kiss to her temple. "And Sylvain is right, I have been recovering. I would not risk all of Faerghus' progress, all of your work," his eyes drifted to Felix for a moment, "because I could not accept the truth of what a minister said. I still struggle. I am more comfortable with smaller challenges ... and I would appreciate your reassurance of our friendship as I am."

"Of course, Mitya," Ingrid insisted.

"Thank you."

"I miss you," Ingrid clarified. "I miss... The lives I thought I'd have by now."

"Change is painful," Felix agreed, sharp and forgiving.

"Yours is a life worth celebrating," Dimitri promised. He drank at the same time as his old friends, and then fumbled after, worried about sounding too much like his healers, but still he added, "Take time to recognize success."

Their quiet conversation was interrupted by Marianne and Annette hollering with laughter, and Dimitri could not even imagine Marianne's disappointment in him if in returning to Fhirdiad he brought a new conflict to her doorstep. He could not imagine his own heartbreak if their peoples ever returned to bloodshed. Sadly, he had imagined his horror with the possibility of witnessing another day like the tragedy, his blue love desecrated, their hypothetical children screaming, and him again, a lone survivor.

He would not speak of this in casual conversation with his friends, though perhaps in private with Marianne at some later time.

He was grateful for his anonymity.

.

It was late in the night when they made for bed, and Marianne was as drunk as he, and Dimitri worried between her state and their locale that he shouldn't have followed behind the door of her rooms. They had lain together a handful of times, but not for weeks now, yet she pressed him against the door like it was a casual thing, delicate fingers curving over his hips.

They leaned close as if they might kiss, and then she turned her face away from him with a sigh.

"I hope I haven't made a fool of myself. Did you have a good night, Mitya?"

"Beloved," Dimitri beckoned, curving a large hand around the side of her face, his scarred fingers had been mended and shattered an embarrassing number of times in the early use of his Crest. He guided her to look at him, his shining blue eye, deep as the ocean in the dark of the room.

"Thank you for bringing me here," he said, his tone deep and sincere. "The snow, the culture, my friends... I missed them more than I realized. I've had a very good night."

His last sentence was near whispered upon her lips, his thick lower lip tickling against her mouth.

Eyes closed, Marianne hummed her approval, bumping her nose against Dimitri's; narrow and then bulbous, a pretty princely feature that somehow he still maintained despite the violence in his life.

He bent to kiss Marianne, his hands finding her upper arms, her shoulders, her neck, and her twin braids, a gift from Annette that extended nearly to Marianne's waist.

"I should let you sleep," Dimitri whispered, though he felt how Marianne's hands wandered, pressing his shirt against the muscles on his chest and stomach.

Marianne looked from her bed to Dimitri. "Let me sit," she requested, "and I'll untie your hair. Stay with me a while longer." She swayed a little and Dimitri worried he would have to catch her. "Your friends are kind," Marianne confided, "but it felt a little strange as the night wore on, and maybe it's just me, and maybe it's just the building, but I know I can rely on you. Say you'll stay."

"A while longer," Dimitri agreed, drifting a thumb through her bangs as his hand rested on the side of her tightly bound hair again.

He sat between her knees while she pulled the ribbon from his fine hair, carefully carding through it with her fingers around the strap of his eye patch, and then allowing her hands to find the muscles of his neck, thick from stress and training.

One dainty foot made it's way over one of Dimitri's monstrous shoulders, and he brought the opposite one over his other side, leaning back into Marianne's space so her skirt ballooned out around him. They shared a soft laugh.

"Did you have any trouble today?" Marianne asked, gentle in her approach of his occasional visions.

"I thought of Glenn," Dimitri confided, "but I am uncertain if I saw him or imagined him today. There are many memories of him here. And ... at the gates, I ... I saw some violence that was not there, but I could not hear it. I'll write it down tomorrow."

"Tell me about Glenn? There must be a happy memory tucked into what came to mind."

"He would have made you feel welcome," Dimitri insisted with a smile. "He was very personable, and I was always glad to be in his company — though I was always closer with Felix, and so thought, like Felix, that I was in contest with him. Unless my Crest activated, I was always left embarrassed, and regardless of whether my Crest activated, I always lost. Felix was often disappointed in both of us."

.

Dimitri spoke of friends like family until well after Marianne curled up on her side. He stayed on the floor, and spoke with less frequency, though the memories didn't fade. He could picture Glenn on the opposite side of the room, a macabre spectre of the self from his memories, but it wasn't a hallucination this time, just a horrible imagining, the loss of a friend.

Dimitri kissed Marianne's forehead, and she mumbled that she was still awake, despite sounding as if she were miles away. Still, Dimitri smiled and kissed her lips, just in case, and then left for his own chamber.

[castieltrash1]

dangerous territory → clint b.

gif credit (x)

summary → clint stays behind during a mission, leaving you alone with him in the avengers building. seeing him sprawled out on the comfy lounge room couch gives you some naughty ideas -- only adding to the tension your relationship already has.

word count → 6.7k (literally wtf)

warnings → i ignore the entirety of iw/endgame except for clint’s makeover, extreme sexual tension, smut; switch!fem!reader, switch!clint, couch sex, oral (both recieving), fingering, slight overstimulation, dirty talk, praise

a/n → literally idk if i should be ashamed or not but im Horny 4 Hawkeye!!! oopsie !! also there are like .3 smut fics for him on here and im determined to fix that

---

Quiet was not a word you’d use to describe the Avengers Facility.

In fact, with Steve’s loud orders, Bruce’s lab explosions, and Sam’s boisterous laughter -- not to mention the never-ending petty arguments that managed to revert the Avengers to 11th graders in their first debate club -- it was the farthest thing from quiet.

But, now, with zero disagreements and zero distractions, you’d been able to enjoy the building all to yourself. Almost. Of course, the one time you got to avoid a mission, you ended up falling into an even worse situation.

You’d covered for Wanda last mission, and she’d insisted on paying you back for the newest one. It wasn’t high stakes by any means, but the work itself had countless components and everyone who was nearby -- or at least on the planet -- had been called in to fill some role.  

Everyone, of course, except you. And Clint.

Suddenly the idea of being stuck in the Quinjet with everyone’s post-mission moodiness sounded very appealing. You could feel a headache growing as you wandered around the kitchen, doing anything and everything in your power to avoid him. He was not supposed to be here. Hell, he didn’t even like stepping foot in the place unless the world was in immediate danger.

Of course, you weren’t the only one to notice his odd attitude. Natasha gave him a confused look when he mentioned staying behind, but decidedly hadn’t commented, almost like she’d already pieced together the reason for Clint’s actions. Knowing her, she probably had. But, even Wanda shot a glance that worried you -- though you seemed to be the only one to catch her squinted green gaze before it disappeared. You weren’t sure you wanted to know what she saw in his mind.

Sure, you had a couple of ideas as to why he would choose to isolate himself with you, but you tried to not let those thoughts consume you. The others wouldn’t be back till midday tomorrow -- if all went well -- and you were not about to spend the next 36 hours soaking your panties with stupid fantasies.

Unfortunately, even when ignoring Clint, your mind was still focused on him. When you passed by the gym or shooting range, antsy to get your daily work in, one quick thought of seeing Clint’s arms -- tensed as he loaded his bow, muscles straining and eyes focused on his target -- was enough to have you quickly walking in the opposite direction.

But, now, as you make your way into the lounge to relax, you can’t find it in yourself to care. You have just as much of a right as Clint does to walk around whenever and wherever you please. In all honesty, you feel even more entitled considering you’re the one actually living in the tower (at least most of the time.)

He’s exactly where you expect him to be -- he may be fast and quiet on his feet, but you’ve been keeping tabs on him, for your own sake.

It’s a bit odd seeing a book instead of a bow in his hands, but you’re not entirely sure you should be focused on how his fingers wrap around the thin pages, thumbing the corners so gently--

“Done avoiding me, are you?”

Well, shit.

His gaze remains on his book -- though the very few pages he’s turned assures you he’s not paying attention to whatever riveting story Tony has stocked his shelves with.

“What are you talking about?” you ask. There’s a moment of temptation to take a seat next to him on the couch, as close as possible. To feel his strong arms around you, smell the raw masculine cologne he always wears a bit too much of -- heavy on his neck and sharp jaw that you know your lips could curl around so perfectly if given the chance.

You swallow heavily and take a seat in the chair across from him, sinking into the expensive fabric.

“Tony picks good furniture, right?” Clint sighs, book closing without so much as a dog-ear mark as he leans back.

It’s silent for a second, and you’re entirely sure you’ve missed a part of the conversation during your mini black-out, but Clint doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, waiting patiently for your answer. You consider it a small win and accept the change in topic with an awkward laugh.

“Yeah. Didn’t think price made such a big difference.” There’s a firmness to the chair that keeps you from sinking, and mentally, you consider if it’d be strong enough for other activities. “How much you wanna bet he spent on each of these chairs?” you question, genuinely curious. “I gotta guess at least two grand.”

Clint’s cool eyes glint playfully. “Three,” he challenges with a smirk that sends a shiver down your spine. “Though, you should really try this couch. Definitely my favorite thing here.”

There’s just a hint of suggestion in his tone -- the kind that you’d miss if you weren’t trained in reading people. It’s not unexpected, though. You’d have to be a fool to not recognize the exact same longing stares, the same lingering touches that Clint offers you. But, that’s what makes it all more intimidating. It’s an unspoken thing, and at this point, that’s what feels most convenient -- even if your lonely nights spent moaning his name are growing far too common for comfort.

Still, you can’t exactly ignore him, and his eyes follow you closely as you make your way to the couch, falling into the comfy cushions with a huff.

“Wow.” You laugh. “No wonder you’ve been spending so much time down here.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “So you have been paying me some attention. Interesting.”

If he notices you shift as far to the other end of the couch as possible, he doesn’t mention it.

“Don’t take it personally, Barton,” you huff. “I’m used to keeping an eye on everyone around here.” It’s not entirely a lie, but he manages to see right through the half-truth regardless.

“So you avoid everyone, then?” There’s no hurt or misunderstanding in his voice, not even confusion. He knows what you’re doing, knows why you can’t bear to look him in the eyes for more than a few seconds.

“Still don’t know what you’re talking about,” you deflect, closing your eyes and letting your head fall back onto the couch.

He just chuckles, a low sound that makes your stomach clench unconsciously. You expect him to keep pressing you, work you up until you spill your guts, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even say a word as you hear the rustling of paper and feel the couch move slightly as he shifts.

You turn your head towards him and open one eye, then both as they go wide. Clint has taken on a whole new level of comfortable, feet perched on the coffee table and one arm resting on the back of the couch while his free hand flips through the same first few pages as before.

In all honesty, you suddenly find yourself happy that Steve and Tony are gone -- otherwise they’d be scolding Clint for his manners, and most definitely not ogling his firm legs in those tight, black jeans.

You drag your gaze back up his body, stopping near the hem of his shirt, where his new position has allowed for the fabric to ride up his stomach. It’s just a sliver of skin but the image is enough to make your heart race. There’s a faint dip in the muscled hip line leading to his jeans, and if you stare extra hard, you can see the light trail of thin hairs disappearing under the fabric.

Swallowing heavily, you quickly look back at Clint’s face, holding back a gasp as he stares back at you.

“So,” you fill the silence before he can, mentally thanking Natasha for her training on keeping your composure. “How’s that book of yours?”

Clint just grins for a second -- you both know he’s caught you. “It’s alright. Not the most interesting thing in the building right now, though.”

You gulp. “Yeah… The place is big. Lots to explore. I don’t think I’ve even seen every room--”

“I have a feeling you know that’s not what I mean,” Clint cuts you off with a chuckle, and you send him a challenging glare.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you scoff.

He hums, before his tongue peeks out to swipe across his bottom lip. “You’re sounding awfully like a broken record today.” His icy, pale eyes return to his book, and you watch as he lifts his thumb to his wet lips, tongue darting out the lick the tip. You can practically feel the action, and almost whine in disappointment when his hand returns to flip the page.

Clint is downright grinning at this point, and you know he’s taking in every breath, shift, and blink of yours. “But, I know you’re not actually confused,” he continues. “In fact, I’d argue you like this game of ours a bit more than you should.”

You know if you brush it off again, he’ll drop it. He’s too nice to make you uncomfortable, and his statement hangs in the air with a heavy weight.

“You know, Barton?” you shift from your spot on the couch, eliminating a good chunk of the space between you and him. “I think you’re smarter than most people give you credit for.” He raises a brow, and you would believe his undisturbed look if you didn’t see his fingers twitch against the spine of the forgotten book.

“Tell Nat that,” he jokes, and you grin. Seeing that little crack in his facade, the way he fills the conversation with a joke, the discreet but heavy swallow he tries to hide -- it’s all enough to power you to move closer, until there are mere centimeters between you two.

“Hmmm, I don’t think I’ll be telling Natasha anything from this conversation of ours.” Keeping your attention on the slight tense of his jaw, you push the book from his hands, and he immediately drops his feet from the table to discard it in their place.

You pause for a second, glancing at Clint’s lap then back at him, and he doesn’t hesitate to reach out and grab your hip.

“Get over here already,” he groans, both arms wrapping around your waist to situate you in his lap. His hands are warm and firm and everything you could have ever imagined, and you automatically roll your hips down onto him. There’s a pleased moan from you both, and his own hips jolt in a way that sends you even closer to him, until your chests are touching.

He immediately dives for your neck, scruff tickling the sensitive skin as he breathes you in deeply. “I gotta admit,” he murmurs, letting his lips graze the bottom of your jaw in the most sinful way, “you look so much better sitting here than standing around in the kitchen.”

You drag your fingers through the long hair on the back of his head, tugging it playfully. “You’ve been watching me, Barton?”

He hums, squeezing you just as teasingly. “I do a lot of staring when it comes to you, babe.”

You pull him from your neck by his hair, and he looks up at you with the most mischievous glint in his eyes. The nickname makes you undeniably flustered, but you force the embarrassment away.

“I don’t know about you, but I think that’s what you call creepy,” you mumble, leaning down so Clint can feel your words against his own lips. He immediately darts forward, but you pull back with a sly grin, watching his eyes darken at the action.

“I think,” he growls, catching you off guard as he pushes you back onto the couch, making you jostle as you try not to fall off the edge. He steadies you with a large hand, and you only jolt again when he uses his free hand to spread your legs, caging you in as his hips drop between your parted thighs. “You’d be a hypocrite for saying that.” He drops back to your neck, and you can feel his smile before his teeth sink into your skin lightly -- just enough to make you gasp.

He continues to litter your neck with kisses, and you watch in awe as his toned arm tenses by the side of your head -- the thick black lines of ink rolling as his muscles flex.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” you taunt, back arching as his tongue darts out to lick a stripe up to right below your chin. “You gonna fuck me?”

Clint bites the edge of your jaw in retaliation to your words, before he pulls back just enough to stare at you with a lustful gaze.

“Not yet, baby. Not that easily.” One of his hands trails up the front of your thigh, before it busies itself with the hem of your shirt. You try to hide your disappointment, but Clint notices it, of course, and just shakes his head. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on letting you leave this couch anytime soon. You’ve made me wait long enough for this… I’m gonna take my time with you.”

He finally presses his lips to yours, and you hungrily reach and tug until he’s as close as possible -- until you can feel the denim of his jeans scraping deliciously against your thighs as you tug his bottom lip between your teeth. It’s messy and entirely uncalculated, and your nails catch in the wrinkles of the back of his shirt while his own fingers tug impatiently at the bottom of yours.

You part from him for a second, and his own greedy mouth follows yours, only managing to press against the side of your lips. “You act like you’ve made this easy for me,” you retort, and his chest rumbles against yours as he chuckles.

“Oh honey, I think I’ve made it quite obvious I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day you walked in here.”

“Clearly, not obvious enough.”

Clint huffs, warm breath hitting your cheek. “What’d you want me to do? Huh?” He shifts so his words make their way directly to your ear, each syllable accentuated with a puff of hot air. With him this close, neck just below your nose, you can take in the heavy smell of that sharp cologne you love so much.

His calloused fingers dip beneath your shirt, but instead of the obvious trail up, his hand trails down to play with the hem of your shorts. “Tug these little things off in front of everyone? Show them all how worked up you get me wearing these? Is that what you want?”

Your hips lift in a silent plea, and you groan. “They’re comfortable.”

“Maybe for you, but I find myself very uncomfortable when you wear them.” He snickers, and if you weren’t so turned on, you’re sure you’d roll your eyes. Only Clint Barton could make a joke about untimely hard-ons during a time like this.

“Then why don’t you take them off?” you groan, and he shakes his head while muttering something about you being bossy.

Still, his words betray him as he tugs the fabric down your legs, as slowly as possible while his eyes drink in the new area of exposed skin. “What part about taking my time with you did you not understand?” The corner of his lips tug in that mischievous way of his, and you have a sneaking feeling his patience is as fleeting as your own.

Proving your point, Clint tosses your shorts over the back of the couch with a grin, then pushes you further up the cushions. You’re almost sitting, shoulder blades knocking the arm of the sofa while your legs bend at the knee to accompany Clint, who scoots back. It’s the perfect and most disastrous angle to be at as you have to both feel and watch his deft fingers trail up from your knee.

You’re a hundred percent sure the effects of your arousal are extremely obvious, but he doesn’t comment on the wet patch of your panties -- though you see his eyes focus on the area between your legs for a second too long before his gaze flickers back to your thighs.

His calloused fingers trail the edge of fabric around your legs, rough skin providing a type of friction you can’t begin to explain. His touch is fleeting and he changes the amount of pressure with every swipe of his thumb, always pushing just enough to let you know he’s holding you down. That you can’t escape him -- as if you’d even think of trying to do so.

“Your legs are so sexy, you know that?”

You let out some type of pleased whine, a sound that Clint relishes as he tightens his grip on your thighs. “Make the prettiest sounds, too,” he continues, and then his fingers are right there. One hand holds your left leg down, while the other covers your panty-covered core. His thumb rubs into your desperate, throbbing clit, and you use your little amount of freedom to push your hips up, wanting, needing more.

Clint immediately presses you back down, and you watch his tattoos shift just slightly as he adds more weight to his hand on your thigh.

“Please, please.” You revert to begging at your lack of movement, losing all shame in regard to your desire. It’s obvious you need Clint -- any excuses or lies from before long forgotten. You need his movements to speed up, the slow circles of his thumb providing barely enough friction.

He just chuckles, but relents a little and you downright purr as the thin fabric of your underwear drags against your tingling nerve endings. It’s impossible to move under Clint’s weight, but all the muscles in your lower half flex and twitch as they desperately search for release and relief.

“How about…” Clint trails off, fingers moving upward to grab the waistline of your panties, “we get these off?”

You’re sure if you nod any faster you might make yourself dizzy, and Clint just smirks in that knowing way. That way that lets you know he has you right where he wants you. Right where he’s been waiting to have you.

The article of clothing is soon flung behind his shoulder just like your forgotten shorts -- and you can only faintly remind yourself to make sure you grab everything before the others return. Though, at this point, you think anyone could walk in on Clint between your legs and you’d still be begging him to make you cum -- audience or not.

“Fucking Christ,” Clint groans, palms sliding between your thighs to spread them, giving him a full view of your glistening core. “I swear, you’re gonna kill me.” Seeing his flushed cheeks, mussed hair, and greedy fingers, you’re not sure you can reject that statement.

He removes his hands for just a second, but you don’t dare close your legs, and he has the audacity to wink. Before your mind can even process the action, though, he’s pulling his shirt off, arms crossing over his chest as they show off in their full glory. Hips, stomach, chest, arms -- they’re all exposed so quickly and your eyes drink in the features as fast as they can. Clint throws the shirt to the side -- you have a feeling he’s utilizing his perfect aim to create a clothing pile -- but you just stare at his shoulder, where the ink spreads to areas you’ve never had the chance to see before. The olive green accents contrast against his tanned skin, which has gained a light sheen from the sweat of his arousal.

As he leans back down, Ronin’s portrait stares you dead in the eyes -- quite literally. If you didn’t know the deeper meaning, you’re sure you could mistake the skull as a danger warning to the man pressing a kiss against the inside of your knee.

Short hairs chafe your legs as Clint makes himself comfortable, pressing his jaw against you. When his hot breath dances over your center you almost squeeze your thighs together, but he’s there to push them apart with a chuckle.

“No, no…” He pulls away barely, and you take in a deep breath to calm yourself. “You’re gonna give me what I want, ok?” His fingers are gentle, and so are his eyes when he glances up to you. He’s hopeful, pleading almost, but stays respectful. “If that’s ok, of course.”

You almost want to cry, because how could he think any differently, but you just nod. “Please Clint, touch me.”

He sends you a lopsided grin, and then he’s right there, pressing a kiss against your clit. The feeling is completely different from before, lips slick and soft unlike his rough thumb. All the air in your lungs leaves your body as you let out a sigh of relief, body finally relaxing as it gets the touch it needs.

You reach down and your nails scratch his scalp lightly before you grip his hair in a tight hold. He nuzzles against your hand and groans against you, and the feeling of control makes your blood run hot through your veins. One of the most powerful men on Earth is between your legs, sucking softly on your clit like it's the only thing he could ever want.

He traces circles on your thighs with his coarse fingers as he warms you up with gentle licks and the occasional curl of his lips around your most sensitive area. You let him have the satisfaction of your spread thighs, but you periodically tug on his tousled locks to remind him that he’s the one between your legs. It’s the perfect balance of dominance -- the type that makes your head spin and your eyes roll back into your head.

Clint presses another kiss to your clit before traveling lower and the intimacy of the action makes your skin flush. You can tell he’s not going to be holding back for much longer though, if the desperation of his descent is any indication. His fingers join his attack as he spreads your folds, tongue dragging the entirety of your core.

“So good, baby. So fucking good,” he mutters, mouth impatient as he covers as much skin as he can at once. It’s fast and downright dirty as he presses his tongue into you, eliciting a groan from your parted, panting lips. You’re dripping at this point, and he laps up the mix of saliva and arousal with a yearning thirst.

It’s all so overwhelming. His fingers are digging into your skin -- likely to leave faint marks -- and the scruff framing his jaw scrapes and leaves your skin burning, while the softer locks between your fingers are a comfort to steady you.

The heat building in your body is entirely unbelievable, and your back digs into the couch as you arch into Clint, desperate for all he’ll be willing to give you. You press him closer, and he moans at the power in your hands -- the control you have despite him hovering over you. It’s a mental trip for you both, your stomach and pelvic muscles clenching as they react to his generous, eager giving.

“God, Clint, gonna cum.” The words barely feel like they’re coming from your own body, jaw slack as you tremble in his hold. His index finger presses into you slowly, while his thumb replaces his tongue on your clit. The change of stimulation has you reeling, your grip on Clint loosening as you feel his warm words against you.

“Kinda the point, sweetheart.” Your eyes are squeezed shut, but you know Clint is smirking -- you can practically hear it in his voice.

His finger curls to press against your front wall, and he rubs it gently once, twice, before he lets the digit drag out, sinking in again even slower. The leisurely thrusts continue as his tongue returns to circle your clit, his cocky words from before silenced as he puts his mouth to work. Your breath grows heavier, heart rate increasing with every second. His middle finger joins the first with a steady push, and you clench desperately as they curl and press and rub and reduce you to nothing but putty.

You’re right there and Clint knows it -- somehow he knows it. His fingers move faster, harder, and his lips wrap around your clit with even greater determination. There’s a shift, fingertips grazing the perfect spot as he sucks desperately and it’s over. You’re crying out his name, thighs shaking and you clench and flutter around his never-ceasing fingers. There’s a moment where all senses leave you and all you can feel is Clint, and the spread of warmth between your legs. Your ears ring and your own moans become faint background sounds.

And then, you’re pulling his head back, his tongue still trying to work your sensitive clit. He fights your tug on his hair but you must be begging because he finally relents with a huff. You can hear his breathing, and you feel his shift as he leans back over you, fingers still working you through your high.

“Look at me,” he demands, and his free hand drags down your cheek. “C’mon, open your eyes.” He forcefully grabs your chin, and your eyes open too quickly for your mind to process. It’s all so bright and you have to blink away the splotches of color coating your vision. Clint takes up the entirety of your view, lips wet and eyes dark. “There you go, baby.” He’s grinning and panting and his fingers are still fucking moving.

You whimper and glance down -- as much as his grip on your jaw will allow -- and the view of his tattooed arm between your thighs, veins pulsing as he fingers you is imprinted in your mind permanently. It’s a never-ending high that goes on for a second too long before Clint finally, finally eases his fingers from you. They’re practically dripping with your release, and he wastes no time bringing them to his glossy mouth.

It’s hypnotic to watch as his lips close around his fingers, nostrils flaring as he sucks them eagerly. They come out clean, and his chest rumbles with a groan. “Can’t get enough of your taste. Fuck.”

It takes a second for you to catch your breath, chest heaving and shirt clinging to sweaty skin. But, there’s finally a moment where your legs feel somewhat solid, and you take advantage of the opportunity, bending your leg to put the bottom of your foot on Clint’s bare chest.

He shoots you a confused but intrigued look, and you respond with a lopsided grin as you push him backward, until he’s the one stumbling to find a spot against the arm of the couch. Faintly, you consider the move would be much sexier with a pair of heels digging into his skin, but this will have to suffice for now. Maybe next time -- if there is a next time, of course.

“Now, what are you up to, baby girl?” Clint is practically vibrating with excitement as you gather the strength to push yourself off the couch, ignoring the slight twitch of your exerted thighs.

“Take your pants off,” you say, with little shame. “Now.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever seen someone get undressed so quickly and the hastiness of Clint’s actions leave him with very little coordination. It takes him three tries to get his belt undone, and he pokes himself with the metal prong when his eyes return to glance at you.

Raising a brow, you put your hands on your hips, and he speeds up. The button and zipper take him twice as long, but the sound when he finally tosses his belt and jeans off to the side is well worth the wait.

He licks his lips, looking up at you -- waiting, watching. Your earlier thoughts regarding his legs are heightened tenfold as you take in his toned thighs and hard cock in-between. He’s thick, the bulge pressing against his boxer-briefs making your heart skip a beat. The mere idea of him stretching you open has you growing too impatient for what you have planned.

“Keep going.” You swallow and hope your voice doesn’t sound too shaky.

Clint’s quick fingers make work of the fabric, and you focus on finishing yourself off. You pull your shirt off and let it drop to your feet before your hands move to unhook your bra. You’re barely sliding the straps down your arms when you hear Clint huff, and you look back to him.

“I wanted to do that,” he almost whines, chest puffing.

You roll your eyes but laugh, and toss your bra to him. He catches it with a wink, before throwing it behind him. Immediately, his gaze drags over your chest, excruciatingly slow. You know he’s taking in every inch, every natural mark that decorates your torso. Normally, you’d feel odd being examined so closely while still being at a decent distance -- but Clint is observant and his eyes are hungry.

Finally, his dark eyes reconnect with yours. “You gonna come sit or should I just grab you?” His tone is playful and daring, but you hear the hint of arousal that suggests he wouldn’t be opposed to tugging you into his arms. You don’t have time for games anymore, though, so you stand between Clint’s legs, and he pats his thigh playfully.

“Hmm…” You bite your lip and shake your head, eyes glistening with mischief. “Not yet…”

You make your descent to your knees perfectly paced, fluttering your lashes as you look up to Clint from between his thighs. He cusses and his arms fall limply to his side as he resigns himself to the torture he knows you’ll be sure to deliver.

“I thought you wanted to take your time,” you tease, fingers sliding up his thigh. Your nails against his skin have him tensing, muscles quivering.

He groans, and tosses his head back. “That was before I made you cum. Just wanna fuck you now -- make you shake again.”

You pinch him. “Sweet-talking will get you nowhere, Barton. You should know that.” But, you still let your palm graze over his hard cock, twitching at your touch. He’s firm and warm, and when your fingers wrap around his length, you realize how deliciously thick he is, filling your grasp fully. The length is there too, just enough to not be intimidating, but the girth has your core throbbing.

“Fuck, Clint,” you groan, giving a slow jerk of your wrist. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

He’s pulsing in your hand, skin flushed and precum beginning to drip from the head of his cock. It coats your hand on the second stroke, easing the drag. Soon enough, he’s practically glistening, and your mouth waters. You have to taste him.

He calls your name, voice trembling, as your tongue darts out to flatten against his tip. “Oh God, please.” He’s flushed, from his cheeks to his tensing thighs, and you’d grin if you weren’t taking him deeper into your mouth. Another part of the burning, fervid desire deep in your veins lights up as your lips wrap around him -- tongue greedy for more as it laps everything it can reach. A growl reverberates through his entire body, and the sound makes your thighs clench.

You spare him a glance, and he looks destroyed. Sweat gathers on his forehead and the veins in his arm pulse as he grips the cushions to stay steady. Sane. Calm.

His knuckles are white and you relieve them by grabbing his left hand in your own, thumb rubbing over the back of his palm. He’s squeezing you like you’re his lifeline, and you reward him with your free hand around his base.

“Fuck fuck, I’ll cum too fast with you doing that,” Clint grunts, and you watch his chest heave as he tries to steady his breathing.

You pull off him with a line of spit, breaking it with your hand as you use the saliva to glide your fingers. He’s still throbbing, and you trace his underside vein with your wet thumb. “I thought that was the point, right?” You repeat his words from earlier with a grin, pressing a kiss against his thigh as your hand speeds up. He’s so close and he needs it so badly, but he finally pulls his hand from yours to grab your moving wrist.

“Not until I fuck you.” He pants, and begrudgingly removes your hold from his cock. “And a couple times, at the very least.”

Your heart races at the mere thought of as many rounds as you can handle, with Clint making you cum again and again. Still, you stand slowly, silently hoping he’ll push you back to your knees and cum down your throat.

But he doesn’t. He watches closely as you straighten out, and you quickly move to straddle him. “Fine, but you’ll let me ride you, understood?” Your thighs brush over him with the lightest touch, and with just one solid movement, you could have him sinking into you. But, you wait. You watch as he swallows heavily, eyes hooded.

Clint gives you a lopsided smile. “No complaints here, babe.” And with that, you reach down to hold his length, pressing the tip against your clenching, wet, core. He gasps, but you shift just slightly, until he bumps your clit. It’s too much and too little all at once, and you let out a soft cry as he jerks upward, precum coating the swollen nub. You reward yourself with one more drag down from your clit before letting the head of his cock push into you.

You’re immediately clenching around his length, and Clint’s calloused fingertips dig into your hips as he helps steady you. It only takes a couple breaths and a slow spread of your thighs to take him fully, arousal coating his cock quickly. He barely holds himself back from rutting into you right away, but you rock your hips and grip his shoulders regardless.

“Fuck,” he half-groans, half-whimpers. “You’re so fucking wet.”

Your nails dig into his skin as you roll again, letting out an incoherent babble of his name as your clit gains friction from his own warm body. You can feel your own wetness dripping down your thigh onto his, and it has you shuddering. It’s so dirty and your fingers move to Clint’s hair, desperately clinging at the long strands. His forehead presses to yours, and he smells like the most dangerous concoction of sweat, cologne, and mint toothpaste you’ve ever had the honor of inhaling.

You join in an almost-kiss that’s all teeth, but he brushes his tongue against your cupid’s bow in a much gentler way, and you know he can feel the shiver that runs down your spine in reaction. He squeezes your hip gently in reassurance, and then his grip on you tightens. It doesn’t hurt, but you can feel the years of arm workouts, and you know there’s no way to escape -- as if you’d ever want to.

Clint’s knee jerks and then he’s thrusting up into you with such force it leaves you breathless. He holds you down and all you can do is gasp and hold him tighter as he pushes into you harder and faster. Every shift provides a new angle and friction as his tip stimulates your sensitive walls.

Your thighs shake desperately and you can hear the wet slap each of his movements provide as you coat his cock in warm slick. He grins at the sight, one hand drifting from your hip until it reaches your throbbing clit.

“Look at you,” he coos and punctuates the words with a rough circle of his thumb.

Your chest heaves as you gasp, but the lack of Clint’s hold gives you a second to grind against him. He grunts as you do, and you chuckle breathlessly against his parted lips.

“And look at you.”

He retorts by way of another rub against your clit, and your laughter quickly turns to a drawn-out moan.

“You look so pretty when you’re about to cum.” He pants between every word, but he’s determined to deliver the compliment that makes your face too warm. You’re not sure how he knows you’re so close -- it must be way more embarrassingly obvious than you thought -- but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not when he’s letting his cock drag inside you slowly, with a hard thrust every few seconds. Not when the pressure on your clit is changing so rapidly you can’t breathe.

When you do cum, with a broken cry and shaking torso, Clint doesn’t let up. He goes faster, harder. It’s a never-ending high that turns your brain to mush, and your body into even less. Your thighs burn and your toes curl but all you can feel is the delicious length buried deep inside you.

It’s only during the beginning of the cool down that you tug a little harder on Clint’s hair, and roll your hips a little more. “C’mon, Clint, please. Please fill me up.” His chest rumbles against yours with a throaty growl, and you continue to ride out your orgasm as he fucks into you with a few more desperate, shaky thrusts.

He cums in you thick and warm, with a groan of your name. It tumbles from his lips sinfully, and you commit the sound to memory. The rasp of his tone and the sight of his wet, swollen lips.

It’s not until he eases out of you slowly, and you feel the drip down your thigh that you’re grounded and reminded of exactly where you are. On a multi-thousand dollar couch. Owned by Tony Stark.

“Oh my god, Clint.”

His eyes are closed and you’re sure he’s about three seconds from sleeping for eighteen hours, but he manages a tired smirk. “I know. That was good.”

“No! I mean yes. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

He half-opens one eye. “What?”

“I think we stained the couch.” A quick glance between Clint’s thighs all but confirms it, and you’re not sure whether to be proud or embarrassed by the very large wet spot staining the blended fabric.

“I can’t believe that’s what you’re thinking about right now. After everything that just happened.”

You playfully slap his shoulder as you roll onto the cushion next to him with a huff. He nudges you back with his arm before clearing his throat, and letting out a butchered impression of your voice. “Oh Clint! Your dick was just so amazing!-”

“Oh my god!” You cover your face but nothing stops the laughter that rumbles through your chest -- even if he’s got your tone completely wrong. He just chuckles and wraps his arm around you, pulling you into his side with a sigh.

“How much do you think we’ll owe Tony by the end of the day?” He looks down at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

He rolls his eyes, but presses a chaste kiss to your hair. “C’mon, you don’t think I haven’t planned out every surface we still need to fuck on before they get back?”

“Clint!”

“See, you keep screaming my name but for all the wrong reasons.” Now you can feel his grin against the top of your head, and it comes into view as he stands with you still in his grasp. You’re not sure how he maneuvers it, but he’s got you in his arms before you can even blink, and the look he sends you tells you not to complain or even question it. He’s not even out of breath -- all things considered -- and when you glance in the direction he’s heading, your eyes widen.

“You have got to be joking…” You squirm in his arms as he sets you down on the table used for almost every meeting, and the mere thought of defiling it forever makes you squeeze your legs together shyly.

But, Clint is quick to spread them, all with a cocky grin and a far too confident tone.

“I don’t know about you…” He begins, as his fingers trail up your thigh. “But I think we could reach ten thousand by midnight.”

If you distantly hear FRIDAY warn adamantly against it -- neither of you mention it.

“Better get started then, Barton.”

---

[hatterstan-shameblog]

Here is the first one

Second :D

And last..he's looking at you 👀💦

ALRIGHT you know WHAT—

There’s…a lot going on here. So much so, that I have decided to create

CONTEXT

for these three images that is

COMPLETELY FAKE

because I think it’ll be a fun writing exercise. kind of a cringe move on my part, but consider: i have fun making up ridiculous lies about characters who don’t exist in real life.

(which is how I’m treating these, by the way. yes, they are pictures of kaneko nobuaki, but for my purposes, they are NOT actually him. they are distinct fictional characters who are not real.)

so if you’re feeling adventurous skip below the cut and watch me break it down:

Image 1: Accidental “Date” Makes Cousin’s Wedding Less Terrible Than Originally Expected

The year is 1999. Your cousin (who you are not particularly close to) is getting married…on a cruise ship. Your mother insists you attend. You insist upon spending 90% of your time sipping margaritas on the deck and flipping through the latest issue of Marie Claire while trying desperately not to think about the fact that you are surrounded by nothing but open ocean.

One of the (very drunk) bridesmaids tries to toss you a beach ball because you have been, and I quote: like, a total bummer this whole time. She misses. It hits the person next to you in the face. Great. Awesome. You think: well now who’s being, like, a total bummer?

Luckily the person who got hit in the face laughs the entire thing off. He says your friends seem…’lively.’ You say that’s pretty rich coming from a guy who looks like a rejected member of ‘The Clash.’ He insists that he left them, not the other way around.

You slip into conversation. You tell him that you’re here for a wedding. He offers his condolences. You accept them. He says he actually likes weddings—something about two people making a life-changing commitment speaks to him on a soul-level. That and the open bar, of course.

You suggest he crash the wedding. He says he’s not sure if he can make it—there’s a shuffleboard tournament that evening that he would just hate to miss, plus the latest issue of Soap Opera Digest is waiting on his bedside table just begging to be opened. You say that’s perfectly understandable, but, if he suddenly finds himself caught up on the latest All My Children gossip, he can meet you back here at four.

Surprise, surprise: he shows up. He’s wearing the same shirt he was before, but buttoned up this time—and with one of the most hideous neckties you’ve ever seen, which he apparently borrowed from the kind old man next door. Instead of complimenting his attire (because it is truly un-compliment-able), you take the opportunity to mention that this is a Titanic-themed wedding. He says that having a Titanic-themed wedding on a cruise ship is “kind of fucked up” and you solemnly agree.

Everyone is very surprised and pleased to see that you’ve brought a date—even the bride, who tells you that you’re “just like Jack and Rose.” You agree, much to her delight…until you say that, if the ship goes down, you also won’t share the door and let him freeze to death in the icy water. He insists he’d be the guy who jumps off the ship and hits his leg on the propellor—that’s his favorite part of the whole movie, and it’d be an honor to re-enact the scene.

The wedding is…a wedding. Vows, toasts, pictures—and you’re sipping champagne through the entire thing. The two of you spend the evening getting completely wasted and telling everyone a different story about just who your ‘mystery date’ is. Highlights include: the captain’s unruly son whose been tasked with following in his father’s sea-faring footsteps; professional cave-diver who discovered a new species of slug and is spending his reward money on a nice vacation; head of marketing who gives all those clever names to the nail polishes at OPI; the guy who folds everyone’s towels into animal shapes.

You end up where you started: on neighboring lounge chairs, with a margarita, and talking to this stranger who has recently crossed into “acquaintance” territory. You chat about how “My Heart Will Go On” is actually a good song, and he promises not to tell anyone that you said that. He also says that this is the best Titanic-themed cruise ship wedding he’s ever been to, and he can’t wait until somebody decides to do Jaws.

Eventually, you both stagger back to your rooms with promises of seeing each other at breakfast. Unfortunately, you have the worst hangover of your life the next morning and even the thought of ‘breakfast’ makes you want to roll over and die, so you don’t manage to stumble out of bed until it’s time to disembark.

You see him at port, and you each offer each other a little wave before going your separate ways. Six weeks later, you get a Polaroid of the two of you together, sitting at the bar and laughing at something that must have been very, very hilarious.

You don’t remember most of what happened that night, but you remember it was not as terrible as it could have been.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Image 2: Extremely Weird Guy On The Street Has You Questioning Your Sanity

It’s 6:00 in the morning—a truly terrible time to be awake, but a necessary evil. Your flight leaves at 10, and since it’s an international thing, you want to make sure you get there in plenty of time to get to your gate (and maybe sample all the fancy perfumes you can’t afford at one of those high-end stores that are always in airports.)

The streets are mostly empty, save for a few random pedestrians and a handful of passed-out salarymen snoozing on the curb. The sky a rainy gray-blue as the sun tries to rise behind the springtime cloud cover—it’s no doubt going to be another dismal day, as is common during this time of year. Hopefully there’s not too much turbulence on your flight…

You stop at a crosswalk, waiting for the little walking man signal to show up on the light across the way. You’re soon joined by another person—a man in a soft-looking jacket who supplies you with a small “good morning” bob of his head. You respond in kind, throwing in a small smile for good measure. It’s nice that he too understands that it’s entirely too early to be having any kind of conversation, even if it is just a simple verbal greeting between strangers on a street corner.

The light changes, and you both begin your trek across the street. Your fellow walker is faster than you—or, more likely, has longer legs and, ergo, a longer stride than your own—and is nearly halfway across by the time you get your wheeled suitcase over the curb. He seems decent enough. You hope he’s going somewhere nice.

It’s then that you make the mistake of looking up. It would have been much better if you had just continued watching the white painted lines on the road and thinking about how it reminds you of piano keys—and how you hated the six months of piano lessons your parents forced you to take in the first grade.

But no. You noticed someone walking towards you, and you just had to look up.

The first thing you notice is a rainbow tie-dye shirt. The second thing you notice is that the rainbow tie-dye shirt is on a very cheerful looking gentleman, who seemed to be bobbing his head in time with a song only he could hear.

The third thing you notice—and this one’s the real kicker—is the large blue-and-green reptile sitting on his shoulder. It’s bulging eyes are hooded in pleasure as it’s red-pink tongue darts out to eat the green something—maybe a grape or a small piece of melon?—from the rainbow tie-dye man’s hand. It is nothing short of a spectacle, honestly, and you feel a piece of your sanity evaporate.

The rainbow tie-dye man continues on, uncaring of your confused stare at his strange pet. You even turn around to make sure that you weren’t somehow hallucinating, and sure enough, there is definitely some kind of creature draped over this stranger’s shoulder. It’s tail even sways in time with the man’s steps, which is both cute and confusing.

Because it would not do to stand in the middle of the street all day, considering the existence of rainbow tie-dye man and his exotic pet, you do the only thing you can do: turn back around and continue on your journey. You need a coffee. Maybe with an extra shot of espresso, after witnessing whatever the hell that was. Something to set you right again.

“Was that…?”

The other man—the soft-coat long-stride one—is speaking low enough as to not draw attention, but loud enough for you to hear as you make your way towards the sidewalk. His expression reads ‘concerned, but trying not to show it’ which you suppose is the polite and mature way of handling the situation.

“…an iguana? Yeah,” you answer him, “I saw it too.”

The man’s brow furrows. His mouth puckers into a small frown as he considers…well, something.

“…Okay, then,” he concludes, shrugging his shoulders, “Hell of a way to start the day.”

“Yeah.”

And you both continue on your way. He turns left at the next intersection, you turn right—but even though your paths may now be different, you will forever share an unbreakable bond over the fantastical sight you’ve witnessed today.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Image 3: Near Death Experience At Open Mic Night

You are not a poet.

Well, not professionally, anyways. You’ve been known to dabble in the written word, often scribbling little snippets of rhyme in a notebook over your lunch break or tapping a verse or two into the notes app on your phone. It a kind of outlet, you suppose—a way to keep the creative energy that bubbles inside of you from boiling over.

It’s also worth mentioning that you are not a confident public speaker. Not since that unfortunate incident in the third grade where you forgot the single line you had in the school play and ran off stage, tears streaming down your face and—actually, no, you’re not going to think about that right now. Or ever again, hopefully.

So when your (tipsy) coworkers decide that it’s a good idea to push you onto the stage at the local dive bar’s open mic night—while shouting at you to “read the one about the night-blooming jasmine”—you freeze up. There are at least seven strangers staring at you, expectation rising with every passing second of your inaction. It’s nerve-wracking in the way that the third-grade incident was not, and you gulp against the nervousness that rises in your throat.

Shaking hands scroll frantically through your phone, looking for the requested poem—and after a few agonizing moments, you manage to find it. Your voice cracks rather embarrassingly as you begin to read, trying your damndest to get the words out right so you can slink back to the bar and drown the rest of the night in Chardonnay.

Everything is going well—or, at least, as well as can be expected—until you notice that the room is suddenly feeling very hot. That’s the last coherent thought you have before the room goes dark and everything falls silent.

Next thing you know, you’re staring at the ceiling. A man who you do not know is leaning over you, and his mouth is moving—oh, he’s probably trying to say something to you, but it’s very difficult to tell what he’s saying over the throbbing pain in the back of your head.

You ask him if you’re dead. It’s a possibility after all, that you’ve somehow died and landed yourself in some kind of special public-speaking hell. That’s what this feels like, anyways.

The man says no, you are not dead. You say ‘dammit’ in response. He tries to hold back laughter, offering to help you up by extending his hand. You take it and—ouch, ugh, ew, going from laying to standing is not a fun experience.

You thank him (albeit awkwardly) for helping you up, and he insists that ‘it’s cool.’ Passing out in front of an audience is not even remotely cool, but you nod and thank him again, anyways.

Before you’re able to converse with the helpful stranger any further, your coworkers have come to collect you. You are whisked away by someone from accounting, who offers to escort you home—an offer you gladly accept, very excited to leave the site of your failure behind you.

Safe to say, you never go back to that particular bar again.

[jonahlovescoffee]

Mornings With You | J.M.

a/n: wrote this in one sitting today! i love productive me lol :’) happy reading, luvs! <3

summary: you would never, in a million years, trade the beautiful moments you shared with your beloved boyfriend for anything else in the world.

warnings: so much fluff and sweetness you might get diabetes after reading

word count: 1152

Sunlight sauntered in, welcome or not, igniting the shadowy colours of the room back to soft beige. The bright rays conjured the most brilliant of mosaics, reflecting from each crystal that was arranged in perfect order around your room. It was as if there was a pure joy in the light, as if it were happy to create art where it shines, warm and steady. It was like the smiles of a party of friends, as fresh rain after a hot summer sun, something to quench and soothe all at once.

You shifted your body in your bed as slowly as possible when you awoke so that you were facing him, careful not to wake the brunette boy that was still sleeping soundly beside you. Despite your subtle movements, he seemed to stir from his sleep almost immediately. A soft grunt fell from his lips and his arms habitually tightened around your waist, pulling you closer to him so your body was pressed firmly against his. You were wearing his jumper that smelt faintly of him and your underwear whereas he was wearing nothing save for his boxers, not bothering to retrieve another shirt from the closet last night since you took his existing one after you both were completely worn out from your explicit adult activities.

You let your pointer finger idly roam his back, feeling goosebumps rising on his skin in response to your icy touch as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his warm breaths caressing the sensitive area there, making your skin tingle with pleasure, even more when he let his lips lightly brush your collarbone, already fully awake although his eyes remained shut. You loved how your body reacted so easily to the simplest of his actions, just like how his did to yours. And it was extremely comforting to know that you and him were the only ones that had that wonderful effect on each other.

“Morning, angel,” Jonah mumbled onto your skin, sending shivers up your spine in a good way.

“Morning, love. Hows your sleep?” You asked softly.

“Heavenly. Haven’t slept this well in a while,” he answered and nipped at your skin softly before starting to suck lazily on the same spot, earning a soft moan from you.

“Haven’t you got enough of me last night?” You asked breathlessly, the sweet sensation of his moving lips on your skin nearly driving you crazy. Your hands made their way to his hair, tugging lightly at his brown locks as you tilted your head slightly so that he’d have better access to your neck and he hummed in satisfaction.

“I just can’t help it when you look so good in my clothes, baby,” he said, only pulling away contentedly when a prominent bruise-like mark was formed on your flesh. You whimpered at the loss of contact. His hazel eyes were wide open now and a small smirk played on his lips. “Gotta mark my territory so every other male knows that you’re taken.”

“I’m pretty sure the two hickeys you gave me last night is enough for them to get the message, Jonah. You don’t have to add another,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully before flashing the promise ring that adorned the ring finger on your right hand and adding, “Don’t forget that I have this now too. No one will dare to hit on me now so don’t worry.”

“Yeah I know but one can never be too sure,” he brought your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles. “Plus, you love the feeling of my lips on you, don’t you?” He asked and you shook your head frantically in denial as your cheeks reddened. He cocked an eyebrow at your response. “Oh really? Then who was the one begging me to eat her out last night?”

You swore you blushed a thousand shades of crimson at his words. “Shut up, you shithead,” you answered, hitting him repeatedly with the bolster that you grabbed from beside you until he asked you to stop.

“Jeez, I was just joking.”

“That wasn’t funny,” you pouted with your arms crossed in front of your chest in mock anger and inched your body away from him and he pulled you back right away before pinning you down onto the bed and showering your face with kisses. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he apologized as his lips gradually trailed downwards, making its way down the column of your neck until it couldn’t go any further because of the hoodie, making him groan frustratedly and reach for the hem of your shirt, intending to take it off. To his dismay, you giggled and pushed him off you before he proceed with his actions.

“No, Jonah, as much as I love you, we don’t have enough time for this,” you pulled the covers off you before sitting up as he knitted his eyebrows in confusion. “Why?”

“We have to fetch Corbyn and Christina from the airport shortly, remember?” You reminded him and he grunted, annoyed.

“They can just take the Uber,” he complained with a scowl plastered on his face.

“Shush, we promised them that we’ll be happy to do it,” you tisked disapprovingly at his petty attitude. “We can continue this some other time,” you assured and leant downwards to peck his nose.

“Just a few more minutes, please? I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself this time,” He whined, staring up at you with pleading eyes and grabbed your wrist just as you were about to get out of bed to get ready for the day. Your eyes flickered between the clock on the wall and back to him for a few moments before finally adhering to his request, snuggling next to him with a sigh of mock exasperation to his delight.

“Yeah, I guess we do have a couple more minutes to spare,” you said with a smile, placing a hand on his bare chest over his heart, the feeling of the steady thumps of his heartbeat beneath your palm managing to give you a sense of indescribable comfort. “But of the others ask why we’re late, I’m definitely gonna blame it on you.”

“Whatever makes you happy, baby,” he replied and placed a tender kiss on your head while his hand stroked your hair gently. “You do that all the time so I’m used to it by now.”

You laughed softly as you allowed your eyelids to flutter shut, relishing the feeling of being so close to the person you loved the most in the entire universe. And you silently prayed that you could wake up like this for the rest of your life—safely tucked in his arms all through the velvet darkness of night until morning came, with him still holding you tight.

Little did you know he hoped for the same thing too.

[the-chaos-katzlein]

(Headcanon) The Main 6 + Extras and what dragon they own

Between another chapter of my Siege of Vesuvia AU, and this, this won.

(Keep in mind, most if not all of these worded entries are copied from the Httyd Wiki, and I DO NOT take credit for any of the fan art that I post here. I think I covered everything.)

Asra/Hobblegrunt

Hobblegrunts are colorful creatures. These dragons are bipedal, but they have two small forelimbs with long claws. They have long, but surprisingly strong, thin necks. Their heads are large, with a big jaw that has an underbite, showing their many teeth.

Julian/Scauldron

The Scauldron is a type of dragon that live exclusively underwater. They are extremely effective swimmers. Instead of breathing fire, Scauldrons have the ability to scald their victims.

Nadia/Razorwhip

The Razorwhip is a four-legged dragon with a long, slender neck, as well as metal-like, reflective scales. It has a long ledge on the top of its snout and a short, stumpy one on the bottom. Its body is covered in metal armor with two talons on each foot.

Muriel/Gronckle

The Gronckle is a dragon from the boulder class. It is tough and strong dragon. The Gronckle can fire flaming rocks as its attack. It can produce Gronckle iron which is a light and stong material made by eating a combination of rocks. It is a lazy creature at times.

Portia/Stormcutter

The Stormcutter is a four winged dragon that for some reason reminded me of Pepi.

Lucio/Monsterous Nightmare

No dragon is more ferocious, or feared than the Monstrous Nightmare. This gigantic dragon has a long, snake-like neck and tail, and is covered in scales - most often red - and long sharp spines. The Nightmare's gigantic head and mouth can swallow a Viking whole. It is very aggressive and territorial, and will never run from a fight. Its fire is thick and almost liquid, clinging to walls and running down hills like a flaming river. The Nightmare also has a nasty habit of setting itself on fire.

—Extras—

Morga/Deadly Nadder

The Deadly Nadder is very beautiful and bird-like: it is bipedal and possesses winged forelimbs and it is about the same size as medium-sized theropod dinosaurs such as Allosaurus. Its small yet keen eyes, equipped with poor binocular vision, are one of the tools it uses to stalk targets.

Ahoratos/Skrill

One of the most mysterious and feared dragon species in the Book of Dragons, the Skrill is aggressive, powerful, and nearly untrainable.

Skrills do not breathe fire. Instead, they channel lightning down their metallic spines, firing it from their mouths in a shower of destructive blasts. They can also store this electrical power in their bodies an release it later on. Because of this unique firepower, Skrills tend to gravitate towards stormy weather. If you find yourself flying through a thunderstorm, watch out! Skrills are also tough. They can take a lot of damage in battle, and give as good as they get. However, the Skrill has one weakness...it cannot fire its lightning from the water. Force a Skrill into the ocean, and it loses the upper hand. They can hibernate in icy glaciers for decades at a time, and emerge as fierce as the day they were frozen.

Osiris/Thunderdrum

Instead of breathing fire, the Thunderdrum produces a strong concussive sound that can kill a human at close range. The blast is so powerful that the dragon is said to "get its power from Thor himself." Legend also has it that when a Thunderdrum hatches from its egg, it makes a sound so loud it rattles the sky!

Talia/Razorwhip

See above ^^

Tallinuva/Hideous Zippleback

Of all the dragons that inhabit our world, one of the most unusual and dangerous is the Hideous Zippleback. The Zippleback is one of the largest dragons you may ever encounter. It's unmistakable with its twin heads. The heads are distinct, with separate thoughts and different personalities. Like most dragons, Zipplebacks can fly, but their wings are small and they spend most of their time on the ground. Zipplebacks are solitary, preferring to hunt alone. They come out after sundown, prowling dark forests for victims. The attack of a Zippleback is like no other. Instead of breathing fire, a Zippleback makes explosions. One head BREATHES gas, and the other head lights it.

[Feel free to add on and give your apprentices dragons, I can’t wait to see what y’all come up with!]

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Chizuru Town (End) Heaven and Hell

Caesar and the MC are let off the chain.

------

The boys all erupted into cheers as you closed your eyes. The man in the striped suit hugged you and then kissed you on the mouth. You didn’t struggle or open your eyes so they wouldn’t see what you were up to. 

Your Soul Skill relies on connecting to the energy of the ground. Already, millions of filaments of your spiritual energy were penetrating the ground like a root system, forming a solid foundation for what was to come. Once your Soul Skill was firmly rooted, you could kill them all in an instant. So you didn’t care about what was happening around you right now. That is, you didn’t care until the ground began to give you feedback that something terrible was happening to Lu Mingfei.

You open your eyes ever so slightly.

Lu Mingfei was backed against the wall of the Internet Cafe. He was holding the empty gun as if he could still shoot but no one was buying it. Another group of boys were firing into the hole left by the Black Viper. If Caesar was still alive in there, he couldn’t come back out without getting shot. 

And there was still no sign of Chu Zihang.

You’d waited to act long enough. At last, you could see the sparkle in the eyes of the elk. 

You raise your golden eyes in the sky and scream. Your hair lifts from where it hung in a wet curtain to straight up, stiff in the air. The ground sparks with electricity and cracks form in the pavement with light shining up through the cracks. 

The boys stop harassing Mingfei and stop firing into the hole in the building and stare in terror as the ground splinters beneath them. In the next second, the energy below the pavement erupts into blazing fire. Their clothes catch fire and so does their hair. They run away from the cracks in the ground, to roll on the wet pavement, steam rising from them. Their lungs have been seared by the heat and they’re choking and gasping after running such a short distance. Their hair is scalded off and they have no eyebrows.

They were the lucky ones. The unlucky sank their feet into pure lava, the heat turning all the moisture in their body to steam instantly. They could only give voice to their blinding pain for a few seconds before they passed out from lack of blood and oxygen and expired.

The air is filled with screams and moans and burning flesh. The street has turned to Hell.

Eruption is a Soul Skill of the King of Earth and Mountains. It summons the magma in an area, so it can usually take some time to charge if the magma is very deep, but here in Japan, the ground is floating on rivers of it and it is nothing for you to call a thin injection up and to squeeze through the plates beneath the earth.

The cars tip down into the widening cracks and their tires pop and shoot up flames in the escaping air, melting the fine paint and metal. The van you’re sitting on is an island in the middle of the destruction.

A phone rings. The man in the stripe suit is pale with shock. He silently read the text message and put down the phone. He stood up, staring down at you with a pale face full of fear. “This scare tactic is no big deal! Japan is our territory! And Chizuru Town is also our territory! You’re not going to win! Put your guns up and kill them!”

Your jaw drops. You had spared this last man because you figured Caesar would want to end him personally and now he - this last rat - was rallying his troops against you? Who was that text message from? How was this Lord so terrible that he could inspire some lowlife to face your power and defy you immediately after you’d just instantly obliterated so many of his gang members?

You smile and laugh! “Hahahaha! I really have to kill all of you! I really do! I can’t believe it!”

The wall Lu Mingfei was pressed against suddenly reverberated with a majestic roar and cracked open with a loud bang. The four-meter- high backhoe rushed out of the fire in the building, the huge gravel shovel dragging Lu Mingei into the air. Those remaining fired at the shovel with a dense shower of bullets.

Caesar sat in the cockpit of the shovel, his right hand holding the steering wheel and his left hand holding the body of the girl. Her blood was dripping down so much it formed a crimson strip on the metal under the cockpit.

You raise your chin to him. The redness of that blood was like a flag, marking you and Caesar as comrades in sorrow.

Caesar turned the backhoe to face away from the attackers. “Lu Mingfei! Get in!”

Lu Mingfei used all his strength to jump towards the shovel and Caesar pulled him in by his arm. 

Caesar turned the back hoe back around. He handed the body of Makoto to Lu Mingfei who immediately looked like he was about to cry. Caesar’s face was as smooth and calm as granite as he looked at you and your river of destruction.

“Boss, are you okay?” Mingfei whimpered.

“I’m fine… I’m fine.”

The magma you called up was rapidly cooling in the rain and the steam rose up smelling like fresh asphalt. The charred corpses of the gangsters who had died were like black statues sticking out of the ground, frozen forever in their state of agony like the ash sculpture corpses of Pompeii and Herculaneum.

He breathed in and out. “MC. Stand down.”

“Ah.” You sigh. “Alright.”

“You lied to me. But I forgive you.” He said.

The man in the striped suit is staring at you and you stare right back. He finally understands that you were not a prize for him. Caesar Gattuso had deceived him into inviting a bomb right in the middle of his troops. 

“Grenades! Grenades!” The man in the suit yelled.

The dozen gangsters that remained pulled grenades from their belts and flung them at the backhoe. The grenades blew through the wheels of the machine, rendering it motionless.

That’s when the dark clouds suddenly broke open and a giant B1 bomber descended like a black bird from the sky. The stirring back draft of the low flight swept the whole length of the street, shattering some of the windows, and nearly knocked you off the van . When you regain your balance, you see something descending on a white parachute from the bottom of it near Caesar.

He snatched the box out of the air, opened it and revealed two new weapons. He calmly started loading up his weapons. Was this the power of Cassell? Or was it the Gattuso family? Caesar had to have called someone...

“Boss! That bullet can kill people!” Mingfei gasps.

“The old guys in my family are usually a bunch of dirty bastards, but one thing they say is true. They say that God created the world to be fair and just, and if someone makes a mistake, he should pay the price. Hand for hand, foot for foot. If someone doesn’t pay for their sins, then who will believe in God’s glory?” After he finished loading the rounds, he made the sign of the cross.

“Is that what this is all about? Converting me to Catholicism?” You laugh with incredulity. Even after all this destruction, staring into the face of the black abyss, it was this religion that kept him grounded in his view of the world. “I think our beliefs will stay different. But I don’t mind calling you brother, Caesar. Ow!” You cry out as your hair is suddenly seized.

The man in the striped suit quickly picks up the shotgun and points it at you but then his hand bursts into a shower of flesh and bone. With nothing to hold it, the gun falls into the cooling magma and sticks in upright.

The man in the suit wails, clutching his now empty wrist. The bullet had accurately penetrated his hand. The rounds from the Desert Eagle guns have no difficulty in shattering the skull of a rhinoceros. A human hand was no problem.

Caesar fired both guns, and after emptying them of bullets, he threw the guns to Lu Mingfei for him to help reload. He took out an Uzi from the same box to continue shooting. The gangsters completely lost their fighting spirit, leaving their companions crying and jumping into the vans that were undamaged by the magma. Some were able to jump in but most fell in the rain before they could touch any vehicle. Each bullet passes precisely through their calves. 

They had asked Caesar to cripple himself by shooting his hand and calf and now he was crippling them that way. It was casual genius. Caesar simply would not budge from his ideals, nor would you budge from yours. You simply provided space for each other. You found your niche, and he would work around that. So you do stand down and watch Caesar work, your heart icy cold, but warmed by the fires of his company in this wintry dark world.

The van’s wheels spun to get going in the rain, and the vehicles fled to the end of the long street, leaving behind their wounded companions. With them on the run, Caesar leaped from the backhoe and walked over the ruined ground. He raised the Uzi in a smooth arc and fired six shots at the apex, blowing out the tires of the vans.

The vans still tried to roll on the lopsided tires. But then they suddenly stop. The man in the suit got out of the vehicle, dragging the driver with him. Your smile fades a little and your heart rate jumps. But Caesar told you to stand down and these two wouldn’t serve any resistance, right?

The vans of the cargo doors burst open and the dark interiors shined with the lights of roaring motorcycles. Caesar stood like a pillar and closed his eyes.

The guns made a sound you had never heard a gun make before. Like an explosion but beginning and ending with some sort of snarl, like he was holding a vicious dog in his hands. The modified Desert Eagle shot extremely fast. Caesar blasted out a direct rain of bullets. When these gangsters were in range they entered Caesar's exclusive battle field. The tide of the bikes and the rain of the bullets collided head on. The bullets pierced through fuel tanks, broke axles, tore through the wheel wells, and shot out sparks. One by one, the heavy machines collapsed in the puddles, caught fire and exploded and the boys tumbled to the ground, crying out in disbelief. Caesar fired mechanically, his face without expression, not happy or angry or sad.

As for you, the MC, you were still uneasy. You understood what it was like to be herded into battle, as not all the orphans at the facility wanted to fight. Those weak ones were tossed headlong into the ring with more vicious and bloodthirsty opponents to fight it out and learn to like it. They didn’t have a choice. 

Just like observing those reluctant kids, you realize suddenly that this whole scene is wrong. These people are being driven to this fight like slaves. You just now noticed their chains when they stopped trying to escape and turned around.

There were still three motorcycles coming in a second wave. Even from this distance you could see the striped suited man, hand missing, eyes white with frenzy, carrying a long knife. Caesar casually tossed a grenade on the ground and rolled it in front of them. It burst and sent the bikes on either side of the man in the suit flying, but he was so determined that he popped his front wheel in the air and rode the explosion, just like Caesar had ridden the air to save Makoto. His blade was aimed directly at Caesar’s heart. 

You leap to your feet, but Caesar didn’t move other than to sweep his leg up and kick the fuel canister on the bike.

The man in the suit suddenly realized that his motorcycle was gone and he was floating by himself in the air. The bike had been kicked out from under him and he landed hard, smashing face down right in the road.

Caesar bent over, picked him up by his hair and forced him to watch, feet dangling, as he poured bullets into the motorcycle, smashing its four cylinder engine, axle, silver-plated tailpipe and handle bars, the leather seat, and the precious logo… his beloved motorcycle, that was like his beautiful woman, was turned into nothing more an scrap metal.

“My …” you say to yourself, glancing at the black corpses surrounding you and wondering who was better off.

“I’ll kill you,” Caesar was saying, “But before that, you have to tell me who that “Lord” behind the curtain is.” Caesar shot the man in the ankle, and one of his feet disappeared.

“I have little patience for forced confessions.” Caesar fired another shot, hitting the knee and the man’s calf disappeared.

The man in the suit was struggling to speak in pain, but then Caesar called Lu Mingfei to him. “Translate.”

Lu Mingfei, who had been hiding in the backhoe, fell clumsily from the machine and hurried over, trying not to trip over any charred bodies.

“He said he’s going to take a long time to explain and he’s going to pass out. He’s asking for some wine.” He puffed breathlessly.

“He wants to drink?” Caesar was a little surprised by this lecherous man’s courage.

From your vantage point on the van, you notice that someone is moving in the darkness behind the abandoned vehicles with the flat tires. You leap off the van and hurry over to the back hoe. There were still guns left there. One a Beretta. You snatch it and and run towards Caesar, eyes on the target.

The man in the suit fished out a test tube of purple liquid from his sleeve and sucked the liquid out faster than Caesar could react.

“Poison?” Caesar was taken aback, but it was too late. The test tube fell and shattered in the rain and the man hung limp. You slow to a stop. You thought the shadow was there, but now you don’t see anything.

The man in the suit’s body suddenly twitched feverishly. His flesh started to morph, like he was rapidly healing, yet dying at the same time. The man’s eyes opened with golden pupils! Caesar did not have time to dodge before the man’s fingers - now a pair of vicious bone claws - stabbed into his chest. 

He pounced on Caesar with strength that overwhelmed him, hugging him tightly with the claws digging into his back and teeth closing on his neck. 

You fire once. The man’s skull ragdolls back.  And then again. The man in the suit releases a stunned and bloodied Caesar who lets him fall in a heap to the ground. Lifeless.

Chu Zihang was standing there. Evidently he was the moving shadow. He had run to help Caesar himself but your gun’s bullets reached him before he could. They were still some distance away from you. Between you and them were several of the wounded who were still crawling away, cowering behind trash cans and trying to hide between wrecked cars. All of them could turn into monsters, as far as you were concerned. 

You catch the eyes of one who was crouched behind the mailbox. He held up his hands. He cried “No! No!” before his head shattered to pieces. You moved to the next who was scooting away behind two black trash bags. You pull the trigger and he dropped like a stone.

Chu Zihang is racing to meet you. You trace your fingers to draw a line across the street. The ground opens up and a river of lava’s heat comes between you. Meanwhile, you keep shooting, ignoring the gangster’s pleas and prayers. They have to die. They all have to die.

Chu Zihang suddenly seemed to fall from the sky. His eyes are blazing gold, his sword raised.

“No.” You say. You wave your hand and the ground lifts beneath you forming a jagged edge pointed up at him. If Zihang fell on it at this speed, he could have broken ribs or worse, but he rolls in the air,  casting a spout of fire to blast him away at the last second.

Your eyes follow the trajectory of his arc. A crack in the pavement follows your gaze. Such extreme control of eruption is only possible thanks to the amount of filaments in the ground. The liquid rock underneath you is almost like a second limb. The ground is shaking and unsteady when Chu Zihang lands and he stumbles and falls. But now his eyes are wide with terror, but  looking behind you. You turn and stare down the muzzle of an old revolver. You feel a flash of intense pain. The world around you spins. Colors and images blur together. You land in a puddle, coughing blood. Your world goes dark with Chu Zihang calling your name.

[johnkrrasinski]

ℑ𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔚𝔬𝔬𝔡𝔰

Chapter 4: False God 

full masterlist // series masterlist

Pairings: dark!Steve Rogers x female!reader

Word count: 3,117 

Warnings: smut, kidnapping, stalking, slight bondage, dub-con, non-con. (MUST BE 18+)

Summary: after the death of your mother, you decided that you were going to do something new to honor her. You chose a perfect camping spot somewhere down South. You thought it was going to be the life-changing vacation that you never had in your life, until Steve Rogers, a man existed in roughness and control all his life, found you.

a/n: finally finished chapter 4 folks! i wanted their relationship to move forward not only sexually and physically but also, emotionally. steve shows that he doesn’t see her as only a sex object, despite wanting to take full control of her but rather, he will actually care for her as a good dom should. hope you enjoy! please leave a like and comment. 

After the steamy session you encountered with Steve, he decided to give you a little break. Amid your post-coital bliss, Steve went upstairs to bring you a glass of water to calm your raging nerves. The experience sent you jolts of pleasure, bewilderment, and pain. You had never felt such extreme pleasure before, it awakens every nerve inside your body, striking a flash of lightning down your spine.

On the other brain, your brain is terrorizing you; you had lost control of your body and you had allowed a man to trespass your most personal territory. A man that your mother had warned you about. A man who was perilous enough to abduct you, strip you out of your rights and rob away your will.

The sickening feeling in your stomach resurfaced, to remind you that threat was imminent, and you can't protect yourself from it. You searched for ways of how to repel him enough to let you go. Would it even be possible for you to manipulate him? You've watched enough movies to draw a plan, on how you learn his weakness and then maybe enervate him so you could make an escape. The stake is high, and there's a probability that his sturdy legs might outrun you, and he might make you suffer the consequences.

If you were going to risk your life, you'd rather die trying than serve him as a sex slave for the rest of your life. Would you even know the road back to where you parked your car? Which made you wonder, what happened to your belongings? Did Steve take those too? Or did he just leave it there in the woods? If he had done the latter, there's a high chance that someone might try to find you, the foresters might try to find out whom they belong to.

Or other campers who might make a visit at the woods, they might wish to get rid of the belongings and that would coerce them into trying to figure out who had camped here before. They might search for clues by checking your phone, driver's license... Hold on, your phone, your driver's license, etc... Could they possibly still be in the woods? Or did Steve take them too? From less than 24 hours of observing him, it doesn't seem like Steve would be reckless enough to leave traces behind now, would he?

Your jumbled questions were quickly disrupted by his entrance through the door. Stepping down the staircase, with a glass of water in his hand. He walked towards you and sat on the bed, he put the glass on the bedside table and untied you. Then he lifted the glass to your lips carefully not to let it spill all over the corners of your mouth.

"Here, cool yourself down."

You took a big gulp and drank down the full glass. The water felt icy washing over your tongue. After the perspiring activity that left you flaring up, you needed something to ground you.

"Enough?"

"Yes, sir."

He put the glass back on the bedside table as he stripped himself out of the sweatpants he wore. "Good girl. Now lay back down."

The sight before you left you agape. His member that had been extricated, sprung free before you, leaking with pre-cum, as it wobbled with each slight movement. What left you jarred, wasn't what it was drenched in; but rather the length and the girth. He really was sculpted by the Gods themselves.

You were subdued by the thought of him being inside you. How was he going to fit? You had never seen a man's shaft up-close. It trembled you knowing what he was likely going to do to you shortly.

He kneeled on his knees between your restrained legs, as he bent down to unleash them. He instantly lifted them and placed them on his shoulders. He paused for a moment to brush his thumb over your lower lip and shoved it inside your mouth. Your frightened eyes pleasured him even more.

"Suck it." You began sucking like a baby and its pacifier. He dragged it in and out as it got wetter each time it retreats out of your lips. Once he felt satisfied enough, he lifted his cock and inserted himself inside you, passing through the thin skin that covers your entrance.

You screamed in pain, not a single hint of pleasure emitting out of you. You tried to stop by pulling down your legs but he was too quick to keep you in place.

"Stop, please. It hurts."

"Shh, it's okay. I know it does, but it will feel better once we get past it."

"No, no, no, please just pull out."

"You don't get to make that wish here."

He didn't hesitate in pushing inside of you even farther until he reached his limit. He sighs as he was fully seated. On the other hand, you were shrieking in pain, the tears in your eyes were flowing uncontrollably, as you tried to block out the view by contorting your place to the side.

He began thrusting at a slow pace, letting you adapt to his size. He knew that one way or another, you were going to have to get past this to experience a whole 'nother level of pleasure and he would gladly take you there. But first, you must give into him as he takes care of the inception of your training.

"Fuck, little girl, you are so tight."

You squealed as you tried to push him off by kicking his face, but he grabbed your ankles and stopped his invasion.

"Hey, hey!" He warned you. He slightly bent down to grab your jaw and made you look into his eyes. It was full of ultimatum. "Remember what happens if you continue to misbehave. I will not tolerate it any longer."

You were breathing harshly, as the tears obscured your visions and the feeling of his size still clogging you full caused you discomfort at a great expanse.

"I- I can't... Please."

"No. You are going to keep your mouth shut and submit to me. The more you fight, the more it's going to be painful for you."

You could only continue to cry, hoping that he'd yield at your tears. But no, softness wasn't a trait this man possessed.

"Now, are you going to behave?"

You hesitated for a second, knowing the only answer he demanded contradicted your wish. But you didn't want to face much worse than what was already happening. You didn't wanna face the consequences of your futile resistance. So with a heavy heart, you opened your mouth; "yes, sir." Your voice was meek.

"Good girl."

He thrust harder than before, as he poured his disappointment on your body. He made you feel each puncture as he drew out pleasure out of your misery. At first, it felt horrible, like you had been shot at your most vulnerable part, but as he kept going, you started to feel good; unspeakable and mystifying.

Eventually, the fight in your body slowly departed as you welcomed this newfound bliss. You moaned as he hit the sensitive spot you were never aware of its existence before. You closed your eyes and let his hips to work over your body.

He stared down at you from above, knowing that once again, he had broken down your wall. He knew you began to allow the pain to introduce you to the pleasure you had never known before. He thrust faster and the bed squeaked from the pace. You moaned harder as your breasts jiggled with his vigorous movement.

He kept going until your climax hits you. You spilled your cum all over his hard-rock member that was still moving in and out of you, prolonging your release. It outpoured of you and merged with pre-orgasm wetness. You gave in to the euphoria, as you laid there, presenting your body to be used to get him off.

Shortly, he reached his own climax and he threw his head back as he growled due to the bliss. He spilled his cum inside of you as he stayed a little longer to make sure every drop was kept within.

He pulled out of you as he saw a droplet of blood mixed with the flowing juices your body produced. He neglected it so t wouldn't scare you. You were frightened enough already, he wasn't going to ruin the moment.

He leaned down and pressed a passionate kiss on your lips. He panted into your mouth and pressed his forehead on yours. "You're mine. All mine."

And you were... Not like you had a say in it anyway.

You dozed off after the post-release euphoria took over your body. It had drained your energy and you couldn't resist the urge of closing your eyes. Steve left you after your first session to let you take a break. He took a dampen cloth from your tiny lavatory and cleaned off the remnants of your release dribbling all over your thighs.

He tenderly wiped your skin, trying not to wake you up. He was aware of how in shock your mind and your body must've been. He then took the used cloth with him and went upstairs. He tossed it in the dirty laundry basket then cleaned himself off.

The day was still young so he decided to break a few sweats. Steve works as a wildland firefighter and a part-time photographer. He doesn't always have to be at the local fire department. He works 4 days a week and gets 4 days off. Usually, during his time off, he would wander around the woods to photograph some scenery himself. But for the past couple of days, he's been a little occupied.

Steve went to his backyard to lift some weights. His thoughts couldn't stop reminiscing the last 24 hours. The first time he saw her exposed body, the way she tasted and the sound of her whimpers... It sent current straight to his cock. It had barely been an hour since he fucked her but he was starting to get hard already. He couldn't get enough of her.

Steve drew the scenarios in his head of tonight's training. He made up his mind and it made him impatient to wake her up. He had to endure it though, he vowed that he was going to be patient with her and he was going to keep his words. He smirked as the bead of sweats ran past his forehead to his body. The fire in him fueled his hunger for her and his zeal to pull a muscle. He groaned as he reached his ideal count and put down the weight.

God knows how many hours later, you woke up in a cold sweat. You just had another nightmare. In your dreams, you were imprisoned in a cage, the steel bars that were keeping you a hostage felt cold under your palms.  

Your vision was hazy and your mind was foggy, it's like you had just crashed yourself onto the fence and went comatose. The walls confining you in this insufficient penitentiary were murky grey, only a shed of light coming through a narrow window up above. You called for help but no one answered.

And then, suddenly, the lockup was on fire. The flame was getting close and closer, and you tried to rattle the bars. And before the fire caught up to you, you woke up in a fizzy daze only to realize that a part of your dream wasn't entirely, merely a nightmare. You were still locked up in another confinement, unable to escape.

You moved your hand to rub your forehead as you realized that your hands were no longer tied. Your excitement was soon repealed as you sat up only to see that your feet were still bound. At least the gag in your mouth wasn't holding you back anymore now too.

You could call for him in case you need anything, but you pondered, what did you need, really? He certainly wasn't going to set you free and nothing he could give to enhance your mood. Your contemplation was soon cleared out by the sound of the opened door and footsteps following it. To say you weren't scared anymore would be a hastened overstatement, but you no longer felt the shivers ran down your spine or the irrational fears overclouding your brain.

He brought a tray with him, with a pot roast and a glass of wine on it. The smell was tantalizing. He greeted you with a warm smile, a rare one that you hardly got to see. He put down the tray and sat beside you.

"How are you feeling?"

You paused for a moment before you answered. Him worrying about how you feel was strange. All this time, he had taken you as a captive, never once did he ever selflessly care for your being. "As best as I could, I guess..."

"You did really well today, you trusted me to take care of you and you gotta keep it up. We can go to the next lesson, once you've got the hang of it."

"I'm not sure how much more I can take..." You hugged your knees as if you were trying to shield yourself from this beast. You softly shook your head and averted his piercing gaze.

"I'll take you there. We'll take it as slow as you need, but I need you to be able to keep up. I promised not to hurt you, didn't I?" His hand reached your face, and cupped your cheek, directing your eyes onto his.

The deep blue eyes that were usually sharp and lust-blown, were now warm and... assuring. Like he meant every word he said, every forgotten promise that he made amid fiery moments.

You shrugged off his question. "Can I eat? I'm a little hungry."

He removed his hand from your cheek and answered, "of course. You need some fuel before we start anyway."

You knew that should've jarred you, but slowly, you felt yourself giving into his control, letting him take the wheel. Just for now, you were going to let him have the upper hand, you'll find a way to utilize your submissiveness later when you know the time is right.

You dined with your brain swirling with questions, a lot of them. If he swore that he wasn't going to hurt you, surely it wouldn't hurt to ask for some explanation, would it? You gathered all the bits of bravery inside you... The ones that were left anyway, and paused your chewing.

"I have a question..."

"Go on."

"Why am I here... Really?" He contorted at that. He sighed as if he was dreading this circumstance.

"I know you promised not to hurt me and I trust you, but... I can't trust you fully if you keep me in the dark." You paused, the look on his face and the shift in his body were warning you to turn back around.

"I wanna be able to work through whatever this is we are doing, based on mutual trust. And that means I wanna trust you not only in not hurting me but also, knowing that I'll be able to prepare myself for whatever plans you have for me next."

He exhaled once more and this time, he turned his face back to you. "You are here because I wanted something to keep to myself. We, men, have needs and sometimes those needs must be fulfilled immediately."

You didn't know how to respond to that. You stayed quiet and let him carry on. You hugged your knees tighter than before and drooped.

"Tell me, were you happy?" That made you lift your head and glared. What did he mean by that?

"What...?"

"Before this, were you happy with your life?"

"I don't... I don't understand..."

He inched his face closer to you. "I looked through your phone, and from what I learned, you came all the way here from New York to run away for something, didn't you? What was it? Was it your mother?"

And just like that, one trigger word alarmed all the cells in your body; your anxiety spiraled, tightening your chest, your breathing became labored, and the perpetual agony the death of your mother had left you with, came rushing back, flooding your lungs like you were drowning in the middle of Pacific ocean.

"How do you know about that?"

"I looked through your phone, and I saw pictures of her on a hospital gown and your recent texts indicated that you were mourning."

You stared at him in disbelief, how could he do that to you? Not only did he take you against your will and violated your body without your consent, but also invaded your privacy without asking for your permission.

You closed your eyes and bowed your head down, suddenly feeling like you were on the edge of having a meltdown, "stop. Just stop." You blocked your ears from listening to him any longer.

"What? Baby, what's wrong?"

"Stop talking about her, please." You had never felt so cramped before. The pain from missing your mother, the anxiety of being kidnapped, and the void feeling of not knowing what the future holds for you are piling up.

"Okay, then I won't talk about it anymore. But I need you to know that, as your caregiver, I'm not only here to guide you through sexual activities, but you can count me to be a shoulder to cry on." He paused. "You told me not to keep you in the dark, and I won't. But trust works both ways, sweetheart."

You averted the ambush to get any further by making something up, "Can I get a rest tonight? It's been a really long day."

Steve stayed silent for a moment, uncertain of your bold request, but he was a man of his words, if he pushed you any further, exceeding your limits, he might end up hurting you, so he learned to cut you some slacks and granted you the rest you needed tonight.

"Alright, we can move our next training tomorrow. Get some sleep." He got out of the bed and lifted the tray with your unfinished meal, due to your loss of appetite.

"Goodnight." He pecked a kiss on your forehead and exited the room. He switched off the lights and left you in the dark, the gloom once again guards you.

You queried; when did the monster under your bed had chosen to walk in plain sight and spook you even under the broad daylight...

[theunknowncryptid]

7. Night Two

Next

Masterlist 

Namjoon x Y/n

Taglist: @amordesiempre01 @jiminals @unadulteratedlyunique @parkmaeri @bbyjoonies @lilacsmoon @s0228 @kelitt @xxxanimangxxx @chogiyeol-utopia @atomickokorox @irenebutfancier @wheredoiwhaaat25​ @ambersaesthetics​ @impossiblytinytraveler @k-queen​ @preciouschiminie​ @mxgicshxpp​ @igotarmyofarohas​ @realtrashh​

~        ~        ~

Breakfast had been a quiet affair. Sure, the pancakes were great. Jimin’s a great cook. But still, Y/n sat at one end of the table glaring daggers at him in silence. Namjoon hadn’t tried to stop her in any way, but at the end of his meal he stood and announced that he would meet her on the beach in an hour. She looked at him in confusion until he realized she didn’t know where the beach was. 

Now, having showered and changed into jeans and a t-shirt, He looked down at her from the hill above the beach. She stood with her bare feet in the sand, just out of reach of the waves. Her arms were crossed over her chest and, even though he couldn’t see her face, he could imagine that she was glaring out at the sea as if her situation was its fault. Surprisingly, she had chosen to wear a white sundress. It opposed her personality completely. In the short time he had known her, Namjoon knew there was nothing bright and sunny about her personality. 

Stepping carefully, he walked down the hill toward her. 

“Feeling better?” She turned to look at him with a scowl on her face. “Apparently not.”

Her hair blew wildly in the wind and he had to control the urge to brush it back. The same feeling he had last night surged in him. Something about the way Y/n looked at him left Namjoon extremely on edge and desperate. He constantly craved to have her closer. 

“Excuse me for being upset.” She said sarcastically. He ignored her, following his urge to step closer so they were side by side looking at the ocean. 

“You have every right to be upset.” She looked at him with a raised eyebrow. He felt for her. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be in her situation. Difficult and frightening, for sure. But, that didn’t mean he was going to give her back to her idiotic brother.

“So, you’ll let me go?” Her voice was full of skepticism. 

“Of course not.” He smirked. Then, with one arm he took her by the waist and pulled her against him. The look on her face was laughable. She uncrossed her arms and pushed against him, trying to make it so she wasn’t flush against his chest. 

“Ugh! Let me go, you Buffoon!” She squirmed pointlessly. Namjoon felt incredibly amused by their arrangement. 

“Tell you what,” He smirked down at the girl. “I’ll release you if you call me by my name.” 

Her nose wrinkled in disapproval. “Let me go, Mr. Kim.”

“Not that name.” He mocked. He wanted to know what his given name would sound like coming from her lips. Y/n squirmed again, but he doubted she could fight off a toddler, let alone a six foot tall man.

“Let me go… Namjoon.” Her voice was icy, but it still made a thrill go up his spine.

“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” He opened his arms and allowed the girl within them to walk a few paces away from him. “Though I wish you wouldn’t ask me to let you go.” 

She pegged him with another glare. The wind sent her hair flying in a million directions.

“Stop it.” She warned.

“I would if I could.” She turned and started heading up the beach. He watched her go for a moment before jogging to catch up with her. He matched her stride. 

“I know you’re trying to mess with my head. Get me to cave.”

“Of course I am, Angel. How else am I going to get you into my bed.” He gave her a devious smirk. She scoffed at his bluntness. “Plus, I can’t help myself. You’re irresistible.”

He wasn’t lying in the slightest. Something about the way she moved, spoke, breathed- captivated him completely. 

Months ago, when he glanced her for the first time, it was like someone chained a collar around his neck and handed her the leash. All she was doing was drying shot glasses, but he couldn’t look away. Her head bobbed to the music playing across the empty bar. Softly, she sang along. Her hair was half up in a ponytail and she had a rag carelessly thrown over her shoulder. She didn’t hear him come in, or if she did she assumed it was someone for the Mins. She was right, Namjoon was there to see the Mins, But he still wanted her to look up. Jimin, looked back at him from the bottom of the stairwell that led to the Min family headquarters. Instead of following, Namjoon waved Jimin back over to him.

“Do you know who that is?” He asked, cocking his head in Y/n’s direction. She still wasn’t paying attention. 

“All I know is she owns the bar.” Jimin answered. “Do you want me to find out more?” 

Several seconds passed before he answered.

“Yes.” Then, Namjoon left up the stairs to make his meeting. 

Since then, Namjoon had been subtly aware of every move Y/n made. Yes, he felt like a stalker, but he couldn’t help it. Seeing her was like finding a flashlight in the dark. He would never tell her this and allow her to know just how much control she had over him, but it was the truth. 

Y/n wrapped her arms around herself, despite the humidity, and made a huffing noise at his affection. 

“You told me you wouldn’t shy away from me.” Namjoon reminded her. They continued their walk down the beach.

“I’m not and I only told you I would spend time with you.” She grumbled.

“Fairs fair, Angel.”

“Nothing about this is fair and stop calling me Angel.” He looked at her warily. The sky seemed to be getting more overcast as Y/n got angrier. At this rate she was going to lose her patience with him long before weeks end. Not for the first time, Namjoon wondered about why she was really here.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Haven’t you already asked me several?” He decided to ignore her attitude this time.

“Why are you here?” Y/n paused suddenly and he had to turn around to face her when he walked past her. 

“Is this a trick question?” She asked. Her features were riddled with annoyance. 

“No.” 

“I thought you wanted me here?” The annoyance shifted to plain confusion. 

“I do.” He spoke quickly, backpedaling. “Obviously, I do. I paid enough to get you here.” He hoped she didn’t notice the way his eyes raked over her when he spoke. 

“You know I don’t have a choice.” The annoyance was back.

“That’s not true.” Namjoon turned and resumed walking down the beach. He hoped she was following. “You could save yourself and allow your brother to be dealt with.” He called over his shoulder. To his delight, Y/n appeared at his side again, kicking up sand. 

“And by ‘dealt with’ you mean ‘get murdered’!” She threw her hands around exasperatedly as she spoke and Namjoon had to shove his own hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching out to her. 

“Yeah.” He smirked. She scoffed again.

“I can’t just let my brother be killed.” Her voice was more of a growl. 

“Why not? He doesn’t do anything for you.” She glared at him.

“How do you know that?” 

“Not important.” He said, keeping his voice light. “I’m just saying, you could be at home right now, but instead you’re choosing to spend your time with me.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘choosing’” 

“Matter of opinion.” He smiled at her genuinely. She grimaced. “So?”

A full minute passed before she answered. Her gaze locked onto the sand as if she was searching for some reasonable answer.

“He’s family.” She said. Her voice was as small as he’d ever heard it. “You of all people should understand family, Namjoon.”

Warmth flooded his system when she willingly spoke his name. He let out a barking laugh.

“Yeah, you could say I understand family.” He chuckled. He was head of the Kim crime family. Hundreds of people on the Kim territory were loyal to him and his family. They looked to him for answers. He protected them, he threatened them, and when it came down to it, he loved them. So, yeah, he understood familiar bonds. 

He looked down at Y/n and was surprised to see her watching him in amusement.

“What?” He asked.

“You have a good laugh.” She said blatantly. 

It was the first time she regarded him with a positive emotion and Namjoon already felt like he couldn’t get enough. It was like the world brightened when she looked at him like that. God, he had problems. He had barely had two conversations with the girl and he was practically on his knees at her disposal.

Then, just like that, the emotion was gone and the world went back to dark. 

“So, you’ll let your brother sell you just because your family?” He asked.

“He did not sell me!”

“You’re right,” He smirked. “It’s more of a loan.”

With an angry grunt of frustration, Y/n picked up her pace and stalked ahead of him. White fabric trailed behind her. He jogged to catch up with her and grabbed her hand in his. She tried to jerk away, but Namjoon just tucked her hand close to his chest. Realizing that fighting was pointless, Y/n just rolled her eyes. 

Gathering a surprisingly necessary amount of courage, Namjoon asked the question he had been dying to know.

“Has your brother made deals like this before?” He asked. Y/n glanced at him curiously, putting the pieces together. 

“Having me for seven nights wasn’t your idea, was it?” The look on her face told him she already knew the answer. A month ago, when Jeon Jungkook came to him asking for money, Namjoon wasn’t surprised. Everyone in town knew about his gambling problem. What left him shocked was when Jungkook offered up his sister's virginity as collateral. The woman Namjoon had been (arguably) stalking for months now was being given to him on a silver platter. What left him seeing red was Jungkook’s readiness and casual demeanor. That clued him in that Jeon had made this deal before.

It made Namjoon’s blood boil to know her own brother was passing Y/n around like a piece of meat. That other, unwanted hands had touched what he saw was so precious. 

Sadness filtered through Y/n’s eyes. He took to fiddling with her fingers before he answered her question. 

“I upped the deal to seven nights.” He admitted.

“But he offered you one night with me?” The waver in her voice cut into him. The look on her face was worse.

“Yes.” The hand in his flinched with the rest of her and he tightened his grip. “It’s happened before?” 

“It's never gone this far.” She admitted. He was surprised at her willingness to speak to him about this, even if she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Usually it's just a date or ten minutes alone in a closet.”

Namjoon had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from spewing insults about Jeon Jungkook and his grotesque corral of men. What kind of a man treats their sister like property? What kind of human?

Well, he did technically buy her for the week. But, that’s irrelevant.

“Namjoon, you’re hurting me.” Y/n wiggled her fingers that were still trapped against his chest. He dropped her and unwillingly.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He wasn’t really sure if they were talking about Y/n’s crushed fingers or Jungkook’s revolving door of pigs. 

Namjoon stopped walking to look at her. The wind was still blowing roughly and the sky had darkened to suggest a storm in the distance. The breeze lifted her hair and dress around her. Looking at her, Namjoon felt the same way he did when he first saw her. Breathless and captivated. Whether she was in a bar with a rag in her hands or on a beach in a beautiful dress, Y/n was stunning. 

“What?” She asked. He realized he had stopped walking just to stare at her like a crazy person. 

“You’re very beautiful.” He said, bluntly. Her flying hair did nothing to hide her blush. 

“Stop it.” She grumbled, watching the waves. He retook his claim on her hands. Her fingers were limp in his grasp. 

“Why?”

“Because I don’t like it.”

“Liar.” He smirked. She looked up at him in annoyance. He released one of her hands to brush pieces of her hair away from her face. Her expression remained annoyed. Namjoon’s smirk widened to a smile when he realized that, at some point over the last fifteen hours, Y/n’s feelings toward him had faded from fear to annoyance.

“What is wrong with you?” She asked him. Her eyes held a glint of amusement.

“Do me a favor?” He smiled, ignoring her question. Y/n rolled her eyes. 

“I’m already doing you a favor by being here.” She pointed out.

“That’s true, Angel.” He chuckled, taking a step closer. She looked at him warily. “But, I need another favor.”

“What?” 

“Don’t pull away from me.” Then, he leaned down and pressed his lips against hers.

Y/n’s breath hitched in her throat. Before she knew what was happening, Namjoon was threading her fingers through her hair, holding her in place. She made a muffled sound of distress, raising her free hand to his chest in an attempt to push him away. He moved his mouth to suck lightly on her lower lip, sending pleasure through her and her eyes slid shut. The hand against Namjoons chest fisted. Encouraged by her reaction, Namjoon let his tongue flick out to her lower lip. She started in surprise, but didn’t pull away. He let go of her hand and wrapped his arm around Y/n’s waist so they were flush together. He couldn’t help himself and smiled into the kiss.

Disappointingly, this is what broke Y/n from her surprised trance. She jerked back, removing her hands from her chest. Her face was flushed. 

As sad as he was to have the kiss ended, Namjoon couldn’t help but smile like a kid with an ice cream cone. Y/n huffed at his expression.

“Shut up.

“I didn’t say anything.” He smiled. Rolling her eyes for the third time since breakfast, Y/n turned and stalked towards the house.

Namjoon opened the door to the bedroom slowly, praying it wouldn’t squeak.

Y/n had finally left his side after dinner. He had business matters to deal with, so as much as it pained him to leave her side, Namjoon told Y/n to head to bed without him. After the beach they had spent the rest of the day in the library, talking and reading. A mischievous look sprung up in Y/n eyes at the sight of the hundreds of books. She spent the better part of an hour wandering up and down the aisles, pulling out books and asking Namjoon each time if she could read it. As if he would say no. 

By lunch time, Y/n was fifty pages deep in Virginia Woolf’s To The Lighthouse. Though he tried to focus on his own newspaper and keeping his hands to himself, he couldn’t help himself. His gaze wandered over her body, her face, her hands. The way she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth as she read and the way her eyes would retrace a line she liked. Without realizing it, his fingers would be wrapping themselves in her hair. She batted his hand away and murmured protests without looking up from her book. So, he would steel himself and refocus on his paper. Then, he would catch a whiff of her perfume or the edge of her hand would brush his newspaper and he would find himself staring at her again, tracing his fingertips along her skin. She swatted him away the first several times, but eventually Y/n allowed him to touch her and stare.

They had dinner in the kitchen, courtesy of Jimin (again). Namjoon was used to his friend and employee cooking, but Y/n was amazed at the sounds and smells Jimin created. He only meant to bring her to the table and wait while Jimin finished their meal, but Y/n was up and following Jimin around the kitchen before Namjoon could protest. She followed him from the stove top to the oven and back while Namjoon watched in amusement. Jimin remained politely reserved, but Namjoon could tell that if he wasn’t within earshot Jimin would be laughing with the girl and enjoying her company. As it was, Namjoon was territorial and Jimin knew better. Once he finished cooking, Jimin left them to eat and took his own plate to the guest house next door. While eating, Namjoon asked Y/n about her book and she asked him about his library. Happily, he realized that it was becoming easier to have a casual conversation between them. Other conversations had been charged and full of pressure. Maybe she was beginning to forget that his end goal was to get her to sleep with him. She was even beginning to smile at him.

Dinner ended too soon and then he was sending Y/n up to get ready for bed, with himself sitting down to a mountain of paperwork. He didn’t even mind. He had had a perfect day. His only regret is that he hadn’t gotten the chance to kiss her again. God, he wanted to kiss her again.

The bedroom was dark and cool. Y/n had apparently opened the window before laying down to sleep. Namjoons mouth twitched up at the view of her burrowed beneath the blankets. Her soft breathing and the chirp of crickets filled the room in harmony. Quietly he shut the door, but she didn’t stir. Surprising that she felt so comfortable in his bed after last night.

He crept over to her and stood by the bed, looking down at her sweatshirt and pants clad body. Sure, it was chilly outside, but he wasn’t stupid enough to believe that she continued to wear the heavy clothes because of the temperature. No matter how happy she was in his library and no matter how much she allowed him to kiss her, she was still afraid of him and his advances. 

Sighing in impatience, Namjoon silently walked to the closet and changed for bed. Then, he rejoined Y/n at the bed, lifting the covers and sliding in beside her.

“Namjoon?” She murmured, tilting her head in his direction. His heart pounded at her acceptance of his presence. The sound of his name coming from her hoarse voice made the blood rush to a particular part of his body. How he was going to manage sleeping next to her, he had no idea.

He froze, waiting for her to yell at him for joining her in the bed, but she just drifted back to the unconscious. 

Months ago, when he saw her for the first time, she took his breath away. His body screamed at him to go to her, but he refused. He kept tabs on her, never making a move, but never having the strength to release her. Eventually, he decided that if he could just be with her, have her all to himself, just for a little while, his obsession would fade. He could focus on his work and dream without seeing her face. Jungkook’s deal gave him the perfect opportunity. The fates were saying ‘Here you go. She’s all yours. Help yourself.’ He would finally be able to breathe and have her out his senses. All he had to do was pay 500,000 dollars.

But now, laying with her in the dark. Head spinning. Heart pounding. Namjoon knew he was completely and totally wrong. Being with her for a week wasn’t clearing his fascination with Y/n. It was only growing. Soon enough and he wouldn’t be able to control himself.

A smile etched itself onto Namjoons face. It was going to be a long night.

[brooklynislandgirl]

3. Would you ever fuck someone in exchange for something? Money, business deal, gifts, etc? What’s your price? {Swamp Sharklette}

A Little Light/A Little Dark || Accepting

Immediate knee-jerk reaction is to say no. To be so indignant that there would come the resounding sting of flesh striking flesh at the velocity of a gunshot. Or at the very least and less harmful a drink thrown in a face before she rises like a Tsunami wave and marches out with her dignity intact. Several factors though go a long way from stopping that.

First is that this is not a public venue. It's the formal dining room of their home, where in Beth and Anakin are putting together survival packages for the up-coming hurricane season. Most of the items were gathered donations from the kinds of friends that have no idea what they're actually giving to; people up north that Beth has been immensely popular with even if she never really fit in amongst them. Supplemented by church organisations, local folk, and literally anywhere else that Beth could find help. Even if some of those were at best questionable, and at worst? Evil. Well, from a human stand-point. She was very careful not to take anything from Pentex, or its millions of subsidiaries. She wouldn't accept help, not even in the form of money, from places like O'Tooley's, or Pangloss Cosmetics, or Shenzhen Tianming, no matter what kind of electronics and NOAA weather radios they offered. Whenever he asks about those, she only shakes her head and tells him 'mebbe laddah'. But that later never comes. As if she through ignorance she can keep him safe, though for how long is the question that she likewise puts off. Spread out on every available surface at things like flashlights with extra batteries, whistles to signal for help, personal hygiene items, can openers, nonperishable, water tight food stuffs {canned goods that didn't require heating, and MREs}, potable water, baby formula and diapers, and even books and games for children. All being meticulously sorted into storage containers and backpacks.

The work is surprisingly sweltering and even the central air is having a hard time moving the oppressive wet-blanket heat. No matter how high up and in a bun she pins her hair, no matter how thin the bandeau and sarong she's wearing are, no matter how comfortable the board shorts and no shirt Anakin is wearing, it feels like a shallow layer of sweat covers...everything.

It's that fact that puts a sour look on her face as she reaches up to mop her brow with the inside of one arm and leaves the question lingering between them.

The second reason is... It's rare that his use of that one particular word offends her, she's heard it more times than she can count with a rather shocking frequency growing up and again from her brothers. And there's certain ways that Anakin uses it in certain context that gets under her skin in the worst ways, turning everything in its wake to lava. He uses it to great effect sometimes and it almost has become a playful game between them. But he's not talking about love making, not now, at least. He uses the vulgarity to imply the exact opposite of that. Carnality without emotion; a disconnect from the heart, the soul, the brain that leaves the body an empty shell of a vessel to be filled...or to fill someone else...with the same abject nothingness. She knows the implication hurts him as much as it would her because they are very much alike in regards to physical forms expressing love. And lastly, because while he doesn't often talk about it and she can't bear to really ask because she knows even the slightest facial expression will burrow its way into her and she will rage like one of her changing cousins until nothing is left when he answers truthfully, as he always does. She knows he has been abused. She knows he's been mistreated. She knows that he has, at least before moving into the house, and maybe after...it's not her place to pry... participated in some kind of sex-work. The only difference she treats him with than she would the sex workers back in New York? It's plain to anyone with the ability to see, who possesses a single ounce of empathy, that Beth loves him. And that love is without condition or reservation.

She stretches. Pushes away from the table and pads barefoot toward the kitchen, circumnavigating the fortress they've built up around them with a preternatural grace. A flutter of fingers in the air is all the invitation she offers for him to follow her.

The door of the fridge groans in protest of being opened, sighing before letting a floor of cold air waft over her and for a moment she closes her eyes and takes pleasure at the rush of chill. All too soon though she reaches in and pulls out an icy pitcher of cold water that immediately clouds over from condensation so it looks like a foggy morning with slices of lemon floating near the top, slivers of sunlight. She's half tempted to hold it to her chest until it becomes as tepid as possible. Let Anakin fend for himself with the other pitcher in there, the ubiquitous Sweet Tea that she made by directions left by the housekeeper. Unfortunately, it could pull double-duty as hummingbird nectar.

She sets it down on the counter. Retrieves two glasses and fills one up. The other is left beside the lemon water with the idea that he should hydrate since she isn't getting him into the pool without extreme measures, and she doesn't feel like forcing him to do anything. She lifts the glass to her lips and indelicately gulps down half of the contents before she presses the wet, cold glass to her brow. Her eyes shut the too bright world away. They cut off the pallor of Anakin's slight chest, the way the sheen catches the light in splashes of dampness. Not unlike the occasional bead of sweat that runs like an errant fingertip down her spine. And she's stalled as long as she can in answering him. She doesn't like to keep him waiting, a long enough pause can come across in the worst ways; at best it implies that he is undeserving of an answer, which isn't true in the least, and at worst, whatever she might say would come across as the softest kind of lie, the sin of selective omission.

"Growin' up...I t'ink I was near enough fifteen or sixteen... before I really had any curiosity about sex, an' you know dat already, so not shockin' dere. Dat curiosity nevah bloomed beyond a lil self-exploration before it was disregard as...mos'ly unimportant t' me. Of course, nevah gonna lie an' say dere was no ah..." She searches for the right word, the right explanation and comes up with exactly none.

"Experimentation wi' a receptive partner, but even dat result same-same f' me as on my own. I t'ink it no was a matter of attraction, oddah person was one of da few times I did feel da kine. Uhm...desirous...for lack of mo' beddah word. Now, ovah da years I been on da fringes of various covens wi' da Verbena. Small an' big an' in between...an' as ya know... Beltane one of our most sacred rites. An' I keep meanin' t' take ya proper, an' introduce ya...but..." But? ...But there's a part of her that is neither properly territorial or jealous but that IS adamant about taking Anakin before a gathering of priestesses and druids, of bards and fairly mediocre witches. The Verbena are a myriad of theologies and philosophies banded together to uphold their paradigm. They hold the Seat of Life on the Council of Nine, and have since the Council was formed, before the betrayal of the first Cabal. They are her friends, her peers, her sisters and brothers in a hanai sort of way. But she doesn't want to share him, not yet. Maybe once she's taught him a little more, maybe once she's sure he can survive the pit of flesh, politics, and chaos that mage gatherings can be.

"Not jus' yet. You might catch chill." She half laughs at her own little joke but it dies out almost before it ever stood a chance of surviving.

"I was offer da chance t' play da Maiden aspect of da Goddess in da Great Rite, an' still get aks ow and again. An' it nevah appeal to me even wine-soaked an' head stuffed wi' sacred incense. I nevah go out into da fields or under da trees eiddah, for more intimate an' less ritual...couplin'. I know fertility rites are important but not enough. Even if we could bring back magick like it was durin' da Mythic age....I still no would." While it might not mean anything to anyone else, Beth's belief in being a guardian of the mythic threads, a branch of the World Tree, she cannot imagine giving a part of herself for it.

"Money? I got dat...an' of alla da kine dat make me real angry? Is when women are led t' believe da only way dey got of improvin' deir situation is by allowin' someone f' slide between deir leg, an' I hate t' put it so cruelly. If a woman wanna do dat of her own accord...dat's one kine, but to be seen as only chattel, as only an object...an' not really jus' women, but anyone, regardless of how dey identify. "Business is usually about avarice...about acquirin' money, or power, or any number of stuff...an' it's all same-same. A gi nevah come wi' a price. Anyone who tell ya oddahwise...lyin' to ya. I give da kine to ya because I know ya need. I know ya nevah aks f' it. I know it makes us bot' choke happy. I would nevah aks ya for any kine in return, nevah expect it...not'ing li'dat. It's not my way. It's not livin' pono, an' I nevah would corrupt eiddah one in dat way." She pauses, finishes the glass, then starts pouring herself another. "F'I were force t' choose a price? I would only give myself for one kine, an' as stupid an' cheesy it might sound? It would be for love. An' love nevah ask f' any kine but to be and to grow. No maddah who or what is bein' loved."