#female archivists

[archivyrep]

Dust, maps, and reference rooms in "If You Could See Love"

Haruno and Fukatsu look for a world map in the social studies reference room At the end of the second chapter of If You Could See Love (also named Moshi, Koi ga Mieta Nara), two of the protagonists, noted above, look for a world map in the reference room. They end up finding the map, with Haruno, who is physically weak, helped by Fukatsu, with Haruno relieved. The love between them blossoms, as…

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request Noé getting reduced to a teary-eyed, whimpering mess by his femdom s/o?

tags: bdsm, mistress/pet, bondage, noé bimbo aesthetic, f/m

Noé had never been drowned before, but he had to imagine this was what it was like.

The constant gasping for air that never quite filled his lungs. The struggle to keep focused on just keeping your head above. The moments of listlessness when your mind floats between trying to catch up and surrendering to the black. “Stay with me Noé.”

His head lulled back in a dim, empty headed sort of way. Like his brains are sloshing around in his skull for want of thoughts, as he obeyed his mistress. She doesn’t even need to tilt his head up with the tilt of her finger. He’d follow the sound of her voice anywhere.

“That’s it. Such a good boy.” Noé let out an opened mouth whine as she ran her thumb over his bottom lip. His mouth is open so he can try to get air into his lungs. Surely not to speak as he couldn’t think of words right now. All his mouth was good for was breathing, drooling, and servicing his mistress.

“You’ve done so well, my love. You’re always so obedient for me.”

‘Anything for you’ he wants to tell her, but all he can get out is a gurgle of a moan in appreciation.

“Oh, if only I could keep you like this forever. Lust drunk. Practically paralyzed with overstimulation. Just keep you here with me forever, tied up like this, blindfolded in the dark. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

‘Yes! Yes! Yes! Forever!’ Noé lifted up on his knees towards his mistress, as much as his binds would allow. Oh, how wonderful that would be indeed. To never have to fight monsters again. To never have to deal with liars. To never have to worry about people’s intentions, or false faces. To only be hurt when he asked for it, begged for it. To do nothing but live and love and serve his mistress for all eternity. He wanted to cry it sounded so perfect.

Noé wanted to actually cry when his mistress pushed him down. Back on his knees, sitting on his ankles, where he belonged. He should have known better. So stupid.

“Don’t say that!” His mistress snapped. Had he actually said that bit out loud? “You are not stupid. You, are my perfect, sweet Noé. Don’t ever forget that.”

He nuzzled eagerly into the hand that touched his cheek. A tear actually spilling out from under his blindfold but he couldn’t tell what it was from now. Desire, torment, relief. It all swirled around inside his body and empty head that he couldn’t make up from down. “Shall we make love now, my precious Noé?”

Then his world was righted again. Hyper focused. Noé nodded so hard that he might have given himself whiplash, but he didn't care. All of this had been leading up to this moment: release. The teasing. The binding. The sweet words and harsh cracks of her crop against his skin. All of it just for this.

He suddenly remembered how hard his cock was and how much it hurt. Noé whimpered. His thighs rubbing together to try and relieve some of the pressure. "Awww....I know honey. It must hurt now, doesn't it." He nodded. Whining out confirmation from his throat before he was panting in sharp breathes as she cupped him. He had been desperate for her touch, but now that he had it it was too much. "You want to cum, don't you Noé? Make you feel good."

He whimpered out something close to a yes again. His body quivering as he tries to stay still and not cum. He hadn't been given permission. But he wants so badly to fuck himself into her hand that it hurts almost as bad as his cock.

His world went tumbling when his mistress pushed him back. When had there been a pillow behind him? Was he on the bed? Noé expected the sharp bite of the floor against his back, but instead was met with soft linens. He moaned almost as loudly as when he was being touched. Surrounded by softness he melted into the bedding. What little of his senses fading away as he sunk deeper into the plush fabric.

“Stay with me Noé.” She repeated to him, and he was really trying.

His bed shifted. Her feet on either side of him as she stood over him. He couldn’t see it with the blindfold, but he could sense it. Her looming presence all consuming him. He whimpered to be dominated further by it. His mistress kneeled to straddle him and Noé hissed like the savage humans painted his species as as his erection brushed against the front of her. How the tables had turned in the story. The strong, fierce, blood crazy monster all but broken before his weak, defenseless, human mistress.

“I’m going to fuck you now Noé.” She told him while stroking his cock. Stroke was a strong word, however, as it was just her fingertips caressing him. “I’m going to fill myself with your cock and ride you. Use you for my pleasure.” ‘Use me! Use me!’ “You’re going to feel so good inside me. You always do. Don’t worry, it won’t be long. I’ve been so turned on watching you fall apart that I’ll be cumming very soon. Then, and only then, I’ll let you cum, my precious. Sounds like a deal?”

There was no sweeter deal that the devil could offer him. Noé mustered up all what little strength, mental capacity, and just plain voice he could to utter out one single word. “Yes.” It was all he could say. All he needed to. His mistress raised herself up and sunk down on his cock, and Noé screamed like he had been stabbed; instead of him being the one stabbing her.

His mistress was indeed wet. Drenched, actually. He took a small amount of comfort in knowing that she really had been turned on by him. Aroused by his presence. Desired him. It’s a subconscious thought at best, however, as all he can legitimately think about right now is the primal instinct to fuck & cum, but holding on to what little restraint he had left to not do so until his mistress told him.

“Almost….there…!”

Noé’s teeth grit. He could taste his own blood his jaw was locked so tight. He didn’t think he had it in him to hold on. He was crying, wailing, begging. Noé wasn’t sure what he was doing until he heard those wonderful words that would set him free. “Yes Noé! Yes! Cum from me! Give it to me my love!”

He came extremely hard. To the point that the darkness behind his blindfold was a moot point as his mental vision even darkened as he came and came for what seemed like hours.

When it was over, Noé realized that his mistress wasn’t on top of him anymore. He jerked up, or as much as his exhausted body could, but then a cool hand and a cool rag was placed on him. “Not too fast. We don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Noé sighed as he felt the rag wash over his body to clean him. His oversensitive, overstimulated body soaking in the coolness eagerly. His breath calming down. His mind coming back to him.

“I’m gonna take the blindfold off now. Close your eyes.”

He does, immediately. The covering is removed and Noé slowly opened his eyes. Vampire eyes were very sensitive. It’s why they used the blindfold in the first place. But he had to adjust to the light when they were done playing. His arms were next. Untethered behind his back now, and they fall forward limp into his lap.

“Are you alright?” Noé nodded. He still didn’t have the mental capacity to speak. His head lulled forward to rest on his mistress’s shoulder. Her arms coming up around him instantly. Smoothing his hair. “My sweet Noé….”

She continued to shower him with quiet, soft praise as his mind succumbed to black again. Only this time to sleep. He was exhausted. Sated. When he woke up he and his mistress would go back to the world, play their normal roles instead of the ones they played here. For now, he would hold on to the ones they had in here, in this room. Where he was her perfect, willing, obedient pet, and she would be the one to take care of him.

[yourdailyqueer]

Yolanda Retter (deceased)

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Lesbian

DOB: 4 December 1947 

RIP: 18 August 2007

Ethnicity: Peruvian, white

Nationality: American

Occupation: Activist, librarian, archivist, writer

[urlocalcookie]

You said in one of your archivists post that you would write a smut fic? If so I would DIE to read it

Hi HI HI!!

I actually wrote one a while ago out of boredom! I'll dig it up out of my notes app just for you 😋

"Oof! Oughff! Ouff! A-Ah!" You panted and whimpered.

"Louder." The archivist growled in your ear.

"Ahhh... ahhah.. ah.. o-oh.." You whimpered.

"LOUDER!" The archivist scolded you.

"Ack! Ack! Ack! A-Ah! Ow.. oh... oh.. f-f-! Oh! Oh my g-gosh! Ohh, k-keep going! Please! Ahh.. Oomf.. you feel s-so- Ack! Good!" You moaned.

The archivist penetrated your womanhood over and over. They were going a decent pace. They were uncomfortably large. When you were explaining that they needed to be bigger than literally just... an inch, they jumped to about a foot long and incredibly thick. You begged them to make it about seven inches and like... three inches thick, they finally complied.

As of right now, they were grasping your hips tightly and shoving their length in and out. They picked up the pace and made themself bigger again. You were quick to notice and begged them to stop stretching you like this.

"You can take it. I know you can." They said.

You arched your back to make it easier for them to continue thrusting into you.

You moaned louder and louder as they sped up and slammed against the back of your hole. You were being fucked by them in a spoon position. You were both lying on your sides, but he was hugging you from behind and intruding.

"Ohh, fuck! Ahh... you feel amazing!" You wailed.

The archivist cackled going harder. They had never felt something like this. They wouldn't admit it, but, they were starting to understand why mortals enjoy banging.

"Oh, y-you- OH! OHH!" They cackled.You took this as a sign they were going to experience their climax.

"I'm- I'ma- I'm- s-something's-! Ohoho!" They laughed, shoving it in harder and harder.

You reached down, touching yourself. "C-Can we... please-?"

"I'm gonna- I'm gonna- I'm gonna-!" They stammered.

"WAIT! IT WON'T FEEL GOOD!" You shouted, trying to reach back and grab them. They didn't listen, they kept pounding you. You needed to say something to grab their attention. "I've- I'VE BEEN LYING TO YOU! I LIED!"

"What?" They suddenly halted, but remained inside you.

You panted, "S-Sorry, I had to get your attention somehow." You tried to take a breather.

They ignored your statement. "Lied about what?"

"Nothing! I just needed you to stop for a second and that's what I could think of!" You said.

They stared into you from behind. You could feel their eyes burning into you.

"I was trying to tell you that it won't feel as good if we don't climax at the same time. I'm trying to help you." You panted.

They stared at you for a bit. "Aren't I fucking you? I'm breeding you hard. I can do it harder if you'd like."

"No, it's not that. I... need stimulation on my clit."

They looked over your shoulder and tilted their head. "Huh.." they then chuckled sadistically. "Okay~" they waved their hand and you saw something bright pink glow down there and-

You shrieked and moaned, twitching everywhere. There was so much stimulation on your clitoris, it felt like you were stuck on the edge of six orgasms. "Ah! Ah! Ah! N-Now fuck me! It-It'll feel good!"

And just like that, the archivist cackled and shoved themself in and out of you.

You flexed your muscles around his length and came. You clamped down on them incredibly hard. They cackled and shoved themself in and out.

"I'm coming~!" They cooed in your ear.

Their hot seed shot into you. You clamped down again, sighing. "Ahh..."

"Ohh.... ahhh.." They sighed, then cackled again. "Oh, that felt... weird. I like it." They said.

"P-Please... t-take the stimulation away... please... I'll be so good for you." You begged.

Surprisingly, you felt their dick twitch inside you. They did get turned on by begging!

The stimulation on your clit ceased. You sighed shakily. You reached down and touch it to feel how sensitive it was. It was incredibly overstimulated and painfully sensitive. You whined.

"Eheh, something wrong~?" They teased.

"It... umph... j-just thrust a bit more... ride out your orgasm.." You said.

They hesitated once more, but started bucking their hips. You sighed, moaning softly. It felt nice. He sighed as well, then stopped."I'm bored of this." They declared. "Are we done?"

"Yeah." You panted. You felt them practically rip it out of you, leaving you empty. You yelped at the suddenness of it.

You rolled over and gripped to them, burying your face in his chest. "I love you." You murmured.

They chuckled sadistically, "I love you too, fairy."

You fell asleep in their arms. For once, they didn't try to get up and leave you a sweaty, trembling mess. They actually stayed.

The last thing you felt before dozing off, was their hand petting the back of your head, their sharp nails lightly grazing you each time.

I hope y'all enjoyed 😈

[straykidsnerd255]

Hello!! I hope you are well, I can request a hc from SS where the couple of Mu, Shaka, Aphrodite, Saga, Camus and milo are like Noah Archivist from The Case Study of Vanitas, a person who is amazed by everything and is very innocent. and cheerful as a small child, but still he is strong, determined and kind-hearted and will not hesitate to protect the people he loves (and he has a grumpy cat named Murr, the cat is important!!) have a good night love you 💕

Sorry, this took so long to get out! I hope that you like this little HC and thanks for requesting!

Mu:

When he first met you, your childlike personality brought a smile to his face. 

You were curious about everything seeing as you were never able to leave your home before now.

You had a glimmer in your eyes much like a young child finding something they liked or wanted. 

However, he also noticed that you were a strong girl. He could see that when the time called for seriousness, it was like you had a switch. 

You tend to be extremely protective of him, Kiki, and Athena, and Mu’s heart flew just thinking about you protecting him

You had told Mu about your pet cat, Murr, and finally brought him to show Mu. Murr took a liking to Mu much quicker than you thought.

Shaka:

Your childlike personality made Shaka smile. He loved that about you. You were not serious all the time. 

He liked the sparkle in your eye when you saw something you had never seen before. 

The childlike wonder that drove your actions when you both were out and about. 

He loved how strong you are. He was impressed when you took an attack head-on from a Spector and didn’t even break a sweat, let alone get injured. 

You were scary strong and you were always the one to protect Athena. 

If things got out of control, Athena would send you to add the Gold Saints that needed the help. 

You brought Murr, your pet cat in one day and instantly, Murr found his home, laying in Shaka’s lap as the blonde meditated in the middle of the room.

Shaka won’t admit it, but he likes it when Murr sits or lays in his lap. Makes him smile and become stupidly giddy.

Aphrodite:

He’s got a semi-childish personality but can’t help but smile at how your childlike personality of you outshines his. 

He loves showing you things that you have never seen before and loves the expressions that you show. 

He loves watching you move around when they are in the marketplace. He loves watching how you go from one stall to the next, asking questions and taste-testing foods you have never had before. 

A smile sat pleasantly on your lips after eating at least 20 samples of foods you have never had before. 

Murr, your cat angrily meowed at you when you finally returned home. Your cat was grumpy and it was also hungry.

You finished feeding your cat and went to lay your head on Aphrodite’s lap as a yawn escaped your lips. 

“Tired already?” He asked, immediately running his fingers through your hair as you slowly fell asleep. Murr joined moments later and before long, the three of you were completely out cold.

Camus:

When he first met you, he wanted nothing to do with you. 

Camus was a very secluded man and didn’t like to be interrupted while he was working. 

You finally won him over when you showed him your cat, Murr. The fluff ball took an immediate liking to Camus and always chose him over you. 

Your childlike personality won him over as well. The smiles, the sparkles that filled your eyes. 

The laughter that could be heard from miles away, it melted his heart and made him smile.

When the time called for it, you were strong. You were there for Camus when he needed your help or when he couldn’t fend off attackers. 

You were extremely protective of Camus and the other saints, that if one scratch or one of them was harmed, you lost your mind. 

Saga:

He found your childlike personality endearing. He loved the wide, tooth-filled smiles that he got only when you were at the peak of happiness.

You were childish and it brought a certain lightness to Saga’s ever boring life.

When you showed how strong you were for the first time, it was because Saga and his brother Kanon were injured badly. 

Saga was holding his arm while Kanon leaned against him for support. 

Y/n was furious when she saw Saga and his brother in that state and went on to fend off Hade's minions. 

You had been told that Saga and Kanon tend to like cats and such so you brought Murr to the hospital to see if your cat would help them smile a bit.

Sure enough, Murr was purring loudly and Saga and Kanon were in higher spirits.

Milo:

When he met you for the first time, he wasn’t too keen on wanting to get to know you.

However, when he did get to know you, he found himself loving everything about you.  He loved the childlike personality that you had.

The fact that everything made you giggle or smile when you saw it. Or the pointing you would do when something you had never seen before was right in front of you. 

When he learned that you were strong, he wanted to see how strong you could be. 

He got that wish when Hades decided to attack. He sent all his forces towards Athena and the Gold, Bronze, and Silver saints were practically outnumbered.

You stepped in and helped fight and damn was Milo impressed with your fighting skills. 

You fended practically every minion of Hades off. 

When the fight was over and a few days had passed, you introduced Milo to your cat Murr. The fluff ball takes a liking to Milo instantly and insists he sits in Milo’s lap every minute of every day. Not that Milo minded.

[nasa]

LaRue Burbank, mathematician and computer, is just one of the many women who were instrumental to NASA missions.

4 Little Known Women Who Made Huge Contributions to NASA

Women have always played a significant role at NASA and its predecessor NACA, although for much of the agency’s history, they received neither the praise nor recognition that their contributions deserved. To celebrate Women’s History Month – and properly highlight some of the little-known women-led accomplishments of NASA’s early history – our archivists gathered the stories of four women whose work was critical to NASA’s success and paved the way for future generations.

LaRue Burbank: One of the Women Who Helped Land a Man on the Moon

LaRue Burbank was a trailblazing mathematician at NASA. Hired in 1954 at Langley Memorial Aeronautical Laboratory (now NASA’s Langley Research Center), she, like many other young women at NACA, the predecessor to NASA, had a bachelor's degree in mathematics. But unlike most, she also had a physics degree. For the next four years, she worked as a "human computer," conducting complex data analyses for engineers using calculators, slide rules, and other instruments. After NASA's founding, she continued this vital work for Project Mercury.

In 1962, she transferred to the newly established Manned Spacecraft Center (now NASA’s Johnson Space Center) in Houston, becoming one of the few female professionals and managers there.  Her expertise in electronics engineering led her to develop critical display systems used by flight controllers in Mission Control to monitor spacecraft during missions. Her work on the Apollo missions was vital to achieving President Kennedy's goal of landing a man on the Moon.

Eilene Galloway: How NASA became… NASA

Eilene Galloway wasn't a NASA employee, but she played a huge role in its very creation. In 1957, after the Soviet Union launched Sputnik, Senator Richard Russell Jr. called on Galloway, an expert on the Atomic Energy Act, to write a report on the U.S. response to the space race. Initially, legislators aimed to essentially re-write the Atomic Energy Act to handle the U.S. space goals. However, Galloway argued that the existing military framework wouldn't suffice – a new agency was needed to oversee both military and civilian aspects of space exploration. This included not just defense, but also meteorology, communications, and international cooperation.

Her work on the National Aeronautics and Space Act ensured NASA had the power to accomplish all these goals, without limitations from the Department of Defense or restrictions on international agreements. Galloway is even to thank for the name "National Aeronautics and Space Administration", as initially NASA was to be called “National Aeronautics and Space Agency” which was deemed to not carry enough weight and status for the wide-ranging role that NASA was to fill.

Barbara Scott: The “Star Trek Nerd” Who Led Our Understanding of the Stars

A self-described "Star Trek nerd," Barbara Scott's passion for space wasn't steered toward engineering by her guidance counselor. But that didn't stop her!  Fueled by her love of math and computer science, she landed at Goddard Spaceflight Center in 1977.  One of the first women working on flight software, Barbara's coding skills became instrumental on missions like the International Ultraviolet Explorer (IUE) and the Thermal Canister Experiment on the Space Shuttle's STS-3.  For the final decade of her impressive career, Scott managed the flight software for the iconic Hubble Space Telescope, a testament to her dedication to space exploration.

Dr. Claire Parkinson: An Early Pioneer in Climate Science Whose Work is Still Saving Lives

Dr. Claire Parkinson's love of math blossomed into a passion for climate science. Inspired by the Moon landing, and the fight for civil rights, she pursued a graduate degree in climatology.  In 1978, her talents landed her at Goddard, where she continued her research on sea ice modeling. But Parkinson's impact goes beyond theory.  She began analyzing satellite data, leading to a groundbreaking discovery: a decline in Arctic sea ice coverage between 1973 and 1987. This critical finding caught the attention of Senator Al Gore, highlighting the urgency of climate change.

Parkinson's leadership extended beyond research.  As Project Scientist for the Aqua satellite, she championed making its data freely available. This real-time information has benefitted countless projects, from wildfire management to weather forecasting, even aiding in monitoring the COVID-19 pandemic. Parkinson's dedication to understanding sea ice patterns and the impact of climate change continues to be a valuable resource for our planet.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space! 

[anto-pops]

The Archivist - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: Weeks after discovering some ancient tomes you're unable to decipher, you reach out to the Ministry of Magic Archives for help decoding the timeworn pages. The last thing you'd expected was for Sebastian Sallow to show up, much less for him to be so... attractive. Had he always looked like that?

Alternatively summarized as Sebastian Sallow pursued a professional career as a book nerd and also happens to be really well versed in sex.

Word Count: 6,969 (LMAO)

Warnings: 18+. aged up characters, explicit sexual content, size difference, Sebastian wearing glasses again

Up on Ao3 here for your viewing pleasure

You honestly didn’t think you’d ever thrown on clothes faster than you did the day someone apparated into your living room with a deafening crack, followed by a crash and a muffled, “Shit, ow.” 

If you were to die, you weren’t eager to do so half-naked and half-asleep. 

After hastily tying your robe around your waist and stuffing your feet in a pair of deteriorating slippers, you cautiously stuck your head into the hallway, the unruly strands of your bed head sticking to your cheeks and poking you in the eye as you assessed the situation. 

At the end of the hall you could see a stack of books scattered across the floor, along with a previously organized collection of newspapers now strewn over the top of a prone body. Said body was stirring beneath the crumpled parchment, and you bit your lip and wished desperately for coffee as you weighed your options. 

Option one: it was a murderer and you should leave immediately. The only problem was that the hallway leading to the front door was now blocked. Shit. 

Option two: it was a burglar, and if you could remember where you’d left your wand last night, you could petrify the man in place until officials came to your aid. 

Option three: it was a murdering burglar, and you might as well attempt to find out as much as you could before you wound up gruesomely cut down so you could at least haunt the bastard. 

As the concealed figure attempted to sit up, you heard another thump as something fell from above them, followed by an irate groan, and you gripped the doorway to your bedroom tightly as you managed to call out a meek, “Hello?” 

All movement and noises in the living room ceased for a moment, the air still and silent. You swore if the intruder dropped so much as a pin, you would hear it. The pair of feet belonging to the unknown man dragged along the floor as he seemingly stood himself up, and figuring that no burglar would be such a noisy wreck, you took your chances and slowly made your way down the hall to take in the damage done to your living space. 

Bizarre as it was to be so civil with someone who’d essentially broken into your home, you rounded the corner and found yourself asking, “Are you alright?” 

You were met with your potential adversary as he turned around, and you were equal parts surprised and confused to discover that it was none other than Sebastian Sallow. It had been years since you’d last seen him, the two of you having gone your separate ways after graduation as you continued hunting down ancient magic sites and he pursued a career within the Ministry. The last letter you’d received from him had come in a little over a year ago, sadly informing you that his sister had finally passed, albeit peacefully. 

To find him now standing in the midst of your demolished living room was a shock in and of itself. 

“Sebastian?” you asked incredulously, your eyes raking down his disheveled but well dressed body. He had certainly grown since you’d last seen him, his long legs accentuated by pressed slacks, and the suspenders that wrapped over his sculpted shoulders left little to the imagination. The button up he wore was just shy of being too small for his broad figure, and when you glanced back up at him, you watched as he brought one of his hands up to his face to fix his crooked glasses. 

“Hi,” he said lamely, flashing you a somewhat sheepish smile. “Sorry for the mess– I, uh– well, I think I landed on something when I popped in.” 

Your eyes flicked down once more to the toppled stacks of books that now covered the floor, and your brow cocked of its own accord as you breathed out a laugh, “You don’t say.”

Still reeling from the abrupt wake up call, you could only stare dumbstruck as Sebastian fixed his clothing and picked invisible lint off of his shirt, then offered his hand to you. “Sorry about the books. And the, uh, language. I’m here about the old tomes you found?” 

As you accepted his outstretched hand and tried not to pass out from the firmness of it, you blinked and attempted to figure out what he was referring to. “Tomes?” 

“The ones you wanted looked over?” He let go of your hand to rifle through the small satchel strapped to his thigh, and it took a herculean effort not to drool over the sheer width of his leg. Merlin’s bloody balls… you’d been holed up indoors for too long. “You sent in this consultation request a few weeks ago,” he said, pulling out a small slip of parchment decorated in your familiar scrawl, and then it all started to come back to you. 

It had been nearly a month since, but during your last excursion to Scotland, you’d come across a set of unique, fragile tomes buried deep in an ancient magic site there. As curious as you’d been to read through their contents, the text within was hardly legible, and in truth, you weren’t even sure it was written in English. In a bid to still make use of the age-old books, you had reached out to the Ministry of Magic Archives to have someone potentially aid you in deciphering the timeworn pages. After almost a month with no response, you had simply shelved them all and moved on to planning your next trip.

“I completely forgot,” you muttered, taking the paper from Sebastian to read it over. “I kind of gave up hoping that the Ministry would send someone.”

“They weren’t planning on it,” he started to say, sounding conflicted as to whether or not he should continue. “But after I got my hands on the request, I took something of a personal interest in the case.” 

Jokingly, you teased, “You hold that much sway working in the Archives?” 

“I do when I’m the Archivist.” 

“You’re the Archivist?” Your jaw dropped comically fast, your eyes wider than saucers as you processed his statement. Suddenly you were looking at your former friend in a whole new light. In your mind, you had always assumed the Ministry’s Archivist would be… well, ancient. Old and withered, graying and feeble. Not youthful and– quite frankly– hot. “How did that happen?” 

Sebastian rocked back on his heels as he stuffed his thumbs in his pockets, the very picture of modesty as he shrugged, “It’s technically my trial period since the old Archivist just died a few months ago. But yeah, I guess my thirst for knowledge and reading habits paid off. At the very least it impressed the Minister enough for him to promote me.”

Eventually you managed to pick your chin up off the floor so you were no longer gaping at him like a fish, and you bashfully tucked a particularly stubborn strand of hair behind your ear as you cleared your throat and said, “Well, congratulations then. Glad to hear you’re doing well for yourself.”

Sebastian stared at you for a long moment before laughing softly under his breath, his hand sweeping through the front of his curly hair, “Thanks. But anyways, I can take a look at those tomes now if you’ve still got them?” 

“Oh, yeah, sure. They’re on the shelf by the couch, let me just get changed.” 

“No worries,” Sebastian said quickly, grinning widely as he moved around you further into the living room, his eyes roving over you momentarily. “I’ve got this.”

Did he just… check you out? No way, you thought, shaking the idea from your mind entirely. 

You tracked the brunet as he strode over to the cluttered shelf beside the sofa, watching intently as he moved a few books around until he found the unmistakable tomes propped against the wooden panels. With the utmost care, Sebastian carefully withdrew one of the three with delicate fingers, his touch featherlight and ever conscious of the fragile nature of the bound piece of foreign literature. As he thoughtfully deposited the book on top of the coffee table, you couldn’t help but admire how gentle he was being with it; with hands that big, you found his tender touch to be something of a contrast to his entire person. 

Shamelessly, you also found yourself wondering how those hands of his might feel against your skin. 

Beating back your lustful thoughts with a mental brick, you managed to say with an even tone, “I’m surprised you can tell what’s what in that mess of a shelf. I’ve been told I have a bit of a hoarding problem– most people can’t separate the floor from the walls.” 

“Well, I’m not most people,” he retorted, flashing you a dazzling smile from over his shoulder. “It takes a bookworm to know one. My old overseer at the Archives used to tell me I ‘had no shelf control’.”

The silence that settled over the room was utterly loud, and as Sebastian’s face took on the hue of a ripe tomato, you were fighting a grin with every fiber of your being. Your lips contorted into something resembling a downward smile while the Archivist-in-training turned back to the bookshelf, dragging a hand down his flushed cheeks as a pained groan weaseled its way out of him. “Please forget I said that. I’ve picked up on one too many library jokes in the past five years.” 

Sweet Merlin, he was dorky as hell. Please leave, excessively hot Archivist. Either leave or stay for about six hours and don’t go until I’m ready to let you.

To spare him his dignity and also because you needed to refrain from staring at his attractive backside, you spun on your heel to head into the kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink?” 

“Please,” he sighed in agreement, sounding all too excited about the change in topic. 

“I’ve got tea, coffee, and… water,” you finished pathetically. The barren cupboards above the pantry nearly brought a tear to your eye, and you made a mental note to do some shopping later if you had the time. 

Sebastian set the second tome down on the coffee table at the same time he called out to you, “Tea is fine, thank you.” 

It took a smidge longer than normal to boil the water, seeing as you had to pause your efforts to find your wand buried beneath the piles of maps in your bedroom. Once you had it in hand, however, you whipped up two steaming cups of black tea and returned to Sebastian minutes later to hand his cup over to him. He took it graciously, plainly eyeing you up over the brim of the mug as he took a tentative sip, and your stomach flipped at the suggestive look he fixed you with. 

“I’m a little jealous, you’ve got one hell of a collection here. I almost wish I could take some of these old books off your hands.” 

“Mm,” you hummed around a mouthful of tea, swallowing pointedly. Sebastian’s eyebrow twitched minutely. “Well, I think it might be time for me to clean house a bit anyways. If you wanted to, you could always come back and take your pick of what you like.” 

His brows rose momentarily before settling, a muscle in his defined jaw ticking as he glanced between you and the tomes on the table. Then with a voice like pure sin, Sebastian smoothly said, “And what if I like more than the books?”

Shit, shit. Redirect. You fought to employ every ounce of self-control in your body so you wouldn’t just jump into his strong arms and straddle him right there, but you were acutely aware of a few facts; you looked like you had fought a Hippogriff in your sleep, you had sorely little on under your robe, and Sebastian's eyes had been devouring the noticeable outline of your collarbone for the last minute or so. Fuck. 

“Then it sounds, uh,” you started to say, struggling to form words with the broad shouldered Adonis across from you seemingly undressing you with his eyes. “Like we might be on the same page.” It was the truth– you were as interested in the Archivist as you were in the purpose for his visit– but once the unintentional pun registered, you rolled your eyes and dug the heel of your palm into one eye, swearing softly. To his credit, Sebastian just laughed, taking another hearty sip of his tea as you shyly smiled up at him. 

With more work to be done back at the Ministry and your tomes in hand, Sebastian dutifully let you know that while he couldn't stay presently, he would absolutely be coming back later that night. He followed you into the kitchen to deposit his cup beside the sink, intentionally reaching over your shoulder to set the mug down before letting his fingers ghost along the skin of your neck. Goosebumps broke out all over your body at the contact, and when you turned around to face him with the counter pressing against your rear, his hands came to deftly adjust the revealing neckline of your robe with a coy smirk tugging at his lips. 

“See you at seven,” he purred, leaving you a blushing mess in your kitchen as he stepped back, winked, then apparated away. 

—

By the time seven o’clock rolled around, you had bathed, gone to the market to replenish your sorry excuse of a pantry, tidied up the previously demolished sitting area, and started cooking dinner. Part of you felt like you were getting ahead of yourself with everything, but after spending the entirety of your day reflecting on the stolen glances Sebastian had sent your way and his rather telling comment in the living room, you told yourself it couldn’t get any more obvious than that. 

He had always been rather cute during your time at school, but something about seeing him grown and fully matured had ignited a fire in your veins that stubbornly stayed burning for hours. 

When he showed up five minutes early at six fifty-five with freshly washed hair and wearing a darker version of his earlier outfit, your doubts all but vanished. Clearly you weren’t the only one itching to make a good impression. 

Sebastian followed you into the living room, now noticeably cleaner than it had been earlier in the morning, and held up the bottle of wine he’d been holding at his side. “I know you’ve got tea and water, but uh. I figured why not. It’s Friday after all.”

You smiled softly and let your hands brush against his as you took the wine from him, curiously watching as his fingers flexed when his arm returned to his side. “Thank you. I take it the Archivist doesn’t go to work on the weekends, then?” 

“The Archivist in training doesn’t, but I’m sure my free time will be a commodity before long. I’m pretty sure the last one frequently slept under his desk at the Ministry Headquarters. What about you? Any drab desk jobs to speak of?” 

“Nope,” you said, gesturing to the couch as you turned to head back into the kitchen. “When I need the extra money I’ll help out Sirona at The Three Broomsticks, but for the most part my explorations and Professor Fig’s estate hold me over well enough. I’m hardly ever home anyways, so it’s not like there’s many expenses to keep track of.” 

“I see,” Sebastian huffed as he collapsed into the couch, spreading his long arms along the top of the backrest as he took in the neater state of the living room. “I’m guessing your adventuring is why there’s so many books in the first place. Have you ever thought about upsizing?”

“Hardly,” you set the bottle down on the kitchen counter and chanced a look at the man on the sofa, oddly pleased to see him so at ease in the midst of your cluttered home. “I’d much rather downsize the collection. I don’t even need the majority of what I have– I’ve read through it all ten times over.” 

He nodded, “Fair enough.” 

“Anyway, I imagined you’d be hungry, so dinner’s almost ready.” 

“Oh, damn,” Sebastian mumbled, sitting forward to run a hand through his drying hair as you flitted around the kitchen. “You didn’t have to.”

“Unless you planned on feeding yourself later, I think most shops will be closed by the time you leave,” you said pointedly, turning to hide your grin when you observed the brunet flushing bright red. Miraculously you resisted the urge to add ‘if at all’ to the end of your statement. You unearthed the corkscrew buried deep within the kitchen drawers and popped open the wine bottle, filling two glasses before striding back into the living room to hand one over to Sebastian. “Feel free to take a look at any of the books, see if any of them might be worth taking to the Archives.”

The larger man gave you a lopsided smirk as he took the offered glass and clinked it gently against yours, muttering his agreement before shamelessly ogling your retreating form returning to the kitchen. The cinched waist of your otherwise simple dress was incredibly distracting. He elected not to sift through the piles upon piles of books, opting to instead watch as you hummed to yourself and stirred something on the stove, which Sebastian was beginning to realize smelled pretty fantastic. He was grateful for the distance between you both so you couldn’t hear his stomach growling. 

Once the food was ready, you ate with comfortable conversation flowing between the two of you the entire time. You asked Sebastian what he did in his soon to be nonexistent free time, and you were surprised to hear that he had taken on the role of Feldcroft’s token handyman. In his own words, the muggle approach to fixing things was relatively therapeutic, and he loved getting his hands dirty almost as much as he loved having his nose burrowed in book pages. It explained his physical appearance, at the very least. Until now, you’d just assumed he had a habit of squatting massive stacks of books in the Archives when he was bored. 

In turn he had asked you about your hobbies, about the ancient magic sites you visited, and about living on-the-go so regularly. It was so normal for you now that you barely batted an eye at being away from home for weeks at a time, and you told him as much with a half-hearted shrug. 

Lazily, you swirled the remaining wine around in your glass, bringing it to your mouth as you murmured, “It’s not like there’s anything waiting for me here, so I don’t mind it.”

Sebastian watched you intently as you finished off your drink, taking in the pretty flush decorating your cheeks and the delectable way you licked your wine-stained lips in the moment that followed. “Anything, or anyone?” 

“Hm?” 

“You don’t have anyone to come home to? No pets, no kids…” he trailed off, the rest of his question dangling in the air like a lone cloud. Your eyes fell to Sebastian’s hand as he sensually ran his pinched fingers along the stem of his own glass, and his half-hooded eyes hidden behind his glasses said everything in place of the missing portion of his sentence. 

No lover, is what you knew he was indirectly asking. 

“Do you see anyone else here?” you teased, the sides of your mouth curling into a coy smile.

“No,” Sebastian retorted, pushing his empty glass away as he sat back in his seat, amusement etched across his handsome face. “Then again, it doesn’t hurt to check. Had to make sure I was reading things correctly.” 

You perched your elbow on the armrest of your chair and balanced your chin on top of your fist casually before asking, “Was that another one of your jokes?” Hoping that you looked more confident than you felt, you mirrored his position and crossed one of your legs over the other, taking immense satisfaction in the way the brunet’s throat bobbed at the sight of your legs outlined through your attire. 

Sebastian looked puzzled for a moment before realizing what he’d said, and he rolled his eyes at the same time an airy laugh spilled from your lips. “An accidental one, make no mistake,” he moved forward to the edge of his seat, leaning forward to play with one of the folds of your dress with his index finger. “But I have been thinking about you all day, and I may or may not have convinced myself that you’re way out of my league.” 

“You should be more confident,” you whispered, dropping your hand to clutch at the one the Archivist was inching towards your leg with. His fingers immediately spread to accommodate your smaller ones, and you tugged him a smidge closer so your noses were mere inches apart. Jokingly, you taunted him further by asking, “Did you still want to look at my book collection?” 

Before you could so much as yelp, Sebastian closed the distance between the two of you in a flash and pressed his lips to yours fervently, any lingering awkwardness falling away like leaves on a tree. His free hand came to curl around the back of your neck, holding you firmly against his mouth as he angled his head to the side to deepen the kiss further, and you couldn’t help but moan against him at the brutish feeling of his broad hand holding you in place. 

He pulled away just enough to brush a tinier, more delicate kiss against the tip of your nose before he sighed, “I really don’t give a damn about the books right now.” 

A budding Archivist not caring about books? The scandal, is what you wanted to say, but then Sebastian’s lips were back on yours, swallowing your pending comment with a ferocity that had your stomach churning wantonly. Those brilliant hands of his left your neck and your hand to trail along your waist, his fingers digging firmly into the bodice of your dress to pull you towards him, and you followed his guidance all too willingly as he urged you from your seat. Within seconds you were in his lap, melting against him as he ground his hips up into yours while simultaneously using his hands to rock you against his hardening cock, and a satisfied groan emitted from him as you allowed him to move you as he pleased. 

In-between kisses, Sebastian managed to croak out, “Bedroom?” 

You barely managed a nod, too enthralled by the man under you to form actual words, and at the same time you dove back in for another heated kiss, Sebastian looped an arm around your back and the other under your ass as he stood up, lifting you with him as though you weighed nothing. Instinctively you hooked your legs around his hips, letting him haul you along to your bedroom while your hands flew to his neck to clutch at him ardently in a bid to keep your mouth glued to his. His ability to multi-task was something to compliment later on, because he kept walking and working his mouth over yours with a finesse that bordered on inhuman. 

The next thing you knew you were being thrown down on the mattress, bouncing in place briefly before you had to bite your lip to stifle a curse as you watched Sebastian fucking crawl up the bed towards you, predatory and sexy as hell. As soon as he was within reach, you grabbed for one of his suspender straps and pulled him closer, kissing him once again and moaning eagerly when you felt his hand grip at the seductive curve of your waist to squeeze before he settled on top of you. With his knees on either side of you, it was impossible to overlook the feeling of his achingly hard cock pressing down against your leg, and Sebastian groaned loudly when you tried lifting your hips to convey your impatience. 

“Someone’s excited,” he murmured against your swollen lips, grinning to himself as you worked to catch your breath. “Have you been thinking about me, too?” 

“Yes,” you gasped, your train of thought momentarily derailing when Sebastian moved so his chest was pressing against your clothed breasts, his hips flush with yours to better grind against you. “Don’t you own a mirror?”

Instead of replying to your thinly veiled compliment, Sebastian dipped his head into the crook of your neck to nip and kiss his way along your jaw with a rumbling moan, the force of his ministrations forcing your head back against the pillows. He was as eager as you were, that much was certain. As he rutted his concealed cock against your thigh, you heard and felt him shudder against you, and in an attempt to silence himself, the Archivist’s plush lips latched firmly onto a patch of skin under your jaw to suck a mark there. 

The stinging sensation of him biting down had your eyes fluttering shut, your entire being relishing in the light pain his teeth bestowed upon you, and Sebastian blindly reached for your wrist to pin your arm above your head. The dominant display had you voicing your approval in the form of a low moan, enjoying how being stretched out for him allowed for his other hand to rake down your side to start bunching up your dress. His movements didn’t cease as he lifted his hips slightly to free up the rest of the fabric trapped beneath him, and he expertly collected the material into a disheveled heap below your navel. When his dexterous fingers ghosted along the waistband of your undergarments, your next breath caught in your throat and caused you to gasp shakily. 

You felt as Sebastian’s lips curved into a smirk against your spit-slick skin before sitting back on his heels to murmur, “You’re so noisy.” 

Through his lashes, he watched as a brilliant flush swept up your neck to cover your face, and you timidly tried to hide your cheeks with the back of your free hand. “S-Sorry,” you stammered, but the man above you was having absolutely none of your self-consciousness. 

Your mediocre shield was wrenched away from your face and pinned up alongside your other hand in an instant, and you blinked up at Sebastian in blatant surprise as he leaned menacingly over you. “Don’t stop,” he implored you, biting his lip as he took in the sight of you beneath him. “I love it. 

The brunet secured your wrists into one of his hands so he could drop the other one back to your aching center, swiping two of his fingers up your slit through your underwear to feel the wetness that had collected there. The sensation left you breathless, another choked gasp weaseling its way past your lips and earning a dark chuckle from Sebastian. His digits moved up to slide beneath the fabric blocking his path, and a low groan sounded from him as he felt how truly soaked you were from his efforts. Without looking away from your pinched features, he gingerly slid a single finger in, biting his lip hungrily at the way your lips parted and your head rolled to the side when he began steadily pumping in and out of you. 

When you felt his thumb begin to rub against your clit, your eyelids fluttered shut from the intense pleasure that washed over you, pulling a strangled whimper from you. “Fuck, Sebastian–”

The hand he had securely wrapped around your wrists tightened a fraction to draw your mind out of the gutter, and he roughly gritted out, “Look at me, darling– open those pretty eyes for me.” You couldn’t help but oblige him when he referred to you so sweetly, and when you cracked your eyes open once again, his body seemed to shudder with delight as he growled, “So fucking perfect. My name sounds damn good when you say it like that.”

With his gaze burning into yours and the close proximity between the two of you, you didn’t think the overwhelming euphoria you felt could get any better. That is, until he added a second finger into the mix. The initial stretch was felt only briefly before his thumb pressed against your sensitive bundle of nerves, the persistent ministrations against your clit muting any discomfort and leaving you arching brainlessly beneath him as that hot, incessant feeling in your gut roared to life. It was tantalizing, and your hips bucked off the mattress in an attempt to chase his movements and reach the climax you were utterly desperate for. 

“Please, please,” you begged mindlessly, your desire to come so potent that it was almost painful. “Please, Sebastian, please.” 

“Already?” he tsk’d mockingly, shaking his head minutely as he eagerly wet his bottom lip and removed his thumb from your center. “I think you can hold on a bit longer, don’t you? I’d much rather end this with my cock, if it’s all the same to you.” 

The lack of friction sobered you up instantly, and the lustful haze that had clouded your mind cleared enough for you to blink blearily up at him, a small frown playing on your lips. “Really?” 

Sebastian cocked a brow at you, as though daring you to tell him he was being unreasonable. “Would you rather this end with my hands?” 

You tried to roll your hips up into his hand before relenting rather quickly, and you muttered, “F-Fine. Just hurry up, I might throttle you if I have to wait any longer.” 

Sebastian grinned wickedly at the way your back arched when he curled his fingers inside of you before torturously withdrawing them. A small sigh slipped from you when he let go of your wrists and slid away to hastily begin shedding his clothing, taking care to be gentler with his glasses as he set them down on the nightstand, and once he was wholly bare before you, the only thing you could do was stare. 

His physique was mind boggling; toned, defined muscles made up every inch of his torso, accentuated by broad shoulders that you were convinced didn’t belong anywhere near someone who worked in a glorified library of all places. His skin was sun-kissed and peppered with freckles, a testament to the aforementioned physical labor he claimed to enjoy. It hadn’t made much sense to you before when he’d told you– forgoing magic to use his own hands to help fix things. But if a habit like that gave a man a body like his, you would never doubt his preferences again. 

All of Sebastian looked positively divine, including his cock. Thick, hard, and twitching tellingly, it arched proudly against his taut stomach, the head violently red and already leaking beads of pre-cum in response to the situation at hand. You swallowed thickly when you realized that that would be inside of you, and you were suddenly grateful that he’d told you to wait. Not to discredit his fingers or anything, but you had a nagging feeling that you would enjoy his lower parts far more than his hands. 

Ignoring the nervousness that settled in your stomach, you sat up to quickly pull the sleeves of your dress down your arms, wriggling out of the attire quickly before throwing the bunched up material to the floor. As you reached down to slide your underwear off, Sebastian returned to kneel in front of you and stopped you by lightly pushing you flat against the pillows, then ran his hands along the plane of your stomach. 

“Allow me,” he said chivalrously, taking care to gently slip his fingers under the waistband and sensually remove the material entirely. With nothing else separating you from him, Sebastian took his time eating you alive with his eyes, letting his hands drag up your thighs and squeeze at your knees before pushing your legs apart so he had space to siddle forward. The blunt head of his cock bumped against your slick cunt, and a barely there shudder ran down your spine in anticipation. 

It took a good amount of self-control for you to let Sebastian press into you achingly slow, his eyes pinching shut while his teeth savaged his bottom lip, and when he was finally sheathed inside of you fully, the brunet was practically shaking with the desire to fuck your brains out. He waited, though, his palms sliding from your knees to your upper thighs to dig his fingers into the skin there, raking his hungry gaze over you while he gave you a moment to adjust. 

You appreciated the sentiment, because Merlin– he was big. It was impossible to overlook every delicious inch of him pressing against your inner walls, the subtle grinding of his hips stretching you out more and more to the point where your breath continuously caught in your throat. It felt good, though. Good enough to leave you wondering why you’d never sought him out when the two of you were still in school together. 

At some point, however, you realized Sebastian was fucking with you. It probably had something to do with the repetitive, shallow thrusts he teased you with, and when you craned your neck up to look at him, he was already staring at you with a wide grin splitting his face, his tongue poking out between his teeth. 

“W-What?” you grumbled, your hands fisting in the sheets. “Are you going to make me beg or something? I already said please.” 

“I was just enjoying the face you were making,” Sebastian said, rocking his hips just enough to leave you arching towards him. “You look like you’re trying really hard to keep it together. It’s cute.” 

“I’m flattered,” you breathed out around an airy laugh, then wriggled your hips down in an attempt to bait the Archivist into moving. Mercifully, it worked. 

Sebastian gave a throaty moan, leaning forward to brace one hand on the side of your waist while the other gripped at your thigh tighter, and he withdrew his cock languidly before plunging back in. Your breathing hitched and your head fell back against the pillows at the abrupt sensation, and the sight of you so obviously enthralled by his efforts was what expelled the remainder of his patience. 

Holding onto your thigh with bruising strength, Sebastian fell into a steady, toe-curling pace. He pulled you onto his cock with every deep plunge, digging his feet into the bed to lend some force to his thrusts, and his reward was the sound of your shaky voice reverberating off of the bedroom walls as your spine rounded. You keened loudly, overcome with both the feeling and the sight of Sebastian– because not only was he deceptively good at rendering your mind into a puddle of mush, he looked amazing while he was doing it. The muscles in his arms rippled as he supported himself above you, his brown curls falling into his face as his head hung heavy between his sculpted shoulders, and when your arousal had you clamping down on his cock harder, those full, kissable lips of his fell open around a guttural groan. 

“Fuck, you feel incredible,” he grit out through his clenched teeth, gazing down at you with lust-dark eyes that made your blood burn hot in your veins. “So bloody gorgeous– like a fucking work of art.”

His praises left you whining in earnest, and you didn’t bother to keep your voice down in the slightest. With every sinful noise that escaped you, Sebastian’s hold on you seemed to intensify, and his thick cock filled you harder with every desperate pump of his hips. His ragged breathing left you craving more of him– all of him– and you rutted against him as much as was physically possible in a bid to take him deeper. 

Sebastian picked up on your desires wordlessly, and he shifted his hold on your thigh so his hand was looped around it to better pull it to the side, giving him the room he needed to spear into you with wicked precision. It also allowed him to discover what you sounded like crying out for more, your voice reedy and strident within the four walls of the bedroom, and when he shifted his hips down to achieve new depths, your moans echoed around him. He had to be hitting a good spot. 

“Right there, Sebastian, fuck– right there–” 

Your lower half was positively shaking, and Sebastian was honestly at his limit. He sat up momentarily before grabbing both of your legs, watching as you blearily tried to figure out what was going on while he pulled your knees over his shoulders. Moving over you swiftly and urgently, he bent you back and rammed his thick cock back into your tight heat, animalistic grunts sounding from him as you arched tight and cried out, but you were barely given the space to breathe before he was fucking you hard– hips bucking rough and deep and so fucking good that you were left screaming and gasping helplessly at the sheets. 

Sebastian pinned you to the bed and pounded into you, his own moans dripping loud from his lips as his hands grasped at the sweaty, flushed skin of your waist, pulling you close while he filled you over and over and drank in your noisy pleas for more until your back was arching clear off the bed and your thighs were shaking. You were barely holding on, your climax from earlier roaring back to life in your gut and rendering your tongue a lead weight in your mouth.

Forming words was damn near impossible, but you still managed to babble out, “Like that, Sebastian, fuck, just like that– I’m close– please, I’m–”

He obliged you instantly, keeping up his pace while he brought his hand between your legs to thumb over your bundle of nerves, his hips angling upwards with every deep, precise plunge. Taking his bottom lip between his teeth, you watched through your slitted eyes as he bent forward to press a chaste kiss to your parted lips, swallowing your breathy whines with a satisfied expression playing over his face. “Come on, darling. Let’s hear how you sound falling apart on my cock, yeah?” 

As if you even needed the encouragement. 

Every muscle in your body tensed as a wave of unparalleled ecstasy crashed over you, and your hands flew to Sebastian’s shoulders to absentmindedly attempt to grasp at something to ground yourself. His movements didn’t stop as you writhed beneath him– milking every possible noise out of you with unconcealed fervor– and it was only when you sagged into the sheets twitching and whimpering that Sebastian let your legs drop to the sides so he could wrap his arms around you to give you the last of his deep, quick thrusts before he was coming too, your name tumbling over his lips as he fell alongside you. 

“Fuck,” Sebastian murmured directly beside your ear, still draped in a boneless heap on top of you as you trembled against him. One of your hands slid up to bury your fingers in his tangled curls, and you mumbled something unintelligibly into the crook of his neck. He pulled back slightly to hear you better, “What?” 

Your eyes were still glazed over as you came down from your post-coital high, “Are the Archives chock-full of sex books or something?” 

Sebastian smirked tiredly at you, pulling out gently before collapsing beside you with his arms still wrapped securely around your waist. “One or two. Why?” 

You stared up at the ceiling in a daze and shook your head softly to yourself, “Because you’re a little too good at that. It’s kind of scary.”

“Good scary or bad scary?” 

“Good scary,” you clarified, turning over so you could face the brunet and smile softly at him. The way his entire face lit up at the sight of you would live on in your mind for years to come, you were sure, so you wistfully said, “We should do this again sometime.” 

Sebastian paused, leaving you worried for a short second until he wriggled in a way that let him press his hard cock against your stomach, and he closed the distance between the two of you to give you a chaste kiss on your nose before grinning mischievously. “Like right now?” 

You raised your eyebrows in silent surprise before laughing playfully, rolling over onto him before taking his face in your hands to kiss him deeply. It was a sweet moment– tender, affectionate, and heartwarming. It only ceased when you let go of his cheeks to move down his larger body, already itching to put your hands to better use. 

The only thing that stopped Sebastian from staying holed up within the warm, comfortable confines of your bedroom with you forever was the imminent arrival of Monday, but Saturday and Sunday were days well spent. You were rather disappointed when your time together came to an end– enough so that you actually pouted when Sebastian had slid out from beneath the covers to get ready for work. Thankfully though, the Archivist was as unwilling as you were to call it quits after everything, and following a heated, lengthy kiss, he promised to come back as soon as he was able. 

It only took him eight hours to find himself back in your bed, but you knew then that it would be impossible to stay away from him for very long from here on out. 

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

first of all, this is all legit, and not bait, though i have a feeling it may come off that way, this did happen to me. please don't publish if tumblr sends it off anon.

i'm a lesbian with gender dysphoria, and while i haven't had much sexual experience, i would consider myself a stone top. in the last year and a half i began reading "terf"/radical feminist writings and reading "terf" tumblr blogs fairly actively, largely out of frustration with misogyny i was experiencing IRL. though i never engaged with the community i did stop identifying as genderfluid and started understanding my dysphoria as stemming from the trauma of being bullied by other girls for having a high-androgen DSD, and using different pronouns/transition thoughts as unhealthy coping mechanisms. i'm happy with this, but i also don't know if i'm attracted to women anymore.

i've always been attracted to women in a way that's stereotypically guy-like; i find feminine women very attractive and not so much fellow(?) butches, want to penetrate with a strap on, don't like bush much, cursory interest in BDSM/daddy kink. i read/watched het erotica and porn sometimes and identified with the man. what i read problematized pretty much every aspect of that- femininity as a cage, penetration as violence/straps as disidentification w the female body, infantilization of women, bdsm as abuse etc. also, desisting making me more conscious of dysphoria/knowledge of how extensive sexual dimorphism is putting me off both women with larger breasts and hips AND smaller breasts and hips/unrealistically masculine body types as well. so a lot of what turned me on before isn't arousing anymore, or i feel guilty about it, and i haven't been able to find butch4butch stuff which is much healthier very interesting.

i consider my sexuality healthier now on a political level but my ability to get aroused/jerk off has plummeted (used to be i could jork it sunrise to sunset) and thinking about being in a relationship w another woman makes me feel uneasy and weird, especially since a lot of what i read emphasized reciprocative cunnilingus/tribbing (which i don't like) as the healthiest sex options. i also think about both my dysphoria and my sexuality issues 100x more than i did before, even though i was promised the opposite (freedom from dysphoria and feeling happier as a lesbian), and it's stressing me out day-to-day. i'm aware based on your general ethos that you probably think i'm a terrible person right now, but i figured it'd be useful to seek the opinion of someone who radically disagrees with what i've read on what i could/should do next, since i admittedly miss being at peace with my sexuality.

thanks for reading.

hi there anon,

it's a bummer that you'd think I would assume you're a terrible person based on everything you've told me here. I generally try not to consider people terrible unless they're actively being shitheads or hurting other people, which doesn't sound at all like you're describing. from what you've told me, you've been up to your eyes in some information that's made you feel deeply uncomfortable in your sexuality and now you're seeking out a new perspective to help you make sense of that hurt. that describes most of the people who send me questions!

it's so striking to me that much of what you're describing is very reminiscent of what's recounted in The Persistent Desire, an anthology of writings on butch/femme identities edited by femme historian and archivist Joan Nestle that was released in 1992. in various essays and interviews countless butches and femmes recount their discomfort with the feminist turn against butch and femme identities that too place in the 70s, when both roles were declared problematic recreations of heterosexuality and summarily decried as politically "incorrect" for lesbians. it's shocking to me how much what you've described echoes these accounts experienced by lesbians half a century ago - the disowning of women who are "excessively" feminine or masculine, the demonizing of penetrative sex, general insistence that there are "correct" sex acts that every lesbian is supposed to enjoy, and the deep discomfort and insecurity that this causes among people who don't fit into the very rigid standards of proper lesbian identity set forth.

here's a link to a PDF, if that's interesting to you at all. it's very long, so feel free not to read it straight through; it's a great project to skim and an incredible way to get in touch with the lesbians who came before us. their accounts of their lives are so wildly different from the boundaries of "good" queer representation that feel so universal today; in discussing their own lives many of these women speak very bluntly about their experiences with abuse, drugs, sex work, and violence. it's a great glimpse into the lives and history of a lot of very ordinary lesbians just living their lives, and I'm very grateful it's been preserved.

now, as for what you're actually gonna do: hey. listen. first of all, if you haven't given up reading this stuff yet, you've gotta. you simply cannot keep internalizing stuff that makes you overanalyze your own sexuality so hard that you feel uncomfortable about being attracted to women. that's not "healthy," that's conversion therapy lite. there are other places to talk about feminism without being made to feel ashamed of yourself.

listen: there's nothing unhealthy about anything that you described about yourself. being a stone butch, being attracted to certain looks and aesthetics, watching porn, wanting to use a strap and roleplay during sex and not being interested in other sexual activities - all of those thing are completely normal and, yes, healthy. certainly healthier than feeling the need to repress your sexuality so hard that thinking about being with a woman doesn't feel right!

should we run through that list?

femininity as cage - sure, okay, femininity isn't for everyone, and there are parts of it that suck. that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with women who like to wear dresses or put on makeup or shave or whatever, or anyone who's attracted to those women. genuinely I cannot think of anything less interesting or important to feminist organizing than getting hung up about what people want to wear. it's clothes, dude. it's fucking clothes. pick a more important hill to die on, I implore you.

penetration is not the same thing as violence. there's just nothing to debate about that one; it's patently absurd to pretend that every act of penetrative sex is rape and you'd have to fundamentally misunderstand how consent works to believe that.

straps are not about "disidentification with the female body," they're about augmenting a sexual experience. a strap-on is not more problematic than a vibrator or a massage oils or a pillow used to prop up a body part. unless those are also bad? are those bad? are pillows disidentifying from the female body also? I'm not up to date on this.

straight up I don't even know which part of your whole deal the infantilization of women is supposed to address, but a thing that I've always found interesting about a lot of radical feminists who are deeply distrustful of sex is the way that many of them seem to assume that women can't be trusted to understand their own sexual desires and need to be taught what's appropriate. seems kind of condescending to me, personally.

BDSM isn't the same thing as abuse. abuse, crucially, is not a situation that people can safe word out of or negotiate the constraints of. it's kind of like how, you know, I purposefully pay people to shove needles in my skin when I want a tattoo, but I wouldn't be stoked about it if somebody just ran up to me in public and started stabbing me without any warning or conversation. context is crucial. there can certainly be abusive people within BDSM spaces, but that's true of people of literally every sexual proclivity on earth, and certainly not an innate feature of BDSM. it's just make believe, dude. it's dress up. it's sex LARPing.

also, psst, hey. that thing about being attracted to women in a "guy-like" way? no such thing. men are humans, dude; they experience attraction in as many different ways as anyone else. for every dude interested in the same stuff as you there are men yearning for hairy women, muscular women, masculine women, women who will dominate them, women who would rather be eaten out then penetrated, and so on. to say nothing of the men who aren't into women at all! and, as is obvious from your own experience, men don't have a monopoly on those kinds of feelings, anyway! there are no men or women feelings, dude; it's all just people having feelings and fighting for their lives trying to figure out what they're into to.

I want to particularly talk about that last bit, where you mentioned not enjoying or wanting to engage in cunnilingus or tribbing. that's totally fine! people like different shit in all kinds of combinations - I'm personally a huge fan of getting eaten out and scratched up or bitten, but I don't do penetration and I've genuinely never met anyone who actually liked tribbing - and there are absolutely people out there who will, to paraphrase the poet Tinashe, perfectly match your freak.

(have you heard about the perpetual, critical shortage of tops that the queer community faces? you'd be a godsend, just saying.)

also, actually, hey I wanted to circle back to another thing as well: it's deeply alarming to me that whatever radfem stuff you've been reading has you feeling "put off" of women with wide hips and large breasts as well as women with small breasts and hips. what is wrong with either of those? both of those are just ways that women naturally look. women just look a wide variety of ways, and it's sad that that's upsetting you now. just thinking about this, conceptually, is giving me hives.

having been up to your eyes in all of this, I can definitely understand why you'd feel the urge to overanalyze you own gender and sexuality to the point of completely talking yourself out of identifying with anything that feels good for you. as I said, that's actually not healthy in any way, and as a sex educator I can't say that I think anyone genuinely invested in your well-being would want that for you.

entirely aside from their feelings on trans people, which I obviously disagree with pretty vehemently, one of the things about radfems that's most endlessly vexing to me is the insistence that such an extremely narrow range of sexual behaviors are appropriate. seems like a miserable way to live, and I sincerely hope you can detangle yourself from the morass of shame it's landed you in. you deserve better.

[unholyhelbig]

pls do Kiramman x femme reader I am BEGGING

Title: The Archivist

Ship: Female!Reader x Caitlyn Kiramman

Wordcount:2783

Summary: After becoming the Sheriff of Piltover Caitlyn simply has too many messes to clean up. The Archivist in the basement that Marcus hired is the furthest down on her list. She certainly didn't expect you.

Dt: The amazing @ittynyte ❤️

Warnings: Canon typical violence, mentions of ownership, contracts, enforcers being enforcers, alcohol, vomit ,an unhealthy amount of italics, horrible grammar because I don't beta,(let me know if I missed anything pls)

[A/n: This got away from me. Full disclaimer it was supposed to be absolutely filthy and it turned into Caitlyn being kind of soft but uh, anyone one up for some buddy-enforcer-fucked-nasty stuff later? I can provide that! Seemed wrong for the tone. Depends on the response!]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

Caitlyn Kiramman expected the dead stored away in the archives to remain tight lipped. She certainly didn’t anticipate the soft crooning of a jazz singer over a shrill trumpet, screaming over a muted piano. Nor did she expect the sullen scent of dust when she knew very well that she pressed the golden nib of a fountain pen to a check to prevent just that sort of decay.

Very rarely, if ever, did Caitlyn find herself in the vast archives of the station. She was much too interested in solving the constant rotation of files that seemed to pedal across her desk, the instances that were deemed much too important for those that wore their badges on their hip and not around their throats, not close enough to limit their air.

What use was a sheriff down here? All the files in these boxes were solved. They had been stamped to satisfaction and were intended to be kept clean and guarded just like the rest of the station. Though the pungent mildew scent that any basement had was sure to be unavoidable, she supposed.

It was dark and damp and endless. The only sound that cut through the copy boxes was a fluttering of music that Caitlyn followed like a dog sniffing out the vaguest hint of a bone. She did so with poise, eyes running across the names listed on the boxes as she did so: Fortune, Crownguard, Du Couteau, Vayne.

Most of the boxes were simply legend to Caitlyn, far beyond her time. She vaguely recalls mention of a few surnames during boisterous dinners with her parents, Sheriff Grayson in attendance. But the warmth of the fire and the flow of alcohol often dims her memory.

A flicker of golden light at the end of the tunnel calls to her. She slows her step, suddenly wary of startling the keeper of a wealth of knowledge. A courtesy she does not afford many, certainly not strangers.

You were simply a perk of the station, a deal that was in a bi-clause of a bi-clause. Caitlyn highlighted it when she first became the official sheriff of Piltover and thrust it into Mel’s face in the lamplight. She had just chuckled, leaned close and taken a sip of her bourbon.

“Her? No. Come on Cait, leave it be. Marcus won the poor kid off Madam Margot in a poker game.”

“A Chem Baron? The mere statement had been incredulous enough that Caitlyn had choked on her own drink, nearly tainting the contract she’d worked so hard to scour over the past month before even accepting the position. “Give me one reason not to send her back to the lanes, then?”

Mel had taken another tentative sip from her drink and let Caitlyn’s question simmer. There were a million reasons not to trust you, but the simple fact remained. You’d been taken from one cage and shoved into another. If you were going to pull something, you would have by now.

In truth, Caitlyn had put a question mark in red ink next to your name and swore to come back to the annotation later but never had. She’d moved to the enforcers that she needed to retrain. The ones she needed to rip from their families for placing the metal of a rifle up against the temples of those who were nothing but innocent. The ones who had accepted bribes openly from Marcus himself. She needed to heal the station, and you were below all of that, miles underground.

So, admittedly, Caitlyn forgot about you and signed your checks and scrunched her nose up at your name, but you had stayed quiet and strangely loyal in your cave of darkness. She’d never seen you. Never met you. Figured you were on a different schedule. Money was withdrawn and files were organized, and your name was uttered simply as The Archivist, and it had stayed blissfully that for years.  

A cage of sorts was at the end of Caitlyn’s journey. Something that divided you from the rest of the archives, though it was nothing more than what one would find in a gymnasium to store away sensitive equipment.

More shelves that lined the perimeter of the space with boxes that were decidedly not stamped with a completion date and a small desk that was shoved into the corner, a kerosene lamp that was the source of the low lamplight pulsing at its edge.

There was a bed, more like a cot, covered in an enforcer issued blanket and a pillow that was much too flat. Two books that looked to be busted at the seams. They were worn to hell and back. A record player that was the culprit of the hazy jazz music.

And there you sat: Back pressed to the edge of the bed with your legs crossed and arms dangling lazy over them. Strands of hair fell into your concentrated gaze. They were hidden brilliantly behind a pair of glasses but still squinting as if the prescription hadn’t been updated in decades. A wooden pencil was between your lips, but the yellow paint had been chewed off, exposing the soft underbelly.

You hadn’t seemed to notice the Sheriff, but by God, had she noticed you. The curve of your arms and the ink that was etched into them. The slope of your jaw and the easy way your button down hugged your frame. You were impeccably well kept for someone who seemed to be living down here.

She studied you for moments more, chest tugging impossibly at a marking that stood out to her above them all. An intricate ‘H’ that was inked just behind the earlobe. Her breath caught silently. Not as if she had doubted Mel’s words. But her chest ached quietly for you, for Margot’s claim.  

Your delicate fingers came up to brush against the blackened symbol as if sensing Caitlyn’s eyes on you and in the same stippled breath you had noticed her presence. All the warmth you’d created in your sanctuary was sucked out at the intrusion.

“Fuck!”

You clearly didn’t register who the intruder was, just that there was one. Papers had been scattered in front of you neatly from a copy box and now your socked feet were pushing them this way and that as she scrambled to right yourself. It was a comical scene-really. Caitlyn lifted a sculpted brow.

You slid once more, nearly into a quick split before finally planting both of your feet onto solid ground and blinking dazedly at Caitlyn. Your eyes, they were quite different. Clearly you were Zaun. The thought startled Caitlyn, but only for a moment. The slightest rim of pink echoed around your iris, but it was barely noticeable. Hardly even there.

“Hi,”

Caitlyn lifted her chin. Odd. That was no way to address her. You were slouched and unkempt and there was a scent of old paper to you. She supposed she’d fallen into her ways of demanding respect but, it was quite possible that you didn’t know how to give it to her.

“Um” You cleared your throat awkwardly. “Who are you? Did… If Marcus sent you to fetch me then please just, give me one moment.” Suddenly there was insurmountable fear in your eyes as you glanced back at the record player. “There’s this song, it’s Dean Martin, it’s coming on in a few clicks and I know you don’t owe me anything but if I could just hear Volare one more time.”

Caitlyn’s mouth propped itself open, her lips making a dry popping sound. When she was a child and they’d visited Northan Ionia, her parents had rented a cabin that had a lake within stones throw. She’d fallen through after the sickening, reverb of the ice cracking. That feeling of being dunked under water that was below freezing filled her now.

“You’ve never heard Dean Martin, then?” You were trying a different tactic now, a nervous attempt to fill the near silence, hands shoved in the pockets of your pants. “Gods, well, you’re missing out. Stay and listen. Just for a bit? Then you can take me to him. I’ll go without a fight. Swear to it.”

“No!”

You flinched and Caitlyn raised her hands up. Fuck. She wasn’t a rookie. She knew how to talk a man off a ledge and now suddenly she was feeling just how cold the archives were. How dank and musty and her stomach was roiling. She had to focus on this here and now.

Caitlyn tried a softer, warmer, tone “No, I mean, I’m not taking you anywhere.”

That was the wrong thing to say too, but it was enough for now. Your shoulders visibly relaxed and the coil in your spine seemed to unwind, if not minutely. Again, your fingers brushed absently against the marking that she knew was there.

She swallowed the dryness in her throat. You were peering at her like a lost puppy, glazed eyes that threatened to spill over as if she were the one who came to finish you off herself. It dawned on Caitlyn that she might be the only other enforcer that you’d ever seen, and she wore the regulated revolver all the same. She’d been through this before.

The basics, she’d start with the basics, just like she’d done with Vi. “I’m Sheriff Kiramman.”

“The secretary?”

“Pardon me?”

She must have sounded incredulous because you smiled dazzlingly and let the rest of the tension drop from your shoulders. You’d completely ignored the title in front of her name. She felt the heat bloom on her cheeks and her nose scrunch up. “I just figured, you know? Hadn’t seen Marcus in awhile and then the checks that I was getting were signed by you.”

You moved as if you were about to collect the scattered papers across the floor but plopped down on the creaky bed instead, suddenly exhausted from the scare of Caitlyn’s presence. She was rigid at the entrance of your space, watching you carefully. Harmless. She decided. Scared.

“Sheriff,” Caitlyn reiterated, taking the plunge and stepping over the threshold of your room. You stiffened for just a moment before relaxing.

You remained silent for a long moment. Caitlyn let you process the word, mull it over in your head. It was just two syllables, but they were heavy ones. She scanned the boxes with names she didn’t’ recognize. They were anything but dusty, and they piqued her interest but not as much as you.  

“There’s only one of those, unless the bylaws have changed.”

Caitlyn turned and watched you. There was a thickness to the way you swallowed. Your knuckles had tightened around the thin mattress and your legs had locked as if you were about to spring up. She recognized the green pigment to your skin in an instant, the sudden paleness of your complexion.

The sheriff grabbed the wastebasket from under the pitiful desk and shoved it into your hands, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you. The heat that rolled from your clammy skin was worrisome at best and alarming at worst. You retched into the trashcan, and she didn’t hesitate to touch you this time, rubbing her hand down your spine.

You coughed, something that sounded painful and wet. Caitlyn carefully slid your glasses from the tip of your nose before they fell into the bin and hooked them on the collar of her shirt. This was normal, or at least she told herself as much.

“Easy, easy” She dragged cool fingers across damp skin at the nave of your neck. “Deep breaths.”

Nodding frantically, you swallowed back the sour taste in your mouth, finally satisfied that you’d emptied the nauseous feeling in your stomach, setting the trashcan as far away as you could. Your hands were shaking, your leg pressed next to the Sheriffs. She saw the sudden urge to bolt reflected in your almost magenta stare.

“I suppose you own me, then.”

The words made her eye twitch involuntarily. She stiffened. Caitlyn preferred not to be dunked under cold water twice in one day, much less at all. You were slumped and tired and smelling of bile. Though the thought appealed to her in consensual settings this was much too anger inducing to consider.

She wanted to pull Marcus’s mangled body from the grave just to mangle it further with her own teeth. As unladylike as it seemed the fact that he hadn’t been maimed by her own hands to begin with made them itch unbearably. If she were to lean into mutilation when her Kiramman blood flared with lust, it may as well be used for good.

“That’s how the contract works, Sheriff Kiramman.” You fought to save the silence once more. “Marcus won me in a poker game, which I’m certain he cheated in, the bastard. My father drafted the contract himself with Madame Margot in front of me. Assuming Marcus signed me over then, I’m all yours.”

“And if Marcus died?”

Your brows furrowed; breath caught in your throat. The jazz record that you had put on had reached its natural end and given way to a constant static, the needle tracing the edge as if it were the skilled skater that Caitlyn was not. Someone who knew how to test the density of ice.

“Well, then I suppose I don’t have to stay in this basement working on unsolved cases.”

“Unsolved?”

Again, you gave her that soft confused look that she was coming to know as a buffer. One you used when you didn’t want to upset the dust in the room. As if one wrong move would have you collared with another mark inked into your skin. “Well, yeah. I have to occupy myself when I’m not sneaking food from the breakroom upstairs.”

“We don’t have Unsolved cases, I would know about them.”

There was a glint in your stare now, one of genuine interest as you got up, still a little shaky. You needed something proper to eat and drink. Caitlyn knew that. She was determined to pull you from here and take you to a full meal at the greasiest establishment that Piltover had to offer, which wasn’t anything much.

“At least a dozen, alphabetized. I haven’t seen any in over a year and it’s pretty hard to crack any of them just based on the reports in the boxes. Marcus would dump them down here and tell me not to touch them. He stopped coming after awhile and I just stopped listening. I wouldn’t be shocked if he never had them listed.”

It would be entirely plausible. Caitlyn could feel the annoyance building in her lungs, suffocating her. Of course, the man hadn’t only hidden an entire person, but the chance of closure for families that were longing desperately for it.

Caitlyn picked up one of the papers on the floor, running her fingers over the faded ink. A John Doe that was fished from the waters under the Bridge of Progress. Certainly not very progressive of them. It would have been horrible for the city’s image.

You were watching her carefully. Caitlyn glanced down, pulling your glasses from the clipped spot on her shirt and passing them to you as a peace offering. She nearly jolted when your warm fingers brushed hers. Extremely soft and delicate despite the circumstances. Guilt gnawed impossibly at her.

She’d forgotten you along with the red annotations at the bottom of a legal document. A John doe that could have been at the bottom of the river if he had been weighted down properly enough. A woman that was behind the bars of Stillwater to this day of Caitlyn had turned a blind eye. It was all about instinct, she supposed. Guilt. Obligation.

“Where will you go?”

You scoffed. “A firing and an eviction. Sure you don’t want to redraft that contract, Sheriff Kiramman? I’m quite useful.”  

When Caitlyn stood toe to toe with you she was taller. If she stretched her arm she could touch the top of the chain link and lift herself up into a standard pull-up. Of course, she wouldn’t. Instead, she stared down at you, tilting her head to the side, entirely too smitten with a near-stranger.

“I have no doubt. We’re going to solve these. You are not going to live in a basement like some type of vermin. When was the last time you saw sunlight Miss y/l/n?”

The slight hesitation was enough for her.

“Exactly.” She used her cool finger to lift your eyes to hers, steely and impossibly blue, leaving no room for objection. “Time to reintroduce you to society, little archivist.”

[valtsv]

i would love to hear more of your thoughts on michael shelley!!! 🌀🚪✨

you're in luck because i've sat on thoughts about him for years and i finally feel like i can articulate them. because michael shelley is such a well written case of tragic horror in the horror tragedy podcast. and, despite my criticisms of season 5, it really did do an excellent job in concluding his character arc with the gertrude backstory episode. in a podcast where a common in-universe theme is that knowledge, and the pursuit of knowledge, is dangerous, michael is a subversion in that his ignorance of the horrors of the world he lived in not only didn't save him, but was intentionally engineered to make him vulnerable to exploitation and harm (which, on a broader scope, emphasises the futility of the world of the magnus archives - regardless of whether you participate in or turn a blind eye to the systems at play, involved or uninvolved, you are not safe).

furthermore, i really appreciate the subversion of traditional tropes of the sacrifice as a typically female figure taken advantage of by a male father, brother, or lover, whose tragic and horrible death is used to motivate him (whether to greatness or self-destruction), with michael being a son sacrificed by his mother (or grandmother) figure, who never actually loved him and whose 'frail' and 'nurturing' qualities were weaponised incompetence used to gaslight and manipulate him - and who continues to operate successfully (at least in terms of what can be said to be 'success' in a world like the magnus archives) without being haunted by any apparent doubt about the decision she made, or any hesitation to use others in similar ways, following this betrayal. which makes the fact that he's sewn into the fabric of a being that represents lies in their most insidious form, used as a weapon to devour people and destroy their lives, all the more abhorrent in hindsight - he is forced to not only relive his trauma in an endless loop (or spiral, if you will), but to become the mechanism which enables it. michael is taken to the edge of something evil (at least from a human perspective), and pushed over the threshold with no hope of recourse. there's almost a reverse orphic quality to it - he descends into terrifying other world, one which exists side-by-side with but fundamentally seperate from his own, against his will, and looking back will only cause him pain as he's assaulted by memories of a life he will never be able to reach.

i think a lot of people forget to look past the surface with michael, despite there being an entire episode dedicated to doing so. which is understandable, he's a very outwardly expressive character - but this is intentional obfuscation to hide an incredibly damaged victim whose hatred of this part of himself is integral to his entire reason for being, and which the rejection of causes him to be unmade, incapable of existing as this contradictory nightmare any longer. it's a mercy killing, and yet it is violent and painful, because michael cannot and should not exist, and excising that graft used to muzzle the distortion is as agonising as latching it into place was in the first place. when michael-the-distortion says about michael shelley "he was born. he was pointless. and he should have died." there is an implicit longing there, a rage at the way he was used, his decisions made for him and used to imprison something else instead of ever being allowed to exercise any measure of free will. because michael shelley probably would have died for the archivist, given the opportunity, but he never got the choice.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Hey! How are you? May I request Vanitas with a lover who's got the power to manipulate cloths and textiles?

“Vanitas- san! Do something!”

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t move. For the first time since setting on this quest to save vampire kind from the Charlatan and their corruption, Vanitas was truly terrified.

He never dreamed in a million years that it would get to [Y/N]. Get to someone he cared about.

He always thought they were so strong. Confident. Happy. The kind of person who would never fall for the dirty tricks of a shadow or be touched by their wicked claws.

But as he stood there in the ruins of their shop. Their beautiful dresses and shirts littering their air like confetti, while bolts of fabric attacked their friend Noé like tentacles, their mannequin like body attacking in stiff puppet like movements instead of the fluid beauty they had when they sewed their creations, he realized how wrong he had been.

“Vanitas! Please come to your senses! I can’t hold them off much longer without hurting them! I don’t want to do that!”

Vanitas snapped out of his daze at the second call of his name by Noé. Quickly snapping his book open and letting the pages guide on their own as they burned blue. “[Y/N]! I know you can hear me in there!” His call got their attention, and the pages burned brighter as the room was engulfed in their light. “Ah…so that’s your true name. I should have guessed. René! Master of the weave!”

The monster screamed in pain at its defeat. Burning away by the blue of his book until all that was left was his typical, beautiful [Y/N]. “Are they alright? Do you think they’ll be ok?” Noé asked as they both rushed to their side.

“They…they look alright.” Vanitas couldn’t be sure, but he hoped he was right.

[Y/N] stirred in his arms. Eyes fluttering open to look up at him. “Vanitas…”

“It’s ok [Y/N]. I’m here now.”

They would all worry about the destroyed shop later, and the glass digging into his knees. Right now, all he cared about was [Y/N] was safe. That’s all that mattered to him.

[drabblesandimagines]

Elevation

Leon Kennedy x female reader More of my fluffy nonsense

Hunnigan slams the phone down into the cradle at the end of her call and if you hadn’t already been casting auspicious glances up at the scene before you, her actions would’ve made you jump.

“What is it, Leon?” Hunnigan’s tone is blunt.

It would be so easy to look up at the handsome DSO agent then. You’d be perfectly within your right to look up too, your desk opposite sat directly opposite Hunnigan’s so you had ring-side side seats to the commotion. It wouldn’t look odd - he’d be in your eyeline, after all - but you fight the temptation, keeping your eyes fixed on the paper in front of you, fingers tapping idly away over the keyboard as you transpose to the screen.

Exactly what you’ve been doing the past ten minutes that Leon Kennedy has been wandering around the office, dressed in a pair of form-fitting jeans today, his gun holster peeking out from underneath a beloved leather jacket, directing all attention to a certain pair of assets.

Not that you were keeping track of how long he’d been there, of course, you had work to do.

“Huh?” For someone who had apparently been waiting on her call finishing, Leon’s thoughts seems elsewhere.

“I said,” Hunnigan adjusts her tone, “can I help you with something?”

“Does there have to be something? Surely a guy can just come visit his favourite FOS agent.”

“But you haven’t come to visit, you’ve come to loiter.” Hunnigan retorts. “I told you already, if I have anything for you, I will be in contact. Go home.”

There’s an incredulous scoff as he tries to think of a reason to stay, but it quickly transforms into a sigh as he admits defeat. “Fine.”

He begins his retreat towards the exit and you hear the tell-tale beep of his pass against by the door panel, the electronic lock then clunking in release.

“Have a good afternoon, ladies.”

You look up then – and only then - to find him looking directly at you. You give him a polite smile in return. “You too.”

He grins in return, a proper one that makes his eyes crease, before giving you a nod and a wave as he through the door. The smile stays on your lips as you reach for your mug of coffee – now ice cold - and take a sip.

“I think he likes you, you know?” Hunnigan states in her oh-so-nonchalantly way, making you choke on the gulp you’d just taken.

“What? No…! I mean, who?” Your voice is tight in response from having swallowed the liquid the wrong way, internally cursing. Smooth, real smooth.

“Leon.” The agent continues hammering away at her keyboard, kindly ignoring your attempts at being subtle.

“I don’t know where you’ve drawn that conclusion from.” You don’t – you really don’t. You could probably count the amount of conversations the two of you have had with all of your fingers, all just pleasantries.

“I’ve worked with him for years now and he’s never been here as much since your transfer started.”

“Coincidence, I’m sure. He just seems eager for work.”

Hunnigan goes to open her mouth in response when, thankfully, the phone on her desk rings. Saved by the bell.

--

Being afraid of elevators had never really been an issue until you had taken this assignment, being sent to work on the 12th floor. At the very least it’s proving to be a good workout the number of times a day you now trudge up and down the stairwell from your desk to the archives below. The DSO holds a surprising amount of paper copies of intel in the basement – both handwritten and old typewriter documents - secured behind a vault door, rumours of the place being rigged to ignite in flames if an intruder is detected to prevent it all from falling into the wrong hands.

The DSO board had decided that intel should now be stored in the government-secured cloud and on paper and you’d been brought in as an archivist/analyst hybrid, on loan from the CIA. The project you’d been tasked with, single-handedly, was transferring intel that was currently only held in those paper copies to the online system. There was technology that could do but it wasn’t perfect – scrawled handwriting would often prove indecipherable by most machines or it misread words, so everything would need quality checked. It was agreed a human touch was best and your name had come up after the CIA had undertaken a similar audit of their files a few years ago to excellent results. Once everything had been digitized, it had become easier to quickly identify any links between incidents past and present – using surnames, terms, intel – and even stopped a handful of potential ones, so the DSO had been keen to put the practice in place.

It did mean, however, that every day you’d go down to the vault, select a box of paperwork – either the one you’ve got partway through or a whole new one - trudge back up the many flights of stairs, and then start typing from page to screen to produce a digitized document. It was imperative that no-one else see the documents, so they’d set you up in Hunnigan’s office as one of their most trusted agents.

Wanting to look professional whilst in the office but not break your neck on the stairs, you kept a selection of heels in your locker to swap out of for your reliable sneakers. Hunnigan was still working away when you packed up around 7pm, kicking off your heels to switch out, and had been in a lengthy, hushed tone call for the past hour. You nodded your head as you heaved the box of documents up in your arms, and she waved back in acknowledgement.

Beeping your ID card at the door, the lock buzzed and the door opened automatically – a godsend as the box you had today was particularly heavy – everything within held in those awful arch-lever folders.

As you emerged, you heard the puff of the elevator doors beginning to slide shut, not even giving it a moment of thought. You turned to the left to head down the stairs as usual, when a gloved hand slammed between the elevator doors, preventing them from closing with a thud and giving you a start, turning to see a face.

The face of Leon S Kennedy catches you entirely by surprise. He hadn’t even been by the office today to bother Hunnigan, though you know he does have his own desk somewhere in the building, maybe even his own office. He smiles at the sight of you, beckoning you over.

“Hey. Hop on in - I’m going down.”

You hesitate at the invitation. You haven’t been in an elevator for years and he’s just stood there, waiting, holding the door open. You have to say or do something. “You okay?”

Next thing you know, as if you’d been hypnotized, you were walking towards the elevator, then stepping over the threshold into a place you swore you never would enter again.

“Basement?” Leon fingers hover over the button panel in anticipation.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

He presses the buttons for ground and basement simultaneously with two fingers, and the door slides shut with another puff of air.

The elevator and your stomach begin to descend in unison.

This is fine.

“Looks heavy. Can I…?” He gestures to the box, offering to take it.

“Oh, thanks, but it’s okay.” You bump the box up with your knee, trying to strengthen your grip on it. Your palms are sweaty, but you’re not sure if the cause is the elevator or the handsome man besides you.

Leon crosses his arms, leans back against the wall. “They still not given you a lackey to do all the grunt work? I thought that’s what they took on interns for these days.”

“It’s difficult when no-one else is meant to handle it, let alone see it but me.” Leon gives you a quizzical look at that. “It’s protocol, narrows down the potential for leaks. If anything gets out, it’s on my head, so…”

“What about when you take breaks? You don’t…”

You nod, shifting the box in your arms again. Why do they feel like jelly? “Gotta lug it back downstairs to be locked back in the vault.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Mm-mm. It’s fine – good exercise for me, I guess, between sitting at the desk all day, so…”

“Surely they could at least give you a desk closer to the grou-“

The elevator’s smooth descent is transformed into a shudder, followed by a loud metallic screech and a sharp jerk that makes your stomach truly drop before all motion halts. No, no, no, no.

“Huh.” Leon muses, calm as anything. He immediately presses the emergency call button, illuminated in red, but the only sound that emits out of the speakers is static. He presses it again to the same result, and then in rapid succession, as if that’ll coerce it into working.

You tighten your grip on the box, wanting to tell him to stop but, thankfully, he gives up before you can have the strength to find your voice and pulls his cell out from his pocket.

“Damn, no reception.” He looks back over to you then with a sympathetic smile. “Well, this is one way to get overtime outta us, hey?”

There’s no chance to reply before the elevator plunges into darkness and you drop the box immediately, thankfully away from your feet. It can only be a few seconds at the most but it feels like an eternity before the emergency lighting comes on, casting the small metal prison in a pale yellow hue.

Leon’s staring at you, looking concerned. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah.” You reply, not at all convincingly. You bend down to pick up the box to escape that blue-eyed gaze for a moment, heaving it back up in your arms. “Is this… normal for this office?” You hope he can’t hear how tight your voice is.

“Power must be down, seems like the back-up generator kicked in.” The agent shrugs, looking around the elevator as if something of use might be around. “It’ll prioritize the critical systems – so I’d guess lights, vending machines and elevators are not gonna be particularly high up on that list.”

“Wonderful.” You reply, breathily. It’s warm. Should it be warm? “Here, let me just…” Leon reaches over and gently tugs the box from your weak grip, no sign of surprise at the weight of it as he takes it. “We don’t know how long we’ll be in here, so let’s put this down.”

“No, I shou-“

“I promise I’m not going to try and read any of it.”

You watch him as he places it down, he’s sure to bend with his knees rather than his back, and tucks it into the corner under the button panel, out of the way. He stands back up to his full height, looking at you for a response, but all you manage is a shaky nod.

“Are you feeling okay?” “Y-yeah. Fine.” “Mm. Not a great liar.” He tilts his head, scanning you with his eyes once more. “What’s the matter?”   “I…” Another swallow in the hopes of your mouth not feeling so dry. “I don’t like elevators. Always take the stairs.” “Oh.” Not the answer he was expecting it seems. “Wait, why’d you get in, then?” “Well, er…” You hesitate again, how do you answer that? “You… You told me to.”

He can’t help the goofy smile that crosses his face. “Huh, that’s all it takes? Interesting. I’ll have to remember that.”

You’re about to ask him what that’s supposed to mean, the words just on the tip of your tongue when the elevator jerks and they turn into a shriek. It’s over before it even begins, really, but Leon’s reflexes now have you pressed up against the wall, his arms braced above your head to protect it from any sort of impact.

“It’s all right,” he says, softly. “I’m here, I’ve got you.”

Your heart is beating too fast, tears burn at your eyes at the fright. He’s so close, you can smell his cologne – musky, hints of vanilla – but this isn’t where you want to be having this moment.

“How about we sit down, huh?”

“I’m okay.” Your answer is breathy again, your chest feeling tight. Panting like you’d finished climbing up 12 flights of stairs.

“It’ll be more comfortable.”

“Don’t wanna…” You try and take a deep inhale, but it doesn’t seem to reach the bottom of your lungs. “Don’t wanna s-shake it.”

“You won’t.” He drops his arms from against the wall and instead grabs your hand, squeezes it in an attempt to ground you. “Trust me.”

You want to trust him, but the panic is too strong. This was such a bad idea, why did you do this?

“I…”

“We’ll do it together, okay?” He somehow coaxes you to shuffle forward and then slips in behind you, taking hold of your other hand. “Just lean against me and we’ll ease on down.”

Leon presses his chest firmly up against your back and you wonder if he can feel how hard your heart is beating. He wraps his arms around your waist next, meaning you’re hugging yourself in a way before he slides down against the elevator wall, bringing you down with him, onto the carpeted elevator floor. He thought it was a seamless maneuverer, but the way he’d felt your nails dig into his leather gloves from how tight your grip was, he knew you weren’t of the same opinion.

“There we go.” His thighs are spread either side of yours, now that you’re nestled inbetween his legs. “Worried you were gonna pass out – you’d gone really pale. Just sit here and concentrate on your breathing a minute, okay? Feel how I’m doing it.”

You close your eyes and try to concentrate on how he’s breathing, feeling his chest expand as he inhales, loudly and deliberately through his nose, holds the breath, then exhales heavily through his mouth, tickling the back of your neck.

You try and mimic him, get your inhales and exhales in sync and, slowly, the pressure begins to ease in your chest as you feel your breaths get deeper and deeper.

"Feeling a little better?”

His voice reverberates from his chest being pressed up against your back, feels comforting. “Yeah. Thank you.”

“Hey, don’t mention it. My fault you’re in here, after all.” He replies, gently. “I’m gonna move now, okay? Wanna check you’ve got the colour back in your cheeks.”

You nod, and he somehow manages to shuffle back and to the front of you with overly cautious movements – definitely for your benefit, ever the gentleman - withdrawing his legs into a crossed position and giving you a smile as he takes in your appearance. Being so fixed in his gaze makes your cheeks prickle with heat – maybe not the colour he’d hoped to be checking.

“Yeah, you’re looking better. Good.” He nods in affirmation, more to himself than you. “That noise – I think someone was trying to get the power back on, sounds like it only worked for a second before it could get going. The elevator’s not gonna fall.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve had to disable some of them before – for work, I mean. They’re all equipped with multiple failsafe systems to prevent that exact scenario.”

“Disable them?”

“Just so they stop…” He gestures in a circle as he tries to find the words, “elevating, I guess, so I’m not pursued. Make ‘em take the stairs.”

“Ah, right.” You nod. “Wind them a bit.”

“Exactly. If you don’t mind me asking, you always been afraid of them?”

“No. Got stuck in one in an old apartment block years ago – it didn’t feel particularly modern. There were three of us – me and two drunk guys who kept jumping up and down, convinced that would make it move. The fire department got us out after two hours cos I had one of those… episodes. Haven’t been in one since.”

“Idiots.”

“They just kept laughing the more panicked I got. I felt so stupid.”

“Panic attacks are no joke. That box breathing always helps me if I feel on edge, though.”

“Yeah, that was really good.” You feel a shy smile creep over your face. “If I had to get suck in an elevator with anyone, I’m glad it was you.”

He practically beams. “Now I don’t feel quite so bad. I’ve gotta ask again though, you really got in here just because I said to?” He’s already seen you a panicking mess, so why not just be honest? “Your smile helped too.” “Well, consider me flattered.”

“It’s a nice smile…” You swallow, a little cautious of the next word. “Enticing.”

You swear you see a smidge of colour flush Leon’s cheeks then, but it must be a trick of the artificial lights. “Well, since we’re confessing – yours is too. That’s the real reason I was bothering Hunnigan. Wanted to see if I could win another.”

“You came to see me smile?” You’re definitely blushing now – cheeks prickling with the heat.

“Guilty. I don’t think you’d remember, but a week or so back I was having a real shitty day. Went to go debrief with Hunnigan and she wasn’t there, but you were. When I stormed in, you just gave me the best and most genuine smile I’d seen in days. Meant a lot.” He rubs the back of his neck, sheepishly.

You smile again, can’t help it, and he groans, jokingly. “Ugh, see? Not again – I don’t think my heart can take how sweet it is.”

You don’t know what to say to that but you’re excused when, suddenly, the lights transition overhead with a flicker from the emergency dulled tones to the standard, harsh fluorescent light and the elevator begins its smooth descent once more.

“Finally, huh?” Leon gets up easily to his feet and then offers you a hand.

“Yeah.” You accept it without hesitation, goosebumps prickling up your arm as he wraps his fingers around your hand and he pulls you up with ease. Slyly, his other hand now rests on the small of your back, drawing you in close…

The elevator dings, announcing its arrival on the ground floor and the doors slide open to reveal a maintenance worker, clad in blue overalls, waiting in the lobby. Leon draws back then, but still keeps his hand steady on your back.

“You two all right? Power-cut had rotten timing, I was gonna repair that emergency speaker tonight when most of the office was cleared out.”

“All good, thanks.” Leon bends down, picks up the box again without question and you follow him out of the elevator in pursuit, only to hear a cell begin to ring from his pocket. He balances the box with one arm – you’ve no idea how – and pulls out the device, frowning at the name on screen.

“Sorry, I’ve really gotta take this.” His brows furrow in annoyance. “You be okay with taking that downstairs?”

“Yeah, of course. I really should take it back now anyway, you know, just in case…” You trail off as he eases the box over to you, making sure you’ve got it properly before he lets go. “Thanks… for everything.”

“Pleasure was all mine.” He replies, sincerely, before reluctantly lifting the cell up to his ear.

“Kennedy.”

You leave him to his phone-call and head down the stairs for a thankfully unremarkable trip down to the vaults to replace the box back in its rightful place. It’d be a lie to say when you climbed back up to the lobby that you weren’t disappointed when there’s no trace of him to be found.

--

The next morning, after passing through the security check, you make your way down to the archive vault as usual, pressing your hand against the door panel to gain access. Sadly, you’ve still got a lot of work to do in the box you’d been working on yesterday, so you dutifully log its withdrawal in the computer system, and heave it up once more in your arms before heading out.

You only make it up one flight of stairs when you see him, leaned up against the stairway wall, one arm held against his chest whilst his other hand is holding his cell, squinting at some text. He looks up as you scuff your trainer on one of the steps and he smiles as you reach him, tucking his cell back away.

“Good morning.”

“Morning. What brings you here?” You curse inwardly. “I mean, not that it’s not a pleasant surprise, just…”

He waves it off. “I getcha. Well, I have some pretty good sway here, you know, so I’ve volunteered.”

“Volunteered for what?”

“Volunteered…” He steps forward and wraps his arms around the box, “..to be your stairs lackey.”

“Oh, no – it’s fine, honestly.” You feel flustered at the very idea. Leon’s one of the top, if not the top agent of the DSO. He can’t be doing manual labour for you, he shouldn’t. “You have so many better things to be doing. I can mana…”

“Please?” He tilts his head, gives you that enticing smile again. “I mean, I could just tell you,” – he teases – “but I thought I’d ask this time, so you’re sure.”

The smile makes you feel weak at the knees and you’d already proven yesterday you couldn’t resist its magic. “Okay. But you should definitely take the elevator then.”

“Uh-uh.” He shakes his head, taking the box into his arms. “It’s good cardio, got my weight-resistance. You’re practically doing me a favour by taking the stairs.”

“Is that so?”

“Mm-hm. Though,” he bites his lip in a pause, “I may have ulterior motives.”

“Right, and what would those be?”

“If I were to, say, visit the office around six tonight and carry this thing back down to the vault, maybe you’d go to dinner with me?”

God, you feel absolutely giddy - there’s no way you can hold back your smile. “I think that’s… acceptable.”

“Then we have a deal. Ladies first,” he nods with his head to up the stairwell.

“No, I… I think you should go first. Just so I can keep an eye on you on the way up. I’ve got to make sure you’re not sneaking a peek at the assets, you know?”

He quirks an eyebrow, you know he’s wondering what you’re thinking, but he shrugs it off all the same. “As you wish.”

And as you follow him up 12 flights of stairs, you slightly breathless and him seemingly fine, you can’t help but sneak a look at a different pair of assets before you.

---

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[the-californicationist]

There’s always a sexy little literature element in your books. I’d salivatteee over price as a grumpy librarian in some small town. Ughh with some small glasses and flannel. He’s so obsessed with the nerdy little frequenter who hides away in some section in the back to read. Imagine him peeking thru the books to catch a glimpse and sees her putting on a private little show in the some hidden away section. Little does he know she wants her grumpy librarian to watch 🦭. I know you’d make this so sexy and delicious, you deviant woman 🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️

i love you so much @ofdivinity01 <3 i hope this quick fic hits those points for you <3 <3

The Archives

John Price has retired, and he has tried out a number of different jobs to keep his mind occupied. One of his favorite jobs so far has been working in the archives of a library, especially since there's a pretty little regular that has been haunting his thoughts.

TW: female genitalia, overt sex, pwp, seriously its plotless, 3rd person POV

AO3 Link

Working as a library archivist was not how John Price had pictured his retirement beginning. To be fair, he didn’t need the money. Retiring before the age of forty with a comfortable (substantial) bank account to reflect a job well done was already an achievement. So, tackling another high-stress, high-profile career seemed doable yet unnecessary. He’d stuck around the house for a while, pottering about with some renovations or garden projects, but it wasn’t enough. He was antsy. It was only when his old friend, Steve Kosser, the director of a top-level historical documents archive, called him and asked for some extra security coverage that he’d realized having a gun on his belt felt familiar in a way that he wasn’t sure he liked. But, he loved the library. 

John had always loved books. His house was full of them. He had stacks on each and every surface. The classics, some Shakespeare, a bit of poetry, some nonfiction… he would read anything. There was even a bodice-ripper or two tucked away unseen, but he wasn’t ashamed. Reading kept him sharp. It taught him about people, about their nature, about possibilities, about hope in places where there was none. 

His work had quickly transitioned from security to desk work, and from desk work to archival data entry. Now, he was a procurement specialist, reaching out across the world to find texts and documents that his clients needed. Being close to the university meant that he had some repeat customers, but there were few who caught his eye like her. 

She was his shadow-cloaked phantom, haunting him from the back corner. Her wardrobe was black on black on black, never daring to show him more than a hand or a wrist, or a bit of her neck other than her face. But, he lived for that face. Round, full cheeks, and a downturned smile when he greeted her each evening that she decided to come in to work. He dreamt of that smile almost as much as her plump, thick ass, and heavy, ample breasts; all hidden beneath her modest clothing. Part of him warred against his lust, chastising him for ogling her when she was just here to work on her graduate research, but the other part of him was… harder to convince. 

But, tonight, in his almost empty archive section, he was given a true gift. She came in from the downpour outside, and he almost didn’t recognize her. He saw her tumble into the door, shaking her umbrella, frustrated and wet, but he’d needed to do a double-take. This was not his modest little raven, hiding behind her feathers. No, she was a bird of paradise tonight. 

Her feet were lined with strappy black heels, high and platformed, shining in patent leather, wet from the puddles outside. Her legs were bare, and as he raked his eye upwards, he lingered on her round calves, her muscular thighs, wide and smooth, all leading him up under a high, pleated skirt, dark green plaid, sitting high on her waist, doing little to hide that juicy rump. She had on a button-down shirt, starched and white, but he could see her black bra underneath, the rain making the fabric of her top transparent. Her hair was up in some sort of style, pulled away from her face and her neck, curling and gleaming from the droplets. 

She was panting from the cold, and from rushing inside, and that didn’t help his cause. He’d been battling a succession of throbbing hard-ons ever since he’d first spotted her, and that was weeks ago. At home, he’d retreat to his bedroom, rod in hand, working himself into an orgasmic froth, trying his best to picture literally anyone but her. But, she would flash into his mind, her smile, those eyes, that skin… and he’d be lost. 

When he saw a request come in from her library account, it was just as bad if not worse. His primal body would celebrate, happy that she needed his help, and that he could provide for her, and he’d be in a tumultuous, heart-pumping, cock-stretching predicament yet again. He’d cloistered himself away, deep in the darkness of the stacks, fisting himself in rushed, punishing strokes, coming in his open palm, stopping himself from ruining the historical treasures he was meant to be protecting, hanging his head in love-drunk shame. 

But now, in some sort of twisted, scholarly fantasy, here she was. His curvy little grad student, dripping wet and coming straight up to his desk. 

“Hiya, John,” she whispered, her voice somehow cutting through the blood that pounded through his ears. 

“Hey there, love. It’s cats and dogs out there, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she looked down at herself, trying to squeeze the water from her top, stretching it even thinner across her visible bra line, the black lace now fully visible to him, its floral pattern burning itself into his mind like fire on a page, licking black soot and tormenting him deep in his belly.

“Do you think you could help me?” She looked up at him with those doe eyes, pleading.

His body responded before he did, plumping himself back to life, feeling how the body of his prick pressed itself down the leg of his jeans. Yes, sweetheart, we’ll fuckin’ help you, won’t we, mate?

John shook it off, nodding his head, 

“Sure, what’s the problem?”

She pulled some copies out of her bag,

“A friend sent these over, but I don’t think they match the microfiche film that you have here. I hate to ask you this, but could you help me do a cross-check? I really just need someone to listen while I read from the fiche film.”

“You bet.”

John followed her like a loyal mutt over to the dark microfiche machine, his tail surely wagging if he had one, stealing glance after fiery glance at that delectable body as she walked, those heels clacking against the terrazzo floors. 

She found the machine she wanted and perched herself on the tiny stool. He sat beside her, eyes glued to the page, afraid of himself if he dared look anywhere else. The way the machines were set up meant that she would have her eyes stuck in the viewfinders, like she was scoping out the horizon on a submarine, while the soft golden glow from the machine would light up her unbuttoned cleavage, making her body that much more visible as he stared at her from his periphery. 

“Okay,” she positioned her eyes in the machine’s goggle-like viewer, unable to see anything around her but the film she was flipping through, “We’re on page seventy-four, right?”

John looked down at his packet, 

“Yep, seventy-four.”

“Okay, oh—!” She twisted herself on the stool, trying to get more comfortable, but her ass was too much for the tiny seat to handle. He reached out on instinct, catching her on her flank, gripping her none too lightly, saving her from falling. 

“Gotcha,” he laughed. 

She peeked out of the viewfinder for a moment, smiling, 

“Shit, I’m sorry. Mmm,” she cooed, “Your hand is so warm. Didn’t realize how cold I was.”

“Tha’s alright, love. We’ll getcha warmed back up.”

She gave him an encouraging look as she turned back to the viewfinder, and John felt like he had earned her approval to keep his hand planted right where it was. 

As she read from the film, he followed along, not really needing to report any corrections, but his palm was itching to travel. He had a hold on her hip, part of his hand riding the hem of her skirt, feeling the chill of her flesh, pebbling from the damp cold. Then, he began to pet the spot, rubbing it to create some warmth, generate some heat with his friction, and every brush from his palm meant that the wool of her skirt would scrunch up, revealing more and more of her plump butt as he did so. Eventually, he was under her skirt, realizing that the skirt was all there was. No panties, no hose, no nothing. 

“Ah, uh…” He made his excuses, “Sorry, love. Got a little carried away keepin’ you from freezin’ in here.”

He removed his hand for a moment, and then, the impossible: she grabbed it and placed it back where it was, peeking at him from the fiche machine, 

“Top of page seventy-nine, according to Marchante, the lost letters from Smith to Callant, prior to the war of 1617…” 

Game on. 

Price followed along dutifully, confirming each page with her, but now, spurred on by her teasing consent, his hand wandered unbridled. His fingers squeezed her body like the flesh of a ripe peach, soft and supple, giving way under his ferocious strength. Deeper and deeper, he snaked his way down the curve of her cheek, hunting for the parts of her that wouldn’t be taken by the cold. Her little, dripping furnace; that’s what he wanted. 

When he found it, her breath hitched. His ring and pinky fingers dropped far enough down to find her hanging right off of the stool, her holes uncovered, open to the air, unguarded and vulnerable to his searching hands. The slick, lava-hot heat that he discovered there as he sank between her folds warmed him from the inside, turning his erection into a huge fucking problem, painful and hungry for her sticky, sweet treat. When her words stuttered, he pumped his fingers deeper inside of her, steady in and steady out, up and down, the quiet milking noises muffled by her skirt. 

“Tch. C’mon, love, don’t stop readin’,” he purred in her ear, daring to plant a soft kiss in the hollow of her neck, pulling back to watch the goosebumps pebble across her skin not from the chill, but from him. 

“...in the, uh…” she was breathing heavy.

“In the coming months…” he prompted, teasing her with his hand, curling his fingertips as he delved deeper, pulling out some of her wetness to paint her lips, feeling her muscles loosen up for him, readying her for something more than his thick digits. 

“...in the coming months, the two armies… they… um, they…”

“C’mon, sweetheart. Tha’s a good girl. Keep going.”

She tried her best, and he almost felt bad for her, but not that bad. Because when he added another finger, sinking his middle alongside his ring, letting his pointer finger lazily tease its way up the slick surface of her folds, reaching for her clit, her reading stopped entirely. 

“Mm, fuck!” She hissed under her breath, “John… I can’t…”

“I know, baby. I know. But, this is your bloody fault, innit?” John whispered, his voice gravelly and rolling beneath his breath, “You came in here, you wanted this, didn’t you?”

“No…” She whined, her mouth hanging open, her lips shining with a little bit of her own drool. 

“Don’t lie to me,” he warned darkly, “You wanted to see if I would take your fuckin’ bait.”

Another finger, three of them, twisting and curling, bending and rubbing against her tight walls, and that was enough for her confession.

“Yes. Yes, I… yes, fuck…”

“And you wore this just for me, didn’t you?”

“...yes.”

“My good girl,” John praised her, tossing the packet down on the desk and using his free hand to widen the neckline of her shirt.

He pulled at the fabric until he broke a button, forcing her breasts through the opening, shoving his hand into her bra to fondle her nipples and squeeze her full tits. Then, he made a true effort to tuck her clothes under them, letting her breasts sit on top of her bra cups, hanging freely in the soft glow of the reading machine. Now, with her nipples on full display, he could bend down to kiss them, to nip at them softly, suckling at her skin as he fingered her, eliciting nothing but desperate, quiet mewls from her open mouth. 

“John, please…”

She was barely perched on the stool anymore, her ass shifting and trembling, trying to present itself to him, her body wordlessly begging for more and more of his touch. 

“Please, what? Want me to pull a different document?” He chuckled, removing himself entirely, making as if to stand and leave her there a half-naked, dripping mess. 

“No!” She gasped, grabbing him by his shirt, yanking him back, shying away from his cruel laughter. 

He returned to her, using his fingers to explore her swollen pussy and, now, to lightly rim his way around the tight ring of her asshole. His once-gentle suckles against her puffy nipples turned into rough, bruising kisses, making her squirm from pleasure and pain, crying out for him. 

“Greedy thing,” he panted, feeling her flutter around his hand, “You wanna come on me? Right here? In the middle of my fuckin’ library?”

She nodded, her eyes now fixated on the way he was playing with her tits, stealing sweet kisses from her mouth when she would cry out too loudly. 

“Teasin’ me for weeks,” he admitted, pulling his hand from beneath her skirt, suckling on his fingers to taste her, sticking them in her mouth so she could join him, watching her pupils dilate as her own heady fluids touched her tongue. 

“So pretty…” John kissed her, and then it was his turn to gasp. 

She had let her hands wander to his lap, rubbing the outline of his cock through his jeans, teasing the head when she finally found it, encouraging him to buck against her touch. 

He started to fuck her with his hand; long, deep strokes, no longer caring about the lewd noises he was making as his knuckles churned within her, soaked and pumping in an unravelling rhythm. 

To hide her screams, he pressed his mouth against hers, stuffing her pretty cheeks full of his tongue, feeling her suck against it for comfort as she fell apart. 

Then, she was wet beyond belief, dripping all over his palm, creamy and hot, giving him a reward for every cruel thrust of his hand. She was gripping onto his cock’s shaft for dear life, holding it like a lifeline, and her tight grip was enough to drag him right along the edge with her. 

By the time he pulled away from her, she was a shuddering, trembling mess. Her legs were shaking, barely able to keep her balance on the tiny stool, her tits red and purple from his assault. 

“C’mere, sweetheart. Let’s go back to my office, yeah? Get you all cleaned up.”

She nodded, not even bothering to cover herself as he helped her stand, walking in front of him as he led her through the back door to the restricted area, her eyes hooded and exhausted from her ordeal, so sweet and trusting. 

“Thanks for your help, John,” she sighed, smiling up at him with that same grin that had haunted his dreams, “I wish there was some way that I could repay you. Is there anything I can do?”

Now that they were in his office, he sat her on his desk, unbuttoning the last remaining buttons of her blouse, peeling her bra away from her shoulders, unzipping the side of her skirt, grinning down at her wet sex, licking his lips like the wolf that he was,

“Oh, baby, there are so many things you could do for me. But, let’s start with you spreading your legs, hm?”

“Like this?” She did as he asked, watching him slide her skirt off of her body, letting it ruffle to the floor, leaving her in nothing but her heels. Slowly, she pulled her knees apart, showing off for him, knowing that as much as he was the wolf, she was more than just prey. 

“Holy shite,” John murmured under his breath, watching as she bloomed for him, a pink petal in the darkness of his own shadow. 

He knelt before her, eager to put his mouth against her softness, lapping his tongue against her like he was starving. Her thick thighs felt good in his hands, and he pried her open with them, pulling her legs even wider than she had dared. 

He dragged his tongue along every fold and dripping line of delicate skin, finding the swollen body of her clit nestled beneath its hood, shining for him like a pretty pink gem. He pressed his fingers back inside of her, not granting her any mercy, starting with three, stretching his way back in. 

John’s hand fucked her as he drank from her, reaping what he sowed, over and over, in and out, rubbing her to her peak and dragging her over the edge. 

She was gleaming down his beard by the time he’d had his fill. His tongue coated in her slick, swallowing her down his throat, enjoying the lingering taste of her in his mouth. 

His poor darling was hoarse from her keening, sweating, trembling below him, a drenched mess on his desktop. He chuckled, petting her skin with his callused hands, 

“Had enough?”

Her eyes were full of worry and anticipation as she looked up at him, wanting to say yes, but shaking her head no. 

He teased her, unzipping his fly, letting his cock roll out onto her belly, thrusting it forward until he was flush with her hips, showing her just how deep he would reach. Her eyes widened with shock as she reached down to touch him, feeling him dripping with precome far above her navel. 

John tapped himself against her, heavy and stiff, 

“Change your mind?”

“Um…” Her voice was small, but she still looked up at him expectantly, so he rubbed his head through her folds as a final warning. 

“Ungh! Mmf– John…” She moaned his name, rocking her hips against his long shaft, her knees shaking every time his head buried itself in her folds. 

He slapped his cockhead against her clit as if knocking for entry, making her gasp, 

“I’m not hearing a no, love.”

She covered her mouth with her hands, trying to stop herself from screaming as she felt him notch his head into the cradle of her pussy, pressing forward just enough to stretch her with the body of his cock, watching as her eyes began to fill up with tears, overwhelmed by his size. 

By the time he was halfway into her warm core, her eyes had rolled behind her fluttering lashes, her breath stuck in her throat, her lips parted, showing him her lolling tongue. 

“Tha’s it, sweetheart. Let me take care of you, yeah?” John grunted, shoving himself the rest of the way through her clenched muscles, listening to the sounds of her wetness as her body tried to make room for his immense girth. 

As John began to thrust into her, she squeezed herself against him, fighting off another orgasm, each of them coming closer and closer together as she became almost overstimulated by him. He held his fist over her lower belly, leaning forward to put his weight down into his knuckles, making her feel every inch of him. 

The pressure from his hand turned her into a gooey mess, her body throwing everything it could to accommodate him, her cries dragging out into deep moans, fully under his spell. 

He couldn’t help himself. All of those nights where his cock had only been comforted by his own hand were running him down, crackling at the edges of his mind, eating away at his humanity, ravenous and desperate. Finally feeling her, hearing her cry for him, watching the way her pussy sucked him in; it was making him wild. 

His desk was rocking off of its feet, scooting across the floor of his office, John’s strength too much for it to hold him back. He pulled her knees together, using them to push her thick thighs against her belly, holding her down at a new angle. For a few moments, he let himself get lost in the delightful jiggle of her body as he railed against her, admiring how her fat ass rippled with each of his thrusts. 

“John… J–John. Oh, my God,” she gripped the edge of the table, her elbows framing her head on either side, the new position making her breasts hang and sway like heavy teardrops. 

“Come for me, love. C’mon. Let me feel it,” he growled breathlessly, leaning against her leg, letting his lips and tongue graze along her ankle, tracing the skin between the straps of her gleaming heels. 

“I’m… so close…”

John kept his pace, even though everything within him wanted to breakdown and follow her over the edge. His cock was throbbing, sending him every signal that it was ready to burst, his aching balls full and tight, the nerves in his groin burning with hot pleasure. 

Then, he was rewarded for his patience. She began to unfurl beneath him, unraveling like a tangled ball of yarn, chaotic and spinning out of control. Her muscles within her core clamped down on his cock, milking him like a hungry mouth, yanking him deeper inside of her as she came. With all of the strength he had left, he pulled himself out of her at the last moment, spraying rope after rope of his come across her pulsating hole, painting her pussy with his own orgasm, grunting like a rabid animal. 

He let her legs fall open, weak as she was, watching as she melted on his desk, laying beside her. She curled into him, resting her head on his chest, still fully clothed in stark contrast to her nakedness. Both of them were breathing in ragged, exhausted bursts, clinging to each other for any kind of strength they could find left. 

“Thanks for… helping me, John,” she smiled up at him, kissing his neck. 

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he kissed her forehead, “Research is my second favorite thing.”

“What’s your first?” She looked lost, still reeling from what he had just put her through. 

“Oh, love,” he let out a low rumbling laugh, “Gimme a few minutes and I’ll show you again.”

[buttercupfiction]

Be it fate or just plain misfortune, all it took was one little chance encounter to set you on a path you never even imagined you'd tread. Now, it's up to you to decide where it will lead you. As a child, you got your hands on a Vestige, a remnant of a bygone era containing immense power and potential. It was an opportunity many would pay dearly for, and pay you did, as finding the relic did not come without a cost. The encounter left you with a parting gift you wish you could return, and sent you and your sister on the run - and you've been running ever since. Years later, you find yourself in the bastion of knowledge, Verimys, joining the local guild in search for answers. But, it appears you have arrived at exactly the wrong time; a series of murders plagues the city, seemingly without rhyme or reason, and you are about to get dragged into the fray. With the fate of more than just your own life in your hands, can you weather the storm ahead?

Vestiges of the Hallowing is an interactive fantasy game written in Twine and published on itch.io. The game is heavily character driven, with a focus on character interaction and interpersonal relationships.

The DEMO currently goes up to Chapter 2, standing at 38k words (without code).

play as male, female, or nonbinary; cis or trans

customize your appearance, skillset, and personality

romance any (or none) of the 6 potential love interests (2 male, 2 female, 2 nonbinary) without any gender restrictions

join a guild, investigate the murders in the city, and uncover a secret or two (or ten)

explore the Archives in the city and find out more about the Vestiges and your...unique situation

the Companion

A member of the Greyhounds guild your sister talked into vouching for you. Eager to help and friendly with everyone, but when the spotlight is off him, that spark in his eye dies out. Is he really as relaxed and easygoing as he tries to appear? Appearance: Lanky and of average height, with tan skin and big round chocolate brown eyes framed by short fluffy hair of the same colour that falls in messy waves, encircling his face.

the Journalist

A journalist working for a local newspaper called The Meridian. Resourceful and naturally charismatic, she has a way with people that seems almost effortless. Persistent in the pursuit of the truth almost to the point of recklessness, how far is she willing to go to achieve her goals? Appearance: Tall and lean, with rich brown skin and hazel eyes with prominent specks of green. Her long black hair falls down her shoulders in big curls.

the Archivist

An archivist of the Order of Erudition. Poised and perfectly cordial at first glance, though anyone who has crossed their path would say it's all a front, concealing their razor sharp wit and heartless disposition. Seemingly always in the know about everything, with just the right words to say, one can't help but wonder what goes on behind that calculating gaze? Appearance: Lithe and on the taller side, with olive skin and dark, midnight blue monolid eyes. Their silky black hair falls in a fringe over one side of their face and reaches a little past their shoulders.

the Renegade

A mysterious stranger that appears to be living full-time in a tavern. Bitter and asocial, with only a stray dog as company, he refuses to get involved in anything, yet seems suspiciously connected to the happenings in the city. It's clear he's hiding something, but what? Appearance: Tall and athletic, with fair, freckled skin and forest green eyes. His fiery auburn hair is shaved on the sides, while the rest is left short and unruly.

the Investigator

One of the two agents sent by the City Council to investigate the murders. Soft-spoken and level-headed, with a keen eye for details and an even keener mind, their forte is obtaining information and interpreting it. Though it's obvious they're devoted to the task, something else draws their attention away from it; what could be so important? Appearance: Lean and on the shorter side, with pale skin and sandy blonde hair that falls in a fringe over their dark grey eyes.

the Enforcer

Second of the two agents sent by the City Council. Assertive and ambitious, with an unorthodox approach to solving problems, her skill with a sword and quick reflexes make her an invaluable asset. Driven, but not too concerned about her task nor the goings on in the city; is there something else that holds her interest? Appearance: Toned and of average height, with fair skin and icy blue eyes framed by bangs of sleek platinum blonde hair that, when loose, reaches the small of her back.

DEMO | KO-FI | ASKBOX | PATREON

[t-a-a-1]

Counting Stars

Special Chapter: To You, A Million Years From Now

TFP Optimus (Nemesis) x Female Reader

Summary: Nemesis Prime writes a letter about his life to someone unknown.

A/N: Lots of yearning, jealousy, delusions, craving, fluff. All that good stuff.

TW: Death of important characters? Idk

2k

Counting Stars

To you,

Who is it? Who is walking among the river of memories?

Holding into the hope of meeting what they desire ...

I don't know when these feelings started.

    I am unable to locate an exact moment.

Was it on February 3rd when she smiled at me for the first time? On July 7 when we observed the starry night? Or perhaps on December 21 when she held my servo with her soft hand?

    I am not certain, I wished my processor could remember but I can't. I find myself to be more pathetic as the time passes. My years have started to show. The scratches in my chassis were more visible and my paint job is not as shiny as it used to. I had stopped taking care of myself and now I begin to wonder ... Does she even like any of it? Me?

How could she ever? She's a human and I am an old robot. A tired one. I must be disgusting to her and I don't blame her. And my personality? There's much to be wished for. I don't laugh often nor enjoy jokes nor understand them. I lack any sense of humour and yet all I want to do is to make her smile when she's with me.

I find myself annoyed at times when the things I want to say cannot be processed through my glossa. An occurrence that happens whenever she lays eyes on me.

In my lowest moments, I wanted to dislike her. I must admit. She had taken every single corner of my processor. Leaving me with nothing but her. Every minute, every second, she's there and not even in my dreams I am free from this torment.

I shouldn't feel like this.

I still don't fully understand how I was chosen to be a Prime. I don't consider myself to be good. How could I when I have sent so many soldiers to meet their end? Although I was an archivist, I am not wise, I lack wisdom many times. I only make decisions hoping for the best results. I am neither the strongest as Megatron has proven he could outbest me even at his worst.

So ... Why me? Why was I given such a burden? Why did Primus in all of wisdom choose me to bear the responsibility of leading what's left of my race? When all I wanted ... All I ever wanted—

"You wouldn't let anybody else suffer with the title of being a Prime."

    No. I would. She's wrong. I am not that good. I am not that kind. So, please, don't look at me like that.

"And I think that's what makes you worthy."

I would give it all up.

If it meant I could have the one thing I wanted.

And it's standing right in front of me. Smiling at me with eyes that have more stars in them than the entirety of the universe.

And yet she knows ... That I wouldn't. That is all a lie. No matter how much I tell her that I am not as gentle as she believes me to be. She just knows.

How ... How can you be so certain?

I am not worthy of being a Prime ... And much less, of being someone who loves her.

But what if ...

If I am devoted to her? Worshipped her? Oh, her, her, her ... how much I adore her. Words are not enough.

Does she remember that time she changed the style of her hair and put paint in her face, adorned her body with shiny fabrics? I was baffled, awed at her beauty. The greatest artist is whoever created her and I, a mere spectator.

She wasn't a perfect portrait. But she was made for me. In every detail made to my liking. In every imperfection made to be loved just by me. Only me.

But I am but a shadow

And she's light.

But the darkness protects me. From the cruelty, the mockery. In darkness I can bask myself in these feelings. Enjoy them without restrictions. Without the fear of rejection. Of her and what others may think. I would have been fine living like this. Admiring her from afar as she will only be mine to adore.

Until he showed up.

I was a fool to believe I was the only one who could admire her being.

He would steal her attention. Taking her to human places I could only dream of visiting with her openly.

    Of course she would choose him. Why wouldn't she? He can give her all the things a human may want. Take her to small pretty places, places I couldn't go into. Give her flowers that don't witter because unlike me, he is delicate enough to hold them. Most importantly, he can give her a family.

How dare he? How dare he steal everything I wanted? All of my dreams and hopes–

"I think I like you ... No, I love you, Optimus."

Primus.

Please.

Please.

Please.

Do not let this be a dream.

Please. I beg you.

Do not take her away from me.

Who is it? Who is walking among the river of memories?

Holding into the hope of meeting what they desire ...

    To the lack of my better judgement, I let her stay by my side and I'll be at hers.

As the time passed I began to wonder if I was allowed to be this content. Sometimes I was hit with the realization that she won't be living for as long as I did. I considered the many possibilities of what to do once she is gone. Even going as far as asking of her preferences. Would she want me to go offline alongside her? Because I would do it in a spark-beat. And I think deep down I wished for her to ask me that.

"I am just happy that you'll live longer than me ... I won't have to deal with the grief."

Then I thought ... between her and me, I prefer to be the one to suffer. For all of eternity if that meant she won't ever have to go through the pain of losing a loved one.

"Besides, you have to take care of our Sparkling once I am gone."

    And just like that ... I fell in love with her all over again.

And till this day, my spark has only known her and it continues to only adore her.

My joy was greater than my need to fulfill my duties and slowly I wanted to forget them.

But I couldn't.

I couldn't just retire and forget about the spilled energon, all the sacrifices.

But now that I think about it, maybe that's what Primus wanted. Maybe, just maybe, her carrying a Sparkling was a sign for me to forget about everything. Of the war. Of Cybertron. Of the fallen ones.

I should had run away with her.

"I'll give you the mercy to say goodbye."

    I will never forget the blood coming out of her. Human blood was a strange liquid, smelling like metal. But was irreplaceable, unlike Energon. Yet, in my delusion, I wondered if I could give her all of my Energon to her.

"Our Sparkling ... Optimus,"

    I couldn't move.

MECH and what little is left of Silas, had held her captive. Only a few days was enough for them to bring me to my feet. I knew it was a trap but what was I supposed to do? I thought I was strong enough to save her. That's all I wanted. I lead my team to a trap, one impossible to escape.

It was only Ratchet and I and the two of us were too useless. I couldn't move, nor speak. MECH had poisoned the air in the hangar, only affecting the Autobots.

The situation didn't fully register in my processor ... Until I saw Silas inside Breakdown's rusted body.

    Putting one of his pedes above her.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

"Please ... Save our Sparkling–"

    She couldn't even finish her sentence.

Blood. Everywhere. It had reached my faceplate.

    And as Silas lifted his pede, I still had hope. That she might be there.

But instead, nothing.

    Everything that she was.

Her hair. Her eyes. Her smile. Her laugh.

Her.

It was gone.

    I don't remember much after that.

Next thing I knew, I was with Ratchet in a special cell. It seems he had been talking for hours to me but I just didn't listen. I don't think I was even capable of hearing anything at all.

Until Megatron showed up.

    "I never thought it would end up like this."

I didn't look at him.

"You must know that not even I could ever harm what was Cybertron's first Sparkling in milenia."

"... Was?"

    Ratchet asked.

I heard steps walking closer towards me. Until Megatron stood in front of me. He bent down and put a small circular object on the floor.

"I couldn't get there before they dismantled him ... This is the only thing I could save."

    I picked it up. It was a Spark-Keeper. The outer metallic shell that was supposed to be protecting my Sparkling's spark. Empty. Lifeless.

"Optimus, I've made a terrible mistake," Megatron said. "I gave Silas a power he couldn't control. My arrogance and pride blinded me, making me unable to see the monster I created."

    My Sparkling. Where is he? He should have been born by now.

"This mistake cost the Cybertronian race its future ... And I am responsible. Now I see ... Now I understand everything you said."

Where is she? I want to see her. She should be resting. Probably at the base. I need to go back soon.

"Let's end all of this. Help me defeat Silas and MECH ... And after, we can all just go home."

Home. That's right. She must be with my Sparkling at home. I should bring her something pretty. Maybe I should pick out many sunflowers on the way.

"Let's go to Cybertron and rebuild it ... New life shall rise."

    My Sparkling, her ... They are waiting for me. I need to go. I need to see them. Where are they?

"Do not let (Y/N)'s sacrifice be in vain."

    Until this day ... I can't find the words to describe the pain I felt when I heard her name.

"D, old friend" I called his old name as I activated my battle mask.  "You shall never speak her name again."

    I shot him.

I saw his life come out of his optics. I took out his spark and crushed it.

I walked out of the cell, Ratchet did not say a single word.

I killed every single Decepticon and human I encountered.

    And after I was done I went to where the last of her remained. Just a red stain on the floor.

    The entire base was on fire. The Autobots, the ones who had come from the vastness of space and the ones who hid on Earth had caused a commotion. One I did not oppose anymore. The news of my Sparkling's massacre had spread just as quickly as the fire. With that came indignation. Hate. The hope of co-existing as one ... gone.

"You won't be able to control them anymore."

Ratchet had found me.

"A war is bound to happen with the humans and rest of the Decepticons. Once again."

    There was a pain in his voice that I never heard before from him. Yet, I didn't care. I only thought of my selfish wish.

"Would you please ... Kill me?"

    I heard steps coming closer to me. My optics were still focused on the stain on the floor.

"No."

"Why?!"

    I finally looked up at him. His optics were no longer blue.

"Because if you die, you won't be able to remember her."

Ratchet bent down to put a servo on my shoulder-plate. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, this must be the first time I was unable to do so.

"You need to keep fighting," he said, and finally, I listened. "You can't undo what you've done ... But you can embrace it."

"The pain, can you feel it? The feeling of having everything taken away from you?"

    And that's when I understood. Genuinely understood Megatron for the first time. Is this how he felt when he was thrown into the gladiator pits to fight his comrades, killing each of them? Just for mere entertainment?

For how long was I blind? Blindfolded by my own privilege? Fighting for freedom that only those on the winning side will get to enjoy?

    All this time ... Everything. It was all a lie.

"I am tired, Optimus," Ratchet spoke to me once again. "We either give up now ... or we can burn it all."

    That's exactly what I needed. I wanted to share my pain with the world. It was too big and too heavy in my Spark. I wanted to get rid of it, of these feelings, of the guilt, the incompetence.

But that wasn't me.

It wasn't me.

And the realization hit me. I had already done the unspeakable. Whatever sanity I had left, they took it.

I no longer was Optimus Prime.

I was free.

I was free of the burden, I was free of the responsibility. Finally, Finally! I could be whatever I wanted! I was free to be whoever I chose to be! I am this! This is what feels right! This is what I was supposed to be, this is who I am!

I  turned on my Comm-Link, making sure everyone could hear me.

"This is Prime speaking," I stood up. The fire consumed the place more and more. But I didn't care, I walked around the hangar and destroyed everything I saw. A rush of power, strength goes through me. "Fellow Autobots, the human race and the Decepticons have taken from us our last hope. It is to my most sorrow to inform everyone that the countless opportunities given to both were in vain. I couldn't save her ... nor my Sparkling, Cybertron's hope."

    I felt something pulsating inside of my chassis and as I opened it, I took out the Matrix of Leadership.

It was this thing's fault. The reason I became a Prime. The reason I had to follow honor and moralistic ideologies. It was because of this responsibility bestowed on me that I had lost her and my Sparkling.

If only ... I had run away with her.

"But with their deaths, we are no longer tied down to the chains of morality and fake principalities! We are free! Free to do as we please!"

I continued to bask in my madness, things falling down around me, embracing who I had become.

"Destroy everything you can! Claim what you need! Fight for what you wish for!"

    And finally, the Matrix disappeared from my grasp. Granting me, after so many years, the only thing I have ever truly wanted.

"THIS ISFREEDOM!"

    I shot the wall in front of me, opening a path. Coming out of the flames, I met my Autobots, ranting my name. Everything around us is crumbling and falling apart. Never had something felt so right.

"Prime! Prime! Prime!"

"I send this message to the Autobots who remain scattered across the universe. I am reclaiming a new home. A new start for our race. Earth will no longer belong to humanity but to us! One shall stand and one shall fall."

    That was the last time I saw Bumblebee. Among the crowd, a horrified look on his faceplate. Ultra Magnus was there too. Arcee and Bulkhead ... all of them with that disappointed look. They are here.

But ... where is she? Where is my Sparkling? Where are they?

Where are they? Are they home? Are they waiting for me? I want to see them soon.

"Optimus ...."

I turned to look at Ratchet.

"I am no longer that," I told him. "I am free to choose now."

Now, I've become mad. Drunk on sorrow, lost in pain. But I had become what I have always been. What I chose to be. With this letter, I grieve who I once used to be. But I am no longer that.

And I don't regret it.

Because now I only live to hate him. To despite and destroy whatever he believed in.

But now I wonder ... Who is that in the back of my processor?

Who is it? Who is walking among the river of memories?

Holding into the hope of meeting what they desire ...

    Is it my dearest waiting to meet me? My Sparkling with his hands raised up, waiting for me to hold him?

No. No, it's not.

It's you, Optimus Prime, what's little is left of you.

I can't wait for the day you completely disappear.

    But I can't let you go. Because it is you who she once loved. And I'll be damned if I were to lose whatever little is left of her. It's you who hold her memories. But I'll hold you prisoner, mine to torture.

Optimus, I hope you'll forever live with the pain and regret only you deserve.

As I have.

Goodbye forever, Nemesis Prime A Million Years From Now.

.

.

.

.

.

.

A/N: I was in Japan visiting my college friends so that's why the long wait. There is much I need to write! But I feel encouraged to keep writing!

It was quite strange how I wanted to approach Nemesis. Since I had never written about him before, I had to think of ideas and motivations for his character. I felt like it was quite gruesome so that's why I didn't go into extreme detail of what had happened to Reader and the Sparkling but I am sure you all can assume since it was directly mentioned.

I didn't want to get much into his mind either and left some things into interpretation as I prefer for the readers to make their own conclusions with the information they have since I think ... that's more fun?

A part of me wants to feel bad for Nemesis but I am not sure. I truly write this just as it comes and see what fits better for the story.

Next chapter we'll see how Optimus is doing without the reader and the Sparkling.

Maybe we'll explore more of the human-cybertronian conflicts that happened after Optimus became Nemesis.

And of course more Nemesis longing for you and all that good stuff.

I want to thank everyone who has read this so far! Thank you and I hope you'll be here till the very end!

If you have any questions, comments, concerns or requests you can send me a message or inbox me on tumblr! @ t-a-a-1

Thank you and until next time!

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Next: Soon

[marzipanandminutiae]

where is the 90s American Girl doll who volunteers at her local museum because she's obsessed with AG

her name is Alyssa and her favorite outfit is the little [insert museum era here] dress her single, gay-coded aunt made her for living history events. the dress has wild inaccuracies and is made of quilting cotton, natch, but she loves it anyway

in the Learns a Lesson book, she discovers that the town's favorite historical Girlboss used child labor in her economy-revitalizing Widget Factory and has to decide whether she'll speak up about this at The Big Heritage Festival even though people wouldn't like it. she does, obviously

this would do numbers with female historians, archivists, museum professionals, etc. who got their start reading AG books and/or playing with the dolls (back when they didn't suck) and who now have kids

Mattel, hire me