#he does suit the armour now that i see...

[f1cflcfic]

Won't Say I'm In Love (SMAU ft. Lando Norris) - bonus part four

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader; past carlos alcaraz x fem!reader

summary: As a general rule, y/n does not date athletes. You've been there, done that - would not recommend. Besides, you definitely don't do love. There's no time in the world for complicated feelings when there's a career Grand Slam to be won. But what if your heart just refuses to listen?

genre: social meda/mixed au, friends to lovers, tbd

note: this is RPF and is obviously in no way, shape, or form reflective of real persons or events

series: part i, part ii, part iii, part iv, part v, part vi, part vii. part viii, part ix, part x, part xi, part xii, part xiii, part xiv, part xv, part xvi, part xvii, xviii, tbd.

bonus: one, two, three, five, six

author's note: This is a bonus part, and not a regular update - i.e. no images, just text! Hoping to have the next chapter out before the race on Sunday.

July 20, 2025: Èze, France

Loud applause briefly startles Lando, reminding him of where and when he is – your sister’s wedding. He withdraws his hand from the back of your seat to join in on clapping as one of Victoria’s friends finishes up her speech.

He should probably feel like a fraud, sitting at the family table with the newly wedded couple just three seats down from him.

The troubling truth is that he doesn’t feel like one. Not even a little bit. Instead, he feels almost guilty over how normal it is - like he belongs right here, next to you as you immediately dig into the main course once it’s served.

“Oh my god, this is so good,” you gush in between bites, motioning for Lando to eat as well. “Can you believe that we’re already halfway through dinner and speeches? And that my sister’s actually married now?”

Lando wipes his hands for the hundredth time that day on his suit, before he picks up his cutlery and hums. They’re still a little clammy – the one telltale sign that he is, in fact, not alright. Because it’s not due to a sweltering summer night out here in Èze. Neither is it a result from exertion, from having driven his car around a track for ages wearing fireproof gloves.

No, his hands are sweaty, because he’s been desperately trying to keep himself in check all day and not get lost in the fantasy of it all. Of being here as your partner, of being more than just a convenient plus one.  

If he’s being honest, he’s failing. Has been failing probably since Montréal. Even more so since Silverstone. One kiss could’ve been an accident, a lapse of judgment – something in the heat of the moment. Not that it was like that for him in Canada, though. If anything, it had felt inevitable.

Which is why your reaction had hurt, despite having known you well enough to have somewhat seen it coming. So he’d gotten his armour back on, told himself that things were fine the way they were, he just needed some distance.

So what you’d dented your friendship, it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be undone. It would be nothing but a small blip or blemish, and Lando would either be patient enough to see you change your mind, or to get over it himself.  Except then the Silverstone win had made him feel invincible and he’d blurred the line he’d drawn himself all over again.

There’s this tension now that lives between the two of you. Perhaps it had always been there, neatly situated in the blind spots of your friendship. Visible for everyone else, but you and him. But now he can’t unsee it. Can’t unfeel the erratic way in which his heart drums in his chest every time he’s close to you. Can’t undo the press of his lips against yours and the way in which the memory of it is seared into his brain. Can’t unhear the sweetest of giggles turned moans when he’d sucked on your skin. Can’t unread your texts asking him to come to you. And Lando knows himself well enough to know that it’s not just lust, or desire that’s making him slowly lose his mind, unravelling in real time.

It’s the fact that it’s you. Someone who's seen all of him. The person that’s seen him snort chocolate milk out his nose, who’s accidentally hit him in the balls with a golf club, who sings horribly off-key at karaoke. The person who cheers him on even when he loses, who gifted him a Valentino Rossi mug without knowing who he was but knowing Lando cared, who trains with such devotion and dedication – who is just so much cooler than he is in every single way, yet chooses to hang out with him and decorate cupcakes with together off-season.

And that’s what makes it so much worse. Because he’s already had the privilege of knowing you, and it’s still not enough. Never will be enough, he fears. He craves you all the time. Even when he’s seated right next to you, all he wants is to be closer. To walk his fingers up your spine and down your arm, put his hand on your thigh like it means something decidedly not casual or friendly. To kiss your shoulder, just because he can.

He’s acutely aware of how your knees knock together under the table every once in a while tonight. How you’d hung onto his arm yesterday, and had allowed his hand to linger on your lap in the car. How your great aunt had assumed you’d been dating, and you’d immediately tried to correct her. How you avoid talking about what it is you’re actually doing and what it means – but still end up seeking Lando out, pushing the boundaries each time.

He smiles when you send him a cheeky wink, and it’s perhaps a bit too easy for him to pretend it means something. Almost as easy as it is to pretend the flowers he continues to send you mean nothing at all. It is reckless and greedy, but part of him wants to just take whatever you’ll give. Even if it ends up permanently scarring your friendship and his heart. So, here he sits on the family table as your best friend, pretending that he doesn’t feel both butterflies and dread churn in his stomach whenever he looks at you.   

Lando refuses to acknowledge Carlos’ eyebrow wiggles from across the garden. You’ve disappeared back inside, something about a wardrobe change. Lando hadn’t been paying attention, had been focused instead on how you’d reached out to squeeze his hand. He’s saved from an eagerly and quickly approaching nosy Spaniard by your now official brother in law, who asks Lando for tips on how to properly pop the champagne.

The first bottle gets unceremoniously uncorked in the bushes, and Lando snaps a photo of the newlyweds laughing their heads off. There’s joy and happiness radiating off of them, and he snorts when Victoria squints her eyes in genuine laughter, just like you. He doesn’t get to share that observation until he finds you upstairs in the chateau, zipper of your evening dress still half undone and heels kicked into the corner like you forgot about them the moment you stepped into the room.

“I knew it was a fucking dumb idea to choose such a tight dress for the dance,” you complain as you flip your hair to one side. “Now I’m stuck in this and I missed Vic’s opening champagne shower.”

Lando swallows. He feels a little stupid at letting a part of him think you’d been lying about the new dress, that you’d just wanted to get him alone for a bit. “Do you like it?” The soft tone takes him by surprise, as if you’re genuinely not sure. The left corner of his lips curls up. “The other one gave me more access,” he teases, then steps forward as his hands ghost over the straps of the dress before following them down to the zipper. The low back had allowed him to inconspicuously ghost his fingers across your skin every time you'd leaned back a little in your chair.

You huff, and your eyes find his in the mirror. Mirth dances over your face, “maybe a bit too much access. If I’d do one champagne-induced pirouette, I’m pretty sure my left boob would be joining the party.”

His hands still on the small of your back, and he squeezes his eyes closed with a playful groan, dropping his chin on your shoulder. “Birdie, do you know how hard I’m trying to not look at your left boob right now?”

“Who said you’re not allowed to look? Or feel, or touch?”

The bold statement hangs in the air, filling the room with heated anticipation. For a brief moment, Lando is tempted to act on it as well. It feels like an I dare you, and he’s not one to back down from a challenge. Loves a good game and hates losing, after all. But before he can do as much, you blithely continue rambling as you motion towards the upper part of the dress you’re currently wearing. “This one’s got a corseted, structured body. It’s why I can’t properly zip it myself. Because apparently it’s the type of dress only people with partners wear. At least it'll keep my boobs firmly in place even when I tear up the dancefloor. So once you’ve zipped it close, you better have a good look and tell me if it looks nice.”

Right. A tiny spark of disappointment rushes down his spine. That’s why you’d asked him to come up here. Out of convenience.

It’s probably better like this anyways, Lando considers as he gently tugs on the zipper and ignores the drag of his fingers against soft skin. A new line to draw in the sand, the smallest of moats that he’s desperately dug around his own heart as a final attempt at self-preservation. No sex.

He looks over your shoulder in the mirror once he’s secured the zipper up top, then smiles appreciatively at the way the dress hugs you in all the right places. “Fuck,” he sighs. “You look hot. Beautiful.”

“Yeah?” You question, restless hands removing imaginary dust from the fabric before turning around to face him. “Danceable?”

You’re so close that he can faintly make out your freckles, and the way in which your lipstick has started to wear just a little. It’s distracting, and the question feels like a trap, but he willingly allows himself to fall for it anyways. One of his hands reaches out, caresses just underneath the curve of your breast. To test more than to tease. “Seems sturdy,” he murmurs, eyes stuck on newfound territory that Lando is apparently allowed to touch. “Might have to give it a good test run, though.”

You giggle, eyes glinting with mischief as you gently remove his hand from where it’d been caressing your body and step just out of reach. Lando pretends not to be disappointed. “Then lead the way, Mr. Norris.” The teasing lilt in your voice makes way for something lighter as you slip back into heels. “And you better be quick, because I’ve got a date with my sister on the dancefloor.”

Lando smirks. “Oh sweetheart, don’t tempt me. You know I’d leave you in the dust. Especially if you’re wearing those.”

He brings you a drink as peace offering when you’re still pretend sulking after having inevitably lost the race back to the party. Noone seems to have noticed that you’d briefly gone inside, but he supposes that it’s easy to slip away as the night goes on. Most people are either well on their way to being drunk, or distracted by the other guests dancing the night away.

Not Lando though, he's just distracted by you. The dress he’d helped you get into earlier looks absolutely stunning in the moonlight, as you dance with your friends and family. Strings of fairy lights are draped around the garden, and the disco balls make their reflections dance across your skin like the light just can't help but seek you out. He understands that tendency all too well.

You’re buzzed, he can tell by the way you get slightly more expressive and start to mime out the lyrics to songs you particularly like. Lando grins, more than content with observing quietly from the side as he converses with Carlos and other guests. But then your eyes meet his and your expression brightens immediately, crooking your finger at him.

He can’t resist. With heels, you tower over him a little when you're dancing this close, and Lando loves it more than he should. Like he does with everything and anyhing to do with you. It’s why he steadfastly ignores his head when his heart starts beating faster and faster, blood rushing south when you grind on him. There’s something equally exhilarating and unnerving about the fact that you don’t seem to care at all about your surroundings.

Except apparently there are some things you won’t do in the middle of the dancefloor, and that’s why he finds himself being led back into the chateau. “Wanted to do this so badly,” you pant as you nip at his neck, before slotting your lips against his.

He walks you back to the bed, then laughs into your hair as you pull him down with you onto the mattress. Lando swears his skin burns with every single touch of your hands, like liquid heat and sunshine coursing through his veins.

You unbutton his shirt as you place small kisses along his collarbone. “You smell so good,” you mutter, and Lando can’t think straight. He pulls at your chin, lifting it up a little so he can kiss you properly. Lick into your mouth while his other hand settles on your hipbone.

“Fuck, you taste good,” he responds when you eventually pull away for air, giving his bottom lip a little tug. He knows you can feel just how turned on he is from the way in which you try to roll your hips up, desperate for some friction.

A whine escapes your lips when Lando’s grip tightens, pinning you further down and effectively keeping you from moving. It’s a last-ditch effort in maintaining some semblance of control. Your chest rises and falls quickly, arousal clearly written across your face.

“Oh come on Lando, it’s just us.” It’s meant to egg him on, get him to do something – anything. Instead, it hits like a bucket of ice-cold water.

“Just us?” Lando lets out a frustrated noise, and all of a sudden he lifts himself off of your body. 

“Yeah, just us,” you repeat, and he can feel something sharp twist inside his chest. Oh, he thinks. So this is what it’s like when you break your own heart.

“This isn’t – I,” Lando pauses, one hand passing through his hair in frustration. “You make it sound so insignificant.”

You just frown, sitting up on your elbows so you can have a better look at him. Like you couldn’t possibly understand what he means. Lando can feel his heart sinking deeper into he moat he'd dug to protect himself.

“I can’t do this if it’s – if that’s what this is to you. Like it being ‘just us’ doesn’t make this a thousand times more monumental.”

“Monumental?” you repeat incredulously, and it hurts. Because he’d always just assumed that the fact your friendship was sacred didn’t need explanation to you. But maybe it does.  

“You’re my best friend, Y/N. I’m not going to risk that over something that means nothing to you.”

He starts buttoning up his shirt again, just to have something else to do. So he doesn’t have to witness how clueless you look, as if you still can’t quite wrap your head around what’s happening. “Are you serious right now?”

He doesn’t deign that with a response, just huffs as he pushes off the bed and starts putting on his shoes. How fucking stupid.

“So what, you’re not even going to talk to me and just leave?” You question again, and Lando feels a surge of annoyance rise to the surface.

“I don’t want to say something I’m going to regret,” he settles on in the end.

Because how is it that you get to be miffed about him leaving, when it’s him that you’ve just devastated?

He doesn't know if it's faith or delusion that lets him believe you didn't mean it like that. And the worst part is that he could've and should've seen this coming. He knew not to push you, not to rush you. He thought that he could handle it. Do it right. Plan a heart to heart. Let it all unfold.

Instead, everything's gone wrong, despite trying to do the right thing. And for the first time that day, Lando feels like a fraud.

a/n: just a little something to tide you over before the next chapter this weekend :) I think i'm going back to just having a 1x per week update schedule, I was hoping the summer would see my day job calm down - but it's felt like the opposite unfortunately. So, I need to be realistic in what I can deliver... Not that there are many chapters left, but I like to keep you guys in the loop and set the right expectations instead of letting you down by being late with uploading every time :(

♥ likes, comments, reblogs and asks are always very much appreciated - i love chatting and hearing your thoughts! ♥

taglist (open): @linnygirl09 @julesbog @midnight-and-books @sarx164 @obxstiles @freyathehuntress @vhkdncu2ei8997 @berrnuu @lightdragonrayne @glow-ish @batsratswrites @blushmimi @colmathgames2 @esw1012 @sadiemack9 @tremendousstarlighttragedy @awritingtree @its-elias-world @sarah-thatstings-ann @jessicanotta @fairyjinn @destinyg237 @verogonewild @annimausi @taetae-armyyyyy @jkoooooooookie @coral7161 @chezmardybum @gigigreens @guacala

[schattenmagier]

There was no rush for her to see the black shuck in his armour. Though Lilli had to admit that she was very excited to see him in it. She also would love to see Bill in his plague doctor suit as well though. But he can surely show her another time when she is visiting his place. She doubted he will mind.

As Antonio mentioned that Bill was breathing right now, the mage noted that he really did as his chest moved with every breath. But that surely was to blend in more she assumed.

" I vould really like to see you in zhe plague doctor suit too, if I gotta be honest~ "

The mage did notice the looks the two gave her at her slurred speech, but just brushed them off with a shrug of her shoulders. Bill should know by now that she was a lightweight, no?

" I am fiiiiiine~ Billlllll, you know I am- I am light- lightweight! And I know- I know how strong zhis... is, duh! "

A long island ice tea was very strong. But now that she was a bit drunk, she was becoming a little more open. And she looks at Antonio again with a crooked smile.

" Does zhat... does zhat mean you get cat ears and a tail? Maybe- Maybe even claws?!? Zhat vould be cuuuute. You totally should- should scratch zhat hunters eyes out vith claws, heh~ "

Morbid much?

"Well, if we don't remember to do it during that moment, Leofric always his armour on hand, so we could probably find another time to do it," Bill said, smiling, "It really is a sight to behold and I don't want to deprive anyone else of that after all."

Important or not, now that Lilli had expressed an interest, Bill definitely wanted to let her see the Silver Knight in his glory.

"Nope. It's one perk of being a vampire, or at least my particular subspecies," Bill added, "So I won't be worrying about any bad fumes or at least his terrible breath."

"You're breathing right now," Antonio pointed out.

"Yes, but I can stop whenever I want without any ill effects," Bill replied, "But yes, that is true. They did have some very nice outfits back in there. Not only did they look cool, but they also served a purpose as well."

He chuckled.

"Glad you enjoyed that little joke," Bill said.

"Most of what comes out of his mouth is TMI," Antonio said, before he raised an eyebrow at the way Lilli spoke then.

Maybe that drink had been a little too strong.

"Maybe cute, it's not something I've really given much thought. It's more about the practicality," Antonio said, "And the additional skills I'll have in that situation."

Bill also seemed to realise.

"Are you okay, Lilli?" Bill decided to ask, "I've not given you something that's a bit much, have I?"

[solxamber]

Could I request Diasomnia with a partner who's a smithy? Besides weapons, they can also craft tools, kitchenware, tableware, jewelry, armour, and anything else made of metal.

thank you for waiting this long <3

Diasomnia with a Blacksmith! Reader

Malleus Draconia – The Dragon Prince’s Personal Artisan

The first time he visits your forge, he’s utterly enchanted—not by the flames, but by you. Watching you work, hammering molten metal with such skill, is far more mesmerizing than any spellwork.

He commissions you to craft him a custom weapon, but it turns into a long-standing habit. Now, you’ve made him jewelry, ornate goblets, and a ridiculously expensive teapot set because he wanted to see how you’d do it.

Gets lowkey jealous of the things you make. “You spend so much time crafting weapons for others. Shouldn’t your finest work belong to me?”

Definitely flexes your work in his hoard. Will absolutely hoard you too if given the chance.

If you try to gift him something small and personal—like a pendant or a signet ring—he gets unreasonably soft about it. You just handed this ancient dragon prince a trinket, and now it’s his most prized possession.

Lilia Vanrouge – Chaos Gremlin Patron

"Ah, metalwork! I was quite the smith in my youth!" he says, as he spectacularly fails to make a dent in a copper sheet.

He is the most annoying client because he commissions the weirdest things. Once asked you to make him a sword with a detachable spoon. He used it to eat soup at a war camp.

Always hanging upside down in your forge, asking too many questions. “What does this do? Can I touch it? Oh? Why are you looking at me like that?”

You make him a personalized dagger with his name etched in glowing runes, thinking he’d use it in battle. He instead uses it to cut vegetables while cooking. (It’s the only reason the vegetables survive his cooking.)

But when it comes down to it, Lilia deeply respects your craft. If he ever gifts you anything, it’s always materials from far-off lands, rare ores, and enchanted metals that sing under your hammer.

Absolutely goes feral if anyone tries to disrespect your work. You won’t even know what happened. One moment, someone is criticizing your craftsmanship—next moment, they’re pale, shaking, and handing you money while Lilia smiles behind them.

Silver Vanrouge – The Knight Who Always Falls Asleep Near Your Forge

He respects your work immensely but has terrible luck visiting you. He always falls asleep while waiting.

You once found him passed out against your anvil. You almost clocked him with a hammer thinking he was a burglar.

But the best part? He sleeps like an absolute angel in the most inconvenient spots. On your workbench? Yup. Leaning against a suit of armor? Done. Balanced on a pile of metal ingots? How??

When he’s awake, though, he’s very earnest about learning. He wants to understand how to take care of his weapons, so he often asks you to teach him maintenance techniques.

You sharpen his sword once, and he treats it like you personally saved his life. He insists that your work makes him faster and sharper in battle.

If he ever sees you working late, he’ll gently put a cloak over you and tell you to rest. But if you refuse? Fine. He’ll sit next to you and fall asleep while pretending to keep you company.

Sebek Zigvolt – Loudest Supporter, Most Aggressive Customer

"HUH?! YOU FORGE METAL?! INCREDIBLE! ASTOUNDING! I SHALL ONLY COMMISSION FROM YOU!!!” (You are now his personal smith. You had no say in this.)

He demands the strongest, most unbreakable weapons. You make him a sword once, and he treats it like it's a divine relic.

Tries to act like he’s too dignified to be impressed, but the first time he sees you pull molten metal from the forge, his jaw drops.

You gift him a custom sword with his family crest, and he is red in the face. "W-WHAT?! THIS IS—HOW DID—FOR ME?!?!” You swear you saw sparkles around his head.

Complains about you “wasting time” making non-weaponry, but secretly loves everything you make. Once, you gave him a metal drinking flask for travel, and he now refuses to use anything else.

Will loudly threaten anyone who disrespects your craft, even if they didn’t say anything. Someone casually mentions a blacksmith in another town? Sebek immediately starts yelling: "THEY CANNOT POSSIBLY MATCH MY CRAFTSMAN!!!”

He also secretly admires your patience and dedication. Late at night, when you’re working under the dim glow of the forge, he just watches in quiet awe. Sometimes, he forgets to yell.

Masterlist

[alastorss]

Hi, could you do an Alastor x Reader where Alastor is the intimidating, scarier half. Their group of friends see him wearing an adorable, soft, pastel pink sweater and start to laugh at him. Until Alastor jumps on Reader's back, grinning and kissing Alastor's cheek because Reader took forever to make that sweater?

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

"Hey, Smiles..." Angel strains out awkwardly. "What'cha got goin' on here?"

The spider gestures up and down Alastor's body, brows pulled together in utter confusion. (He really wishes he had his phone on him. He'd risk taking a thousand photos just to remember this moment.)

Alastor only stares back, smile ever present but eyes narrowed in irritation. "I'll have you know that pink is in this season!"

"In? This season?" Angel guffaws, glancing down at his own outfit before his eyes are all over the Radio Demon again. "I mean, I guess... But you don't seem the type."

"What ever do you mean?"

'It's written all over your face!' Angel screams in his head. He clears his throat and continues carefully, not wanting to step on the Overlord's toes and wind up on his dinner plate.

But before he can even get another word out—

"He means that stupid fucking pink sweater you're wearing," Husk deadpans from behind the bar, attention devoted to polishing a glass. Perhaps that was for the better, Angel thinks, when Alastor shoots daggers in his direction with a glare.

"Stupid?" Alastor repeats, voice crackling dangerously with static.

"It looks like Valentine's Day just threw up all over you," the bartender elaborates.

"Does it now?" The Radio Demon stands, seething in his spot.

Angel clambers over the sofa in worry. "Apologize now, I beg of you," he sputters in exasperation.

However, Husk doesn't back down. Instead, they stare at each other in intense silence, anger simmering between them. The pornstar is just about to yell for Charlie to break them up when his knight in shining armour waltzes into the room.

"You're wearing it!" You gasp, joy evident as your grin spreads ear-to-ear.

Angel watches in relief when Alastor relaxes, antlers shrinking back down. He takes his seat again, allowing you to attack him from behind. You dangle off his neck like a charm with your cheek pressed to his.

"Of course I'm wearing it," he chuckles. "You made it!"

Alastor's eyes dart to the side to leer at Husk who finally shrinks back, realizing his mistake.

A strange pairing.

It was what everyone murmured under their breath when they would see you and your companion. Wherever you went your relationship drew eyes. You were too good for him, or he was too good for you.

To hell with that.

You suited each other—despite the odds, despite the differences. He was harmless as a domestic cat in your arms, and he was teaching you all the wonders of smiling until your cheeks hurt.

And it was one thing to badmouth him. It was another to insult you, whether they realized it or not.

"Pink looks so nice on you," you sing, giving him a little squeeze. "Don't you think?"

You peer up at Angel, and for some reason, he feels a chill run down his spine. Maybe it was because you were currently an accessory to the most feared demon in the Pride Ring.

Or perhaps...

"Looks fantastic," he grits when your head tilts and he realizes you're smiling so wide that you're practically baring your fangs at him.

You were just as terrifying when you were mad!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

"They hated it, didn't they?"

Alastor can hear your pout.

"Oh, sweetheart," he muses as he watches you get ready for bed. "They absolutely did~"

You sigh, flopping down onto the mattress. When you finally look at him, you snicker.

"You really don't have to wear it to sleep, you know?" You poke his side. "I know it looks terrible. Take it off already!"

The Radio Demon catches your wrist and guides you into his lap, allowing you to straddle him. You melt into his body as his arms wrap around you.

"It's perfectly warm and comfortable. Acceptable attire for bed. Need I mention again that you made it for me?"

He kisses the top of your head and you giggle as he continues.

"And I believe pink really does suit me."

"Even if people laugh at you?" You ask quietly.

He is silent for a pause before he pulls you so close that he can feel your heartbeat.

"They can laugh all they want. At the end of the day, who's the one who gets to hold you like this?"

You breathe out a whispy laugh.

"Sap."

Before you fall asleep, you make a new reminder in your phone to pick up more supplies for another sweater.

~

taglist: @the-lake-is-calling @dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice @averylonelysea @bri22222 @cxrsedwxrlds @amarokofficial @anae-naea-zacheria @for-hearthand-home @fantasy-is-best @angixyc @th3-st4r-gur1 @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it @dilemmaiscool @concentratedconcrete @squiword7 @clarakainda @princekeerys @cedarrthefluffylee @alastorthirsty (send an ask to be added!)

[antimonyandthyme]

Halfway through the flight, after Carlos stupidly opens his mouth and tells Oscar about L'Oreal, after Oscar grins, like he doesn’t find it strange that Carlos would share such information, and instead decides it suits Carlos, very seriously tilting his head at Carlos and considering him like a cat would before its meal, Oscar makes a point to fall asleep.

Carlos does not begrudge Oscar falling asleep. He does however, find it exceedingly infuriating that Oscar would choose to leave Carlos alone with his thoughts after throwing the equivalent of a boomerang into Carlos’s face. Saying something ridiculous like, the deal couldn’t have been a better fit, all the while smiling at Carlos like he meant it. It’s not fair leaving Carlos to simmer like that, without someone he can talk at. Mark Webber’s sitting two rows down, and he hasn’t even done anything to earn Carlos’s ire, just looked between the two of them with a weary squint, before shuffling away and muttering something about kids.

Also Oscar snuffles lightly in his sleep, a fact Carlos files away as equally important as it is annoying, if only because it’s endearing.

Contrary to what his father must think, Carlos hates losing. After fifteen minutes of fidgety waiting, after he’s almost a hundred percent certain Oscar isn’t faking sleep, Carlos picks up the teaspoon leftover from snack time. He waves the teaspoon in and out of Oscar’s slack, open mouth, testing the waters. Acting so much like a child sticking a hand into a cookie jar, greedy and guilty. Mostly greedy.

Oscar sleeps on, blissfully unaware. Tufts of hair stick out from beneath his orange hoodie. The steadfastly deadpan expression he so often wears as armour has smoothed out into something wondrously soft. Carlos isn’t allowed to touch, so he leaves the teaspoon balancing on Oscar’s lower lip, an extension of his own finger. It wobbles precariously at first, but then hangs on for dear life, see-sawing up and down. As attracted to Oscar’s mouth as Carlos is.

If Mark chooses this exact moment to turn around, he’d probably see fit to file a HR complaint to the FIA for bullying. Manhandling. And several other things Carlos has zero explanation for. Carlos sneaks his phone out and takes so many photos of Oscar deepthroating a teaspoon that if his phone ever were to get stolen, HR would be the least of his worries. Some of the photos are crisp and clear. Some of them are blurry, with Oscar’s fringe in the focus instead. Carlos's hands must be shaky.

Carlos leans back into his seat and considers his collection. The slant of Oscar’s nose, and the three spots on his left cheek. As an afterthought, he remembers to remove the teaspoon from Oscar’s mouth.

“Hey,” Oscar says throatily, when they deplane. His eyes are bleary, but they sharpen when they land on Carlos. “I’m sorry for, you know. Passing out on you.”

“That’s alright.” Carlos doesn’t know what prompts him to say it. The need to get an edge in, probably, after spending ten minutes or two hours staring at Oscar’s sleeping face. “I got some good photos of you sleeping.”

However Carlos expects Oscar to react, he doesn’t anticipate this:

Oscar going pink, Oscar’s eyes going wide and panicked. His perfect mouth making a surprised O. It arouses something catastrophic in Carlos’s chest.

“What,” Oscar hisses. “What do you mean good photos?”

See, what he said about winning? Carlos likes the feeling. “I could sell them and make a fortune,” Carlos says seriously. “Retire with the earnings. Quit driving entirely.”

“Carlos,” Oscar says, clambering all over Carlos to reach for his phone in his right hand, now held as far away from Oscar as possible. “What photos do you have, come on. Show me.”

Carlos laughs, bright, delighted. In front of them, Mark finally turns around to glare, before rolling his eyes and leaving his poor charge to fend for himself. Oscar clutches at Carlos, trying to get the leverage he needs. He makes two pathetic hops into the air, still swiping for Carlos’s phone, and bumping his chin so hard into Carlos’s shoulder that Carlos suspects it’ll bruise. Good.

“Carlos,” Oscar tries again, voice suspiciously close to a whine. “That’s not fair.”

“I didn’t expect you to care,” Carlos says.

Oscar’s expression ripples, even though Carlos hadn’t meant it as a dig. “Of course I. I mean. The photos. Of course I care.” He worries his lip. “Was my mouth open?”

“Yep,” Carlos says.

“Asshole.” Oscar redoubles his efforts to steal the phone. “You. You’re terrible. Show me, show me.”

“Fine,” Carlos says. “Just this one.” He swipes through all the blackmail material, settling on a suitably flattering photo. Or as flattering as one can be with a teaspoon hanging from his mouth. Oscar makes it work. “Look, not too bad, right?”

The teaspoon is out of focus, so really, it isn’t too bad. Oscar stares at the photo, scowling. As inconvenienced as a cat doused in water. And then, three, two, one, his frown smooths out by sheer force of will, like he’s made peace with the fact this photo now exists in the world.

“At least I can be prepared,” he says. “For whenever you release this to the papers.”

“Oh you don’t have to worry,” Carlos says absently. “These are just for me.”

Oscar glances up quick. There’s that waver in his face, a crack in the geode, a hint of something shiny underneath. The one Carlos likes so much, gone in a blink of an eye. Oscar settles on elbowing Carlos in the ribs, hard. Fair play.

“Remind me never to sleep in front of you again.”

“Hah,” Carlos says. He slips the phone into his back pocket, safe. Heavier now with a hundred photos of Oscar in it.

Challenge accepted.

(he really talked about incriminating photos and expected me not to do anything about it)

[prettycalla]

|| obiurgatio ||

Pairing: Geta/Reader

Summary: You are a tactile person. Your husband is a jealous man. (Request prompt)

Word Count: 892

Tags and warnings: Geta is jealous, reader is tired, they love each other though, mild arguing, fluff, no use of Y/N.

(To the anon who requested this, I hope this is okay! I'm not sure if it's exactly what you had asked for, but my writer's block is still pretty bad and I did my best.)

Masterlist

There are many things that you and Geta do not agree on. Having a level head and raised with siblings, you are often able to rise above petty squabbles, and allow your husband his opinions while you maintain your own.

But there are times when you must draw the line.

Geta has been pacing back and forth across your shared chambers for the better part of five minutes now, turning the same ring around and around on his finger in agitation. You watch him quietly from where you are reclined on the lectus by the window. A light breeze caresses your skin and you are grateful for it, as you can feel a headache quickly building.

“You have embarrassed me,” he says, finally breaking the tense silence.

You sigh. This is not the first time he has said it.

“You are embarrassing yourself with your childish behaviour,” you retort.

He stops then, glaring at you.

“You would blame me for your actions?” he questions in a clipped tone.

You bury your face in your hands for a moment. For as much as your affections run deep for your husband, he is also often the most frustrating man you have ever encountered.

“Please explain to me what it is that I have done to offend you,” you say, keeping your voice as calm and diplomatic as possible.

It proves difficult.

“You, with the senator’s wife-" he starts, struggling to find words. "How you acted with her. It was not appropriate.”

Geta pulls a face of disgust.

You bite your tongue, allowing yourself a moment to collect yourself. Geta has always had a way of making the most mundane of things sound like a travesty when it suits him. Kissing your dear friend on the cheek in a public setting is one of those things, apparently.

“She is my friend, Geta. We have always greeted each other in such a manner,” you explain tiredly.

You have had this argument many times before, and each time it is the same.

You have always been a tactile person. When you were very small, you would clamber into your parents’ laps and press kisses to their faces, expecting the same in return. On more than one occasion, you had fallen asleep in the arms of one of your siblings, warm and safe in their embrace. Even as you grew older, kisses on the forehead or cheek and lingering touches on the forearm or shoulder were how you showed your affection to those dearest to you. There is never any hidden intent behind it - it is how you show love.

Marrying an Emperor did not suddenly strip you of everything you once were.

Your husband, however, does not see it that way, and while you are frustrated by him, you understand. His childhood was worlds apart from yours. He was taught from an early age to lock his heart away, to learn to rule with an iron fist. That to love is to show weakness.

How long it took you to slowly pull away each carefully constructed piece of armour he had placed around himself. Even now, there is still work to be done.

There are times when you look at him, you see not the feared Emperor of Rome, but the fearful little boy that still lingers.

You know that he does not mean to hurt you - he is so afraid of being hurt himself. He is afraid of losing you.

Resolved, you rise to your feet, reaching out to lightly grasp his arms.

“Husband,” you say gently.

He allows your touch, but he will not look at you.

“Geta,” you try again, a soft smile on your lips.

Finally he looks up, meeting your gaze. You take his hand in yours and place it over your heart.

“This belongs to you,” you tell him sincerely. “No matter what, this will always belong to you.”

Geta’s tongue runs across his lip nervously, before he slowly reaches for your hand and places it over his own heart.

“Just as mine belongs to you,” he replies in a whisper.

Your smiles widens, and you lean in to press a kiss to his mouth. He is hesitant at first, before he finally gathers you up in his arms in a fierce embrace.

He does not apologise - there is still much more work to be done - but you feel it in how he holds you. When you part, his dark eyes are shining with tears.

“No more of this," you murmur, gently running your thumb across his cheek, "A God has no need for envy.”

"You are devoted," he says. It is not a question.

"Until my last breath, and beyond the stars, carissime," you reply, leaning in to kiss him again. "My love for others does not negate my love for you."

He watches you intently, his gaze flickering across your face, as if to find even the smallest amount of deceit.

He finds none.

You know that he will not change overnight, and this may not be the last time you have this very argument. But knowing that he is willing to let you in, to listen to you, is no small feat, and you do not take it for granted.

Your husband is a stubborn man, but he has certainly met his match in you.

(banners by @ cafekitsune)

[thebigbadbatswife]

OCT 24th - Dacryphilia

Pairing - Arkham Knight!Jason Todd x F!Reader

Title - Pretty When You Cry

Summary - The Arkham Knight thinks you look so much better like this.

Warnings - Dacryphilia, Rough Sex, Hate Sex, Degradation, Possessive Behaviour

Word Count - 667

You look so much better like this, Jason thinks. 

You’re spread out on the concrete floor beneath him, your legs held open by his hands as he fucks you. Tears glisten in your eyes as your pussy leaves a creamy ring around the base of his cock.

There’s no more venom in your voice. Just pathetic little mewls for more as he takes you hard and fast. Your nails scrabble for purchase in the plating of his armour as your back arches off of the floor, your eyes screwing shut and forcing the tears out and sending them rolling down your face as you cum again. 

You’re so pretty when you cry, he thinks. And it confirms his original thought. You really do look so much better like this than you do when you’re trying to kill him. 

Sure, Batman will throw you behind bars and forget you ever existed. It wouldn’t be the first time. Forgetting people is what he does best, but you don’t seem to care. Each time you come to blows with him you’re more aggressive and reckless than the last. You haven’t come close yet. Each encounter ends the same way. You stripped of your suit and crying his name as he fucks you sensless.

“Wonder what Batman’ll think about his newest sidekick being such a whore.” He punctates each word with a particularly hard thrust, forcing more moans and cries from you. “Do you think he’ll be angrier about the fact that you’re so easy or that I got to you first?”

Briefly, that fire returns to your eyes as they narrow at him and you grit your teeth. It quickly disappears again, your mouth falling open as you moan, as soon as he presses his thumb against your swollen clit. He chuckles, the noise sounding robotic because of his helmet.

“I bet seeing you spread out underneath me like this would really fuck him off,” he continues. “That’s why you keep coming after me alone, isn’t it? You know he’s getting close to finding me. You want him to see what a cockdrunk slut you are.” 

Jason’s rambling as he draws closer and closer to his own orgasm. His rhythm is erratic and his thrusts are even harder than they were before. He lets go of your leg and leans in close you, his helmet brushing up against your ear.

“And he can want you all he wants, but he’s never going to have you. This cunt belongs to me.” 

He pulls away and he slaps your clit, making your body jolt and a short cry of surprise leaves you as more tears are forced from your eyes. And he is absolutely addicted to the way that you look. 

“No one else is allowed to touch this cunt, but me.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement. He’ll kill anyone who even lays a hand on you. Including the men that brought you to him after you broke into his base and purposely got yourself caught. You belong to him and only him.

His orgasm hits him hard. He groans deeply as he spills his release deep inside of you. He keeps thrusting, fucking his cum deeper inside of you. When it starts to hurt, he pulls out of you and watches as the mixture of his and your fluids drip from your puffy pussy, making a mess on the floor. 

If he had the energy to spare, he would take you again and again and again. The night’s still young and he has a city to burn and a vigilante to kill. Jason climbs to his feet and tucks himself back into his pants. You don’t make an attempt to move. Your chest falling fast and hard as catch your breathe. Well, you won’t be much of an issue now. 

Maybe he’ll come back for you once Batman lies dead and broken. He seriously doubts that you’ll be getting very far since you won’t be able to walk straight.

[timetopanic34]

Sometimes I think about the Howlies and the grief they carried throughout their lives for Steve and Bucky. They never get to see them united. They all died with a hole in their heart.

Also in no way, shape or form did they work with Peggy and Howard and SHIELD after the war. That is a huge nup for me.

They would rather rot in hell then work with an organisation that hired Zola.

You know I’d love an au where somehow they end up in the future with Steve and Bucky. Or I dunno Steve gets defrosted earlier while they are maybe in their 60’s or 70’s and still mostly going strong.

Imagine the entire Howlies - now grandfathers but suiting up to go with Steve and Sam to find Bucky? Cause they would and even Steve knows he couldn’t stop them so he gets Tony to make them good weapons and armour cause he does not want to have to face all those fierce grandchildren (a good number of who are named some version of James or Steve) to explain what happened to their crazy grandads!

Or .. hear me out.

Somehow they all get a low level dose of the serum someway and the only way it really changes them is they heal a bit quicker but it’s enough so that in their 80’s and 90’s they are still physically like 65. That way you don’t have to change the timeline.

Steve wandering the world getting his unit back together and telling them Bucky is alive and they are going to get him. Wouldn’t you read the hell out of that????

Oh I’m excited. I might have to bite the bullet and write something myself!

[raghhhhhyperfixations]

Not a hallucination

Jason todd Post

So we all know that Bruce and Dick had hallucinations of Jason after he died right? It being canon or fanon either way, well i present to you the short time Jason was dead, he was a little ghost spirit and cue: they weren’t actually hallucinations, it was just his ghost spirit being a menace.

And haunting them:

-

Dick is upset with Bruce, they were arguing and since Jason’s death he’s had nothing shouting matches with his father, he didn’t even think a new robin was a good idea and watch him be right (he had come to love Jason as a little brother anyway)

He’s not sure about continuing nightwing.

Staring at the mirror with dark eye circles he hides and a chewed lip.

“God that mullet still looks awful.”

He hears from behind him and he swivels around to find a very transparent dead Jason Todd staring at him, he does nothing but take a shaky inhale because what?

“Jason.” Dick mutters weak.

“You heard me.” Jason huffs out, sat on the bathtub, arms crossed. “Aren’chu gonna cut it?”

Dick looks back to the mirror and then a pair of scissors he keeps nearby and maybe it’s not a good idea to listen to a hallucination which is telling him to grab something sharp.

But he does and he ends up cutting his hair as short as possible and it ends up curling again around his face like it did when he was robin and when he looks back the mini-Jason is gone, his breath is even shakier but-

(A part of him feels like he’s let something go.)

-

“Dad.”

“Dad.”

“Daaaaad.”

“Daaaaaaaaaaaad.”

And Bruce is trying to ignore what he’s sure is this ghostly slight of Jason in full armoured robin suit right before he died, his smile adorning his face as he pokes at the suit, his eyebrows furrow under the cowl staring at the newest case, pin- pointing all the dots together and-

“Dad!”

And.

“Dad!”

And…

“Dad why won’t you listen to me?!”

Bruce’s shoulders tense together, his head snaps to where the ghost is and his jaw tenses but when he looks nothing is there, when he looks back at the case, the monitor screen is turned off and he’s reminded his cup of coffee (his third cup?) has gone cold and perhaps it’s time to go to bed.

He stands up and pushes the chair back, ignoring the feeling of eyes on him (they were in fact very real.)

-

“Hmm now where did i…”

And when Alfred turns around he can suddenly find the missing pasta batter for tonights dinner, yes there is a large percent it will go untouched but it’s nice.

He gives a silent smile in understanding.

and a silent.

“Thank you master Jason.”

-

Sometimes at night Bruce swears to himself he can feel a silent weight pressing against his side, a young child.

This is a better hallucination, it’s a better one then Jason screaming at him, blood dripping down the side of his face, his head beat in, his teeth crooked and his eye halfway closed with burn marks creeping down his side, screaming he did nothing to save him.

That he was useless.

It’s a better option.

He presses his hand around the weight and snuggles in, it gets him to sleep easy and maybe he can hear silent snickering like Jason has just snuck in and hidden something in his room, a rubber duck? A small bat? Or maybe the cuddle, the idea of Bruce cuddling back is funny.

He loves his sons.

He just doesn’t know how to communicate that.

-

When Dick is lonely and crying hard, so hard his throat is sore and he’s bitten into his tongue hard enough to draw blood he might see his little brother, whose hands reach out for him.

He reaches back and sobs into the robin suit begging for forgiveness, he begs until he has no tears left and until he feels absolutely numb and dry and his hands are shaking so hard they could hurt him.

But he doesn’t deserve forgiveness.

Dick knows this, his little brother was dead because of him and he knew this.

-

When Tim becomes robin the ghost disappears but that doesn’t mean the hallucinations stop, they push themselves to believe the wavy haired boy is tim, it’s unhealthy and perhaps Jason’s Ghost is frowning upon them. (He does, he is one last time before his resurrection.)

-

“Jason, jason i’m so sorry.” Dick sobs, remorse.

Timothy, new to robin but not new to their grief just lets himself be held by dick for a few moments, his hands are awkward not wanting to hold Dick back because he’s not actually his brother.

Tears seep into his hair.

-

“Jason- i mean, tim, careful.” Bruce’s voice comes out on the com.

Tim bites on his cheek.

-

“Going to bed already ja-tim?”

Tim just lets out a little hum in return for Bruce.

-

“Jaso…tim, wanna go batburger?”

“sure.” His response was.

-

“Jason.”

Tim waits for Bruce to correct himself, he doesn’t this time.

-

A repeated cycle that didn’t exactly end until red hood or Jason’s return, even then Bruce was still remorseful.

(Eventually Tim found his place in the family but there are some days where two souls find themselves regretting.)

A ghost and a person who became a Ghost of themself.

(Guys i promise i actually do know how tim became robin STOOOP)

[cherryblossompink303]

Patience: ~A Challenge from Lobelia Girls Academy!~

➼ pairing: Kyoya Ootori x Reader ➼ summary: the host club gets a reaity check from an interesting group of visitors ➼ what to expect:  "I was sent to ouran for a reason, and...we're being patient, it's a lot easier to be patient here than it would be there" ➼ warnings: The zuka club, Tamaki's views on wlw ➼Part Eight | Part Ten

"I don't understand why I have to dress up as well Tamaki" while the ball gown you had been urged into was gorgeous you had to admit that it was not practical, the rare occasion that you would rather be in your uniform.

"For authenticity of course y/n if we are going for the more traditional European fairytale you would know first hand" Tamaki is failing at fastening his suit of armour, "Don't think I forgot that you grew up in France Tamaki I know that this is a ruse I just don't know what for..." You squint at him in skepticism.

"But you look so beautiful as princess" Tamaki starts crying, you roll your eyes "I thought our clients were meant to be the princesses" the last thing you needed to do was draw attention to yourself, it was the whole point of keeping your engagement to Kyoya a secret. "I'm inclined to agree with y/n, tamaki having her dress as a princess, while cute, may inspire rumors in our clients"

Cute? CUTE? You didn't think that the word was in Kyoya's vocabulary. "I'm just going to go change I don't need any client Jealousy it isn't good for the club" before you get the chance the move however the doors swing open, two girls that you do not recognise enter, which is when you remember that there were schools visiting for the cultural fair.

Snapping into host mode the other club members suddenly appear in position "Welcome ladies" Tamaki instantly taking on the knightly persona he has created for himself "Well, well, well, I see you ladies are from another school. I certainly hope we haven't startled you. We love first time guests"

Tamaki's eyes twinkle as he approaches the two girls "I'm glad you've come, princesses. My darlings even if the world were to be destroyed, I'd put my life on the line as your faithful knight and servant" The girls look less than impressed at Tamaki's 'chivarly'

"Oh my, do you you really think you'd be able to protect us?" One of them asks "That's awfully arrogant don't you agree?" Oh no. you could practically hear Tamaki breaking from across the room. "You think that's what a woman wants to hear? well you're wrong"

"Come on, give him a break, sister Suzuran, men are just lowly life forms who don't care about anything other than perpetuating their testosterone-laden image. By 'protecting' us he's actually attempting to disguise the fact that he is weak and unable of even protecting himself"

You and Kyoya exchange eye contact as if to question if they were being serious

"You're such a clever girl, Hinagiku"

Tamaki stands "Don't you think that's a little harsh?" You have to admit that Tamaki is keeping a much cooler head than expected, perhaps because the girls are strangers to him but you would have thought he would have had a crisis by now.

"Fine, then, what do women like you want to hear?"

A voice emits from far away, presumably from out in the hall "Maybe something like 'i would never leave my lover alone'" the next thing you know a third student appears with Haruhi in her arms "If we fight, it'll be together" she spins her "if we fail, we fail together"

"Even if I were to die, I promise you that I will never leave your side my love" She kisses Haruhi's than, you and the rest of the host club look on in shock, clear having missed a few pages. However it does kick off the crisis you were expecting off Tamaki.

"Benibara, we thought you'd never show"

"What are we going to do with you?"

"So tell me where you found this young lady"

"I just met her outside of the school" From the look on Haruhi's face you are willing to bet that 'met' isn't quite the right word."She may be dressed as a boy, but I knew the truth" while you were slightly surprised that the girls had put it together so quickly given that Haruhi can convincingly pass as a boy to the entire school you were also slightly cautious on how loud Benibara was announcing it in the hallway.

"She has so pretty, maidenly eyes" the way that she span haruhi around and dipped her strangely reminded you of tamaki "Uh, thanks, I guess" it soon progresses in all the girls fawning over Haruhi while the rest of you uncomfortably watch on.

"Wow her skin is incredibly soft"

"Isn't it though?"

"I think this ones going to be a diamond in the rough"

Tamaki has had enough, running to the girls "Don't go touching my Haruhi without asking my permission!" he is quickly rebuttled by benibara "Leaver her alone!" leaving Tamaki to crawl back to you "She punched me! Shes so violent!" he bursts into tears "Get ahold of yourself"

"Guess the rumours we heard are true, you guys are just a bunch of weak little punks with no sense between you" Kyoya finally gets a good look at them "Those uniforms, I assume you ladies are from the Lobelia Girl's academy?"

Benibara smirks "That is correct" the girls jump into a costume change and montage

"St Lobelia Academy, high school second year, Benio Amakusa"

"Second year student, Chizuru Maihara"

"First year student, Hinako Tsuwabuki"

"We are the members of the St Lobelia Academy's white lily league otherwise known as-"

"The Zuka Club!"

The host club doesn't really know what to make of it. The twins are the first to burst out laughing at the name "Oh man! What a name! The Zuka club? My stomach hurts"

"The Zuka Club! That's priceless"

"You shouldn't underestimate the zuka club!" Renge's cackling can be heard from far away as the whirring of the platform she uses to enter starts up once again. You roll your eyes "oh god"

"I may not know much about instant coffee, but I'm fascinated with girls schools. St Lobelia Academy. It is truly a woman's world there. The zuka club is a group of strong young maidens who consider women to be superior in every way. The club prides itself on it's 30 year history. It's a society of maidens, by maidens, for maidens. Zuka club activities include 'maiden tea parties' 'the maiden debate forum' but most importantly musical reviews performed by the society's top members"

In the time that it took for renge to finish rambling you had gotten the chance to slip out to change and return, as did Kyoya "You sure have a vast wealth of knowledge Renge"

"Well i've always admired St Lobelia's I just couldn't go to school there, though what would I do without any boys?" Renge disappeared quickly much to your relief. "A maiden's beauty, it means possessing a spirit pure enough to not give in to power or lust"

"As a girl, you, for a girl, you. We've had quite enough of all your oppressive male contempt for womankind"

"And our pride comes from having meaningful relationships based on equality, because we're the same sex. And yes, that include relationships of love"

"Yeah you tell them Benio"

"You're awesome Benibara"

While you were sat confused at the...certainly set beliefs of the girls the rest of the club had gotten bored, moving on quickly "Whatever, we're so over it"

"Why don't you gals just scram?"

"I find it hard to believe that you silly boys have nothing to say about our sublime female love" Chizuru speaks up.

You raise an eyebrow, turning to Kyoya who had moved to reading "Didn't she call the other one sister not five minutes ago?" the observation made him smirk, attempting to hold back a laugh.

"What is she even talking about?" one of the twins asks, continuing to ramble about their games "You should feel sorry for them hinagiku their patented host skills don't work on us. Now they're flusterest and don't know what to do with themselves"

"True. I must say I'm glad we decided to perform here. It was fun to sneak a peek at the notorious Ouran host club"

Honey turns to you "Are we really notorious?" you shrug "I suppose" while you will take any opportunity to call the host club out on something you did not like the seemingly high and mighty standpoint the zuka club was taking.

Benibara suddenly appears next to you, apparently only now noticing your presence "Oh? Another maiden? Tell me these pathetic men have not lured you in with their schemes" you had to resist the urge to burst out laughing at the view that Benibara had built up in her head "I'm not a client, trust me if anything they are victims to my schemes"

"What?" Kaoru looks up from the DS, resulting in you elbowing him to distract from the questioning. "You're not a 'client' of this so called host club? then pray tell why are you here?"

"She's my fiance" Your face fell at how nonchalant Kyoya was about revealing that fact to pretty much strangers, wanting to remind him that it is supposed to be a secret. You didn't even know why that was what he chose to reveal, he could have easily enough said that you were a club member. Perhaps it was to deter Benibara from treating you the same way as she had Haruhi.

"So they have lured you in, poor thing dragging you down with them, the both of you, the host club's president may be a petty little halfer, but he shouldn't be using his looks to create a fictitious romance! Attempting to fool the heart of a pure, young maiden is demeaning! Your so-called 'club activities' are nothing more than debasing macho fantasies"

"If I may butt in, these lot may be idiots but they aren't scheming to take advantage of women, the girls at this school are smart enough to know what a host club is in premise and know what they are entering into when they request a host. They aren't exactly luring the women in they come on their own accord" leaning back in your seat trying to picture what exactly they thought the host club was but coming up empty

"Oh you are in so deep, they have told you so many lies you've started to believe them to be true, and now they have entrapped you into an engagement! I promise you, we will bring this club down! The Ouran Host club will be abolished"

You raise an eyebrow, you think that the reaction is a bit dramatic until you remember they are literally theatre kids. "I see, I understand your concern, but do you think maybe we could finish this later?"

"Are you saying that you're not going to face us?" Benio asks "Not at all, it's just that our president is still bedridden from the initial culture shock"

"You see Tama-chan is having his nappy time right now"

"Wake him up!" Benio seethed "Excuse me. I made some coffee. Would you ladies like to have some?" the zuka club fawn over haruhi and her coffee, which seems to snap Tamaki from his nap.

"You girls have it all wrong! Don't you see there's nothing to be gained in a romantic relationship between women? If that were the case then why did god create adam and eve?" You put your head in your hands, praying that you heard Tamaki wrong, but knowing that you probably didn't, karma instantly faces him as he burns himself on coffee. "Hot! Hot! Hot!"

"You've gotta be more careful senpai" Haruhi kneels down to bandage him up. You turn to Kyoya "So at what point was I going to find out that you have been 'dragging me down with your lies'?" You laugh, Kyoya smirks, pushing up his glasses "Just wait until they find out our engagement was arranged"

"This little conversation doesn't seem to be going anywhere" Benio yanks you and Haruhi away from the hosts "Now that we know what's going on, we can't allow these maidens to stay here. We'll prepare their paperwork and have them transferred to Lobelia at once and we'll welcome them into the zuka club"

"Huh?!" You couldn't help but see the irony in the situation that they were accusing the host club of holding you and Haruhi captive yet also declare to steal you both to Lobelia without even asking.

"Hey, just wait a second, will ya? There seems to have been some misunderstandings here. I mean first of all you called senpai a 'halfer'"

"He is a halfer! He's half french half Japanese" Honey chimes in "Well, uh, anyway, I don't think it's fair for you to pick on the host club just because you don't think they have the same history as you do" you add.

"We barely have any history. We were just founded two years ago"

"Yeah the boss created it whenever he started highschool here"

"Be that as it may saying their club activities are only held to satisfy their appetites is just wrong, I mean it's not like the host club is charging their guests or anything"

You grimace at Haruhi's point knowing that Kyoya's going to correct her any second "While I wouldn't call it a charge, we do have a point system. We offer priority services based on the winning bids of auctions held on our website" You pinch the bridge of your nose,trying to point out to Kyoya that he was not helping Haruhi's point.

"Check this out Haruhi, your used mechanical pencil just sold with a winning bid of 30,000 yen. Good for you"

Haruhi rushes over to the laptop the two of you were stood next to "What?! But I thought I lost that pencil! Why didn't you tell me about this before Kyoya-senpai? I had no idea you were collecting money!"

"So you thought we were all just working here as volunteers? While it''s not much, because of the expense of organising events, we happen to make a small profit from the online auctions"

"You can't sell other people's things without asking permission! That's stealing!" The twins slide in at an attempt to diffuse the situation "It wasn't stealing. You dropped it on the floor" Haruhi looks furious.

Tamaki bursts out crying, rushing over "I'm sorry Haruhi! It's not like we were hiding it from you! Here you can have mind it's got a cute teddy bear on it" Haruhi rolls her eyes "Senpai I don't want your pencil"

"Well to make it up to you how about i do this? I'll tell you the secrets to my success and my fondest memories"

"Not to be rude senpai but I'm not really interested in that information" Tamaki goes to sulk in the corner at the reply, leading the zuka club to swoop in "Oh you poor dear, I can't believe they've been deceiving you"

"Why don't you two just dump these losers and come with us?"

You shoot Kyoya a glance questioning why they were so dedicated "I kinda have an attachment here so..." you could have sworn that in the corner of your eye you saw Kyoya smile. "Oh, well it has been a long day, we'll give you both some time to think about it. We'll come back for your answer tomorrow. Well then, adieu" The zuka club spin out the room.

Haruhi sends death glare to the rest of the club "I'd better be going I've got some thinking to do" She storms out leaving Tamaki wailing "Why did you have to tell her the truth? You just added fuel to the fire"

"Tamaki you shouldn't be mad she found out if you knew she was going to react like this" You point out, you weren't in charge of the auctions, that was Kyoya's side of things, you just assumed they were of photobooks not used pencils "The facts are the facts" Kyoya shrugs.

"Maybe we should've asked before we sold her pencil on the internet"

"Yeah, for all we know, it was a keepsake from her mother"

"Nah it was just a freebie they were giving out at the electronics store"

Tamaki finally calms down into a more forlorn expression "Gentlemen, just think about it. Haruhi may be basically indifferent, but if she had to choose, we know that she tends to favour men's clothing. And besides, when she first joined the host club, didn't she tell us 'being a host and getting fussed over by a bunch of girls might not be that bad' Why didn't I realise this before? Perhaps they would be a better match for Haruhi. Maybe she'd be better off with the Zuka club"

"I think you're reading way too much into this senpai, even if Haruhi is attracted to women that doesn't mean she's going to transfer schools to be with some strangers, her scholarship probably wouldn't even transfer over. She's just mad because you went behind her back" You cross your arms, confused on why Tamaki was being so dramatic.

"Haruhi is smart enough to pass the Lobelia scholarship test"

"And they have the money to pay off the 8 million yen debt she owes us"

"Haru-chan is going away?"

"She's perfect for a girl's school"

"What are we going to do?"

"Calm down, it'll be alright, listen to what I have to say. I have a secret plan." You face palm, knowing that they aren't going to see sense until Haruhi tells them directly. "Okay, whatever, you're going to go ahead and do it anyway why do I try?"

♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡

"You're not considering transferring are you?" Kyoya asks while the two of you walk to his car that afternoon. "Huh?" the question catches you off guard, you thought it had been made clear earlier. "You seemed...frustrated earlier, you know that you aren't tied to ouran? if you really wanted to transfer to Lobelia a good point could be made to your father to allow you to transfer"

"I wasn't, I'm used to Tamaki's antics by now, besides I don't think it would be helpful" you reply, looking at all the displays for the exposition "Hm?"

"I was sent to ouran for a reason, and...we're being patient, it's a lot easier to be patient here than it would be there" You smile, entering the car.

♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡

You decided to walk into school with Haruhi this morning, not wanting to get unceremoniously swept up again, however you find the Zuka club waiting for you as you approach music room 3. "Hello young maidens"

"We've come for your decision. Are you prepared to leave?"

"We're ready to confront those ouran host club idiots and set things straight once and for all"

Haruhi raises an eyebrow "Set what straight?" Benibara slides over "That you should come with us and go to school with your own kind" she starts dragging the two of you off "She does know other girls attend here right?"

The host club is plunged into darkness as they open the door to the music room.

"Ouran!"

"Ouran!"

"Ouran!"

"Ouran!"

"Ouran!"

The lights flicker on to reveal the host club "Ouran! Host club welcomes you!" The sight stuns you and seemingly the rest of the girls, you had to admit when Tamaki said he had a plan this was the last thing you expected, the entire host club dressed up as princesses"

“Oh, Haruhi, y/n, welcome back.” Tamaki greets in a red ballgown with pink accents, almost a princess version of the knight costume he had been wearing the previous day.

Honey twirls to the front in a magenta gown, his blonde hair also done up with extensions and beyond garish makeup, “Look, y/n-chan! I’m a princess now! Aren’t I cute?!”

Benibara gasps in offense, “What is the meaning of this?! Are you trying to make fun of womankind?!” she demands. All the while, you’re still beyond confused.

“Make fun? No, that’s not it at all. Everything's going according to plan. Our strategy is guaranteed to make even a crying child smile. It's the freebie campaign!”

"Oh Tamaki" You shuffle away "You ladies have lived sheltered lives at Lobelia so you might not know that commoners are weak. They have a weakness for free things! Haruhi, you may be distracted by the Zuka club, but choose us and you gain not only a host club full of brothers but sisters as well! See, this way you can experience feminine bonding while staying in the host club"

"I am right here?" You point out, rolling your eyes through a laughter however, because you had to admit,this was entertaining to watch. "Isn't that a great idea? aren't I pretty?"

"We’re the Hitachiin Sisters! Which one of us is prettier?” They appear closer to you, fans covering their mouths.

“I’m just teasing you,” Hikaru whispers as Kaoru laughs haughtily.

“Listen, Haru-chan! You can call me Big Sis from now on.” Honey seems to be the least uncomfortable in his attire. Even Usa-chan is decorated with a red bow and bold lipstick.

“Why you! Do you idiots really think you can win her over like this? I’ve had enough of your fooling around!”

Finally, seemingly both of your exteriors crumble, and you burst into a fit of laughter. Not amused chuckles or snickers, but whole-hearted laughter at their show of… whatever this might be.

“This is too much! What the hell are you even trying to do! Oh man, look at those outfits!”

The twins and Honey start chasing Haruhi around the room telling her to call them big sister. "What were you thinking? What's gotten into you guys?"

"We did this because we don't want you to leave the host club"

You approach Kyoya "What did they have to do to get you on board with this one?" he shakes his head "I don't want to talk about it" You laugh.

"So maiden, have you made your choice?" Haruhi stands "Yeah I have, I'm sorry but your club is not for me I think the idea of a girls' school is great, and your views are very unique and interesting. But I came to this school with a goal and a plan for my future so while I appreciate your offer, I really already knew that I was never going to leave ouran academy"

"Haruhi! So why were you acting so angry yesterday if you weren't going to leave?"

"How'd you feel if I stole something of yours without asking you?"

"I told you all this" You shook your head.

"Um… Benio?” Chizuru begins as she watches the interaction, Benibara lets her eyelids slip closed as she sighs.

“Yes… I know. We’re not going to give up on you” She leans over to you.

“I swear this to you. Someday we’ll come and rescue you from this place and your arrangement! And when we do, we’ll abolish the Ouran Host Club!” Benibara affirms with vigor and a smug smirk.

“Well, adieu~.”

Just as they twirl through the door, the three of them simultaneously slip on banana peels just as the doors to the club room close.

“Until we meet again.” you cross your arms and sigh in exasperation.

The lights flicker out, and Renge’s platform rises from the ground for the second time this episode, except this time with a monkey at her side.

“And so, a new rival, the Zuka Club, has appeared. From this point on, the story’s gonna get even more exciting! What’s gonna happen to our beloved host club boys and y/n next? Hang in there, Host Club! Don’t give up, guys!” Renge munches on a banana.

"Hey its not your job to cook things up!"

With that all over you finally take in Kyoya's appearance "I must admit you wear it better than i do" Kyoya rolls his eyes through a laugh "Shut up" You laugh. "Oh sorry 'mother kyoya'"

Next time on patience 'A day in the life of the L/N family!'

Tag list (reply to be added): @skottch @cgmajor @rebirthbunbun @bbybubbles @blueberry19000 @katgirl05 @smellslikelovinglies @veras-fanfic-reblogs @sadprimrose @mirtalikesdr @sleeplesssskeleton @ritzes28 @crackpeole @rory-cakes @renjunniex @II-kita-san-II @angelicwillows

[eintausendschoen]

They grow up so fast.

Rhea's and Cronos's kids. Yes, all together for one pic. No, they didn't fight, I didn't bribe them, no one was hurt this was a peaceful affair I am totally fine and I totally did not stitch single portraits together because it was less of a hassle.

Oh, a few of them transitioned their appearance growing up. They have their reasons.

👀 Detail below from left to right (with a few shoutouts) 👀

Poseidon Enosichthon (Enesidaone) Themeliouchos — The pale, lively kid with the always busy hands. What happened to him? A younger brother and his detached father, basically. He's excited about life in general, but still very bad at saying no to his family (or anything else), so he'll end up doing everything at once and trouble always finds him. Being the middle kid ain't always easy.

Big shoutout to @rin-sith for the huge inspiration her Poseidon design was for his clothes and armour pieces. My Poseidon doesn't believe in clothes, usually.

Demeter Sito Thesmophorus — Though she isn't technically the big sister, she always took to the task of keeping her arms open for her siblings, no matter the grief it brought her. Always will she be singing songs, in part to forget the lot bestowed on her by her brothers and her father and keep on – but also in part to give the joys of life to gods and mortals who walk her realm and feel at ease with her. As Rhea's kid she'll uphold tradition gently and firmly, and feed everyone who comes to her table, even if it costs her.

Hestia — She might be gentle, but she can never be forgotten. To all that come to her hearth she will listen and grant them protection, even if this sacred solemnity cost her the arms of a lover. She is a lover to none, and loved by all, first she receives sacrifice. Herons gave her their wings to stoke flame, brush out cold cinders. She would rather her skin be stained white by flour than black by soot, though. Her baking is still the very best.

Zeus Olympios Panhellenios — Wide are the shoulders of this son of titans, and they carry burdens of judgement across all Greece. Over the years he aquired a thick skin on them, but never do the troubles of his family wear him down for long, although the same family has brought him to the brink of constant paranoia. The jewellery he chose to wear on the day Typhon cleared out Olympus is something he will never again take off, like the memory and fear of defeat it is part of him, conductor to lightning and passion.

A big grateful nod to @justcommander for the long and wonderful talks about Typhon, he is part of all my thoughts about Zeus now.

Hera Syzygia Alexandros — The sharp eyes of this queen of queens will trace you through darkest night. By her fathers sickle and her great veil she safeguards and upholds sacred laws and traditions and unions, and as protector of men her word triumphs. A guardian of women, she neither tolerates betrayal nor does she hold the cutting edge of her jealousy back for the sake of those who must obey discriminating law against those who the same law allows to overstep a hallowed bond of two. The shade of Baphomet suits you, honey.

Hades — In form and might and character he outgrew his father by far. He is still the same quiet and thoughtful person, but despite the darkness, he, too, is a guardian of life, a keeper of flames. In his gentle hand rests the light of life, on his other arm coils the means to give it, to take it away. Fiercely he rules over the line between realms, allowing hardly any crossing, but on a late summers evening he'll walk the golden shaded groves among the company of all flowers of the earth, too.

See, lovely @ruthlessness69 , how confident he has grown? The kindness of your Hades helped him. A lot! Ask Persephone, though, she'll tell you that he can solve his beloved crosswords without extra light, because he is still a big glowing kid in his heart.

All designs by me. Rhea's aspects come with a broader frame, more pronounced colours and animal traits, and no fear to show skin. Cronos shows in matters of lines, contrast and temper, and a certain tendency towards introversion.

So, what do you think? Next level eldritch? 🖤

[b00kdiary]

Stay With Me | Rhysand

Rhysand x Reader

Rhysand reappears at the cabin four hours after he had gone on a mission- wounded and bleeding. Y/N has no choice but to help him, even if it means yanking out every ash arrow embedded in his wings by hand. But something Cassian once told her makes her re-think the line between pleasure and pain, and she will do anything to make it better for her High Lord.

‘Cassian said that the talon holds the most nerve endings, does that make it the most delicate to touch?’

Warnings: Mature themes (18+), swearing, body-image thoughts, blood and gore, and smut (Hint: Wing play)

MASTERLIST - 1 and 2

PART TWO

PART THREE

I couldn't stop pacing.

That's what I did when I was nervous, and on edge- I paced. Back and forth, back and forth, again and again, until I wore through the carpet and my entire body was thrumming with dread.

It had been four hours.

Four hours since Rhysand left to track those Hybern soldiers through the forest, hoping to be led back to their camp. For several weeks we've been dealing with Hybern forces infiltrating our land and yet we had no idea what they were planning.

It was the unknown that had made Rhysand go out tonight.

I had insisted I come, to help, to watch his back, something- but with the heavy snow and rain, he had been adamant that it would be easier to fly alone. Though I knew it was an excuse to keep me here, safe, and unharmed, while he was out there risking his life.

And now he was missing.

Four hours of silence and I was starting to feel violently sick with worry. I contemplated leaving the cabin, trekking on foot through the forest in search of him, but with the weather so furious and the fact he had been flying not walking, I knew it would be futile.

And Rhysand would kill me if he knew I had gone after him, especially when he had specifically instructed me to stay here.

"Stupid, arrogant High Lord," I cursed under my breath and despite the log fire crackling before me and the layers I wore, I still shivered from the brutal cut of the cold wind. My heart seized at the thought of Rhys out there in the brunt of it.

Hybern soldiers were ruthless and their hatred of the Night Court, of Rhysand was known. They could do anything to him; ash arrows, Faebane, dark magic, and Mother only knows what other weapons they have we don't know about.

"If he thinks I'm going to sit here like some kind of damsel," I scowl, my hands shaking as I yank on my discarded sword belt and daggers, "Then he is a bigger idiot than I thought possible."

I try and let my anger bubble over and overtake my fear as I make my way toward the heavy wood door, the sound of the whistling wind and perilous skies getting louder the closer I get to it. I'm trembling as I grip the handle, yanking it open with effort, the hinges stiff with the cold.

I stumble back a step at the sight of a tall male slumped against the door pane- blood pooled around his feet, stark against the white snow.

"Rhysand!"

All thoughts eddy from my head at the sight of him- his skin pale and dull, his midnight hair in disarray, his armour torn and filthy, and an agonised grimace lining his lips. A groan slips from him when my hands come to his chest, and my stomach turns at the warm blood that coats my palms.

"Cauldron, Rhys," I gasp, my throat closing as I stumble back into the cabin, his body weight half-leaning on me and every step he takes is slow and staggered, his face twisting as I guided him back with me. "What happened?"

"Hybern soldiers are assholes," Rhys grits out, a rough laugh slipping past his lips, but the sweet sound soon melts into a pained hiss when I turn so I can slam the door shut behind us- and I see why he's bleeding so goddamn much.

"Rhy- Rhys," I stutter, my fingers tightening into his suit, his muscles rippling under my touch, every breath he takes deeper and faster than the last. "The arrows, holy shit, there's so many-"

Five.

He had five arrows embedded into his back and wings.

"Really? I didn't notice," He grins, his heavy head lifting and those violet eyes meeting mine- though upon seeing the ire and worry on my face, that grin falters, "Hey, c'mon don't look at me like that, I'm alright-"

He sucks in a sharp breath of air, his eyes screwing shut when I begin to move back toward the sofa and I try not to let my body lock up when his hands fall to my waist and hips, long, ringed fingers digging into my flesh for leverage.

"Huh, I knew you wouldn't listen to me," He scoffs out a laugh, half-amused, half-breathless and my face burns with heat when he runs his hands idly down my sides, grazing pointedly over my sword belt and daggers. "You know it's an offence to disobey your High Lord, right?"

"Well since you're wounded and I'm the only one here to help," I grit out sardonically, ignoring how close his face is to mine as I guide his front down onto the sofa, careful not to touch his wings as I move behind him, "I'm sure you'll find a way to forgive me."

I frown at the amount of blood seeping out from his wounds, and I can feel how rigid his body is under my palms- he always was good at hiding his true emotions, masking his pain with an arrogant smile, or teasing words.

My breathing is shallow as I climb onto the sofa behind him, my soft thighs brushing his strong ones and my heart racing as I settle on my knees. His wings are limp on either side of him, one drooping down to the floor and the other sprawled over the cushions.

"You need to rip them out, darling," Rhys muses gently from under me and as if sensing my worry, his voice has lost all sense of humour. "No need to be gentle, I'm a big boy, I can take it."

"We both know you're a big Illyrian baby, Rhys," I tease, though my voice is strained and when he shifts his head sideways, looking over his wide shoulders at me, I see the small smile tilting his lips too.

I swallow the lump in my throat, shifting forward and placing a trembling hand on his back. To the arrow embedded at the junction of his wing and spine.

His hand slips back and curls around my thigh, fingers sprawling around the flesh and digging in as if he were bracing himself. The touch is distracting but I focus on my fingers wrapping around the arrow, a few inches from the entry point- and I hate how Rhysand's body flinches at the soft touch.

"Come on, darling," Rhysand sighs, his grip tightening around my thigh as I release a long breath, "Amren's going to kill me if I get any more blood on these cushions-"

I rip it out mid-sentence- and Rhysand's whole body jolts as I tear the arrow free from his flesh, a grunt of pain muffling into the leather beneath him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I whimper, my hand clamping down and applying pressure on the wound, the arrow discarded on the floor beside us. Rhysand trembles under me, his jaw locked so tight I can hear his teeth gritting together, "Shit Rhys, I'm sorry."

"It's- it's okay, it's okay," He pants, and I watch his face from the side, seeing him get paler and paler. He squeezes against my thigh, once, twice, and his eyes blink open, those violet eyes dark. "Keep going darling, you're doing so good, keep-keep going for me."

I feel the familiar burn of tears in my eyes as I lean forward, my fingers slippery with blood and gore as I curl my hold around the second arrow, this one just barely stuck near the very bottom of the left wing.

Ash arrows were notoriously dangerous, known for splintering within the flesh, one wrong move and Rhys would have pieces of the wood stuck in his wings and those would be near impossible for me to remove on my own.

I grit my teeth and pull, swift and brazen, not giving him or me a second to think about it. Again, Rhysand grunts, body viscerally jumping but he seems to bear the pain better the second time, his thighs clenching around mine for support.

"Forget what I said, I was wrong," I clear my throat, trying to force some ease and comfort into my tone as I run my hand up the muscles of Rhysand's back and I feel relief when he sighs, his body melting into my touch. "You're not a big Illyrian baby, you're a tough, strong male."

"What finally convinced you? The very manly way my body is shaking right now?" He released a long exhale, his mouth tugging into a smile and I can't help but laugh when his eyes glance back to meet mine. "Or the groans that keep slipping out no matter how hard I try to contain them?"

I laugh softly, my blood-stained hands running across the planes of Rhysand’s shoulders and back, the pad of my thumbs and forefingers circling around the stiff muscles, trying to get him to relax. He sighs, and his hand pulls against my thigh coaxing me higher up his body, closer than before.

"Nothing wrong with being vocal, Rhys, I would have thought five hundred years of existence would have taught you that," I run my finger across the membrane of his wing, feeling the soft, leathery texture as I move to the next arrow. "Females love to hear how you feel."

"Cruel, wicked thing," Rhysand mumbled, his breath hitching at the tender touch I grazed over his wings, and it was a very different sound to before. "You're enjoying this, aren't you? Having me at your mercy."

I wrap my hand around the arrow stuck in the middle of his wing and his body tenses- knowing what was waiting. I frown, hating that he is in pain and unconsciously, my left hand moves to his other wing, and he gasps, eyes widening when I run the pad of my thumb over the talon at the tip- a spot I knew was sensitive.

I tear the arrow out of the right wing with one hand, while my other rakes down the curve of his left wing, my nails scratching softly against the tender flesh there. Rhysand groans, louder this time, and it's a sound that I feel through my body.

"Are you- are you trying to make it feel better, darling?" He asks quietly, his breaths loud in the silent room and his hand at my thigh caressing, his thumb swiping soothingly back and forth.

"Yes," I reply, equally as soft, and my heart is racing as I edge closer, my core and ass settling over one of his burning hot thighs. "Is it working?"

"Yes," He swallows, an audible sound and I see his Adam's apple bobble, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips as I reach for the fourth arrow. "Yes, it is, don't- don't stop." There's a slight tremor in his voice, a neediness that makes my head spin.

His body vibrates under me, but for a completely different reason now and it seems the more my idle hands wander curiously over the dancing veins and soft membranes of his wings, the less control he has over himself.

"Cassian said that the talon holds the most nerve endings, does that make it the most delicate to touch?" My voice is hoarse, and I ignore the sweat coating my skin and heat burning through me as I grab around the arrow, my shoulders bracing for the strength needed for this pull.

"Why are you and Cassian talking about the most sensitive parts of a male's wings?" He grits out, his thigh muscle tensing, and I feel it brush against my centre- wet and aching with need. A smile tugs at my lips at the darkness in his tone, that smile broadening when his wing twitches violently against my fingers.

"He also said that males can like having their wings touched during sex and that a brush against the right spot can make you climax, is that true?" His nails dig into my thigh at my whispered words, a moan slipping past his lips when I grip around the talon with a firm hold.

This time when I rip the arrow free, he doesn't feel the pain- too consumed and dizzy with pleasure.

"You're killing me, Y/N," Rhys chuckles, his body shaking with the laugh, a sound that travels through the air and over my skin like a phantom touch. I circle the heel of my palms into his shoulder blades, massaging out the tension and Rhys moans appreciatively, a low rumbling sound from deep in his chest.

"Only one left, Rhys," I say encouragingly, and he mutters incoherently in agreement as I lean forward, the last arrow embedded in his upper back- much deeper than the rest. I frown, rising onto my knees, already missing the strength and heat of his thigh between my legs. "This one's gone all the way through, I'm going to have to dig it out the other side."

"Just when I thought this couldn't get any more fun," Rhys jeers, his hand grazing along my thigh as I sit up as if needing my touch as reassurance.

My eyes narrow at his remark and suddenly the blood and the arrows and his pained face hold no bearing with me, the sympathy vanishes- replaced by the anger that had me ready to march out into a storm to look for him.

"That's what happens when you go chasing the enemy with no backup," I mutter stiffly, and this time when I grab the arrow, I don't give Rhys any satisfaction or comfort- no, I break the arrow in two with an easy snap of the wrist, dropping the fragmented piece to the floor with a clink.

He winces, and when I hover above him, his head turns to look at me, a sheepish smile on his handsome face.

"I take it you're still upset with me then, darling," Rhys muses and the ting of humour in his words makes me scowl, my touch no longer soft or soothing, my body no longer enjoying the hard, perfect feel of him.

“Turn around,” I order, dismissing him as I rise from him and onto my feet. His hand reaches for me, trying to grab me, a yearning in his touch, but I move away from him stiffly. “I need to dig out the arrow from the front.”

He purses his lips at my cold words, and I almost feel bad for him when he hisses in pain, his muscular, lean body so frail as he rolls onto his back, his sore wings moving slow and deliberately, barely able to lift higher than his shoulders before sagging back down again.

“Y/N,” Rhys sighs, a deep frown tugging at his lips as he drops his head against the armrest. I stare at him in silence, seeing him splayed out before me, chest rising and falling in harsh waves and those violet constellations unwavering upon me.

"You could have been killed, Rhysand," I grit out, and I hate the tears I feel prickling my eyes as I stare at him, at the blood coating my hands, and the sofa and the floor, the wound puncturing through his left pectoral. "If you don't trust me to have your back-"

"Don't say that, never say that" He rises faster than I can protest, and my hands shoot up to stop him, but he doesn't relent, his face harsh with discomfort but his eyes burn with determination as he sits up. "I trust you more than anyone, more than myself, don't ever think that Y/N."

"Alright, okay Rhys," I sigh, shaking my head and my hands are weak as I place them on his solid shoulders, trying to guide him to lay back down. His eyes never once leave mine and I can see the hurt in them- that I would even think such a thing. "I'm sorry, just lay down, you're still hurt."

His face tightens severely, and he looks so at odds with the male known for his easy smiles and bright stary eyes- but he obliges me as I guide him back down. His hands curve up my thighs and rest on my hips, and he doesn’t speak as he yanks me down, dragging me so that I straddle his waist.

“Rhys-“ I suck in a sharp breath when he settles me, forcing my weight to sit atop him, my thighs clamped around his hips, my core settled just under his belly button and his calloused hands kneading the flesh at my sides.

"I told you to stay here because I couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to you," He whispers, eyes unbearably soft, and his touch igniting something hot in me, "If they did something to you if you got hurt... I don't know what I would do, Y/N."

I swallow the lump in my throat, my heart hammering in my chest as I bring my hands forward to the front of his leathers, my fingers stumbling as I unbuckle the belts and slip off the buttons one by one, revealing the acres of tan skin and the dark whorls painted across his chest.

I gnaw on my cheek as I tug back the shirt, Rhysand silently watching every action, every breath I take, and my face falls at the wound leaking blood above his left pectoral, the arrowhead peeking through the gore.

“And what if something worse than this happened to you?" I whisper, my voice hoarse with emotion and when my eyes meet Rhysand’s again, his face tightens at the tears in my eyes, “What do you think I would do? How would I be able to live with it?"

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Rhysand swallows thickly and I watch as he grits his teeth, his body pulsing when I run my fingers over the wound, gauging how deep I have to feel, how best to remove the arrow in one piece.

“I need to dig it out with my fingers to get it to the surface first,” I clear my throat, ignoring the thick prolonged silence and taut tension between us, “It’s going to hurt, badly.”

“I know,” He locks his jaw, the strong angle sharp and I see the grim anticipation on his face when I move my index finger and thumb into position over the exit point. But without speaking, I move my body, lower, until my core settles over the front of his breeches- over his long, hard length.

“Y/N, you don’t have to-“ His breath hitches at the contact, his violet eyes widening and latching onto mine in surprise.

“I want to,” I whisper, need spreading through me at the feel of him under me, the smell of his arousal and mine wafting through the air, making me dizzy. “I’m trying to make it feel better, remember?”

I roll my hips, ever so slightly, and the electricity that shocks through my clit at the contact makes me gasp. Rhysand grunts, a low, heady sound, and the way he lifts his hips up to dig his cock into me is almost desperate.

“Cauldron,” He curses as I dig my fingers into his wound, the metal sharp and hot against my fingertips as I try and get leverage around it. His face twists but when I rock my hips again, dragging down his length, his pain dissolves into something carnal. “Cauldron, Y/N-“

“There we go,” I whisper, my fingers gripping around the arrowhead firmly, twisting it a few inches higher so that it protrudes out of his chest. I bite my lip to contain any sounds as I rut against him, my underwear and trousers soaked through, seeping into Rhysand’s slacks, making it easier to rub over his twitching length. “I’ve got it!”

He moans- the most erotic, lewd sound rumbles from him, low and loud, echoing through the room. I pant as he runs his hands over my body, over my thighs and hips and waist, kneading my stomach and love handles, before settling over my ass.

His nails carve crescent moons into the flesh as he palms me, the control he was so used to wielding in the bedroom not dwindling as he guided me back and forth faster and harder against him.

"This is the best pain I've ever felt, darling," Rhysand purrs, his voice like melted chocolate against my senses and the fire burning between my legs fans at his words. I lean forward, my breasts brushing his chest and my stomach settling against his- and I run my free hand over his sprawled wings.

"I'm going to pull it out now, yeah?" I mumble against his cheek, and I know his head is spinning, the pain and pleasure so at odds, so damning that his canines flash at me, his fingers bruising against my ass and his hips jolting up violently to meet mine.

“Do it, daring,” He commands, the role of the High Lord imprinted into him no matter the situation and almost as if it were programmed in me to obey, I kiss his cheek tenderly- and yank the arrowhead free in one go. “Shit, shit-“

I drag my centre over the tip of his cock, rolling my hips in fast, sharp strokes and Rhysand crumbles at the action- his eyes screw shut, his body stills like stone, and the filthiest, rawest cry tears from his lips, louder and fragmented when I rub at the tip of his talon with my palm.

I whimper at the feel of every hard inch of him cemented against me, the warmth of his hot seed leaking out and soaking his slacks, mixing our arousals, getting messier the more I rub against him.

“Y/N,” He moans my name into the crook of my neck, his teeth scraping against my pule point and his hands curling around my ass, forcing my hips to stop. Instead, he clamps my body flush to his, my tits pressed to his chest, my face buried in his soft hair, and I feel his cock pulsing and tremoring hard against me as he rides out his orgasm.

I feel Rhysand laugh roughly against my neck, the sound of his ragged breathing and the erratic rise and fall of his muscular chest against me making me sigh. His hands don’t loosen, in fact, they get tighter, guiding me until I’m laying flat, his arms wrapping over me and keeping me to his chest.

He was holding me like he didn’t want to let go.

There’s a long silence as I lay with him, our bodies melting together and his touch unrelenting upon me, holding onto my flesh for dear life, feeling me against him and sighing at the comfort. His breathing starts to deepen, turning heavy and I blink, shifting to move my weight off him.

“Don’t,” He grumbles, his arms drawing me back to his chest, a deep groan escaping him as he shifts so that my body slips between the gap of the sofa and his side. His eyes flutter closed again, and I watch his face ease into serenity as I lay my cheek against his shoulder.

“Stay with me.”

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

@mis-lil-red @hyemishii @assaultsofthought @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @satellitesunshine @queenofangrymoths @highlady-ofillyria @ladespedidas @magical-mischief-makers @lyracarvahall @ummmmmwat @eerievixen @bitchyinternetinfluencer @meritxellao @rachelnicolee @fanfictioniseverything @queen-of-arda @magdalenka @bunnymallowo @azzydaddy @fanboyluvr @maddithefangirl @jeannineee @fakelust @whatthefuckshappeningrn @honeycriess @cheneyq @brujitafantomatico

A/N:

Comment to be added to the tag-list >3

Should I make a part two??? part two here

[helaelaemond]

To Watch - Aemond x reader

Pairing:  Aemond x reader

Word count: 2.3k

Summary: Aemond reads an old story from the Reach to you in bed. You like to see how long he can read aloud before he stutters.

Content warning(s): none

INCLUDES: handjob (m receiving)

Taglist: @babyblue711 / @myfandomprompts / @sylasthegrim / @arcielee

“And so it was on that first fateful morning that Ser Emmon saw the sweet Queen Delena, and knew he loved her.” 

You smile as Aemond reads aloud to you, no louder than a whisper. “I missed you today.” 

He turns the page of the book in his hand. “Hmm?” 

“You didn’t join us for dinner. It was just Aegon and I.” 

“Well, that’s not so bad.” He runs slow circles over your waist with his thumb where you lie in his bed, propped up by soft feather pillows.

“That’s why you should have been there.” On the new page of the book in his hand, there is a gilded painting of a knight in silver armour, and the queen in her crown of flowers. “Just us.” 

“I just needed some time alone after today.” 

You inch closer to him and turn slightly to press your chest against him. He is so close that you can see every eyelash, every ghost of the freckles that used to splash across his nose. “I saw you in the yard for hours.” 

“Were you watching me?” The corners of his mouth quirk up slightly. 

“No,” you lie. 

He glances at you, close enough to kiss, and you grin in delight at him. “What did you think?” 

“Nothing. I wasn’t watching.” 

Aemond leans across the small distance between you and tilts his head. Your noses touch, and the slightest movement closer would let your lips meet. “Do you know what I think?” 

While his one eye closes, yours remain open. He is blurry this close, but in the dim light of the room, his sapphire sparkles. “Sometimes.”

“Do you know what I am thinking at this very moment?” 

It’s difficult to bite back laughter. He makes you so very happy. “No.” 

“I think you like to watch.” 

Too thick is the air between you for you to stand anymore, and you try to kiss him, your mouth aching for the touch of his lips. He pulls back slightly, denying you.

“Aemond,” you protest in a soft whisper. 

“Well?” he asks, as if he doesn’t already know the answer. “Do you?” 

Smiling widely, you rest your head on his shoulder and touch the page in front of them. “Keep reading.” 

“Alright.” He sighs in contentment, and starts at the top of the page. “But it was to her husband the King Gwayne that he had sworn his sword and shield, and his life. No wife would he take, no children would he father, yet to the queen he felt his heart go.” 

You listen as Aemond reads from the book. It is just old stories from a time when legend and history mingled into one, a book as well suited to children as it is maesters. But still; between the pages some truth can be found, and flesh and blood and bone can be seen through the myths. And it all sounds so pretty when Aemond reads it. 

Being so close to him does things to you. As if you are doing nothing more than getting more comfortable, you wriggle under the covers and slip your knee between his thighs. He wears only a soft green tunic to bed, one that rides up easily. His voice catches on the words when you shift against his leg,your hand on his chest. “Keep going,” you whisper. 

He clears his throat and does as you ask.

He’s right, of course. You do like to watch. A long time ago he had shown you how he liked to be touched and you had learned quickly. Now, there is little left that you do not know, but you like to see all the same. Not tonight, though. After the display he put on in the yard for much of the afternoon, you want nothing more than to touch, to feel. 

As he weaves the story of knights and queens and longing loves about their silver heads, your touches dip lower. At first, it is just his stomach you run your palm over. Linen is still between your skin, but his muscles tense at the pressure, and you can feel the dips and ridges along them. Each time his voice falters, you stop. It is encouragement enough, then, to keep going. 

“And it was in the gardens of Ser Emmon’s humble country house that Queen Delena gave herself to him. He gave her a rose as a symbol of their love, and pressed it into her hand. The thorns cut her skin, but he kissed the wounds and at his touch, they healed. Then he took her face into his grasp and kissed her cheeks and her lips, and they swore their love to one another.” 

You run the heel of your palm lower on his stomach and press it against the hard pubic bone. He stutters and his eye closes. He grunts your name.

“Yes?” you ask innocently. Your fingers point down, and just a slight twitch of them allows you to stroke the hair there, to trace the base of his cock. It rests against his thigh, half hard. 

“Do you want to hear the rest of the story?” 

“Yes. Why do you ask?” 

Aemond laughs breathlessly. “Then you’d better stop whilst I can still read.” 

Your fingers form a ‘v’ over the base of his cock and crook slightly to slide along the sides of his balls. “If you stop reading, then I’ll have to stop doing this.” You turn your hand palm-up and glide his cock through your spread fingers. 

A half-laugh comes through his nose. “Alright.” He shifts slightly and the pages rustle on his lap. “It was in that very garden that the queen gave herself entirely to the knight, and in her, he put his bastard child who would one day be called Flowers.” 

You settle comfortably against him again and your forehead rests against his long neck. His thighs spread wider in a silent beg for more, and you smile slightly. There is heat rising in his throat and cheeks and you can feel it against your face. 

How pretty Aemond’s body is. You love how long and lean he is, how easily bruises blossom under his fair skin, how you can see the lines of his veins and tendons in his arms and hands. Such pretty hands. With your forehead against him, you can feel the soft rumble of his voice in your very bones. It makes you shiver, makes your nipples hard. 

When he stumbles over a word, it is satisfying knowing that you made that happen. It’s your gentle hold around his cock that makes him lose focus, your skin against his that makes his stomach tense. Only for a moment do you let him go and although he whines softly through his words, he makes no other protest. You holds your hand up to his mouth and he bites his lip, before licking your palm, your fingers. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, before pushing your hand back under the covers and wrapping it around him again. 

“But the king’s closest companions had already informed him of their suspicions, and Ser Emmon was summoned to the Great Table.” 

A fire burns between your legs. He is hot and heavy in your hand, hard and wide and in his cock, you can feel his heartbeat pulse. His thighs twitch, and you run your foot up and down his calf soothingly. It does not soothe you, though. Every touch makes you want to make him whimper more. Even his voice intoxicates you. 

The pace you set is steady and reliable, and you only pause your ministrations now and again to caress your thumb over his tip. The silver drops that gather there make it smoother to stroke him as you glide it over his length. At your waist, his fingers begin to dig in. 

“And the k-” He bites his lip and sighs hard through his nose. You press your fingers around the base of his cock and move to carefully squeeze his balls. His eye closes, but there is strength in him yet, and after a brief pause, he continues. “And the king at last drew his sword in challenge against his knight, his friend, and demanded honour.” 

You look at the painting on the page in front of them but you don’t really see. It’s impossible to see anything in front of you when Aemond is all around you, his body heaving beneath you, his leg pressing between yours, his hair tickling your face. Utterly consuming is the need to please him, to delight him. You stroke his cock faster now. How lovely he is. How pretty he sounds. Oh, I do so adore him. Every stutter and every stumble is for you. 

“They crossed swords over the Table and- fuck.” 

He turns his head and kisses your forehead, hard. You shiver, and under the blankets you tighten your grip. “They crossed swords over the Table and they fucked?” you ask breathlessly. 

Aemond’s quiet laugh turns into a moan. “No, not that. They, ah- gods!” He forces his eye open but his brow is furrowed in concentration. “And they fought. The king fought for his honour, and the knight f-” he stumbles, breath catching in his throat. “Fou- ah, yes!” 

You bring your knee up between his legs and press it up to where his legs meet. Aemond grinds his hips up and down, his heavy balls sliding against your soft thigh. He turns his head slightly to press his cheek against your forehead. It’s like he can’t get close enough to you, even when you’re lazy like this. 

“They fought?” you encourage.

“Mmph. Yes. They fought. Fuck.” 

“Keep going, and so shall I.” 

“Yes,” he moans. You know he has more self control than this. But there is nothing that makes your soul soar like knowing he can set it aside with you. “The knight fought for his love.” The words are punctuated with heavy gasps that grow more frequent as his breath grows shorter. “The king forbade… he forbade his other knights from in…” He bites his lip at a particularly delicious twist of your wrist. “From interfering. After a long fight, the king disarmed Ser Emmon and his b… his blade… ah, yes. Just like that. His blade was knocked from his hands.” 

“Are you nearly finished?” you ask, making sure your lips are so close to his ear that he will not hear anything else. 

His brow creases again but this time it is in a laugh. “Am I? Or the story?” 

“You,” you breathe, and the word is stretched out. You dart out your tongue to catch along the shell of his ear and when he moans, strained and high, you feel like a queen yourself. 

“So close,” he assures you. 

“Keep going.” 

Nodding frantically, he musters his strength to return to the words. “Ser Emmon fell in front of the king, who… mmph, sweetling. Who demanded that he tell him where the treasonous queen was.” 

She can feel deep within her that he is close. There is something in the way that his whole body tenses, how little beads of sweat gather along his hairline, the twist of bliss in his face, that is so familiar, so exciting. You sit up slightly to get a better view of his face. Yes, that’s better. It’s much easier now to see the little line along his throat that appears when he is tense. There is a thick vein protruding from his forehead now, and it makes you smile. You so love to watch. 

Your hand moves faster, and it is slick with spend and sweat and spit. 

“The knight refused, for he loved the queen more d-dearly than his… his own life. Oh, fuck!” 

His eye closes and it leaves only the sapphire in its socket to wink at you. Fire rages through you at the sight, excitement and adrenaline and love mingled into a potent poison. Let it ruin you, if it means you can have him. 

“Yes, love, don’t stop, I’m-!” 

His face is flecked with starlight when pleasure rips through him. His hands ball into fists and his hips lift off the bed, and he cries out, guttural and low, his voice cracking. You watch, enchanted, and stroke him through it, catching his seed across your hand. Some will have gone on the blanket. Such a waste. 

“Kiss me,” he pleads quietly as he sinks back in the pillows. Below the blanket, his hand finds yours and your fingers weave together and it feels like the centre of the world. 

You smile and keep your eyes open as you kiss him. It is tender now, your lips soft together. Whilst there is still a fire between your legs, it has been tempered for a time. Simply by seeing his release, some part of you has been satisfied. 

Aemond breaks the kiss after a long moment. His eye opens slowly, and he is greeted by your smile. “Thank you.” 

“You don’t need to thank me.” 

“I do,” he whispers, squeezing your hand against his stomach. “I do.” 

Tenderly, you kiss his forehead and stroke his hair back. “You don’t.” 

It is a reflex to lean closer when you kiss him, and within a moment he has leaned so close that you are rolled onto your back with him between your legs now, the book discarded. He pulls at the hem of your yellow sleeping shift, but you stop him. “Wait.” 

His orgasm is still sending waves of bliss through him, and he cocks his head to the side in a silent question. You grin. “The looking glass,” you say in a hushed tone. Close to the door stands a great reflective glass, large enough to see one’s full frame. 

Aemond understands immediately, and scrambles to his feet. Your hands are still clasped and so he pulls you up with him. “Of course. You do so love to watch.”

[purplebutwarhammer]

I don’t normally write like this but as it’s my birthday I’m going to treat myself. This is mostly based of my headcanon that Mrs Curzes title would be The Domina Nox, as well as the fact that Domina on its own can refer to both a wife and the mistress of the house, or it can mean owner.

And I’ve decided that since it’s my birthday Curze can call his wife Domina recreationally as a treat, warning for suggestive writing below

He knelt before her like a worshiper before his god, as a man such as him should kneel before his wife. Clad in just his body glove, no armour to hide or shield him or nudity to detach him from his humanity Konrad Curze knelt. Long arms moved slowly but with no trace of hesitance, one wrapped firmly around her waist the other up and along her back with his finger tips almost able to reach her shoulder and neck. Using the leverage given to him by his hold he pulled himself closer to her, until his face was pressed right up against her lower stomach. He inhaled deeply pushing his face further into her as if to try and pull himself into her body as to become one with her, he let out a deep groaning whisper.

“Domina…”

It was in moments like this the Night Haunter bemoaned his wife’s choice of dress. It was a simple thing of made of a sturdy deep midnight blue fabric, the embellishments were minimalistic especially now in their chambers where no such symbols of status were needed. The corset like belt that he had gifted her long ago, modelled in the same fashion as the golden ribs that decorated his own armour and with each rib able to detach into a blade, lay somewhere near the entrance where it had been discarded rather quickly after the ceremonial aspects of his return from campaigning had been completed. The red shawl-like cape she usually kept hung around her elbows was set beneath him like a pool of blood, the fabric bunched beneath his shins and knees like ripples in a pond. She was a funny little thing his wife, always so concerned for his comfort. The thought made Curze chuckle somewhat, as if a creature such as him had any need for the luxury of comfort, but as she commanded he would do, and so he knelt upon the cape. He began to relax against her as much as he was able, he still had the inherent tension of a skittish beast but his grip was tight enough to loose precious seconds if he suddenly wanted to leap away and his breathing had slowed. He inhaled deeply and exhaled with a shudder, his pale face nuzzled into the fabric of her dress and his eyes fell shut. Speaking once more his voice was almost breathy, as if consumed with pleasure.

“Domina.”

A hand brushed against his hair, and he leaned into it as it moved the dark hair away from his temple and then it moved to his cheek. Fingers delicately traced his features mapping out the hollow of his cheekbones, brushing over the dark bruise-like bags beneath his eyes, until eventually her palm was braced against his cheek and her fingers traced the the sharp lines born of periods of self induced starvation that made up his jaw. The intimate touch of her naked hand had reminded Curze of the gloves that had originally come with his wife’s mantle, they had even been the same deep red. Curze had found them to be a thoughtless gift, more of an insult if anything. He’d insisted her hands remained bare, to see his wife, his Domina Nox marked in the fashion of traitors and fools was something the Night Haunter would not abide. As he relished in her touch he found himself wondering if he should have commissioned a replacement pair in a more suiting colour, if only to prevent others from feeling his wife’s touch as he does, and to prevent his wife ever being stained by the filth of any but him. As he mused on what would suit her best a thumb brushed against his thin lips and acting on what could have been impulse or instinct he opened his mouth to allow her entrance. Ever so gently she traced his lips before sliding her thumb inside until it rested upon his blade like teeth. Curze dared not to move as even the slightest pressure would draw blood, so instead he remained still, with his mouth lax and his cheek so gently held. The Dark King did faintly wonder what would happen if he got a taste of her blood, would he remain gentle and simply suckle at the wound like a babe at its mother’s breast? Or would he go into some kind of frenzy, would the blood suddenly remind him of the kind of monster he was until he came back to himself doused in gore and clutching the tattered remains of his wife? Rather than allow either of these fates to pass he allowed his eyes to open just enough so that he could take her in, he pressed his tongue upwards just enough so that he could get a taste. It had been so long, he couldn’t help the shuddering moan that formed around her thumb as he thought the words he couldn’t say.

“Ave Domina Nox”

[rowanmutt-afterdark]

Kinktober Day 3: Chasity

(MTMTE/IDW Swerve)

Word Count: 810

MTMTE/IDW Swerve X Human GN Reader

18+ tags: chasity, dom/sub, and slight humiliation play

Read below the cut!

Swerve sat stiff, his knee joints ached as he sat with his thighs spread wide, and his helm tilted back while you worked between his quivering leg struts. You were attaching something onto his body, specifically his spike. You had called it a chastity cage, and while he was still learning human ways, he had grown interested in it.

He remembered seeing something like what was being put on him from a human holo film, according to what you called it, it's called ‘porn’. He still had no clue what it was but he trusted you over other sources.

He jolts with a whimper as the cold chastity finally clips into place and he hears you chuckle between his thighs. He feels your finger slip between the bars of the cage and stroke a small stripe down his chubby, stubbed spike. He hissed with pleasure as you teased the sensitive organ.

“So, how does it feel?” Your inquiry helped him focus again so he could get a coherent sentence out.

“Feels good, a little weird but it doesn't hurt.” He answers. He hears You hum in acknowledgment to his response before resuming your work of teasing his body. You take a finger and gently trail down his body, smirking as you trace the armoured plating that made up his chassis and stout frame. You took the trail all the way down to just above his spike, it earned a small jump from his skin growing erection.

He whined as your hands moved back up to his chassis to trace the metal, following the flow of his plating and tracing cables making your minibot lover squirm and whimper as you watched each small movement to make sure he wasn't uncomfortable.

He shuddered, his engine hiccuping as it revved excitedly, your small fingers slipped between the plating just under his chassis and teased the sensitive wiring there. He shifted with a moan of ecstasy as your fingers expertly rolled and tweaked at the wires.

His intake gaped open as his plating flared, his leg struts tensing as his hips buck forward, desperate for friction against his growing erection. His visor flaring a bright cyan as his frame leaned forward to be closer to you. His lip components parting as he gasped out a plea. “Please,sweetspark! I need it so bad!”

You looked down at his weeping tip, his caged spike was throbbing within its confines. Transfluids dribbled down the chastity, it was splattering onto his plating, and on the floor. Your tongue clicked against your teeth, tsking at the mess your boyfriend was making in his hab-suite. Your hand reached up to grab his helm, your fingers grasped a hold of the back of his helm and pulled him down closer to your own height. Only a few feet height difference made him just a little bigger than yourself.

“Only good boys get to overload, you are to address me as what?” You growl, earning a high pitched whine before you received your answer.

“Please, mistress. I need to release, it hurts!” You hum as if thinking before you lift a foot and press it against his caged spike. He makes a sound similar to a squeal of pleasure but his engine roaring covers it as your boot clad foot pressed down against his chastity. Watching as he tensed, holding back the overload that so badly wanted to be let go.

“Again, tell your mistress what you want.” You demand, the foot on his spike pressed down with a littke more pressure earning a shutter and a whine. He sounded so pathetic, it was cute~

“Overload! Please mistress, I need to overload!” He sobbed. You smirk and watch as his spike weeped for that release he so craved.

“Good boy~” You purred, with that he released. His cry was so delicious that your own arousal started to become unbearable as his transfluids painted your boot, his thighs, and the floor. You smiled, watching him as he slowly came down from his high. His visor flicked on and off as his systems roared to life to cool his frame down.

“Now look at the mess you made, we can't have your mistress wearing your fluids like this, now can we?” You didn't need to say anymore as the mech leaned down and used his glossa to lap up the spilled fluids off your boot. Your pussy clenching at the display, your hand moving down to your pants as you gropped at your crotch to try and relieve the pressure building.

“Once you are finish cleaning, I have another task for you. How does dessert sound?” Swerve moaned against your solvent covered boot as he sat up again and nodded eagerly. You didnt hesitate in taking your pants off and seating yourself against his face.

This was going to be a long night~

[castielscaplan]

To Make the Devil Behave (Crowley)

Summary: You needed to find a way to release your brother from the grips of the mafia lord himself.

Warnings: angst, a devils bargain

WC: 583

Read on ao3!

--

The chandelier in the centre of the grand dining hall cast a golden glow over the polished marble floors. You adjusted your gloves nervously, the faint hum of the gathered guests doing little to settle your nerves. You weren’t supposed to be here. This wasn’t your world—this was his.

And yet, here you were, standing on the devil’s doorstep.

“Darling, if you keep fidgeting like that, someone might think you’re nervous.”

The smooth, unmistakable voice sent a shiver down your spine. You turned slowly, and there he was, Crowley.

Dressed in a tailored black suit that fit him like a second skin, he exuded power and danger in equal measure. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief as he offered you a glass of wine, the corners of his mouth curling into a smirk.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” he continued, taking a sip from his own glass.

You lifted your chin, refusing to let him see the crack in your armour. “You left me no choice.”

“Ah, yes.” Crowley gestured to a table in the corner, away from the prying eyes of his associates. “Let’s discuss this little… misunderstanding.”

The way he said it as if holding your brother’s life over your head was a minor inconvenience, made your blood boil. But you followed him, your heels clicking against the floor as you moved to the secluded spot.

Once seated, he leaned back in his chair, entirely at ease. “So, what is it you propose, darling? A trade? A plea? Or perhaps something more… creative?”

Your jaw tightened. “I’m here to make a deal.”

Crowley chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. “Of course you are. But the question is—what do you have that I could possibly want?”

You reached into your clutch and pulled out a slim envelope, sliding it across the table. He raised an eyebrow, taking it with a languid movement. As he opened it, his expression shifted, the smirk faltering for just a moment.

“Well, well.” He leaned forward, his gaze sharpening. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you?”

The envelope contained incriminating photos and documents, evidence that could unravel parts of his empire. It was a dangerous gambit, but it was all you had.

“You let my brother go,” you said, your voice steady despite the hammering of your heart, “and this stays between us.”

For a moment, Crowley was silent, studying you like a predator sizing up its prey. Then, slowly, he set the envelope down and steepled his fingers.

“You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” he said, his tone almost admiring. “But you’ve made one critical mistake.”

You stiffened, your stomach twisting. “What mistake?”

Crowley leaned in, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “You think you can make the devil behave.”

The air between you crackled with tension. But then, to your surprise, he leaned back, a grin spreading across his face.

“Lucky for you, I find that kind of audacity… intriguing.”

“What does that mean?” you asked warily.

“It means,” Crowley said, standing and buttoning his jacket, “I’ll release your brother. Consider it a gesture of goodwill. But don’t think this means you’re off my radar, darling. You’ve caught my attention now, and that’s not something easily undone.”

As he walked away, leaving the envelope untouched on the table, you exhaled shakily, unsure whether you’d won or simply delayed the inevitable.

Because making the devil behave was one thing. But keeping him interested? That was a game you weren’t sure you could win.

--

this is your kind reminder that reblogs give me life.