#how did I manage to forget to add the tags

[vimbry-moved]

jumping off the back of the post about genres of song lyrics, another thing about tmbg's lyrics in particular is that even when they write about pleasant themes, they still manage to frequently do so through a sinister lens:

the experience of having children and looking after them:

a nice little nightlight protecting a child muses on the shortcomings it would have outside its assigned responsibility:

fantasising about getting high in the park with your crush:

[theclowningbusiness]

A Necessary Conversation

Pairing: Logan Howlett (X2) x Reader 

Tropes: Shy girl, flirty guy

Warnings: Kissing

Other tags: Logan being hot, reader is a mutant but there are no details about what her mutation is/does, nobody good dies bc I said so, fuck Stryker tho, mention of reader almost falling off the Statue of Liberty in X1, mention of reader shaving her legs (is that even something I need to add HELP LMAO), Logan being vulnerable

Background: You’re a mutant living at the x-mansion and you’ve had eyes on Logan ever since he first arrived.

Description: Logan returns from his solo trip to Alkali Lake and you greet him at the door. You manage to embarrass yourself, but thankfully you get interrupted by Marie. Later, you run into Logan again, but before the conversation can go too far, you’re interrupted by Stryker showing up at the mansion. When the dust finally settles, you and Logan finally get the chance to talk.

    You’d been waiting for Logan to come back since the day he left. He’d given you his dog tags the day he left, asking you to keep them safe for him. Since then, you've carried them with you everywhere.

    While you were in your room working on something that Charles wanted you to take a look at, you swore you could hear the sound of Scott’s motorcycle outside. That couldn’t be, Logan had taken it for his trip. There was no way.

   Getting up from where you’d been sitting in your bed, you made your way over to the window and peeked out. When you saw Logan climbing off of the motorcycle, your eyes lit up. Unable to help yourself, you rushed out of your room and down the hall. As you reached the steps, you went down two at a time.

    By the time you made it to the front door, Logan was standing there, his bag still slung over his shoulder. He looked just the same as he had when he left, which was really no surprise. When he spotted you, he gave you a small smile.

    You ran towards him, nearly tackling him in a bear hug. Your arms wrapped over his shoulders, while his responded by wrapping around your waist. Not wanting to be clingy, you let go before too much time could pass.

    “You miss me?” He asked with a smile, which, knowing Logan, was really more of a smirk.

    “We all did,” you replied, not wanting to make it seem like you had missed him any more than anyone else, even if you had.

    “How have things been here?” He hummed, tilting his head as he waited for your answer.

    “Same as always, chaotic,” you joked. “Last week, a kid blew a hole through the wall in the kitchen by accident when he sneezed. How was your trip? You find what you were looking for?” You asked curiously.

    “Kinda,” he shrugged, “I’ve gotta talk to Chuck about it. How have you been?” He questioned.

    “I’ve been alright,” you replied. “I’ve been working on something Charles wanted me to take a look at. So far, I haven’t been able to get too far with it, but I’ve got a few more ideas to try before I give up.”

    Logan nodded as you spoke, seemingly interested in what you were saying.

    “Oh, before I forget,” you hummed, “I have something for you.” Before he could ask what it was, you raised your arm and smacked him on the chest. You tried not to let your thoughts linger on how much muscle was there. “That’s for being gone so long.”

    “That your way of saying you missed me?” He teased.

    “Okay, maybe I did miss you, just a little,” you relented, crossing your arms.

    “Just a little?” He raised a brow. “You’re killing me, sweetheart.”

    “Fine, maybe more than a little,” you huffed. “I even started missing those little tufts of hair that look like cat ears,” you joked.

    “I’ve been here for less than ten minutes and you’re already insulting me,” Logan sighed, feigning offense.

    “I’m just messing with you. Your hair is fine, Logan. It’s honestly more than fine, it’s good, it suits you,” you began to ramble, as if you couldn’t stop yourself from letting the words come out of your mouth. “You look good, too, not just your hair. I mean, you’re a good looking guy-” Before you could continue, Logan cut you off by clearing his throat.

    “Are you flirting with me right now?” He grinned, exposing the sharp points of his canine. That just shouldn’t be allowed when you’re already flustered. Not when his smile looked like a smirk and it basically invited you to kiss him.

    “What?” You asked, trying to seem nonchalant. You could feel your cheeks heating up from his question. “Psh, no,” you shook your head. “Me? Flirt? No, not at all.”

    “Maybe you should,” he shrugged, once again tilting his head.

    You didn’t even have time to process his words- nevermind reply- when Marie made her way over, greeting Logan. You took that as your opportunity to excuse yourself, running off to your room to try and sort out what Logan must’ve meant.

================

    For the rest of the day, you hadn’t seen Logan again. But he had said he needed to talk to Charles, so you were sure he was busy with that, along with unpacking and being greeted by everyone.

    That led you to now. You sat in the kitchen eating some Doritos when Logan walked in. He wore a tank top and some jeans, and you decided that there really should be a law against his arms being exposed.

    “Hey,” you greeted, nodding your head at him as he took a few more steps into the kitchen. 

    He gave you a grunt in reply, which wasn’t all that unusual. He certainly wasn’t the most talkative man. You watched as he started looking around in the fridge.

    “If you’re looking for a beer, there isn’t any,” you chuckled. “This is a school,” you reminded him. “There’s some Dr.Pepper in there, though.”

    Logan sighed, but grabbed a bottle of the soda and closed the fridge. He turned towards you and leaned against the counter, popping the bottle open.

    “What’re you doing down here so late?” He spoke before taking a sip from his soda.

    “Didn’t feel like sleeping,” you hummed, then nodded to your laptop that lay on the counter next to you. “Plus, I was still working on that project Charles gave me until about ten minutes ago. I realized I was too tired to make sense of anything. What’s your excuse?” You joked.

    “Couldn’t sleep,” he answered, reaching over to take a chip from your bowl and eat it.

    “Can I ask you something?” You started, leaning your head on one hand.

    “Shoot,” he replied with a small nod.

    “What did you mean earlier?” Your voice was small, nervous. “When you said I should flirt with you?”

    Instead of replying, Logan held a hand up at you. He furrowed his brows and you could see his ears perking up. You’d seen him do it before, and you knew he must hear something that he was concerned about.

    Next thing you knew, you were ducking behind the counter while a gun went off overhead.

================

    You were relieved that things were over. You’d found out a lot, about Logan and Alkali lake, about Stryker. It was just a weight being lifted when the dust settled. Now, you took the chance to relax a little. You’d found a nice tree outside the mansion and laid a blanket down to sit on. It was peaceful, and that was what you really needed right now.

    As you sat with your back against the tree, you caught movement out of the corner of your eyes and turned your head to see what it was. It was Logan, walking towards you with his hands tucked in his pockets.

    “How’d you know where I was?” You asked curiously once he was close enough to talk to without shouting.

    Instead of replying with words, he just pointed to his nose.

    “Right,” you nodded with a smile, “Can’t hide from the guy with the nose of a bloodhound.”

    “That, and Scott told me when I asked if he’d seen you,” he smiled, sitting down next to you on your blanket and leaning back against the tree.. “What’re you doing out here alone?”

    “Trying to decompress from all that shit we went through,” you answered honestly.

    “How’re the cuts healing?” He asked, leaning in to get a better look. 

    During the fighting, you’d managed to cut open your forehead and the bridge of your nose. Luckily, that was the worst of your injuries. 

    “I’m fine. They’re just superficial,” you shrugged.

    “I should’ve killed Stryker years ago, then none of this would’ve happened,” he sighed, blaming himself for the entire situation, along with the cuts on your face.

    “Lo, really, I’m fine,” you assured. “Everyone is fine, this isn’t your fault.”

    Logan nodded and leaned back again, looking out in the distance in front of the two of you. You did the same, smiling. It was a beautiful day, perfect for relaxing.

    “Y’know, we never got the chance to finish our conversation,” Logan stated.

    “Yeah, we kinda got interrupted,” you chuckled, trying to ignore the pit of nerves growing in your stomach. “We have time to talk now.”

    “You asked me what I meant when I told you that you should flirt with me,” Logan began, turning his head to look at you. “I meant exactly what I said. I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to flirt with me. I’m into you.”

    “Oh.” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Logan ‘emotionally stunted’ Howlett was confessing his feelings for you, even if he didn’t use so many words to say it. You turned your body so you could fully give him your attention.“I feel the same,” you admitted, your cheeks warming, “I was just too nervous to say anything.”

    “I know,” Logan smiled at you, “That’s why I decided to make the first move, even if it did end up making you get a little flustered and run away.”

    “In my defense, I didn’t know if you were serious or not. Didn’t know if I should think anything of it, or if I should just brush it off as you teasing me,” you reasoned.

    “C’mere,” Logan hummed, gesturing for you to scoot closer to him.

    You did as he wanted, and his hand reached up to hold the side of your neck, his fingertips resting in the hair on your nape. His thumb ran over the hinge of your jaw slowly. Using his gentle grip on your neck, he carefully led your face closer to his. His grip was light enough that you could pull away if you wanted to, but there was no way you wanted to.

    You weren’t sure how long it took for him to pull you in, but then his lips hit yours. The taste of his cigars was still on his lips as they moved smoothly with yours. He was surprisingly gentle, as if he was trying not to spook you.

    One of your hands lifted to hold the side of his face. You smiled softly, feeling the hair that covered his jaw under your fingers and palm.

    It was too soon when he pulled back just enough to speak, but he had no chance to get a word out before your lips were once again covering his. Now that you’d had a taste, you couldn’t get enough. He was surprised, but chuckled. He kept his lips moving with yours as he grabbed your hips and led you to straddle his lap.

    When you were comfortable on his lap, you slowly pulled your lips away from his.

    “Someone’s eager,” he teased, letting out a content hum when both of your hands settled against his chest.

    “I’ve waited long enough for this,” you defended with a small smile. “I’ve had eyes for you since you first came here. Then you left, and I had to pine after you the whole time you were gone,” you sighed dramatically, but the smile never left your face.

    “You poor thing,” he gave you an overdramatic pout.

    “But, that does remind me, I do have something for you,” you hummed.

    “If you’re about to hit me again, can I get a warning?” He deadpanned.

    “No, I’m serious this time,” you laughed, reaching into your pocket and pulling out Logan’s dog tags. You grabbed one of his hands and placed the chain and tags on his palm. “I believe these belong to you.” You closed his hand and placed a soft kiss on his knuckles.

    “Knew they’d be safe with you,” he smiled, not his usual, teasing, grin. It was soft, warm. It felt like the smile came straight from his heart.

    He opened his hand and looked at the dog tags. Then, he seemed to make a decision and grabbed them, removing the dog tag attached to the shorter chain. He clasped the shorter chain back together and held it out to you.

    You took it, confused on why he was giving it back.

    Logan picked up on your confusion- of course he did, the man didn’t miss anything- and spoke.

    “If you’re gonna be my girl, I want you to have it,” he answered your confusion as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Want you to keep it safe for me for a while longer.”

    “I’ll keep it with me all the time, I promise,” you grinned, unable to resist leaning in for another soft kiss. “I’ll keep it safe.”

    “And I’ll keep you safe,” Logan replied, pecking your lips. He then placed a gentle kiss to each of the cuts on your face.

    “You always have. You did kinda keep me from falling off the Statue of Liberty once,” you joked.

    “But I didn’t this time,” he cringed as he looked at the cuts on your face.

    “Logan, I’ve had worse injuries from shaving my legs,” you laughed softly. “I promise you, I am absolutely fine.”

    “Okay,” he nodded, relaxing as you pressed your forehead to his. “I trust you.”

    Logan’s hands on your hips lifted you off his lap and sat you on the blanket next to you. He laid down fully on the blanket, using one arm to prop his head up. You had no time to question it before he opened his other arm for you.

    You smiled and laid down on the blanket next to him, tucking your face into his shoulder. In response, he wrapped his arm around you to hold you close.

    “I’m glad we talked,” you said softly, tracing random patterns over his chest with your fingers.

    “Me too,” he agreed, giving you a squeeze with the arm that was around you.

[andypantsx3]

READY OR KNOT | 2 | TODOROKI SHOUTO x READER

SUMMARY: Todoroki Shouto is so unsettlingly beautiful, you’re certain he has to be an omega. That is, until a chance encounter with a pushy alpha reveals you were incredibly mistaken—and the surprises don’t stop there. Shouto's suddenly mystifying behavior adds another layer of complexity to an already confusing inter-agency investigation. It would be so much easier to figure things out—and suppress your growing feelings—if only Shouto would stop being so strangely attentive to you... TAGS/WARNINGS: pro hero au, fem + afab reader, omegaverse, alpha shouto, beta reader, misunderstandings, courting behavior, slightly case fic-y, undertones of sexual violence (not between main pairing), aged-up characters, eventual smut, 18+ minors please dni! LENGTH: 4.9k, 2nd of 7 chapters

It turned out it was not so easy to forget what had happened with Shouto. Especially when Monday morning rolled around, and with it, some very pressing questions about the party.

Mina found you first thing in the morning, already up to your eyeballs in the case file at your desk. A frown marred her pretty mouth as she rounded the corner into the case analyst area. She neatly dodged your deskmate’s ginormous stack of paperwork, nearly as tall as she was, eyes homing in on you like dark little missiles.

“I heard about what happened with Suzuki,” she said, looking you over with uncharacteristic concern. Her eyebrows were drawn, her features pinched. It was an expression that didn’t overtake her cheerful visage all too often. “Are you okay?”

You blinked up at her, the name escaping you for a moment, until you matched it up with the support alpha from the party on Friday. Your lips downturned in reflexive distaste.

“I’m fine. You must have heard that Shouto scared him off,” you answered. “All he really managed to do was imply some stuff.”

Mina’s eyebrow twitched, like she had more questions on that, but she dutifully adhered to the matter at hand first. “I did hear that and we are going to be discussing that in a second. But that doesn’t mean you’d still be okay with everything that did happen. I’ve got a meeting with HR about Suzuki this afternoon, and I’m thinking of firing him.”

You jolted, a quick pang of guilt striking through you. Firing him. That seemed a very intense option.

You thought Suzuki was an asshole, sure, and you remembered all too well the horror that had overtaken you as he’d reached for his belt. But you also knew he had been drunk out of his mind—drunk enough that he thought you were an omega of all things, somehow perceiving things that weren’t even there.

You’d thought about it a lot this weekend, running over the events in your mind, and while the whole incident left a sour taste in your mouth, you thought Suzuki probably had been close to alcohol poisoning considering how strongly he smelled of Tetsutetsu’s horrible drink. He wasn’t exactly sound of mind, the lines a little blurry.

You’d never waylaid anyone like that while intoxicated, but you had done and said your fair share of things you regretted when you’d sobered up. You didn’t know what to think.

You looked up at Mina, finding her watching you consideringly. “No?” she asked.

You scrubbed a hand over your face, unclear what the right thing was. “I saw him and he was like, really not all there, Mina. I think he should be punished for sure, but what if you gave him a warning that if this happens at all again, he’s gone?”

One of Mina’s eyebrows arched. “Shouto said he was holding you against the wall even after you said no.”

You could feel your nostrils flare in anger at the memory, the feeling of that hand against the wet patch on your shoulder, unbudging.

“He did, but he also thought I was an omega, Mina,” you said. “I think he was close to alcohol poisoning, actually. He hasn’t caused any other trouble like this, has he?”

Mina shook that head of wild pink curls. “No, he’s been a model employee thus far. But I still don’t like it. That’s not what the Pink Riot agency is.”

A sigh filled your lungs. The support of Mina and Kirishima was enough for now. “I don’t like it either. But he was drunk, and nothing did actually happen, thanks to Shouto. Give him a warning that any other tiny slip up means firing, and I will be satisfied.”

Mina looked hesitant, dark eyes searching over your face, but eventually she sighed, shrugging her shoulders. “Fine. Once and only because you’ll need an accurate record from support in your investigation and it will be harder to get if he’s gone. But he will be fired if I hear even a whiff of a rumor again.” She paused. “And you’ll have to talk to Eiji, because he’s going to like this even less than I do.”

That wrung a smile out of you.

Kirishima was a good alpha and seemed to think of the agency almost like his pack. As easygoing as he was, he guarded his people resolutely, like a farm dog patrolling a chicken coop. You could almost imagine him standing at attention, head forward and tail pointed like an arrow.

As heartwarming as that image was, that didn’t mean you wanted to be the one to tell him though. You shook your head, throwing out your hands. “Oh no. Your alpha, your problem. The one privilege of my secondary gender is I’m not part of this shit.”

Mina clucked, sighing. “He is my problem.”

You laughed, knowing very well she’d know how to solve it. But her expression shifted, suddenly looking sly, and you realized she was about to saddle you with another problem.

“You’ll have to tell Shouto then,” she said, her voice deceptively light.

You blinked, eyebrows raising. Shouto…? “Why the heck would I need to tell Shouto?”

A grin slowly crept over Mina’s mouth, and she leaned in conspiratorially, looking altogether too pleased. Her hot pink nails settled on the edge of your desk, tapping delightedly. “Because he’s your assigned supervising hero. And you’ll be seeing him again in just a few minutes.”

A sudden flurry of butterflies erupted in your stomach, your mind flashing through the feeling of Shouto over you, tall and strong and warm, pressing you carefully to the wall. You could all but feel the whisper of those pretty eyelashes on your skin, feel his careful exhale, the brush of his mouth against your throat.

Your ears prickled with heat, and you could feel your face go slack in shock. He would be here—? In front of you again?

“He’s—what?” you garbled out, trying to dispel the phantom feeling of Shouto against you.

Mina looked downright smug. “He asked to be assigned right after I spoke to him at the party on Friday. Interesting, don’t you think?”

Heat licked at your cheeks. “Is it,” you managed tightly. “That’s… nice of him.”

“Very,” Mina agreed. “Especially since I heard about what happened after Suzuki left.”

You hated her.

“I’m a beta,” you reminded her, not liking the implication.

Mina’s dark eyes rolled. “Eiji liked me even when he thought I might present as a beta.”

“That’s different,” you told her, floored that you’d sidetracked into this so quickly. “I’m actually a beta. Also what the hell are we even talking about. This is a work case.”

Mina flapped a hand at you. “I’m sure you’ll both work it very hard, very thoroughly,” she said with no small amount of relish.

You seized the case file in question, holding it up between you like a shield, flapping it at her in turn. The manila folder flopped stiffly, the pages making a sort of wobbly sound. “Why are you like this,” you hissed.

Mina’s eyes glittered, and she opened her mouth to respond, when the soft tread of a boot in the hall made her perk up. Her grin went unholy. “Speak of the devil,” she said.

Shouto certainly did not look like the devil, as he rounded the corner. The fluorescent lighting made a sort of soft halo off the glossy strands of his distinct two-toned hair, and his features were just as angelic as you remembered—finely-wrought and almost deliberately formed, as though he were sculpture from the hands of a master. He was almost too beautiful to look at this early in the morning, and you felt your breath draw up short in your lungs.

He blinked when he saw you, those heterochromatic eyes widening nearly imperceptibly as he approached.

“Morning, Shouto-kun,” she purred. You hated her.

“Good morning,” he said, his tone low and soft. Your fingers tightened on the file folder, bracing yourself against the loveliness of the sound.

A flush rose to your cheeks as you did so, and Shouto’s eyes followed you curiously. Beneath the high collar of his hero uniform, you could just glimpse a flash of his scent patches, neatly placed as usual. You wondered absently what he would smell like if you peeled them back and leaned in close. As a beta, your nose was not as good as the other genders, but if you got in close enough, and if Shouto’s scent was strong enough, you’d probably be able to tell.

He looked like he’d smell delicious.

A cackle from Mina alerted you to the horrifying fact that you’d just been staring at Shouto as he approached, mouth open and expression vacant.

“Uh… good morning,” you managed.

The corner of Shouto’s mouth quirked up, and something beneath your skin tingled in response.

“I hope you are well,” he murmured.

You could see Mina’s eyes darting back and forth between the two of you with barely suppressed glee, and a sudden bolt of shame went through you.

Just because it was super obvious how hot you found Shouto didn’t mean he felt the same. He was a fucking pro hero for crying out loud. Rescuing people was what he did—the save on Friday did not have to mean anything.

Plus, knowing for sure that he was an alpha had closed the window on your little celebrity crush. Out of the hundreds of couples you’d met in your lifetime, you’d only ever met one alpha-beta pairing—both tradition and biology seemed to win out in almost all mated pairs, alphas and omegas unable to help their inherent attraction to one another.

And with that in mind, it was actually super disrespectful of you to even think about this impending partnership in any terms less-than-professional.

You rallied yourself, inclining your head respectfully to Shouto, gesturing with the case file in your hands.

“Yep, I’m good. I’m grateful for the save and I’m sure I’ll be even more grateful for your help on this case.” You turned to your boss, routing her back on track. “Mina, what information have you shared and what do I need to get him up to speed on?”

Mina’s pout was so defined it could be seen from space. You ignored her, raising your eyebrows.

“I only put the call out to other agency heads for a supervising out-of-agency hero. Just that it’s an omega assault case possibly involving a pro, and your name as the lead investigator.”

Your gaze returned to Shouto. He was still watching you intently.

“How much time do you have before you’re needed back at your agency?” you asked him. “Do you want to grab a conference room and I’ll get you up to speed? I’m sure Mina has a lot to do just now.”

He nodded, his hair falling into his eyes in a way that should not have wrung the oxygen out of the atmosphere, but did. “I am on patrol after lunch, but I’ve asked that my schedule be cleared until then.”

Perfect. Plenty of time. You stood, hefting the case file with you, clearly dismissing Mina, who looked put out.

“Great, I’ll show you to the conference room then,” you said. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Mina flashing you a pink finger, and you could easily guess which one. You stuck out your tongue at her as you passed Shouto so he couldn’t see, not above pettiness.

You gestured Shouto into one of the smaller rooms across the floor with especially good soundproofing, holding the door open for him. You sucked in a breath as he brushed past you, trying not to admire how tall and broad he was, the way those shoulders spanned the breadth of the doorway.

Shouto took a seat and you spread the case file out before him, trying not to look down at him as he glanced up at you. His fingers twitched on the conference table, like he was holding them in place. You carefully retreated to a safer distance, hoping you hadn’t annoyed him.

“Okay so the basic brief is as Mina said. There have been multiple reports of a suspected pro harassing omegas late at night in Bunkyo. Initially they were identified as a masked male wearing scent patches, roughly five foot ten, always wearing some dark jacket. But the suspected hero element came into play late last week when they attempted to strap quirk suppressors on their target. The omega in question had a vapor quirk so she was able to dissolve and escape before he did.”

Shouto’s eyes tracked you as you spoke, solemn and attentive.

“So far the suspect has not shown any signs of a quirk himself, and without any scent ID it’s hard to know what secondary gender to look for. Our best option is to work the possible-pro-hero angle and rule out who we can, since that’s all the identifiable detail we have on this guy at this time.”

Shouto nodded, propping an elbow on the table. You tried to ignore how even that small gesture made him look like a center spread in Heroes Illustrated.

“I’d like to read the individual reports and hear your plan once I have,” Shouto said.

You perked up, pleased with the terms he was speaking in. A good case analyst always had at least a sketch of a plan—what order to speak to specific people in, which angles had highest priority of investigation, and how the labor could be divided and work double-checked.

Most heroes were people of action and hated having to be corralled into approaching cases like some sort of assignment, instead of busting in and blowing things apart. But it was the best way to make sure all avenues were investigated thoroughly and that work was peer-reviewed in case someone missed something.

Shouto’s phraseology told you he was familiar with approaching cases like this, meaning he probably listened to the Todoroki agency analysts. You’d never worked closely enough with him before to know, only trading high-level information back and forth on a couple of joint cases, presenting findings in a meeting room stuffed full of Pink Riot and Todoroki agency heroes.

You found yourself smiling faintly.

“I’ll get you some coffee while you read. Everything is in chronological order in the file and I’ve tabulated some notes,” you said. “How do you take yours?”

Shouto’s gaze slid over you, careful and assessing. He paused. “I’ve been told I should not share that information.”

Your eyebrows went up. “Your… coffee order?”

Shouto nodded seriously. “Bakugou says it’s disgusting and embarrassing.”

Bakugou—pro hero Dynamight, that was—was Kirishima’s best friend, a loud alpha of an explosive manner and incendiary opinions who often showed up unprompted at the agency to stomp around and mean mug, all the while hiding that he was attempting to press leftovers on Kiri and Mina. You laughed, curious what Bakugou had browbeaten another pro over.

“Your secret will be safe with me,” you said coaxingly.

Shouto blinked, mouth quirking slightly again. He looked like he genuinely liked the idea of that, and your stomach fluttered in response.

Of course then he opened his mouth and provided a rundown of the inhumanly numerous sugars and syrups he liked, such that it constituted more of a soft drink than a coffee order. You tried to keep your eyebrows from creeping up into your hairline, smothering a laugh.

That was so unexpectedly cute. Especially for an alpha.

“One coma-inducing order of sugar with a splash of coffee, coming right up,” you saluted him.

He did something with his face that was a cross between a tiny smile and a pout, and you threw yourself out the door before you dissolved into a puddle of goop.

You went down to the cafe that operated out of the ground floor of the Pink Riot building, a favorite lunch spot of most of the heroes for how enormous their sandwiches were. The order took a fair few minutes, as it took the barista a good while to pump in the zillions of requested syrups, his eyebrows raised nearly to the moon as you recited them.

When you returned to the conference room, Shouto was already well into the case file. He glanced up as you entered, those heterochromatic eyes pinning you with an unexpected intensity. You started, wondering if you’d done something wrong.

But then his mouth slid into another tiny smile, and he looked so genuinely pleased to see you—or the coffee cup—you found yourself helplessly smiling back.

After depositing his cup next to him, you fetched your laptop and emailed Shouto’s agency the case files while he read. You wrote up the preliminary notes you’d been able to pull together on the case—a list of three agency heroes whose exact whereabouts had been accounted for during one or more of the incidents, who were therefore not on your list of possibilities.

Shouto was staring at you when you shook yourself out of work mode an hour later, quiet and intent. You startled, jumping in your seat.

“Oh my god—I’m sorry—did you say something? I didn’t mean to ignore you,” you said.

Shouto shook his head, another smile quirking that perfect mouth. That expression was growing familiar. “I have just finished,” he said.

A sense of relief washed over you. “Okay great. Did anything stick out to you that you think I’ve missed so far?”

“No,” he murmured. “Your work is very thorough. I would like to hear your plan.”

His tone was low, almost appreciative, and you tried not to let it go to your head.

“Okay, then we’ll begin with the active duty and equipment logs,” you told him. “I’m already through all of the duty logs available, but I still need the one from Thursday when the last incident happened—it’s supposed to be ready this afternoon. That will rule out a few heroes, and the equipment logs can tell us more about who had what out during the time of the attacks—I think we start with the heroes who had suppressors on them then.”

Shouto nodded, looking like he was following along. “You want to narrow the pool before you speak to anyone in case you arouse suspicion.”

You nodded, pleased he understood. “Yes.”

That blue and gray gaze nearly pinned you to your seat. “That is smart.”

A sudden wash of heat licked up your spine, pooling in your limbs. You struggled to keep your face neutral, your ears burning. “Th—thanks.”

“Who have you ruled out so far?” he asked.

You turned your screen to him, showing the notes you’d drawn up. “Kiri’s clear—no shock there—Tetsutetsu, and Tetsu’s sidekick who was with him on a cleanup during the first incident. I’m hoping Thursday’s log will clear at least one or two more.”

Shouto inclined his head in agreement. “And your interview plan?”

You smiled, and scrolled down to your notes on that, pleased at how he was letting you lead the investigation. He listened intently as you walked him through an outline, double-checking that everything worked with his schedule.

As you talked, he offered a few suggestions of his own, but he mostly seemed content to follow your outline—completely unlike even the most agreeable of the Pink Riot agency alphas. In fact it was so contradictory to everything you’d experienced thus far that you found your gaze darting to his scent patches over and over again, as if assessing whether they were really covering up an alpha scent.

But no—you had felt the pull of his Order under your skin on Friday. You, a beta, naturally resistant to Orders in the way omegas weren’t. And you’d gone so boneless against him, too, affected by his proximity in the most embarrassing way. Shouto was definitely an alpha, with that kind of pull—and probably a preternaturally strong one at that.

But he was also just—your eyes drifted to his coma-inducing coffee cup—kind of a strange one, too.

The two of you discussed the case for a few more minutes—until your stomach growled, loud enough to interrupt your planning, and the corner of Shouto’s lips lifted again.

“Would you like to finish up over lunch?” he asked, saving you the embarrassment of excusing yourself.

You grinned. “I think my stomach already answered for me,” you agreed.

Shouto helped you reorganize the paper files and lingered over you as you locked them into your desk cabinet, waiting for you patiently. Then he let you lead him downstairs to the cafe. You were conscientious of not standing too close to him in the elevator, all too aware of him in that tiny, enclosed space.

When you made it down to the ground floor, Shouto surprised you by steering you over to one of the tables, bidding you to sit.

“What do you enjoy here?” he asked, looking down at you expectantly. “I would like to get it for you.”

You shook your head. “Actually, I’m pretty sure I should be treating you for the save. How about you tell me what you want?”

Those heterochromatic eyes blinked down at you, and a tiny crease appeared between Shouto’s eyebrows. His mouth turned down. Against the subtlety of his expressions thus far, the look appeared almost distressed. “I insist,” he said, something strange in his tone.

“Shouto, really, I—-”

“I insist,” Shouto said, a little more firmly. There was the flicker of something strange under your skin again, like the tiny molecules of your body shifting in response to him.

You froze, startled, and your mouth opened for you before you realized what you were doing. “I—a pesto sandwich—”

You clamped your mouth shut, mystified.

But Shouto looked pleased. He smiled, wider than you had seen so far, a devastatingly handsome quarter-moon sliver that sent your pulse pounding in your ears. You watched him turn and walk off, something you might have said was almost smug in his step, had you known him better.

You sank into one of the seats, befuddled by what had just happened.

Shouto returned a few minutes later with water and an order number, placing the bottle in front of you like an offering. You regrouped, thanking him, then raised your eyebrows as he leaned forward, looking serious.

“I have been wanting to ask. Where does the alpha who harassed you work?” he asked, his tone dropping low. A strip of afternoon sunlight caught in his hair, dancing like flickering flames in the strands of scarlet, liming them in an orange glow.

He was beautiful in the sun, and it took you a minute to reroute your brain from his face to his question.

“Suzuki’s in support,” you said. “But Mina’s disciplining him, and I don’t have to see him often. I do expect he’ll behave after this. But why do you ask?”

Shouto frowned, leaning in closer. “Support maintains the equipment logs.”

It was the same at the Pink Riot agency too. “I—well, yes, but—”

“I should like to be there when you go to support,” Shouto said, catching your eye. His expression shifted into something solemn, his mouth a flat line.

You waved your hand dismissively. “I appreciate it, but don’t worry. He’s not gonna do anything, it’s literally just logs—”

“I must insist,” Shouto said again, his tone soft but unmistakably firm. His fingers flexed tightly where they rested on the edge of the table, the knuckle of his index turning white.

Despite yourself, his concern warmed you, that hot, tingly feeling heating your ears again.

“I really would be okay,” you said. “But if it means something—I’ll wait until tomorrow when you get here?”

Shouto nodded. “I would like that very much.”

A smile teased at your mouth. Now that was stereotypical alpha behavior, much as you appreciated his concern. Suzuki wasn’t going to jump you over a log file in a workplace—especially not after Mina had taken him to task. Shouto’s concern was unnecessary, but so very typical of an alpha. It felt familiar, like Kirishima’s brand of protectiveness over his tight knit agency, you thought. Harmless and well-intentioned.

A tray being placed on your table cut off any response you might have given, and your eyes blew wide as you registered the amount of food on it. Your mouth dropped open when a second tray was placed alongside the first one, the cafe worker smiling down at Shouto before she left, clearly recognizing him.

Shouto looked down at the food, his features arranged in minute shock.

“I do not remember ordering this…” he said, glancing at his receipt slip. You watched as his eyebrows furrowed slightly, that crease appearing between them again as his eyes flickered over the order. Then he cut himself off, those long eyelashes fluttering. “I… apologize.”

Apologize? Meaning, he had ordered this?

“You bought all this?” you asked, floored.

Shouto gave a tight nod. “It… would seem so.”

Your gaze picked over the trays again. They were piled high with at least six sandwiches, several pastries, a takeout container of soup, four different kinds of cookies, two fruit cups, and a handful of the granola bars they kept by the register. It was a literal mountain of food, and you sort of doubted even a pro hero could put that much away in one sitting.

“If you were so hungry we could have come down so much earlier,” you insisted, but Shouto’s embarrassed expression only deepened.

“It is… not for me,” he said slowly. It looked like it pained him to admit it.

You blinked, drawing back in your seat. “It’s…..me?”

Shouto nodded seriously.

A shocked laugh leapt out of you, bright and pleased. “Shouto, I was hungry but this is like, eleven meals!”

“You will have leftovers, then,” Shouto replied, sounding embarrassed. The tips of his ears were red where they peeked through his mop of multicolored hair.

You were so suddenly, utterly charmed by him, a splash of warmth pooling in your stomach, flooding through your limbs. You had absolutely no idea what had possessed him to do this, but it was undeniably sweet. Coupled with the easy way he’d let you take the lead on the investigation, and the way he’d moved to protect you on Friday night—it all painted a portrait of a very good, very kind sort of person.

You’d really lucked into a good partnership. You were grateful.

“Thank you, Shouto,” you said sincerely. A hint of a flush colored his high cheekbones, and he nodded.

You decided not to press him anymore, setting aside your speculation for when he’d gone. Instead, you unearthed your requested sandwich from the mound of food, and selecting a pastry at random. Shouto watched you as you bit into your food, a strange sort of intensity in his gaze.

Eventually, however, he took his own food, and the two of you chatted as you ate, moving on from the case to discuss his patrol, your shared friends, and a slew of other silly topics. You found him just as easy to talk to outside of case work—he had the same straightforward way of approaching life as he did his casework, his outlook consummately honest and thoughtful.

You regretted it when Shouto eventually had to excuse himself for patrol, but not before disappearing and reappearing with a takeout containers and a bag for all the things he’d ordered you, which he carefully but insistently packed away, before putting in front of you with a meaningful look.

You laughed again, taking the bag from him as you got up to make your way back upstairs as well.

“Thank you for lunch,” you told him, trying to convey how sincerely grateful you were. “I’m looking forward to our partnership.” You stuck out your hand to him, smiling up at him.

Shouto’s expression didn’t change much, but his mismatched gaze grew warmer where it rested on you. “As am I,” he said, tone soft.

Long fingers curled around yours, and for a moment you felt that same, weak-kneed desire to collapse against him as you had on Friday. It took an inordinate amount of focus to pump his hand in a handshake, and even more willpower to let him go.

You waved him off, and watched him go, feeling a strange sense of emptiness as that broad back disappeared through the door. In just a few short hours, it seemed, Todoroki Shouto had dug himself a comfortable little spot in your heart—far deeper than a case partner should have.

You ruminated on this as you made your way back upstairs, mind running over the events of the last few days. You couldn’t figure out why Shouto was having a weirder effect on you than any other alpha, even accounting for his unearthly good looks, nor why he seemed to be equally lost today—ordering a zillion things without even realizing he’d done so.

As you made your way back to your desk and cracked open the case file again, you resolved to solve this mystery as well. You were good at getting to the bottom of things—and Todoroki Shouto would be no exception.

[sinning-23]

Backseat Pillow Princess (Pt.2)

And by popular demand (and because ei couldn't just leave it how I had it and planned on making a part 2 anyway) I BRING YOU PT.2! I really tried to conjure of some kinky freak nasty shit in this y'all so uhhh just be dually noted that I really tried my best with this.

Warnings: tag-team, p in v, multiple rounds, refractory period? we don't know her, creampie, unprotected, biting, choking, eiffel tower in a fucking car dude it gets wicked, nipple play, edging, degrading, praise, light banter, how did we end up outside the gd car????, spit as lube

Hope yall enjoy lol the endingit idk ill probably tweak it later yall pls dotn shame me i was starting to feel bad for makingyall wait so long!

Enjoy~

PT.1 HERE

______________________________________________________________

It all happens so fast that you can hardly register the clash of teeth and tongue. You can feel the growl that rises up his throat and past his lips on your own, the taste metallic but sweet.

You’re breathless, Wade attacking your neck with the same speed and intensity. Your senses are overwhelmed, body riding a 9-hour (give or take) high.

"You are a fucking sicko, you’re soaked through the leather." Logan grunts, tugging your lower lip with his canines,

"Forget that, look at her tits," Wade gasps, looking at the little bumps your hardened nipples made through the fabric.

Part of you should feel embarrassed but you can’t seem to function when there're two separate mouths and two pairs of hands adorning your body. If your uniform wasn't torn to shreds, it definitely was now, a familiar set of claws slicing latex leather away from your flesh easily.

"Great now what am I supposed to wear when this is over?! At least be a little nice to me!" You huff, peeling the shredded fabric away before attacking the older man before you.

A bit surprised, Logan leans back against the door, your chest flush against him as your breaths mix, hot and heavy in the space. You can feel Wade shift, large hands at your hips with your ass against his pelvis. Finding Logan’s zipper was easy, your fingertips tugging at it as you caught his lower lip between your teeth.

"C'mon let's make this fair. I’m the only one showing some skin.” You purr, pulling the little piece of metal down to reveal tanned, toned abs. The thin sheen of sweat and blood makes them glisten.

You practically drool, the sight of them in the moonlight now seared into your brain.

"Jesus you're built like a brick fucking wall-" You gasp, hesitating to touch before running your hands down Logan's chest, then stomach.

"Like a godddamn marble sculpture," Wade adds, taking his chance to admiring the man beneath the both of you.

He chuckles a bit, shrugging his sleeves off before connecting your lips again. It’s shot though, mostly because you can’t help but look at him.

“Nuh uh, lemme see you.” You command, pushing him back against the door.

He groans, your lip tucking beteeen your teeth as you presses kisses to his pulse, trailing downward as his neck flexed perfectly with the rest of his torso and stomach.

“Gorgeous.” You mumble, finally making your way down to his v-line before licking a stripe right back towards, ending it with a faint bite.

“Shame I can’t mark you up how I want, you’ll just heal it.” You sigh, thumbs tracing Logan’s belt now.

You grind down, a heavy, “oh fuck,” leaving your lips as Wade chuckles from behind you. Speaking of which, he had managed to pull your uniform a little past your ass, his hands squeezing the flesh there.

Of course you can’t help but tilt your head back, accepting sloppy open-mouth kisses from the mercenary when he cups your pussy from behind. Purposefully dragging his middle finger between your folds, his mouth swallows up your whimpers, a grin ever present over the lower half of his scarred face.

"Shit you weren't lying, she is soaked." Wade huffs, licking a stipe up your neck, his chest flush against your back

"You know I had to find a way to get your attention, I was starting to feel left out?" Wade taunts, his ring and middle finger two-knuckles deep in you, the squelching echoing.

Logan, eager to please makes a point to suck a mouthful of your tits, his canines grazing over them. He growls, breathing hot against your skin. His free hand cups your other, thumb swiping over your nipple as your palm presses down against his bulge.

"You gonna take it out or just keep pushing on it?" Logan grumbles, hips rolling into you.

It's hard to think, pleasure flooding your senses as you try your hand at helping his length spring free. Fuck, he's rock hard. And soon enough it's in your hand, hard, hot, and dripping with precum.

If you had to give an example of a photogenic dick, his would be at the top of your list. It's got a slight upward bend, the tip slightly tanned as beads of precum rolled down the side. And right beside that slick train that oozes downward, is a thick vein adorned by a smaller one. Your mouth waters, tongue lulling out of your mouth to taste it.

You're stopped, however, when Wade grips your hair, reminding you that HE is the one with his fingers in you, making your pussy drool with each thrust.

You pause, squeezing the base of Logan's dick in response, just to have the male sigh heavily under you.

"Almost lost your manners huh? That's okay I'll help you." Wade announces, seeing the brief irritation flash behind Logan's hazel eyes.

"You ask when you want something," Wade huffs, tone low and dangerous.

You swallow hard, taking a deep breath through your nose before using your thumb to press down on the tip.

"Please?" You whimper, mouth watering now, needing nothing more than to wrap your lips around his length.

"Please what, honey?" Logan encourages, using his thumb to push past your kiss-bitten lips and press down on your tongue, the saliva dripping down his palm and forearm.

"Please let me suck it." You finish, a satisfied grin finally filling Logan's features.

He nods his head in your direction, his fist at the base as you roll your tongue out your mouth, engulfing the tip, tasting the bittersweet precum slide down your throat. He groans, releasing his hand the farther down you go.

You thank the gods above for your almost nonexistent gag reflex, because once you got a feel for just how he settled in your mouth,you wasted to time getting him acclimated to your throat.

"Fuckkkk that's it, honey, swallow." He grunts, flashing those pretty canines as you do exactly what he says, the flex of your throat making his hand shoot to your head.

Between the feeling of you gulping Logan down and Wade's fingers still stretching you out, you're bound to reach your peak at any minute now. And then you feel it.

Empty for a moment, and finally...

"What, you didn't think I was getting this pussy ready for nothing did you?" Wade chuckles, your spine shivering when his tip slid between your aching wetness.

Arching more, Wade grabs a nice handful of the flesh between your hips and your ass, easily filling your needy cunt as you lift your head, gasping in response to the stretch. A sign of saliva connects your lower lip to the slightly reddened tip of Logan's cock. All you can do is whimper, bracing yourself as Wade thrusts into you, pace quick and calculated.

"F-uck!' You hum, each thrust breakign up the syllabus

Your hands scrath at Logan's chest, using him as an anchor to keep yourself from cumming too quickly. He only chuckles, tugging your hair to place a bruising kiss on your lips, his free hand using your saliva to pick up where you'd left off.

"Squeezing, fuck you're tight." Wade huffs, teeth sinking into your shoulder as Logan's lips swallow up your painfully pleasured whine.

"Close, so close, need it" Is all you can muster up, your hips now meeting his in an attempt to speed the process up.

And sure enough, the knot that had worked its way into your core finally snaps, your strangled moans filling up and pouring out the Honda, your head throwing itself back, as you ride out the high. All you can hear are praises and encouragement from behind and in front of you, all of which are fading in and out as your ears ring.

'Thats it'

'C'mon honey give it to me'

'Good fucking girl'

'So wet holy shit'

'Look how fuckin pretty you are'

'That arch, jesus christ'

"Sooo good, oh fuck yes." You whine, tucking your lower lip between your teeth.

Once your eyes manage to flicker back open, you're met with the prettiest view, and you gasp at the sight, already feeling yourself ready for another round.

Thee he was, eyes screwed shut, brows creasing as his chest rises and falls in time with his fist, which was now dripping with thick, silky looking ropes of cum. His jaw is clenched, a growl bubbling past his lips as you reach your hand down to help guide him, the substance coating your fingertips.

"You look so pretty when you cum." You hum, then grabbing his jaw to give another forecefull yet intimate kiss, your tongues slipping past one another.

“My turn,” Logan growls, pulling the door open in one swift movement before tugging your body outside the car.

You gasp, legs feeling more like jelly after Wade had already turned your insides to mush.

You wobble a bit, using the edge of the door to steady yourself before you’re stuffed full again. An overstimulated moan forces its its way out of you. He feels even better inside than in your palm. And yet, he doesn’t move, the sound of Logan’s hollow, shaky breaths mere centimetres from your ear.

“Oh honey.” He groans, his hips moving just to slam back into you, a pleasured yelp leaving your lips in response.

“Can hardly take it, look at you fucking shaking.” He chuckles, sinking his teeth into your shoulder, your head falling foreward as you’re overwhelmed with so many different feelings. The pain from the fight mixed with the pleasure from his strokes and the previous orgasm.

“Don’t- oh Fuckk. Don’t patronize me-.” You whimper, gripping the edge of the door for dear life, the smack of his pelvis to your ass loud and rhythmic.

As if you weren’t already fucked out, Wade managed to scoot riiiiight in front of you, just enough so that his cock is resting against your cheek, and god does your mouth water.

“Let’s keep you busy, huh sweetie?” Wade hums, his tip pressing against your glossy lower lip.

You’re eager to accept, letting your tongue roll around the head before taking as much of him as you can. Every slight thrust of his hips pushed him further and further down your throat, alive dripping down your chin and onto the torn, blood-stained seats below.

It doesn’t take long before you’re right back to square one, legs trembling as your labored breaths quicken in pace.

“Ohhh fuck, squeezing. You’re about to cum arent you honey?” Logan chuckles, squeezing the flesh of your hip before landing a brutal smack to your ass.

He smirks at the sight of the recoil, and doesn’t it again, each smack leaving a nice shade of red. You don’t even have a chance to warn him before you cum, the blissful feeling making you shudder, throat coated with sticky release as Wade tangles his fingers in your scalp.

What you weren’t expecting, was for your release to trickle down your thighs, each thrust only making your squelch more and more. The familiar twinge of overstimulation ravages your senses as you swallow down Wade’s release.

And unfortunately, you’re empty again, peeking over your shoulder just to see Logan finishing on the perfect curve of your back. The pearly beads of cum rolling down your ass and up your spine.

There’s a few beats of silence, paired with the laibored breathes or three violent and fucked out regenerarive assholes.

But of course, Wades specially is breaking silence.

“Hey how come you didn’t squirt for me?” He huffs in faux disappointment.

You can practically hear Logan roll his eyes, whom of which had made a point to massage where he had hit earlier.

“Please shut the fuck up.” Logan huffs, shuffling around the car to either A: find something to clean you up with or B: something for you to wear.

Either way, you're beyond fucked out, the previous tension finally dying down as you're bathed in moonlight. It takes a little effort from the two males but they successfully lean you against the middle console.

Lucky for you, there just so happened to be an extra set of clothes hidden in the trunk most likely belonging to the variant you got this stupid car from anyway.

Meh, I think missing clothes will be the least of his worries considering this piece of shit car is absolutely thrashed...

And now tainted with spit and cum-

Tag list: @awoodsysimp411 @solheartz @brucebannerswifey @oscarissac2099 @yourlocalhot-simp @of-daisies-and-dandelions @peachybaby255 @bby-pinky-pink @mimi786 @bontensbabygirl @jupiterlvr @silverloveless @saturnhas82moons @zeeader @queermaxwooo @turtlefordestiel @dumpster-hellfire @kultofkorii @mxtaurus @bumblebeebutter @buryth3hatchet @9iavolo @speedybeta @myersobsessed

[xazse]

Hello! I'm a new reader and I fr love your writing, especially the scara x bunny girl!! Please need more🥺

Maybe when bunny girl got in heat while scaramouche is on a business trip. She kept touching herself but she can't cum. The best she can do probably is hump the stuffed toy scara got for her so she calls scara. However, scara kept on ranting about his day, making bunny needier so she continues her shenanigans while scara is talking. He catches her eventually and punishes her. You can be creative with it.

(I can't really depict scenarios I'm so sorry shshshshshh)

SCARAMOUCHE X BUNNYGIRL!READER

Notes: HI IM SORRY THIS IS SHORT I DIDNT WANT YOU TO THINK I WAS LIKE IGNORING YOU ITS JUST BEEN IVE BEEN IN A WRITING BLOCK SORTA 😭 I’m sorry I didn’t exactly follow the prompt I just wanted to get this out to you, again I’m extremely sorry for the lateness.

I’m so happy you love my writing and our cute bunny girl reader and scars

Pairings: Scaramouche x BunnyGirl!Reader

Tags: Humping, Scara being mean and bossy, just really filthy, hybrid!reader, Fem!Reader, NOT PROOFREAD

It’s been pure torture for you, your body feels like it’s constantly on fire and like you’re carrying a heavy weight as you go from room to room smelling various things Scara owns whilst he’s on his trip. He left you because the doctor assured that your heat wouldn’t come for at least another two weeks, he couldn’t have been more wrong.

The only things keeping you comforted and relieving your body is the stuffed animals that you insist stay on the bed when you and Scara are sleeping, he despises the things but keep them as to not upset you. So they things are filled with his scent, his lavender hair wash and woody smell lingers. You can’t help but inhale the scent in the plushies every so often.

You’ve already called him and told him about how it came earlier and the sneer that came upon his face did nothing but make you twitch, you know he’s enjoying how you’ve been suffering, he is ultimately getting off on the fact that you can’t have his cock to fill you up, it’s so frustrating but he looks so good while scolding you on how you did this on purpose, even though you literally can’t control when your heat decides to come.

One night you’re tossing and turning, when your heat finally hits you full on, moans slip from your lips as your clit throbs with need, you get a whiff of Scara again in the stuffed animal you’re currently whining into, and instantly your horny mind shifts to dirty thoughts, thoughts of his long cock battering your sensitive walls whilst he groans in your ear.

A few moments later you’re dragging your whole cunt against the poor stuffed animal, you feel bad but your hips won’t allow you to stop, won’t let you stop feeling that slight drum in your little clit. You reach your fingers down to add a little more stimulation to find your completely soaked. By now you should’ve cum, but you’re left whining into the pillows as you keep trying to hump away. His smell isn’t nearly enough your heady head deems.

You successfully managed to grab the phone and call Scara, already begging him to accept the face-call. He does and props his phone up so you can see him completely in his element, buried in paperwork with a scowl on his face, so pretty. He’s already ranting about how he hates this place and all the people in it, angry about the annoying escorts they keep sending to his room that he’s meant to fuck, he’s already said he wants nothing to do with them because they think he’ll eventually change his mind.

His eyes glide to the camera, seeing you flushed and naked? He can only see your face and shoulders.

“Are you clothed woman?” He says while closely inspecting the camera again.

Did he completely forget about the fact that you’re literally in heat?

He laughs a little and gets up, the lights in whatever room he’s in goes dark and you’re graced by his appearance again.

“What are you up to bunny?” He questions, you respond with a slight mumble under your breath but the mumble comes out too breathy. The only thing lighting up his face is the lamp by his side, it gives his skin a pretty golden gleam and that makes your cunt twitch.

“I’d forgotten about your little issue, m’sorry, do you want my help? Poor thing.” He’s doing that fake voice where it’s filled with concern but once again hes getting off on your suffering but that spurs you on too.

You hear some slight shuffling before the camera is moved downwards, where you can still see his face until his thick cock is seen, he’s fully hard: even from your conversation earlier he had been thinking and waiting for you to call him. He starts slow when he strokes himself, precise hands slide up and down while he maintains eye contact with you. You feel weird, a good weird.

“Nu, uh, bunny, don’t you dare, keep doing what you were doing before” he manages to get out inbetween stuttered breathing. He knows you were about to touch yourself using your fingers, but no he wants you to keep humping your stuffed animal.

“Won’t work, Kuni” you whine out, god he squeezes his tip, he loves when you get like this but he won’t tolerate you disobeying. “Do as I say” he gives no room for arguments with his sharp tone. Your ears deflate but you do as you’re told and start gliding your messy cunt back and forth. Scara seems pleased to see you further ruin yourself: you can see him start stroking himself faster, saying your name over and over through clenched teeth, calling you a good bunny for listening so well to him.

He tells you to show the mess you’ve made, you don’t protest as you shift to sit up and spread your legs in front of the camera, you really are dripping. He fantasizes about just how good you’ll feel wrapped around him, how he’s going to make you cum so many times on his fingers then you’ll be able to have his cock. Your fingers trail down, he’s about to scold you but you use your fingertips to pry your pussy so he can really get a full view.

Loud moans slip from his lips as his balls tighten hard, and he’s cumming with thick spurts. You don’t hear a few words but you do make out how he’ll be back shortly.

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

So wooo it's been a while since I stepped foot in here, started posting around May (and then took down the first fic because I didn't like it) and I'm really glad I did because writing is the one thing that has really resonated with me my whole life. 

I reached 200 followers at the beginning of November and now I'm 6 from 300, which, again, is crazy! And I have a tag list now, it's unbelievable. Thank you so much to each one of you, I love you.

So I definitely want to give something back to this amazing community.

Starting today I'm going to try to do a monthly post dedicated to all the amazing stories I've read. 

This month will be a list of all the works that have stuck with me since I have been here, unfortunately I will never remember them all because my memory sucks, but I hope I have included most of them.

I am so looking forward to discovering many more authors (my tbr list is so long, so many fics so little time, I really hope to read more over the Christmas holidays) in the coming months and I hope to grow this little space more and more into something safe, friendly and nice for everyone.

(Feel free to add me on discord if you like and you haven't already, I'm always happy to chat and make friends, you can find it in my bio).

Anyway, let's cut to the chase, it's a long list of outstanding work below the cut: 

• The Wolf You Feed - @arcanefox207 Joel Miller x f!reader

Look, I'm so in love with her Joel. He’s hot, he's grumpy but also comforting, he plays guitar, he feels true to character. So precious.

• BDSMaid - @mountainsandmayhem

Basically, my Roman Empire. Everything about this is so damn good and this Joel? Hello? Please marry me? I will never stop screaming about him. Also, yes, it’s an AU but he feels so Joel, you know.

• Do your worst, Little Dove from Little Dove series - @mountainsandmayhem Joel Miller x f!reader

This changed my entire brain, okay. Probably the hottest thing I've ever read and if you're into sub!Joel this is something you should read immediately.

• Never made it as a wise man and following chapters - @almostempty Joel Miller x f!reader

Never laughed so hard for a fic and honestly, after this I learned that Wed could write whatever and I'll worship that.

• He knows - @almostempty

Lucien x f!reader

The way it’s written it’s out of this world, I loved it so much♥️

• Self esteem series - @almostempty

She managed to make me fall in love with fuckboy!Joel, which is remarkable because there’s nothing I hate more in this world than fuckboys, like I despise them with all my heart but I’m still here wanting to kneel in front of him. Damn, Wed, stop doing this to me. (Jk)

• Paris, Texas - @almostempty

Joel Miller x f!reader x Javier Peña

*laugh hysterically* I want to live in this fic. I want to be reader. No, actually I want to be the fourth.

• Unscripted desires - @gothcsz Javier Peña x f!reader

The way Kat writes Javi is something unique, I don't even know how she managed to write so much about him doing a fucking banger every single time. This one was probably the first thing I read written by Kat and I'm not going to forget my first love anytime soon.

• Blackmail - @milla-frenchy Joel Miller x f!reader x Javier Peña

I read this series in one day and I was so needy when I finished, jeez! Milla is so damn good and she’s an absolute queen at writing dirty talk, it's honestly unbelievable the way she delivers every single time and leave me speechless.

• Her - from 5 days collection - @milla-frenchy Joel Miller x f!reader

It’s so dear to my heart (odd to say this about a pegging fic? Probably, but I still stand by what I just said). It was so good that inspired me to write a pegging fic myself and she was so kind about it 🥹 And she was probably the first person engaging with me here and I’m so fucking grateful that she did. Milla, if I have people reading me it’s because you reblogged me and gave me a chance in the first place, I will never forget this.

• Table for Three - Who's your daddy - @aurorawritestoescape Joel Miller x f!reader x Dave York

I read those in my early days here and wow Kate definitely sets a bar in terms of hotness for me. So good. And she’s another person that I cherish so much, thanks for being so supportive and encouraging.

• Keep on your mean side - @aurorawritestoescape and @milla-frenchy Joel Miller x f!reader

These two are dead dove queens and this one is simply amazing 10/10 no notes.

• Cherry, Cherry - @baronessvonglitter Joel Miller x f!reader

You have to know something about Adriana, she’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, just a beautiful soul. I’m still in awe of how she managed to write this series with so many characters and such a rich plot, it’s so sweet and comforting but also angsty and so good, I teared up a little bit at the end 🥲

• Daddy can fix it - @baronessvonglitter Joel Miller x f!reader

Handyman Joel lives in my mind rent free and the fact that this one feature a plus size!reader is the cherry on top ♥️ All bodies are beautiful and should be considered worthy of Joel’s love.

• Like a good girl should - @baronessvonglitter Joel Miller x f!reader

WELL. I mean. This one gave me an inexhaustible desire to be spanked sooo yeah. So hot.

• Flesh for fantasy - @syd-djarin Joel Miller x f!reader

I thought about that for days after reading it and it’s still one of my fav things ever, like my brain just exploded, I remember having a conversation with @almostempty about this. The fuck Syd, you just broke my mind.

• Pink - @netherfeildren

Joel Miller x f!reader

One of the first thing ever that I read in this fandom and honestly sets a bar so high I was afraid to start writing anything. The urge, the need that drips from every word, the way the shaving scene is still stuck in my brain. Wow. Just wow.

• Touch Tank - @thundermartini

Javier Peña x f!reader

So beautifully written and soft!Javi made my heart melt ♥️

• Spiaggia, amore e limone - @thundermartini

Javier Peña x f!reader

It sets in Italy, of course I am the biggest fan of this. And not only that, Javi is so cute, smut is so hot, everything in this fic feels like a warm hug.

• Trēs series - @whocaresstillthelouvre

Marcus Acacius x f!reader x Lucius Verus

This is the first time I've ever popped into an author's notes and I'm so fucking proud 🤣 Thank you Mallory, you made my day, my week and my whole month 🥹

Plus, this is so good, think about your fav indulging dessert… it’s this series.

• Fifteen - @whocaresstillthelouvre

Din Djarin x f!reader

So comforting and endearing, I love it so much. Like, she made me read Din. I rarely read Din, enough said.

• Do I move you? - @lemon-nomel

Joel Miller x f!reader

I’m so damn proud of her for finding the courage to finally publish this and I’m also honored that she sent me her draft to read 🥹 She’s the sweetest person ever and stood by my side all these months through hard and happy times. Thank you love, for everything and your writing is amazing♥️

• ma’am - @mssalo

Joel Miller x f!reader

Another sub!Joel I won’t forget anytime soon, wow, so damn beautiful, so hot, perfectly executed. I’m so weak for sub!Joel it’s honestly ridiculous.

• So Cal to North Cal - @lotusbxtch

Frankie Morales x f!reader x Joel Miller

It features two of my fav Pedro boys and it’s honestly so good. Would love to take a trip with them and not only that.

• Guilty pleasure - @for-a-longlongtime

Joel Miller x f!reader

Typical DBF!Joel? No, it’s not! And I loved that, no spoiler but my jaw literally dropped to the floor lol

• To Dig a Grave - @softpascalito

Joel Miller x f!reader

I love this series so much, angsty and sad but also comforting in so many ways.

• Wherever you stray, I’ll follow - @cavillscurls

Joel Miller x f!reader

I think this was my first omegaverse fic and it was incredible, so beautifully written.

• Big fat tally - @toxicanonymity

Joel Miller x f!reader

I will probably never forget Joel in a harness, it’s carved in my brain, thanks Toxi for providing this delicious image to me.

• In the woods - @tonysopranosrobe

Frankie Morales x f!reader x Santiago Garcia x Benny Miller

First sex pollen fic I read and I loved it so much. So desperate, so good.

• How do you sleep? - @thriftedtchotchkes

Joel Miller x f!reader

Honestly so good. Wow.

• each man mad’s desire - @pascalispretty

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

This is so beautiful, it’s like a poem, I still have no words.

• The Real Deal - @strang3lov3

Frankie Morales x f!reader

Oh this one was so damn good, please, this Frankie is perfect. I still yearn to have him.

• Bedridden - @strang3lov3

Joel Miller x f!reader

I’m still laughing, it’s so damn good, well written, funny, sick Joel is unbearable but still the hottest ever.

• Doctor’s pet - @evolnoomym

Dave York x f!reader

Oh this one. I mean I’m a secretary in a clinic, it’s clear I need to work for Doctor Dave.

• Ptolemaea - @lovely-vamp-princess

Joel Miller x f!reader

She just started this and it already feels so original to me, like something I never read before and I’m so curious to see how it unfolds.

• Smooth operator - @penascigarette

Joel Miller x f!reader

Joel calls a sex line and OMG. They’re softer than I thought, so good and funny. Lovely, just lovely.

Happy reading ♥️

[italian-lit-tournament]

Italian literature tournament - Third round.

Propaganda in support of the authors is accepted, you can write it both in the tag if reblog the poll (explaining maybe that is propaganda and you want to see posted) or in the comments. Every few days it will be recollected and posted here under the cut.

First, propaganda for Ludovico Ariosto, then for Guido Cavalcanti. The quantity of material will be colossal, so just scroll down for more.

For the Ludovico Ariosto stans:

by @larmegliamori

The opposing party has brought on the big guns, I see: us Ariosto girlies, gays and they must bare our teeth and ambitions.

So, here's my two cent on why you should vote Ludovico Ariosto!

Extreme relatability: Deeply entrenched into the politics of his time (as the firstborn of ten children, of which one was disabled and other five were women), but at the same time just wanting to stay home to live of his poetry? Dare I say iconic. Perfect representation of us literature kids.

He actually managed to marry his muse, Alessandra Benucci, and did it respectfully!

Working various jobs for patron(s) he didn't particularly like? Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.

Not to mention his most widely known work, the poem "Orlando Furioso" (The rage of Roland), has all the goos stuff us modern audiences would like! It features:

A wide, diverse cast, spanning from Ireland to India, stretching probably to the (by then) newly discovered Americas;

Fantasy elements: faeries, sorcerers, giants, orcs, the first modern iteration of the hippogryph and even a fantastical voyage to the Moon!

Citations and references galore: from Virgil to Ovid, from old chansons de geste to Boccaccio!

Proto-feminism and gender studies: Ariosto's female characters, although often very feminine, are actively involved in their story arcs. The poem also features two warrior women, Bradamante and Marfisa, the former of which is the protagonist of her own subplot. Said subplot heavily relies on gender, may it be appearances or not. And let's not forget the famous tirade at beginning of the fifth canto, where the author berates femicide! If you're willing to open your heart to his writing, Ludovico Ariosto reveals himself to be a compelling, layered, modern author, and yet there's a levity to his writing that works like a balm. Vote for Ludovico Ariosto (even if only for the memes)!

I'd also like to add that Ariosto's Orlando Furioso, in the 70s, got a theatrical AND television adaptation that was too campy for its own good.

It featured, amongst other things:

- 1500s inspired costuming (it sure was... A choice but I'm not complaining)

- Mechanic horses (that literally ran on rails) and hippogryph:

- Olympia of Holland, one of the most tragic characters in all the poem, as a vamp (slay):

(Posing with Orlando/Roland in on the left, with her lover Bireno on the right)

- Astolfo literally ENTERING INTO A HOLE TO GET TO THE MOON:

The television adaptation was partly shot in the famous Baths of Caracalla, in Rome. If you want to witness this masterpiece yourself, it's on YouTube! In two parts.

Remember to always stan Zio Ludo, and vote for him! ✨

Hello everyone! For today's Ariosto Propaganda Piece, I'd like to talk about the Satire.

Those seven pieces written in terzina dantesca (because our boy Ludo knew how to pick his role models) are an interesting insight about early 1500s society and Ariosto's character and private life. They all start from an actual event in his life and enlarge towards society as a whole, often with a critical eye towards it.

The first one, destined to his brother Alessandro and a friend, starts these absolutely iconic lines:

[Quick translation: Ruggiero, if you make me so ungrateful in the eyes of your descendants, and it bears me no advantage to have sung your worth and your mighty deeds, why should I stay here, since I don't know how to cut huns on a fork, nor how to hunt games with hawks or dogs?]

A bit of context: Ariosto's first patron, bishop Ippolito d'Este, had to move from Italy to Hungary and wanted all his court to follow him. Ariosto refused because of health and family matters, and he was threatened with the loss of all the benefits he had previously granted him. Note that Ariosto was basically a kind of personal secretary to Ippolito, carrying out different important missions for him, and even risked his life a couple times to carry them out. So it's understandable he feels disappointed at his patron's reaction... and that's why, in this more "private" writings, he complains with Ippolito's ancestor, the hero Ruggiero he had extensively wrote about in his main poem.

Honestly, a genius move. Not something you see often in poetry, is it? Another reason why you need to vote for this man ;)

For the Guido Cavalcanti stans:

Propaganda in favor of Guido Cavalcanti by @eresia-catara

May I add further propaganda for Guido: He's a noble, he disdains aristocrats, he was Florence's number one Server of Cunt, he was the city's faggot, he was heretical, he went on a random pilgrimage but interrupted it and managed to be buried in a church anyway, he had an archenemy who sent some men to murder him on said pilgrimage, he came back and tried to murder him back in plain daylight, he gave zero fucks about politics, he got exiled because he was considered a menace for the city. He SAW DANTE's poetical talent, encouraged it, shaped it, and through him the whole of italian literature. Think about it. Also they became besties until they evolved to a tormented psychosexual haunting dynamic (see break-up poem) where Dante himself actually exiled him. In the 13th century his poetry anticipates so many of the literary themes of the XXth century, going from fragmentation of the self (his is basically vivisection and dispersion of his parts), to dissociation from one's own mind and body, lack of identity, irony, desecration, his poetry is full of schizophrenic-like hallucinations, reading them is truly a trip, and yet his language is profoundly meoldic and sweet. And there's also gender-fuckery. and theater, of course, because his poems develop like a scene from a theater (adding layers to the dissociation). So really he has it all guys.

The thing is, Ariosto feels very contemporary but Guido is the og relativist and unreliable narrator. His poetry offers NO truth whatsoever you only have a sequence of schizophrenic hallucinations and what he describes only seems like it's real but who knows, the narrator is dead, how can he even speak or if he's alive he's not because he has dissociated himself from his body and is only coldly contemplating his own murder. He's not reliable because he has lost his reason, his soul has crubled into pieces and each piece has fled his body. Also he hears voices, and feels a sadistic presence in his mind in the form of a woman watching him die. This man was too ahead of his time, he was too dramatic, too eccentric, but also too acute and sensible, he must have looked deranged and we love him for it. and deserves to be voted!

Guido Cavalcanti propaganda by @girldante

GUIDO CAVALCANTI PROPAGANDA ABBIAMO:

LA DISSOCIAZIONE SCHIZOFRENICA:

IL COMICO, IL SIMPATICO BURLONE, IL MEMATORE ANTE LITTERAM:

IL MACABRO, IL GORE, I SINTOMI™

IL BREAKUP TOSSICO PASSIVO AGGRESSIVO CON DANTE

in conclusione

you can find my old propaganda here, but listen, while i do respect zio ludo's rizz, a vote for guido cavalcanti is a vote for gender roles reversal, death-life liminality, medieval atheism, antisocial freaks obsessed with philosphy who imagine their pens are talking to people about their owner's suffering (what is wrong with him), eye carving enjoyers (what the FUCK is wrong with him), sons who are sacrifical lambs, people who have long swinging necks like geese (allegedly???), and gay breakups involving dante alighieri. and also, well, I don't recall ariosto wearing a miku binder. twice.

in conclusion

Guido Cavalcanti propaganda by @apis-vergilii

Here’s my Guido propaganda: @girldante and @eresia-catara have already covered the poetry reasons, and I’m here to get metatextual about the whole thing.

Simply put, this is the Weird Niche Hellsite, and Guido is the Weird Niche Hellcandidate.

We live in an era of the cynical enshittification of the internet. In a sickened sea of dying social platforms, AI slop, and every last pixel being for sale, THIS is still the webbed site where a bunch of strangers can rediscover a lesser-known medieval poet in all his angsty, gothy glory, abandon all pretense of ironic detachment or mature indifference and go absolutely apeshit over his life and work, breathlessly and deliriously creating everything from exhaustively researched essays with footnotes, to anime fan art and inexplicable photoshops. This is the place where Goncharov happened. This is the place where we stole the president’s shoelaces. This is the place where a heretical medieval Tuscan stilnovista got himself a full-on Fandom, and we are all so much the better/worse for it.

So vote for the spirit of the old internet in all its dorky glory. Vote for the joy of learning things for fun and not for school. Vote for the bizarre Florentine emo goth. A vote for Guido Cavalcanti…is a vote for all of us.

if all else fails to convince you, well, i don't recall ariosto having an historical fantasy saga centered around him where he gains clairvoyance and gets increasingly more and more manipulated by the manifestation of his generational trauma. also he gets out of his body to have epic fights with spiritual creatures.

this should be a testimony to how his cuntserving echoed through time

Propaganda by @girldante and @eresia-catara that I guess should be read together:

well. seeing as we're on topic. Was Ariosto ever described as having

les bras d'Hercule avec des mains de nymphe by a 19th century french story? It is not made up guys, he served androgynous cunt so hard it didn't go unnoticed. Guido simply suggests fluidity.

Like. Arms like Hercules and hands like a nymph.

And Lorenzo il Magnifico also Fangirled over him in a letter to the Federico of Aragon

he (Lorenzo il Magnifico!!) was simply begging him to read his poems, and that's because they are absolutely eatable in all their irreverent, elegant, goth glory.

Finally, Boccaccio wrote about him in his Decameron (VI,9) and, truly, can you say no to him:

this little ballerina? look at how sad he looks!

would you look at that! Guido Cavalcanti propaganda is publicly sponsored by thee Lorenzo De' Medici himself!!!

as for the last bit, Boccaccio's novella from Decameron, where Guido calls out a bunch of idiots through a riddle that said idiots will take a bunch of time to understand and then proceeds to abandon them jumping over a grave, was cited by thee Italo Calvino in his Lezioni Americane as an example of his conception of lightness, as in the ability to lift oneself over the heaviness of the world.

In conclusion: Guido Cavalcanti is literally your fave's fave.

[emmg]

Trivialities

rings the bell I have completed the filthy, smutty, absolutely plotless breeding kink one-shot that the Emmrook tag needs more of. May hell reserve me a throne.

Emmrich wants. He wants, but he doesn’t want to admit to wanting.

Rating: Explicit

Under the cut or on Ao3

Toodeloo~

She watches Emmrich crawl around on his hands and knees, her teeth sinking into her apple with a satisfying crunch. 

"Did I not caution you against chasing after Assan?" His voice emerges from somewhere beneath his desk, muffled and laden with mild exasperation. 

In the corner, Manfred hisses—a small, sheepish sound that seems to shrink him even further into the shadows. 

"I do not have an assortment of phalanges at my disposal," Emmrich continues, shifting lower, his voice growing tighter as he leans closer to the floor to fish under the desk. "At least," he adds, huffing as his hand gropes blindly, "none in stock that would suit your particular proportions." 

Another hiss—this one softer, forlorn. Manfred’s skull droops forward, a picture of contrition, if such a thing were possible. She bites back a snort, savoring the sight. 

With a sigh and a quiet, triumphant "A-ha," Emmrich sits back on his knees, holding two skeletal toes between his fingers. 

She tries, and fails, to piece together the connection between Manfred’s detached toes beneath Emmrich’s desk and whatever incident involved Assan. 

Manfred hisses again, brighter this time. 

"Don’t torment the child," she says, finishing her apple, tossing the core aside with an idle flick of her wrist. 

"Manfred is not a child," Emmrich protests, slowly rising to his full height and brushing off his knees. His finger points toward the poor creature, long and accusatory. "And he knows better. Off you go, my boy. I’ll see to these in the morning." 

Manfred hesitates, his sockets wide with something that might be pleading. 

"Lucanis is boiling coffee in the kitchen," she offers, raising her eyebrows conspiratorially. "Sooo much steam." 

A delighted hiss escapes, and Manfred scuttles out of the laboratory in a peculiar, gleeful waddle. 

"Oof," she says, watching the door swing shut. "Not much discipline there. Brats would eat you alive." 

Emmrich dismisses her with a wave, already pivoting toward the desk to pull open a drawer. From his breast pocket, he retrieves a handkerchief, unfolding it with care before wrapping the toes delicately within its folds. The bundle is tucked neatly into the drawer, which he slides shut with an air of finality. "Please," he says, "I am more than capable of managing children, thank you kindly." 

"Are you?" 

"Of course," he says, a touch too quickly. 

"Ah yes," she quips, "because the Grand Necropolis is simply teeming with children. How silly of me to forget such a perfectly normal detail." 

"There are… some, occasionally," he stammers, a faint crack in his usually polished delivery. 

She shrugs, one shoulder rolling. "If you say so. I just assumed you avoided them out of preference." 

A peculiar silence follows, taut yet not unkind. His gaze snaps toward her, brief and searching, before falling away again, as if it might find solace in the floorboards. When he finally speaks, his voice has softened, dipping into a quieter register. "Not out of choice, my darling," he murmurs. "Simply circumstance." 

Oh, she thinks, and again, oh, as something sharp and unexpected twists behind her ribs. Her eyes sting faintly, and for once, she feels the unwelcome prickle of remorse. Perhaps she’s growing a conscience, she muses bitterly, or at least the beginnings of one. Watching him now, as he continues to speak—his voice light, his words polite, as if nothing has shifted—she notes the faint slump of his shoulders, the thin veneer of ease stretched too tight over something raw.

She has mourned possibilities before, small, inconsequential what-ifs. But never anything as vast, as shattering, as this. He sinks into his chair, the grand throne of the room, resting his elbows on the arms and pressing his fingers to his temples. 

''Today has been a very long day,'' he says softly.

The apple’s last tartness clings to her tongue, bitter now. She swallows it down and moves to him. Lowering herself to her knees at his feet, she clasps her hands together atop his knee, forming a small, steady platform. She rests her chin there, tilting her head just so, her lashes fluttering as she peers at him through them. 

"Dear?" he asks, his tone weary but still holding a thread of curiosity. 

"Take off your pants," she says, her voice syrupy sweet, the smile she offers far too innocent to be trusted. 

His sigh is long and drawn, bordering on a groan. "How romantic," he says dryly. 

"Very," she answers, cheerful. "Hm?" 

He doesn’t move. Instead, his hand rises, a quiet counterpoint to her insistence. He traces the slope of her nose, lingering on the faint upturn at the tip, as though contemplating something entirely unrelated. When he finally speaks, his voice is gentle, but firm. "You do not need to do anything for me, darling," he says. "As I’ve mentioned, today has been particularly tiresome." 

"Hm," she hums again, unperturbed. "I have a pocket knife." 

His eyes narrow, suspicion sneaking through the exhaustion. "This is expensive fabric." 

"Lovely," she says brightly. "Then take them off." 

The command hardly leaves her lips before her hands move of their own accord, reaching for his belt. She doesn’t need to look. By now, her fingers know the notch he prefers, the button he always fastens. The movements are second nature, mechanical and swift, her fingertips tracing familiar grooves as though the leather and thread carry the weight of memory. 

She tugs the fabric down, just enough to bare him, enough to slide her cold palms against his thighs and press them there, skin to skin. He jolts at the contact, his breath catching, and she snickers softly as her palms begin to warm against his startled flesh. 

Once it's warmed up, she licks her palm, slicking it thoroughly before wrapping her hand firmly around him, her fingers gripping him with what she hopes is just the right amount of pressure as she begins stroking. The weight of him feels substantial in her hand, half-hard but responding immediately to her touch, twitching with each slow pass. Her knees protest the position, a dull ache spreading, but she ignores it, shifting her weight back slightly onto her ankles to ease the strain without losing her focus. 

When his cock pulses against her palm, she leans in, letting her lips brush over the flushed head before taking him into her mouth. He’s still soft enough to be pliable, but as her tongue swirls around him, tasting the salty bead that’s already gathered, she feels him swell and stiffen with each careful motion. She licks along the underside, tracing the vein there, her hand stroking the base as she takes him deeper, inch by inch, until her lips meet her fist. 

It’s an intimate sensation, feeling him come fully to life in her mouth, growing harder, heavier, the stretch of him against her cheeks making her hollow them further. Her tongue presses firmly against him as she sucks, pulling back just enough to tease the head with her lips before swallowing him again. The lewd sounds echoes in her skull, spurring her on as her free hand drifts to his thigh, fingers tracing light circles over his skin. 

When she finally pulls off, it’s slow and languid, a wet suctioning pop breaking the tension as his cock slips free from her lips. She lets it rest against her mouth, brushing her lips back and forth along the sensitive ridge, her breath hot against him. Her eyes flick up to meet his, her tongue darting out to flick against him again. 

As she speaks, the vibrations from her words hum against him, rippling through his cock, and she knows he feels it; sees it in the sharp intake of his breath, the shudder that runs through his body, the way his thigh tightens beneath her touch. It’s intoxicating, watching him respond so viscerally, and she imagines how much more she could pull from him. If she dug her nails into his thigh, just hard enough to mark him, dragged them down his skin to peel back a layer of flesh mixed with muscle, just one, just enough to peer beneath. 

"It’s almost a shame," she murmurs. 

"What is?" Emmrich asks, his voice strained. His cheeks are flushed a deep pink, and his gaze wavers, flickering between her hand wrapped firmly around him and the way her lips hover just shy of him, glistening with spit and filth. 

His hand rises to her face, brushing her cheek in a gentle stroke before moving upward, fingers threading into her hair. He pets her slowly, smoothing back the wild strands clinging to her sweat-slicked skin. She feels the static against her scalp, a faint crackling as strands cling to his fingers, then stick to his wrist, before snapping away with each pass. His thumb grazes her temple, ever soft, just as his hand keeps moving with quiet persistence, brushing her hair aside as if to clear his view. 

She doesn’t answer immediately, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip in a show of feigned thoughtfulness. Her gaze flicks up to meet his before she leans back in, her lips parting as she takes him into her mouth once more. Her tongue presses firmly along the underside of his cock, dragging slowly as she sucks him deeper. Her hand strokes what she can’t yet fit, her fingers curling tightly around his slick length, pumping him in time with the slow bob of her head. 

The heat of him fills her mouth, the stretch just this side of too much, but she doesn’t stop. Instead, she shifts, angling her head and relaxing her jaw as she pushes him further, past her molars, until the head of his cock nudges against her throat. She swallows instinctively, the tight contraction around him drawing a sharp groan from his lips. His fingers tighten in her hair, seizing in a way that’s no longer gentle. She feels the twitch of his hand, the slight forward push as if he wants to guide her down, bury himself deeper, to feel more of that constriction. 

And, oh, he seems to like that, the way his hips jerk just slightly forward, chasing the sensation. His breath hitches audibly, and she can feel the tremor that runs through him as he briefly lets his need overtake him, pressing her head down further for just a moment. Her throat tightens again, but the guttural sound he makes is worth it. 

Just as quickly, he catches himself, his grip loosening as his fingers relax in her hair, returning to the gentle petting from before. He strokes her scalp almost too quickly, as if the motion is meant to distract himself.  

There’s an unpolished quality to her technique, something crude in the way her hand grips him, sometimes too firm, other times not enough. Her pace wavers, alternating between confident strokes and hesitant experimentation. She’s aware of the occasional stumble, the uneven flow, or the unintended scrape of her teeth that makes him hiss softly. And she knows it might be too much at times, imperfect and messy, but he’s been nothing if not patient. 

Patient, like he was the very first time he parted her legs, his hands gentle even as she winced and bled under him. Patient as he coaxed her through the awkward, trembling motions of this wet, slick, and utterly shameless intimacy. Patient still, as she navigates her way through the ropes of mastering this act, finding a rhythm that is as much hers as it is his. 

"As I was saying," she resumes, breathless as she pulls back, her lips red, and draws in air through clenched teeth. "It's almost a shame you didn’t get to sow your wild oats." 

Above her, Emmrich frowns, brows knitting together. "Rook." 

"Have a few vigorous harvests," she continues, her grin unapologetically wicked.  

He exhales, long and slow. "I believe your metaphors require a touch more finesse, darling." 

"Pollinate a few flowers," she goes on, undeterred, her fingers stroking him faster now, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. "Spread some fertilizer. You know, to take advantage of a fertile plot." 

His lips twitch, though his frown remains in place. "Rook—" 

"Plow the fields, till the soil," she interrupts, her thumb teasing over the sensitive tip of his cock with each pass. "Sow your seed far and wide. Make a bumper crop of—" 

"That’s quite enough," he says, his tone clipped but far from cold. 

She rolls her eyes. "Fine. Let’s try another. Play hide the eggplant until you’ve got a garden full of… succulent produce."

"Good gods, Rook," he mutters, his voice tightening as his hand briefly rakes through his hair. "Do you catalog these in secret, waiting for the most inopportune moment to unleash them?" 

"Not at all. They come naturally," she says cheerfully. "Shove the zucchini into the compost." 

"That one, in particular, manages to defy both logic and practical application, my dear." 

"Tenderize the meat for the stew. Lay some bricks, build a whole… legacy foundation." 

Emmrich groans, though it’s unclear whether it’s from her words or her hand. "Your creativity is boundless, if utterly unhinged," he sputters, though his cock twitches again in her grip. 

"Come on," she teases, leaning in closer, her lips brushing against him as she whispers, "Dip the ladle in the soup. Spread the batter until it’s… dripping off the edges. Fill the eclairs. Frost the—" 

"This is obscene," he cuts her off, and his voice cracks slightly as he does. 

"Obscenely good," she purrs, stroking him faster. "And you're still hard. Clearly I'm onto something."

"Unsurprising," he replies. "Your persistence is impossible to ignore." 

She pauses, her tongue darting out to taste him again, but instead of taking him back into her mouth, she sits back slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper that’s almost too soft to hear. "You should do that with me," she says, her words laced with heat. "Plant some tulips. Wiggle the worm in fresh dirt. Mix the genes cocktail for… posterity." 

For a moment, his jaw slackens, hanging loose in a way that almost defies anatomy, like a snake caught mid-unhinge, preparing to devour her whole—she, the hapless gerbil frozen in the scrutiny of his gaze. She half expects him to scold her, to find some refined, cutting retort, but then, instead, she feels it. The sharp twitch of his cock in her hand, pulsing hot and insistent against her palm. His breath, warm and ragged, fans over her face as he leans down. 

Before she can react, his arms hook firmly under hers as he hoists her, dragging her upward. The world tilts, and she’s pressed flush against his chest. His hands span her waist as he maneuvers her into his lap, pulling her down against him so that she can feel every inch of him pressed intimately against her. 

He kisses her with a roughness that feels displaced given who he is, who she knows him to be, his mouth landing on her jaw first, catching the edge of her skin as she instinctively tilts her head. She feels the blunt press of his teeth through his lips, the almost-bite making her pulse spike as she shifts, adjusting herself, offering him her mouth fully. He takes it greedily, his kiss deeper than she’s ever felt from him. It’s sloppy, wet, and just before he pulls away for a breath, she feels the drag of his tongue tracing the underside of her top teeth. 

"Did you know," he begins whispering. He doesn’t kiss her again, but the proximity of his mouth forces hers to move slightly with his, her lips following the enunciation of his words as though he’s speaking through her. "Healthy teeth and gums reflect impeccable nutrition, fastidious hygiene, and the absence of chronic ailments." 

His hand finds her chin as he tilts her head back just enough to part her lips further. "And yours, my darling," he asserts, "are pearly white. Perfectly straight. A testament to enviable care. Open up." Her jaw obeys without hesitation, her mouth widening as his smile flickers, quiet and satisfied. "My very good girl," he murmurs, briefly caressing her cheek with the back of his hand. 

His thumb slips inside, curving over the bottom of her lower teeth, not harshly but with enough force that she feels it distinctly, the pad of his finger dragging over the smooth enamel as though he’s inspecting her. He makes a contemplative sound before withdrawing, utterly unhurried, and smears the faint sheen of her saliva across her lips as if applying a balm. 

"Oh," she breathes, her tongue curling around the salt of his fingertip. She lets the taste linger, savoring it for just a moment before swallowing the sound. "I see." 

Her hands find his face in turn, cradling it as she cocks her head to better study him. Slowly, she begins to recognize the undercurrent of a very particular want behind his words. He’s already assembling the pieces, the blueprint unfolding behind his eyes. That earlier "oh" leaves her lips again, drawn out this time, deepened by the heat pooling in her belly. Her thighs clench involuntarily around him as she straddles him, leaning more heavily into his warmth. 

"Mm," she hums instead, dragging her own thumbs over his cheeks. "My teeth. Your eyes. Maybe even your hair?" She tilts her head, watching the way his expression changes, how the idea takes root, growing and twisting and morphing. 

She sees the image forming in his mind as surely as if it were projected onto the firelit walls, and the thought draws her tighter against him. He’s painting this child already, with scrupulous brushstrokes, and she can’t resist the urge to reach out and dip her own fingers into the paint. 

"Yours is so much lovelier," he objects softly, as though he is stating a fact rather than issuing a compliment. His fingers thread through her hair, combing through the strands. 

His grip tightens subtly, winding the pale locks around his hand, pulling her head back until her throat is exposed. 

"Yes," she agrees on a wheezing laugh. "It’s prettier than yours." 

"And your bone structure," he continues, his breath skimming over her throat, warming the damp sheen of sweat that glistens there. "So symmetrical. A marker of stability, of optimal development. Fewer genetic mutations. Fewer environmental insults." 

His fingers are explorers, prodding gently at the ridges of her skull as though mapping the contours of her being. "From your high cheekbones," he murmurs, his lips pressing a faint path along her jaw, "to the graceful curvature of your spine, the exquisite arch of your vertebrae." 

What strange and delicate alchemy they might achieve. A rib, his or hers, sawn off cleanly. A braid of her hair, severed at the base with exacting care, coiled like a dead snake. The color of his eyes, drawn drop by meticulous drop, an aqueous tincture suspended in a vial, as though the shade alone could beget sight. Her chipped tooth, still warm from the gum. His breath, captured, preserved. A ribbon of her blood, vivid as crushed pomegranate, soaking through the blank, pristine plane of possibility.  

His genius, wrenched untidily from his skull, whispered and cajoled into solidity, its formless brilliance molded into something tangible. Her arrogance, sly and sharp-edged, the necessary companion to his intellect; because genius, no matter how luminous, cannot thrive without the scaffolding of audacity. 

"Just like that?" she asks, as she realizes, belatedly, the rhythm of her body, grinding, rocking against him in an unthinking cadence. "We’ll make it happen just like that?" Her hand slips between them, closing around his cock once more, dragging her grip along its length. 

He hisses into her shoulder, his breath stuttering as his eyes flutter closed for a moment. "Perhaps," he manages, the word softened by a trace of breathlessness. His hips jerk against her hand, though the weight of her on top of him makes the motion shallow. "Or perhaps it will take time, and we will have to plan accordingly." 

"How so?" she murmurs, shifting her body until her legs frame his thigh, her core pressing firmly against it. She begins to move, her hips rolling, grinding against the muscle. The heat builds, and she feels herself grow wet, wetter still, the fabric of her smallclothes clinging slickly, uncomfortably, to her cunt with each rut. 

"Consistency," he stammers, his voice catching as his lips skim her throat, trembling against her skin. "I believe—consistency is key in such endeavors." 

"Yes," she agrees, eager and giddy. "Yes, and we’ll be so very, very consistent." 

She sighs, content, trying to press herself closer, to sink deeper into him, when his fingers, impatient and insistent, begin tapping against her hip. "Up, up, darling," he mumbles, already shifting beneath her. Before she can fully register the request, he’s moving, rising awkwardly even with her weight pressing down on him. She shuffles back as he stands, watching as he tucks himself back into his trousers. 

Silence falls, just a beat too long, teetering on the edge of discomfort. His gaze fixes on her, unblinking, and before she can ask why, his hands come to her face, cupping it gently. He moves her head—left, right, then left again—as though searching for something, some bizarre glimmer he’s convinced might vanish if he doesn’t check. Whatever it is, he seems satisfied. Or uncertain. Or both. 

One hand lingers, hovering near her temple. In her periphery, she sees his thumb curl inward, folding neatly into his palm before he snaps the tendon with a sharp crack. The sound echoes too close to her ear, and she exhales shakily, her breath hitching as a shiver crawls up her spine. 

Her mind flickers back to that thumb, the firm press of it inside her mouth, the slow drag across her teeth. A stray thought worms its way forward: would her teeth make the same sound if he pulled them free, one by one? Not with the detached efficiency of tools, no, but with his nails, working each loose with loving care. She imagines the roots, slick with blood, pooling in his palm, the faint wet patter as they fall, one after another, against the hard glint of his rings. 

He would soothe her after, murmuring, exquisite, my dear. His lips would find hers, kissing the ruined edge of her mouth. And then those teeth, her teeth, would cease to be hers entirely. He would polish them to an unearthly gleam, fracture them into malleable pieces, resetting them into new shapes; more rings for his fingers, perhaps, or small, intricate talismans. Artifacts of her, transfigured, as though she were nothing more than raw material awaiting his touch. And she is, isn't she? That's precisely what she is.

Emmrich tugs at her hands, and she follows without thought, stumbling once over the uneven edge of the rug, her laughter bubbling up. Always laughing—she cannot help it, just as he cannot help but lecture anytime an opportunity arises. Stupid, stupid girl she is around him, always, always laughing. Between them, there are words, or perhaps only the suggestion of words. She is certain she hears them, though they might be figments conjured by the rhythm of his steps, the insistence of his pull. Come, come, and yes, yes, whispered or merely imagined, drawing her toward his room the Lighthouse hides so well, the one tucked behind the great expanse of bookshelves.

She sits at the edge of his bed, her feet just brushing the floor, watching him as he looms above her. It clings to her, that gaze of his, like damp fabric, and she almost asks—what, what is it, why do you look at me like that—but before the words find their footing, he leans down. His lips touch hers, a fleeting, maddeningly sweet kiss, so brief it feels almost accidental. Then he straightens again, his hands moving to the buttons of his vest, as if the kiss had been nothing at all.

"Let me help," she offers, her hands already at his hips, tugging him closer. 

"I would be ever so grateful," Emmrich says. The vest, she notices, is already off, discarded as though it had never been there. His fingers are now working at his cufflinks with the precision of someone determined not to waste a moment. 

She grins. "Mm-hm." 

His trousers hang low on his hips, precarious and loose, and with a single tug, she sends them pooling around his ankles. His cock is firm in her grasp before they even hit the floor. Her fingers curl around him, stroking slowly as she watches his eyes flutter shut for just a moment. She shuffles closer to the edge of the bed, her knees brushing against his thighs, urging him to close the gap entirely. 

The sound he makes when she takes him into her mouth is anything but composed, a downright broken moan that tastes almost like a confession. The surprise of it fuels her, and she responds with one of her own, humming against him, the vibration sending a shudder through his body. Then, for one glorious moment, she feels it—his selfishness, finally set free, as his hand cradles the back of her head. He begins to move, his hips thrusting into the heat of her mouth. 

The thrusts are shallow at first, cautious, but soon greediness takes over, and he drives deeper, a little faster. His breath catches, then whistles through his teeth, his groan breaking into something softer, needier, a small, desperate whimper. His cock presses further, burrowing against the back of her throat, his motions growing more erratic. She tastes him, salt and heat, leaking onto her tongue, and her body tenses in response, her nails digging into his thighs for balance.  

He shivers, his body a taut line of tension, and for a moment, it seems as though he might lose himself entirely. Suddenly, his voice comes through, though she doesn't hear him at first. His hand softens, guiding her off him, though the drag of his cock across her chin leaves a wet, glistening trail. He is quick to wipe it away. 

"As lovely as this is," Emmrich says, his voice roughened to a rasp that forces him to clear his throat, coughing lightly into his shoulder, "and it is, immensely so, I would like to gently redirect your efforts. If you’re agreeable, of course." 

She snorts. "Oh, I’d be more than agreeable."

"Wonderful," he murmurs, smiling.

Her clothes are gone in a flurry, barely tossed aside before his mouth crashes onto hers, askew and hurried, his teeth grazing her lip, his tongue pressing insistently into her. 

He crawls between her legs, settling heavily, and, briefly, she feels the shadow of her sweet Emmrich, her careful Emmrich, always so tender with her, so indulgent. But his hands give him away, moving with a kind of fevered urgency, fingers roving over her breasts, down her abdomen, between her thighs. He cups her sex and exhales sharply into her neck when he finds her wet, the sound torn from his throat as though it surprises him as much as it does her. 

He doesn’t wait, doesn’t want to wait, or simply can't, and there’s something raw in the way his fingers tremble as he rubs her, his usual precision abandoned, his mind lost somewhere. She feels the heat of him, the head of his cock slick with moisture as it presses against her leg, insistently, clumsily. 

"Emmrich, Emmrich," she whispers, her lips brushing his ear. "How about you redirect your efforts, hm?" 

For a heartbeat, he stills, his body taut above her, and then his hand pulls away. She barely has time to register the loss before he grabs her knee, yanking it up and out, spreading her wide open for him. She yelps, then laughs; another breathless, ridiculous giggle, yet another in the long string of laughter she’s offered him today. It’s cut short as his cock drags through her folds, slick and hard, the blunt head catching against her entrance. Above her, his brow furrows, his jaw tight, and then he thrusts forward. 

Finally, finally, finally, he fills her. 

"Oh," she says, and the word tumbles out of her lips like a reflex, the only thing she seems capable of saying today, oh, oh, oh, punctuating her laughter and her gasps alike, as he begins to move. 

Hot, quick, deep. He fucks her like a man undone, and it is fucking, no gentleness in it, none of the patience he usually lavishes upon her. This is something else entirely, each thrust driving the air from her lungs in uneven bursts. 

"Consistency," she manages to choke out, her arms wrapping tightly around his back. "Didn’t you say something about consistency?" 

He moans against her neck before his lips detach, trailing downward. His mouth finds her nipple, closing over it with a heat that makes her back arch, his tongue circling lazily after a long, indulgent suck. "Consistency," he says, though it sounds more like a pant, a gasp forced through clenched teeth. "Always consistency. The foundation of excellence. I would have you in the morning, before the day begins, leaving you loose-limbed and full, a pillow beneath your hips." 

Their bodies stick together, sweat-slick, his skin peeling away from hers with a sound as sticky as honey, warm and cloying. She tastes it now, the salt of his sweat mingling with hers, dripping from her upper lip into her mouth. His hand moves blindly, curling beneath her knee to draw her leg up, folding it tight against her side. The shift in position makes her cunt clench around him, and he groans, deep and hoarse, his cock twitching against her inner walls. The stretch of him is maddening, matched only by the drag of his hips as the wiry hair at his base rubs against her clit with every thrust, every flush press of his body against hers. 

"And then," he says, his voice breaking even as he presses forward, "at dinner, I would offer you something sweet. Figs, honey, almonds. Foods to heat the blood, to make your body ready, to make it more—" he thrusts sharply, and she whines like some kind of animal, "—receptive." 

His mouth finds hers again, his words muffled against the slide of her tongue. "A drink," he whispers, his lips brushing hers, "of cinnamon, ginger, cloves." 

His thumb presses past her lips, pushing down on her tongue, flattening it with just enough force to almost make her gag. "And—and," he stammers, his voice breaking as his body shudders, the tremor running from his chest to his shoulders, "I would feed you dates, one by one, from my own mouth." 

He shifts, sitting up on his knees, his weight pressing into the bed as his thrusts quicken, growing erratic. His fingers dig into her hips, pulling her against him. His eyes flicker shut, his jaw tight, and she sees the tension rippling through him as he teeters on the edge. "And finally," he groans, "I would have you at night. Slowly, gently, while you’re half-asleep, sighing so sweetly in that way you do, my love. You would not have to lift a finger, I will take care of everything." 

His gaze drops, riveted to the place where his cock drives into her, disappearing between her folds again and again, glistening with slick. One hand moves to her lower belly, pressing down, and she gasps at the sensation, knowing he can feel himself inside her. That thought seems to unravel him. He collapses forward, his chest flush against hers, his face burying into the crook of her neck. His hips jerk once, twice, and then she feels it, the first hot gush of his release, flooding her as he shudders above her. He keeps moving, his thrusts shallow, even as his spend leaks from her, coating her thighs in proof. 

It takes him a long time, longer than before, to lift himself on trembling arms above her, but she doesn’t mind. Not the weight of his chest pressing too firmly against her small breasts, not the cooling sweat between them that begins to cling, itchy and uncomfortable. None of it matters. She kisses him wherever her lips can reach—his shoulder, his neck, the damp curve of his jaw—her fingers threading through his hair in repetitive strokes. Words trip from her lips, soft and disjointed, sounds more than sentences, but she thinks they’re something about how beautiful he is, how impossibly, unbearably beautiful. 

At last, Emmrich stirs, pushing himself upright and allowing her ribcage to rise freely once more. Slowly, he rolls off her, his movements reluctant, as though loath to abandon her warmth entirely. As his cock slips from her, softened now, she feels the wetness that follows, a viscous spill. 

His lips find her forehead, pressing there with a gentle insistence. His mouth is dry, faintly cracked—worry marks from her teeth, perhaps—and she feels the faint roughness with each kiss as he moves across her face, trailing affection in soft pecks. 

"Darling," he murmurs finally, the word brushing the space between the corner of her eye and the slope of her nose. "My beautiful darling." 

For a time, it is only this: the soft, delicious calm of him speaking to her. His voice meanders, touching on nothing of consequence, and she only catches fragments of it. But it doesn’t matter. Emmrich likes to talk, and she likes to listen. Understanding feels secondary; if the words matter, truly matter, he will shape them for her, take her hand and guide her through their labyrinth, plucking them off the pages of his thoughts, pressing them gently onto her tongue until she can taste their meaning. He is good like that. He cares. 

At some point, she notices her fingers have laced through his. She lifts his hand to examine it, turning it idly, her gaze snagging on the rings he always removes before bed. But not tonight. The gleam of gold is there, caught in the dim light, and it makes her smile, foolish and wide, as though she’s stumbled upon some great secret. He has forgotten. Or, more thrillingly, he has chosen not to care. Poor gold, she thinks, the silent witness to their debauchery. 

She presses a kiss to his hand, the cool metal brushing her lips, and without meaning to, asks, "What do you dream about?" 

The question hangs in the air, and for a moment, dread knocks at her skull, demanding to be let in. Before he can answer, she barrels forward, filling the space with her own voice, needing to stamp out the awkward, saccharine edge she suddenly feels, the absurd mushiness curling in her chest. 

"I dream of being rich," she blurts. They are like loose change, her stupid words, spilling from a pocket that's been slit at the seams by a thief. Her snort escapes first, blunt and ugly, followed by a laugh, both curling back on her, mocking not just the question but the fragile sentiment that dared to surface with it. 

Can she just stop fucking laughing, she wonders. Why is she always laughing, always, like some deranged, overwound automaton? Not an elegant, costly one, no, nothing like that. A cheap, broken thing, its key jammed tight, grinding out the same rasping, ungainly refrain over and over again. 

"Oh, simple things," Emmrich replies. He pauses for a moment, humming softly into the quiet. "A stroll through town with you. An evening in the countryside—" 

"I like the countryside," she interjects quickly. 

"Yes," he says, smiling faintly, "I thought you might. I do as well. Star-gazing over a fine drink. Making love to you under the stars in the next moment." He goes quiet for a single breath. "As I said, my dear, simple pleasures. Perhaps I’d take you to a jeweler," he continues, his tone lightening as he lifts her hand to his lips, nipping gently at her pinkie finger, the one sticking out from their entwined hands. 

Predictably, and to her own irritation, she laughs, a sharp burst of sound that only encourages him. "Cover you in gold," he muses, his voice warm with amusement, "to dissuade you from wandering into a dragon’s hoard. Again. And yes," he adds, chuckling softly himself, "I suppose in doing so, I’d make you rich. Two birds, one stone, as the saying goes. Two dreams for the price of one."

"You're a sentimentalist."

"So I have been told."

His hand glides over her hip, tracing idle paths up and down, aimless but soothing. For a while, she simply lets him roam, savoring the quiet between them. He disentangles their hands, his fingers slipping from the hollows between her knuckles one by one. She feels him push gently, rolling her onto her back, palm settling on her stomach before venturing lower. She parts her thighs without a thought, her body moving ahead of her mind, and a dizzy smile threatens to split her face. Oh, the sheer joy of it; she could smile herself silly, smile her way into an early grave.  

He dips into the slick mess between her legs, parting her folds but not yet pushing inside. Instead, he rocks his touch back and forth, teasing the edge of intrusion before retreating, his fingers pressing against her clit just long enough to blur sensation into numbness. Then he circles back, reigniting the pleasure in waves. She lifts one leg, angling to meet his rhythm, and hums, a soft sound of encouragement.  

"I shall never tire of how eager you are," he admits. When her eyes flutter open, she finds him watching her intently. Only when she meets his eyes does he let his own trail downward, tracing the flush spreading across her chest.  

"Just an opportunist," she breathes, her hips tilting, seeking the relief of his fingers, desperate to catch them, to pull them inside her where she aches for him most. But his touch remains tentative, merely skimming over her.  

"You need never wait for an opportunity with me."  

"Not you, no," she concedes, smiling just a little. "But..." Her gaze drops lower, to the glistening trail he is spreading further, the evidence of her desire, of him, spilling from her with every slow stroke of his hand. "Waste not, want not, or something like that, hmm?"  

His eyes follow hers, and she feels the moment he understands, feels it in the sharp twitch of his cock against her skin. The weight of it presses against her, hot and heavy, as his hand finally dips lower, and his fingers press into her.  

"Oh," he murmurs, but his voice is distant, his attention entirely on his fingers. Those long, deft fingers that abandon her briefly to caress the insides of her thighs. He gathers the seed that's leaked out of her, dragging it back up, spreading it over her folds, before pressing it back into her. Two fingers sink knuckle-deep, curling inside her as she sighs, her hips lifting eagerly to meet him. "Indeed," Emmrich whispers, and that single word—two simple syllables—lands like a punch, each one punctuated by the wet, obscene sound of her cunt clenching and spasming around him. "Let us be mindful."  

"Yes, yes," she echoes, her breath catching as her hips roll against his hand, angling herself perfectly so that his palm grinds against her clit with every movement. "With all that grey in your hair, who knows if you’ll keel over sooner rather than later. Gotta make the most of it."  

"Very amusing, Rook," he mutters, though his lips curl at the edges. His fingers don’t falter, still driving into her with a steady rhythm, fucking his seed back into her with every thrust. The wet, filthy sounds between them seem to grow louder, drowning out her teasing bullshit.  

"Your stamina’s not bad either," she pants, her tone breaking with a gasp as he curls his fingers just so. "Your hand's, I mean. For someone who probably remembers when the wheel was invented, at least."  

This earns an actual eye roll from Emmrich. He moves to tickle behind her knee, making her jolt. "Comedy gold, dearest," he deadpans.  

She huffs, unable to resist her own antics. "I’m just saying," she insists, giggling as her other leg shifts forward, trying to hook around his waist to pull him down on top of her. "Let me know if we need to stop for a water break. I know you need to stay hydrated at your age."  

Gently but firmly, he pushes her wandering leg away with a tut. "Behave," he chides, his free hand gripping her hip hard enough to leave the faintest imprint as he presses it down, keeping her spread wide for him. He pulls out of her for a moment to caress her thigh, then her lower belly, humming thoughtfully. "At any rate," he says, voice rich with dry humor, "I trust you won’t let me die of thirst."  

As if to underline his point, he leans down without warning, his lips brushing against her swollen, aching cunt. He drags his tongue up in one long, slow stroke, making her inhale sharply, before he pulls back just as casually and resumes his position on his haunches. His hand returns between her legs, seamlessly replacing his mouth, fingers plunging back inside her.  

A third finger joins the others, stretching her further, and her back arches off the bed. It’s not his cock—no, nothing is—but they are dexterous, caressing her from the inside, and she can’t hold back the moan that slithers from her throat. Her thighs tremble as she grabs his wrist, holding him there, grinding herself against his hand, desperate to chase the high building inside her.  

"There you go," he says, his gaze locked on the obscene mess between her legs, utterly entranced. How his fingers disappear inside of her, how it ought to be his cock, how it might be his cock soon enough, if the stirring interest she keeps feeling brush against her is any indicator. "There you go, darling, my darling. Oh, well done."  

She thinks it should embarrass her, how quickly she falls apart under his touch; her leg jerking violently, her nostrils flaring, her hand forcing his fingers deeper, harder, until she swears she can feel the faint scrape of his nails inside her. She can’t bear for him to stop, not until the wild pounding of her heart begins to subside, not until the pulsing deep inside her settles enough that it doesn’t feel like he could feel it there too, throbbing around his fingers. When at last her body stills, she releases his wrist, and his hand is his own again. 

He doesn’t pull away entirely. Instead, he drags his fingers through the evidence of her climax, spreading it across her skin in languid sweeps. From her stomach to the curve of her left breast, he paints her until his fingertips dry. Only then does he lean down, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the center of her sternum before he turns his head, letting his cheek come to rest against the same spot. 

His breath ghosts warm over her skin, almost a lullaby. She tries to part her legs wider, inviting him back into her, but instead of moving he shakes his head, the motion rubbing his stubble faintly against her chest. 

"I believe," he murmurs, his tone heavy with drowsy amusement, "I might fall asleep." 

"Then do," she replies simply. 

Emmrich huffs, a short, wry sound. "Absolutely not," he haughtily objects. "You and I have never been more in need of a bath. Give me but a moment, my dear." 

He leaves her to draw said bath, and the sound of rushing water trickles into the edges of her awareness as she closes her eyes. Of course the Lighthouse would give him a tub, she thinks. Emmrich without his nightly ritual soak? Unimaginable. The salts, the oils, the soaps, his little arsenal of comforts.

Without it, he might very well crumble into dust. He already plays the tragic martyr every time they’re forced to spend more than a single night in Arlathan Forest. She can practically hear the sighs, the kvetching, see the subtle curl of his lip as the rest of them splash around in the river like heathens. How vulgar, his expression always seems to say, as though cleanliness not sanctioned by perfumed water is beneath him.

The memory makes her smile. She presses the heels of her hands into her eyes, hard enough to feel the pressure sink into her skull, hard enough to drown out even the sound of the bathwater. When she finally opens them again, fireworks of color burst and bloom in the darkness, like a garish encore to her thoughts, leaving her blind for a few seconds longer than feels reasonable. And he is there too, inviting her into the water.

She takes his hand, letting him pull her up and off the bed, her steps dragging as though weighted with some unseen anchor. The walk to the bath is short, mercifully so, as her body feels languid, loose, and tired in the way only moments of deep intimacy can summon. The water steams faintly, hotter than she likes, and she pauses on the edge before stepping in. It licks at her flesh, turning it an alarming, blotchy red that she knows will fade. 

Usually, she folds into him, her back pressed to his chest, her spine nestled against the softness of his skin. But tonight, something feels different. She wants to see him, to watch him. Slowly, she adjusts, settling into his lap, her legs draped over his, facing him instead. 

She gathers water in her palms and lets it spill over his hair, again and again. She knows it’s enough when the strands are slicked back, heavy and gleaming, ready for the lather of the soap he reserves for it. A rich, herbal thing that smells like damp forests and earth, one that never leaves her skin raw no matter how much she uses. Her hands work without thought, smoothing the lather between her palms before massaging it into his hair. 

Because she wants to talk. Needs to. But she can’t, not if her hands are still, not if there’s nothing to distract them. She doesn’t know how to begin. Doesn’t know how to say it, how to shape it, how to— 

She exhales. 

"Emmrich," she says, and immediately it’s as though she’s stepped outside herself, not seeing but hearing, listening from some distant corner. Her voice disgusts her; pathetic, thin, trembling with a kind of vulnerability that makes her stomach twist. She tries again. "The things that you want..." It falters, slips through her fingers. She tries again. "I mean, not the ones you told me about after I asked, the other things..." And even then, she can’t finish. 

Immediately, he lifts his hand, waving it in an airy, dismissive gesture, as if to brush away her worries before they can settle. His eyes crease at the corners, weary in a way that mirrors her own exhaustion. That same hand, mid-wave, finds its way to her hair, smoothing it down. 

"Fantasies, dear one, are precisely that—fantasies," he says. His palm cups the back of her head fully now, his fingers splaying, curling ever so slightly against her skull, until he gently guides her face toward him. His lips press to her forehead and he keeps them there for a long moment, breathing her in. 

"You dream of gold," he continues, his voice lilting, thoughtful, "but that does not mean you wish to be encased in it." There’s a faint sound as his lips part from her, a soft pull of air that seems to punctuate his thoughts. "Whimsy is a necessity, a salve for the spirit. I have envisioned myself in a thousand different lives, a million postures and possibilities, each one its own fleeting delight. And yet, none of them came to pass, nor did they need to. Dreams are dreams for a reason," he concludes, his other hand lifting to trace the curve of her cheek. "Because we are creatures who must dream and life, my darling, would be unbearably impoverished without them.'' 

Bullshit, she thinks. Pure, uncut crap. He can wrap it in poetry, layer it with pretty words and polished sentiment, but she knows a con when she sees one. She is one—a walking, breathing embodiment of artifice, having swindled men and women out of time, money, patience, and whatever else they held too loosely. She watches him now, smiling tiredly, stifling a yawn behind his hand, and the signs are all there. Emmrich wants. He wants, but he doesn’t want to admit to wanting.

She shakes her head. 

"When the gods are dead," she says eventually, "we’ll have this conversation again. The dreams you dream are far from trivial. You deserve them. And next time," she adds, cross, "you won’t feed me hogwash." 

His eyes widen, her name forming on his lips. "Rook—" 

"I didn’t say I don’t want the things you do," she interrupts, as her fingers begin moving, rewetting his hair where the soap has dried into brittle peaks. "Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. Maybe someday I’ll wake up and want them so badly I can’t think of anything else. Or maybe the very thought will make me sick." 

Her hands still for a moment, water trickling from her palms, before she shrugs. ''But right now?" she says, her tone shifting, lifting, shaping itself into something lighter, more playful. It has to be funny again; she has to be funny again, has to summon back her stupid laughter, her idiotic giggling, his soft, indulgent smiles. "Right now is obviously not the time. And frankly, every child within earshot already annoys me; I've got way too much on my plate."

''Yes,'' Emmrich drawls, ''I do recall the Minrathous... incident.''

"That kid deserved to be kicked in the teeth," she points out, defensive. "Honestly, he got off lightly. Besides, you didn’t exactly leap to object in the moment." 

"That’s because I did not anticipate you would, if you’ll pardon the vulgarity, flip off a child. I was, shall we say, momentarily struck speechless." 

''He spat on me, Emmrich. He. Spat. On. Me.''

He looks at her, one eyebrow arched, and she braces instinctively, ready for the lecture that is sure to follow. The carefully measured reprimand about setting an example, being better, Emmrich’s usual litany of moralistic platitudes. But instead his head tips back, and out comes a laugh. More of a bark than anything, uncharacteristically loud, the kind of laugh she’s only ever heard when the wine has loosened him too much to care. It ripples through him, shaking his shoulders, and when it finally ebbs, he rubs at his eyes, catching the faint shine of unshed tears on his fingertips. 

"Oh, my Rook," he says, his voice softened by the remnants of laughter still rumbling faintly in his chest. "My pretty, beloved thing." He pauses, his gaze locking onto hers with something that feels almost too raw to bear. "Forgive the selfishness," he requests, ''but how profoundly grateful I am that you once looked my way—and that you keep looking still." 

Words evade her, slippery as minnows in a dark pond, darting away before she can grasp them. They do not reside in her the way they do in him, coiled neatly, nestled against the plush warmth of his inner cheek, waiting to be shaped. Hers are buried somewhere deep and low. But perhaps she can press them into him instead, push their meaning into the pores of his skin, let them seep beneath the surface where he might understand without her needing to speak.  

She kisses his forehead first, the heat of it damp against her lips, a soft communion. Then his eyelids, fluttering faintly beneath her touch. His temple is salty with sweat, his cheekbones cold and sharp despite the heat of the water. Her lips rest there, pressing, inscribing, as if she can carve her thoughts into him, etch the unsayable into the planes of his face.  

He is pretty too. So unbearably pretty that it makes her chest ache. But not the kind of prettiness that lives in novels or in the polished symmetry of soft-featured men. His beauty is stark; all angles, shadow and bone. His silver hair catches the light in a way that gold never could. Gold, which is gaudy and loud, has never suited her. Silver, though, oh, silver is cooler, cleaner, the kind of thing that fits her—he fits her—like a finely wrought bangle clasped around her wrist.  

The lines by his eyes are her favorite part, she thinks. They betray him in ways nothing else does, giving him away when he’s surprised or angry or sad, and she treasures them for that, for their honesty. They are the marks of someone who feels deeply, someone who cares, someone who can be trusted with fragile things. Those lines soften him, make him approachable in a way no smooth, unmarked youth could ever manage. She could stare at them for hours, watching their tiny twitches and shifts, memorizing every single one.  

If there is a crime in the universe, it is that there is only one Emmrich Volkarin. It feels absurd that the world has been granted just one of him. Any child of his should look only like him. She should contribute nothing. No smudges, no imperfections, nothing to mar the clarity of his design. She is the inkblot at the end of a pristine manuscript, while he is the volume itself, bound in dark leather and gleaming gold leaf.  

How could eternity ever be long enough for someone like him? He deserves it, yes, deserves it entirely, but only the kind that cradles and preserves, the kind that shields instead of consumes. Not the ugly eternity of bone and ash, not the endless emptiness of lichdom. She cannot bear the thought of him reduced to such a thing, his beauty stripped away, his brilliance devoured by the erosion of time. That he doesn’t see it this way only deepens her frustration.  

Hand me a spoon, she muses, her imagined voice so calm, so terribly polite. Thank you, thank you, you are ever so kind.And with that same borrowed civility, she would take the utensil and gouge out her own eyes. She would pluck them from their sockets, let the blood spill down her cheeks, let the nerve endings dangle like roots freshly torn from soil. Not forever, no, not forever. Just long enough for him to borrow them, to press her ruined vision into his own skull and see what she sees.

He is so, so pretty, she thinks again, wrapped up in his polished clothes, perfumed and proper, and she wants to scream it into him, to shove it into his head. She would ruin herself for him, scrape her knees raw on the ground prostrating at his feet, would choke on his cock until she tasted him in her lungs. She would swallow him whole, his seed flooding her throat, coating her insides, until she was painted with him, an Emmrich-colored thing from the inside out. She would fuck him any way, every way he likes, let him break her apart and remake her, just to ensure he never doubted how utterly lovely he is.  

She doesn’t know how to say any of this, how to dislodge the words from the thicket of her chest and shape them into something he might understand. Instead, she presses her lips to his cheek and kisses him there. Again. Again. Again. Once, twice.  

"Pretty," she murmurs. Her lips brush the edge of his jaw, where the first hint of roughness begins to bloom. "You are so, so pretty."  

[feinv]

can i kindly req for a arthur morgan x hyperfem reader.... pov he is just so so so in live with her...

arthur morgan x hyperfem!reader.

a/n. introducing my other hyperfixation on this blog. hope this won’t flop. if you don’t wanna see this you can block these tags! hope you like this dolly <3

arthur morgan is a romantic.

spending the majority of his life being without a significant other, he kept repressing all those emotions. and repressing just made them stronger.

but lucky for him he has you!

he doesn’t understand why a sweet thing like you would even look at his direction. but you did. and he wasn’t a fool to let you go after that. he absolutely gives you princess treatment. will do like. literally anything just to see you smile.

arthur loves taking you to beautiful places he encountered while riding around. seeing your eyes sparkle and that pretty smile you flush him is enough for him to die a happy man right there next to you.

he is absolutely feral at how adorable you look. like all the time. we all know 1800s underwears were like just a plain white fabric. but you still managed to stitch them up in a certain way and add a few small bows to make them look cuter! he is honestly so amazed that nothing ever stops you from doing your girly things, and he is always there to tell you that you did a good job and it looks perfect <3

he loves showing you off, especially when he knows he has the pleasure of calling you his. he will do any dirty job and hard labor just to get money and buy you anything you want.

he knows it's hard feeling beautiful when you have limited resources in a camp. so he would buy you whatever clothes you want, whatever jewelry and accessories you look at for more than five seconds when he takes you to a town. (he might even steal some really expensive ones and tell you he traded for those)

of course he would think you look gorgeous even if your entire face was covered in dirt and mud. but it matters to him that you feel happy and confident in yourself. and it's his mission to fulfill that goal for as long as he alive.

every time he would bring back a little something that reminded him of you — a book, a small painting, perfumes that smell just like you, and everything else in between.

he would help you with chores however he can just to ease some of your work and have more alone time together. the boys would tease him for being "a housewife," but he wouldn't give a shit. he might as well do every single of your chores if it meant he would have you all to himself in the confines of his tent.

showers you in compliments. all day 24/7. he knows the words will eventually fail him because he physically cannot tell u how infatuated he is with you and how flawless you are to him. but he will try either way.

“you are so beautiful, darlin'. my pretty girl,” while his fingers gently tuck hair away from your face, his thumb soothing your soft skin. and you would blush and avert his gaze because like :< but he would simply pepper feather light kisses all over your face before connecting your lips in such a tender kiss you would forget that’s a 6 feet tall ripped cowboy.

his side bag and some of his clothes in general would have small hearts or bows engraved in them with pink thread. every time he looks at them he gets reminded there is someone waiting for him to come back. and his heart just swells at that thought.

would also sneak you away from the camp to a pretty field where the two of you could just stargaze together or lay on the grass for hours. you would ramble about your day while he sketches you, your sweet voice literally making him float in the clouds.

arthur morgan loves being around you, being with you. you don't even have to be doing anything together, he just loves having you near him, close and safe :3

©️feinv, 2024.

[siconetribal]

Beyond the Bookshelves (8)

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: Friendly banter, overworking

Summary: You’re a Resource Management Specialist at S.H.I.E.L.D. normally referred to as “The Librarian”. You’ve been assigned the nightmarish task of digitizing all the physical resources currently owned by the agency, with a few new computers and one extra helper.

A/N:

Please comment/like/reblog. If you’d like to be tagged moving forward, please let me know! (If I missed any tags, please let me know, I’ll add you right away!) I’d also greatly appreciate it if rebloggers remember to add the tags (or some at least).

The lovely banners used in this fic are from @cafekitsune.

If you’re new to the story, please check out the master post for the rest of the chapters.

“You have it?” Loki raised a brow at this, pulling out his phone to see her full name and some extra information about her that Steve had stored on his phone. The sight of it only made his mood even more sour as he shoved the device back into the pocket it came from after saving it. “Quite a bit of information you have saved on here.”

“Yeah? It’s stuff I picked up on overtime.” The innocent, casual shrug of his shoulders held arrogance in the eyes of the God of Mischief. A smug punctuation of how the star-studded super soldier was able to freely come and go from the library and he was not.

“Oh? ‘Just stuff’ that you picked, huh? ‘Overtime’ you say? What kind of ‘just stuff’ did you save overtime?” Tony leaned in closer, a smug little smirk on his face with a twinkle of interest in his eyes.

“It’s not what you’re thinking, Tony. Y/N and I are just friends. Don’t go spreading unnecessary rumors. It’s nice to just have someone to talk to and not have to worry too much.” The stern tone in his voice earned a groaning sigh and eye roll from the impulsive scientist. “Also, dating in the workplace is unprofessional and would inevitably lead to complications.” 

Romantic involvements are always troublesome. Loki silently agreed, the tension in his shoulders slipping away as Steve made it clear that there was nothing going on between the two of them. The last thing I need is her feeding him misinformation or him spying for her to see what I’m saying or doing. I require access to the library, not an extended sentence. He reasoned with himself.

“Mr. Rules strikes again, don’t you know any other tricks? Or is justice and teacher’s pet your only ones? I don’t even know why I bother talking to you, give me her number. There’s something there, I know there is!” Loki sat up straight at the words that came out of the short Midgardian. His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Share her contact with me.” The prince’s eye twitched at the demand. He could not fathom why all of them wanted her number now that it was clear that none of them actually had it. What good was there in having contact information for someone that would never be contacted.

Especially when his interests were more fickle than the tide, ever-changing from one stupid notion to the next.

“I’ll pass on that,” Steve rolled his eyes at the petulant child look that Tony gave him. Loki silently agreed with this decision. “But you’re more than welcomed to get it from yourself.”

No, he is not! What sort of denial is that?! You may as well have given him the damned number if you’re giving permission to get it! His jaw ached from how tightly it was clenched, his leg rapidly bouncing under the table. Thor noticed the changes in his younger brother’s demeanor, but said nothing. He figured the company of the others was the cause, and as the elder of the two, he thought it best that Loki grew accustomed to the presence of the other Avengers.

“Are you gatekeeping her number? Why not just give it to me?”

“Because, I want you to actually work for something. Plus, this is just you trying to get under my skin, and you’re not actually going to go after her to get her number, Tony, I know you. This is a shiny new toy that you’re going to forget about the moment something else comes along.”

“You do like to play with things and toss ‘em aside when you’re bored.” Clint agreed, sipping his drink as he nudged the empty tray forward. “You’re not actually going to call her anyway.”

“Et tu, Robin Hood?” Tony gasped in horror. “Is that what all of you think of me? That I’m someone so callous to just use a poor innocent maiden like Y/N and just throw her away like yesterday’s newspaper the next day? I am offended. I’ll show you, me and her, we’re going to be like this.” He entwined his index and middle finger of one hand before standing up from the table. “You’ll see, and you’ll all regret it!” He threw his nose into the air and left, the others amused by his dramatics as they continued to not take him seriously. The only person not amused was Loki. They all goaded the chatty Tin-Man into actually getting her number instead of leaving her alone, the exact opposite of what should have been done.

It’s horrible enough that Major Constellations over here frequents the place, and he’s friendly with her, now I’ll have to share my sanctuary with that aluminum can? I refuse to accept this! There has to be some logic I’m missing, unless this is all some ploy to ruin my peace and quiet. No, I can’t be, can it? They’re all trying to ruin what little solace I have here? He eyed the remainder of the group suspiciously. Thor is working with me on that infernal project that started this mess, I doubt he is tied to it. The straight-laced sergeant only comes when he needs to for missions. I don’t think I’ve seen the bird-man there. That leaves just that nuisance of an existence, but his focus is currently on troubling their leader. Perhaps that is all there is to it? If it truly is, then I have nothing to worry about, so long as I get to her first and convince her to not share her contact information. To do that, I need her to first lift this Stygian banishment!

“Well, I thank you for her number, you proved most helpful in this matter of miscommunication. I should start putting my efforts towards composing a proper response, so I take my leave.” Loki stood from the table and left without giving anyone a chance to pry anymore than they already had.

“Director Y/LN, looks like everything checks out here. The programs are all running and there hasn’t been any repetition of the errors we first faced.” The weary voice of her subordinate pulled Y/N’s attention from her laptop screen.

“About time,” Y/N pushed a chipper tone into her voice to mask the true exhaustion that had taken lodging inside her. Lacing her fingers together, she turned her palms outwards and stretched as she sighed. “I swear, technology isn’t as amazing as it’s cracked up to be…especially when it flops like this first thing.” She grumbled as she logged the successful trial and cleared this site as operational.

“When it acts up, I can’t agree more. When it’s working, I have no complaints.” Her subordinate’s soft chuckle could not mask the fatigue. “C’mon, it’s late, but we still have time to grab dinner. The rest of us are heading out to celebrate that we’re finally online!” The eager twinkle in those brown eyes made the offer more tempting, but Y/N had to decline. 

“You gotta join us, Chief!” Another chimed in, hearing her answer.

“Pretty please?” Came another plea.

“I really wish I could, but I’ve got a red-eye to catch. I need to finalize and submit the report before I’m off.” Y/N closed her laptop and pointed to the large clock on the wall.

“Damn, they’re really not giving you any wiggle room, huh?”

“That’s not fair at all! Other directors don’t go running around like they’re making you. This is abuse!”

“Let’s not get too hasty, I choose to handle certain things personally to make sure it’s done properly. It reduces the chances of unnecessary back-and-forth. Next time we can celebrate, I promise. Thanks for all your hard work, everyone. Let’s keep it up and get this project completed as soon as possible.” With a chorus of confirmations and cheers. Y/N packed her things and gave one last wave before leaving back to her hotel. 

She dropped back onto the awaiting mattress, heaving a heavy sigh as she finally let the fatigue show itself. For the last five weeks, Y/N flew between all the S.H.I.E.L.D. locations that had a library department to manage the setup and checks of the new system that was provided per location as promised. She had been formally trained on the software, but sat through the boring session with the staff each and every time it was given. There was no doubt in her mind that if she were to die now, her last words would probably be incoherent ramblings from the lecture. The only good news in all this was that she was finally done. This flight would bring her one step closer to her much-needed comfy bed in her small, cozy apartment.

Forcing herself up, she pulled out her laptop to edit her report one last time before sending it off and logging out for the remainder of the evening. She changed to something comfortable and made sure everything was packed away and ready to go before ordering room service.

At least they don’t cheap out on where I stay and pick up the tab entirely. She leaned back into the padded headboard that was attached to the wall. “Did I check in to my flight? Crap, I don’t think I did.” She muttered, feelings round the covers until she found her phone hidden away under a pillow. A good hour and a half was burned away through all her editing and rechecking the report. Her stomach growled in protest. Gently patting the disgruntled creature, she quickly checked in through the app and sighed with relief at the boarding pass notification on her status bar. It was then that she noticed the message notification that was sitting there unread, still. 

The corners of her lips tugged downwards into a frown. Y/N could have sworn that she read all of her messages. Opening the texting application, she noticed the unknown number had sent about 3 messages to her, the latest being from a couple of days ago. Her eyebrows furrowed as she stared at the glowing screen, trying to recall anything. When nothing came to her, she gave in and opened the chat. Her jaw dropped as it all cam rushing back to her.

Oh shit, I’m in trouble now! She lightly and rapidly hit the heel of her left hand into her forehead several times. Way to go, Y/N, you completely ignored someone for almost three weeks now! “What do I do, what do I do?! Obviously, I need to reply, but how?!” She bit her lower lip, typing, reading, erasing, and retyping too many times to count before giving up at the knock at her door. Paying the server a tip, she sat at the table and began to eat. Clearly she needed food to get her brain in some semblance of working order as she reread the messages.

<Librarian, this is Loki, the second prince of Asgard. It has come to my attention that you have been working under a misunderstanding. Remove the banishment order.> It was the first text that came roughly three weeks ago.

<Librarian, this is not amusing. You placed a banishment order with no means for me to rectifying your misunderstanding by leaving the facility. Remove it at once.> This second text came four days after the first.

<Why do you not answer me, woman? I have repeatedly asked you to remove your misguided decision, and it has yet to be fixed.>  This text, which made her snort, came almost two weeks ago. <I know you have read my texts.> 

None of this is asking me anything, you’re demanding. She rolled her eyes.

<Perhaps my prior texts were not properly worded. As per the insistent pestering of my brother and the others, I am messaging you again. I did not intentionally ignore you the day you banished me from the library. I had just come from a lengthy training session and review/strategy meeting afterwards. The only thing I had done between then and arriving at the library was to refresh myself in my quarters to be more presentable in public. The ‘promise’ I made slipped my mind completely, but I had no control over that matter due to how long it took. You make ask your precious admiral if you wish to confirm my story, or you can request the data of that session to prove the time. With all that being said, I understand why you would be upset. I would greatly appreciate it if you would remove the order given to the system so that I may read peacefully in the library once more.> She was surprised to see such a lengthy text coming after all the short, demanding ones that came before it. What surprised her even more was the last text sent earlier today when she was fighting with the program errors. <Are you alright? You have not read my last text.><Sorry for replying so late, I was tied up with my work. Also, I accept your ‘apology’. By ‘admiral’, do you mean CAPTAIN America, Steve?> It took her a minute to realize who he was referring to, and she nearly fell out of her seat laughing at the mistake no one has ever made. At least not to her. <Why would I go ask him or check the records? I doubt you’re lying about a long session, I trust you. Sadly, you’ll have to wait until I’m back on site to cancel the order. I can only do those type of changes while on S.H.I.E.L.D. grounds and on their network. Good news is I’ll be back Monday, so just two more days!> She confidently sent her reply and finished the rest of her meal. Glancing at the clock, she sighed and called for the driver to come as she made her way to the lobby and checked out. Soon you’ll be home, Y/N, soon.

Tags: @vbecker10 @huntress-artemiss @softestqueeen @thegodofnotknowing @princess-ofthe-pages @firedrakegirl @rcailleachcola @cabingrlandrandomcrap @lotrefcp @lwtannie @jainaeatsstars @msdjsg7 @tom-hlover @kneelingformyloki @gruftiela @gigglingtiggerv2 @kats72 @mischief2sarawr @evalynanne

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Ghostface! Ellie Williams and Ghostface! Abby Anderson with a chubby fem s/o

+ featuring some slight yandere and explicit themes (these are dating headcanons to specify)

A/n: Hi again lovelies! I didn't expect the last one to blow up so quickly so I'm back to writing, honestly every note, like and reblog encourages me to do more and do better so thank you for that. I honestly didn't expect to write something a bit gory after writing mostly fluff so this'll be interesting. Reminder English is not my first language and I'm trying my best, I hope you enjoy:)

I'll possibly add more in the future if I have ideas :3

Meet my cousin y'all: @rabblebite

Disclaimers/Warnings: Slight yandere like behavior???, violence, gore, knife kink, gun kink, stalking, suggestive themes and language. Characters may be a bit OOC (but you already know this, it's ghostface)(the chubby part is just a little add on so there's actually not that many headcanons regarding that)

If you wish to be tagged, please comment that you want to be or follow so that you'll be updated also: Rules for requests

Ellie Williams dating inspired playlist made by me

Ellie Williams

The first time you met Ellie was a bit of a blur. Let me elaborate...

You were new at the school, first day and all that cliche shit. Bell rings, you run to class. You found yourself in a seat next to a girl, auburn hair and freckles. A few times throughout the class you made eye contact and smiled a few times.

What you didn't know was that Ellie was already freaking out, can you really blame her? A pretty girl sits next to her and smiles at her, not only that but you even offered her a mechanical pencil because hers was flimsy and the led kept breaking on her. She thought you completely forgot about the pencil but did you really?

This was the start of her obsession over you.

After that day she stalked you non-stop, she knew everything. She even kept a small journal, writing down what you did and how she felt about it after.

Her sketchbooks were filled with you, aside from a few other things it was mostly you. There's at least 2-3 doodles on each page of either you or your name on her sketchbook.

May or may not have carved your initials on her guitar before you even started dating.

That mechanical pencil you gave her, she kept it, barely even used it after that so she can keep something of yours.

When she managed to get enough courage to talk to you again, she tried giving you the pencil back in guilt but you refused. You told her to keep it and did that woman worship that pencil.

You got invited to her friend group, which are Dina and Jesse and out of all of them, she hang out with you the most.

After a while, Ellie felt confident enough to ask you out and a sigh of relief for her when you said yes.

She has polaroid of you lying around everywhere in her room, you even stuck some on the edge of your mirror and locker so she'd see it.

Your pet names including: princess, bunny, sweet thing and pretty girl.

The night you found out Ellie was Ghostface was the time you were walking at the street just minding your business when you were pulled in an alleyway but some creepy 50 something year old hobo.

You kicked him off of you and tried to run and the man tried to chase after you. Only to have his mouth covered by a white cloth and stabbed in the back. Hastily running, you got pulled back by the black cloaked stranger and before you could scream, she took off her mask.

"Ellie?" You whisper in fear, you saw her drop her knife and hug you.

You were still in shock, after all you just found out your girlfriend killed someone, rather a lot of people.

"[Name]? Are you alright? He didn't touch you anywhere did he?" She asked, seemingly forgetting she was still wearing her ghostface get up. Lucky for you that you kicked him off before anything else happened.

You two talked it out and you understand her motive behind all of the killings however that doesn't take away from the fact that you're terrified of what consequences await her if she was ever to get caught.

Ellie is aware of what might happen when she gets caught so she does everything she can to make sure you are not in any way, shape or form involved if she was caught.

Even if it means for her to forever rot in prison, she'd rather keep you away than endanger you for being a witness or even a suspect.

She heard about you being flirted with and inappropriately touched by some Chad. After a few days he was spotted, gutted open at the school tree hanging by his clothes.

She'd definitely think it's adorable to see you with the ghostface get up, it's specifically tailored to her size so seeing it on you with the trim dragging on the ground makes her thing of like the ghost costumes with just a white blanket and she just thinks you're such an angel, too pure even.

I just can't stop imagining her with a knife kink, though she doesn't actually cut you with it. She loves the way you whimper and squirm when she presses the cold blade on your plush skin.

She gets off on blood, that being said once she's with you and you already know about the killings, she can't just let it slide.

Someone else's blood on your skin makes her feel all sorts of things. (You may or may have engaged in sexual things after her gutting people up)

Clean up after that is a bit of work so there's that.

Seeing you in lingerie and blood would make her lose all self control.

If you were to accidentally kill someone, she would not only help you clean up but she'll also take responsibility for the kill. She made it look like ghostface did it.

If you were to decide to join in the killings, she'd let you but with moderation.

For example she'll let you make the decision on who to kill or strategize the killings. Before you could even suggest someone who wronged you, they're already 6ft under believe me. Ellie easily picks up on how you feel about someone and it's not like you don't tell her.

She'd also let you watch the killings, either hidden or disguised but that's just how far she'll go. She doesn't want you to actually be the one to do the killing cause she's too paranoid you'll do something that'll cause you to get caught.

Abby Anderson

You met at the basketball court while you were sitting at the bleachers because let's be real here, Abby is a total jock and athlete, she seems like she'd be a gym rat too. (Without the red flags of one though)

You were sitting with your friends Dina and Jesse while you guys just catched up since the past week has been hectic, you even went so far as to gossip and think of conspiracies on who has been responsible for the reported killings by the killer they named ghostface. You looked at your phone, looking at the messages when you flinched, almost getting hit by a ball.

You open your eyes shortly to see Abby Anderson, the school's lesbian jock, who by the way is holding the ball that almost hit you. Anderson muttered an apology on behalf of her teammate who mistakenly threw the ball at your direction.

You told her it was fine and that it was and honest mistake when you know damn well you would've been far more upset if that ball actually hit you.

Abby just couldn't stop staring at you, I mean could you blame her? She felt like a knight and shinning armour when she just saved a pretty girl from a potential head injury.

She snapped back to reality when she heard her teammate say "Hey Anderson! Stop flirting with pretty girls and pass that ball back will you" Abby was a bit flustered by that comment because all and all she agreed to it.

On Abby's desk is carved your name and initials, she has gotten detention over it though I don't think the school is aware of how many desks have your name carved on them.

It took a while but Abby finally did ask you out, she approached you while you were taking a few things out of your locker. "So uhh, do you want to go out with me? On a date I mean..." She asked with her hand rubbing her neck, Abby was bracing herself for rejection.

You had to do a bit of a double take because the Abby Anderson is asking you out? You said yes obviously.

May or may not have stalked you before asking you out to find out everything you like to set up the perfect date.

Abby definitely has a polaroid of you both is her locker and gym locker. (There's one in her wallet too 🥺)

Your nicknames are: my cheerleader (because she knows damn well you've been to all her games and was there to cheer her on), baby, babe and pretty girl

You only found out that she's ghostface because she couldn't take it anymore and told you after seeing that you're scared of ghostface potentially threatening your life.

Poor baby was so worried you'd think insane if her after, let's just say she ended up loving you more for accepting the fact and understanding the reason behind the killings. (let's be real here any normal person would but not you)

When you first asked to play a part in the killings, Abby disagreed, no way in hell was she letting her girl be in danger both of the police and whatever else is out there.

She hates the idea of you going to jail more than she hates the idea of getting caught and facing the consequences.

But if you really want to then like Ellie she'd let you but with limitations. You're only ever allowed to watch when you are disguised and she'll let you stab a few every now and then.

Abby with a gun kink, Abby with a gun kink, Abby with a gun kink. Watch her get turn on when you flinch from the clicks whenever she pulls the trigger.

Despite Abby hating horror movies, she sure made a hell of a good killer.

[slut4msby]

Happy New Year? Miya Atsumu x Fem!Reader

+ tags & warnings; suggestive content, heavily implied smut, atsumu and reader did the deed :0??, borderline fuckboy!atsumu [i have a soft spot for fuckboy!atsumu], not proofread, implied ex bf but no one is specified other than being a vb player so use ur imagination qts :3

+ a/n; hey guys! i'm lea :3. this is my first fic on tumblr in YEARS i used to have an account long long long ago that like NO ONE would know so this is my welcome back ig ;p have some fuckboy!atsumu tehheeheh [i want fuckboy!atsumu so bad or maybe i just have issues teheheh]. also its dec 31 when i post this so HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! stay safe and take care x

Waking up on your own has become a tradition on New Year's Day. For the past three years, a very lonely past three years. Ever since your partner had broken up with you. 

This year was no different, waking up in an empty bed - but not your bed? The realisation left you in confusion. Your eyes darted around the room, cologne, dirty clothes, sports trophies and empty water bottles filled the room. How classy. You sat up against the headboard, head pounding from the alcohol that had consumed your body the night before. Despite its uncleanliness it was a nice room at its core. The problem is, you don't know when you got here or how you got here. Matter of fact if you were even still in the country.

“Hey Doll.” A shirtless figure called from the doorway, a towel wrapped around his waist, his V-line on full display. He was fit, no one could deny that. His blonde hair messy from his shower, his body littered with hickies and scratches - your hickies and scratches. “You really did a number on me huh?” He let out a soft chuckle.

You tried to respond but your body was still in a state of shock from the man you had managed to catch.

“You alright princess? You seemed to be a lot louder and confident last night.” He teased, walking towards you taking a seat on his bed. “You know, you look good in my shirt.” He adds on in reference to the oversized t-shirt which accompanied your body. He shuffled closer to you, he planted another kiss on your neck over one of the many purple marks he had given you last night, “could get used to having you around.”

“Me?” You question, he only nods in response. 

He grabs your face in his hand. You couldn’t deny his hands were nice, they were big and he obviously knew how to use them. He moved you to look at him, forcing tension. You couldn’t lie from what you could remember is that he was good. He pulled you closer and closer, looking at your lips and then your eyes. “Can I?” He asks.

“Can you?” You respond giving him your infamous ‘fuck-me eyes’.

“Oh doll, we both know we can.” He mutters against your lips, before pulling you in for a kiss which you very happily accept. 

That’s when the memories come back, you could never forget a kiss like that. You remember Kuroo forcing you to a party and meeting him, Atsumu Miya.

“C’moonnnnnnnn n/n-chan it will be fun.” Kuroo begged.

“Tetsu, I don’t know I am happy alone.”

“You’re so boring now n/n-chan.” He pouts. He knows that sentence will rile you up. “You used to be the life of the party y/n.”

“Used to? Oh baby I still am.”

“Then come to the party n/n.”

“Fine.”

You remember walking in and being greeted by Bokuto who you hadn't seen in years. Completely ditching the volleyball scene after your ex-boyfriend. Bokuto was still as huge and friendly as always. You greeted all the familiar faces and were even introduced to some new ones. It was nice. As the hours went on the alcohol overtook your body. 

You had found yourself on a couch on top of him - Atsumu Miya. 

“Woahh pretty girl slow down.” He pulls away from the kiss a string of saliva breaking you apart as he does so. “What's yer name, pretty girl?” He asks before leaving light kisses on your neck forcing a gasp out of you.

“L/n.” You say quickly, “y/n l/n.”

“Pretty name for a pretty girl.” He says continuing kissing down your neck. He would have gone further right then and there however your rendezvous was cut short by Bokuto and Kuroo calling your name. And you thought that was gonna be the last encounter with the mystery man.

“Ohhhh~ n/n-chan getting it on with tsum-tsum.” Bokuto teases.

“N/n is lonelyyyyyy.” Kuroo slurs.

The teasing continued all night, however at 11:58pm everyone started gathering around for the countdown, you were convinced this is the fourth year you would be lonely. Before you felt an arm snag your waist.

“Hey pretty girl.” He purrs into your ear.

“Oh it’s you.”

“I have a name y’know princess?”

Silence.

“Do yer seriously not know who I am.”

“Egotistical by the sound of it, pretty boy.” You respond.

“Atsumu Miya. Y’know? MSBY’s setter?”

“Right. I like pretty boy more.” You giggle.

5

“Yer won't be moaning that tonight trust me doll.”

4

3

2

1

Atsumu pulls you in for a kiss, “So you wanna take me up on that offer princess?”

You can’t help but nod eagerly.

Happy New year to you indeed.

©slut4msby.

[liminalmemories21]

WIP Wednesday

tagged by @carlos-in-glasses, @heartstringsduet, @nisbanisba, @whatsintheboxmh, @lightningboltreader, @strandnreyes, @carlossreaders, and @lemonlyman-dotcom. Thank you!

Judd leans back.  "Been a minute since I've seen you.”  Pauses.  Says more delicately.  “Comin’ up on a year now since your daddy died.  How you been doin’ with that?”

He wishes people would stop whitewashing it, his father was murdered, he didn't have a heart attack, or fall asleep one night and just not wake up.  Someone rang the door of his parents house and shot his father in cold blood, and he had to listen to his mother's screams as her husband died in front of her.

"Fine," he manages to say, and Judd looks skeptical.

"Uh huh.  You wanna pull the other one, I hear it's got bells on."

He scowls at Judd.  "Everyone wants to move on, forget it happened, and I can't.  Whoever murdered him," he puts a heavy emphasis on the word and sees it hit Judd.  "Whoever murdered him is still out there."

"So you're lookin' for whoever that is?"

"Yes."

Judd hmms.  "Okay."

"That's it?  Okay?  Nothing else to add?"

Judd gives him an amused look.  "Did you want me to have more to say than that?  Seems to me like you got your mind made up about it, and whatever I say's gonna go in one ear and out the other."

"Everyone else seems to have an opinion," he mutters.

Judd snorts.  "Well, you know what they say.  Opinions and assholes, everyone's got one."

It catches him off guard and he snorts beer out his nose.  Judd hands him a napkin without comment.

"Just, here's a question for you."  He looks up, still blowing his nose.  "How long do you look?   A year?  Two?  Five?  Ten?  When do you say enough and start livin' for you and not someone else?  I ain’t sayin' there's a right answer there, just figure out for yourself when’s long enough."

tagging @freneticfloetry, @fifthrideroftheapocalypse, @three-drink-amy, @rmd-writes and @welcometololaland

[dianagj-art]

How long do you typically spend on a drawing? Of the ones you've posted, which took the longest? Which was the quickest?

It really depends on what I'm drawing and how "finished" I do them

For example these kind of skectches don't really take me much time to do (specially when the poses are very simple), I can do a bunch of these in a few minutes no problem, then there are the ones when I add grayscale or colors that take a little longer

Then there is this kind of drawing that are finished with lineart, colors and shadows but each of them took me a different amount of time

The Gemini one took me hours to make (how many I dont really remember) I spent a lot of time on the sketch mostly because I was trying to figure out how Leo's arm worked, then spend around 3hrs doing lineart and chossing the base colors, and I had to do it twice because...

reasons...

The bottom left with Coin Toss Michael, took me less, even when it was a challenging pose I managed to figure that out quick enough, the most time consuming part were the chains because I hand drew them. I don't remember how long it took me to do but I did it in one or two sittings, probably took me aorund 5 hours to make (and maybe thats too much, might have been less)

And the bottom right was a fast one too, probably managged to do it in under 3 hours (I think the hardest part was to match proportions with Trainee that is cropped out)

And then there is things like this, I actually have the proccess recorded (minus the sketching and planning) and can tell you that it took me around 15 hours to make these two pages (I might one day edit that and make a speed draw)

But again, it really depends on what I'm drawing because this commission (that aparently I haven't posted yet) that I also have some of the proccess recorded, it took me around 2:30 hours to do inks, colors and shading

Most of the time I dont really time myself, when I know more exact times are when I record my screen for future speed draw videos (that I always forget to edit) or because I was watching something in the background so I know it took me X amount of movies or episodes or youtube videos so... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Oh! there is also this lil animation I did that took me 4 hours, I only know that because it says so in my tags

[savannahsdeath]

SOCCER!ELLIE X CHEERLEADER!READER

PART 5FIVE aka; the epilogue

part 4four

warnings: minors safe !!🩷

writers note: finally the end ugh.. im not gonna lie, i hate how the whole 'series' (its too short to be called a series, but wtv) turned out, so im glad to finish it. though, im looking forward to make another fic with actual plot and not just smut, tho an abby one (i already have the epilogue written and im so so excited🤭)

you felt stupid. stupid, but mostly hurt. you couldn't understand why a small part of you wanted to believe that vi did nothing wrong. that small part of you wanted to end all of this, get on good terms with vi and be with ellie.

although, you weren't hurt by cheating itself. after all, you thought that's what happened for the past months, so you were already mentally prepared for that.

whatever.

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

you and ellie went through all the usual motions of a happy couple together, though not as an official couple yet. you spent time with each other and your friends, and you slowly forgot about the past and all the drama you had experienced.

you didn't forget about vi, though. you still felt guilty about the way you let her manipulate you like that. you could still hear her voice in your mind, telling you love isn't something you both have and, probably, never had.

you decided she shouldn't be a part of your life anymore, and you did your best to avoid her. she didn't know that you know, though it was obvious, since the rumours continued. you just didn't care anymore. not about her, at least.

ellie didn't speak much about the past, and you didn't either, because you felt like you didn't need to. the past was the past, and now you were looking forward to your future together.

you started thinking less and less about vi, soon managing to get her out of your mind for the whole day. not much, but after what happened, it was a big success. she was no longer a part of your life. ellie was, and that's all that mattered to you now.

you spent more and more time with her. you got to know her team better, returning the favor by taking her to your friend group's meeting.

you told luccy, your best friend, about the whole situation. it took you a good few hours to explain everything.

luccy listened to your entire story, impressed by the twists and turns it took. you could tell she was almost as surprised as you, her eyes widening with each sentence.

"well, no wonder you were so confused," she said politely, "but at least you have ellie now, and you seem happy together." she paused for a moment, before asking; "do you miss vi at all?"

you sighed and closed your eyes, imagining every good moment with her and comparing it to the happiness ellie brought you.

it was almost impossible to answer your friend's question.

on one hand, you had had great moments with vi, and you could even admit that you loved her.

and then there's ellie - which made you remember that your ex wasn't there for you when you needed it.

"no, i don't think so." you replied, ashamedly looking down. "ellie makes me feel like i never even truly loved vi."

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

i want to add some 'last words' about this fic, especially this part. a lot of you guys will probably be mad at me for not taking any revenge. but you, as the reader, have to understand that its not that easy. after being so hurt, after hearing so many lies, all you wanted was a normal relationship. a stable, honest and calm one. the one you got with ellie. you knew getting revenge would only complicate things - you probably wont be able to forget her at all once youd put salt on the wounds all over again. just the fact that she has to see you happy with ellie, while shes left alone, is enough. thanks to everyone who supported the series<3

TAGS: @wandasromanova @bellaramslover @aouiaa @glennns-blog @elliewilliamsfuckbuddy @iheartsadiesink @ximtiredx @coff1nn @jowdann @simpforellie @iveofficiallylostmymarbles @skylerwhitwyo @pinkigirl @islalips @ratdungeon @okayyesbutno @dinoastronaut @ucannotcompare @elyonz @lesbiantothemoonandback @lovejuliettq @param8re @r3wbeef and some more i cant tag for unknown reasons:(

[xiaosonlybeloved]

Promises- Xiao

featuring:- Xiao, gn!reader tags:- fluff only (...again.) a/n:- ughhh this is only for new year i swear not again. as usual, not proofread and whoo im back to writing for genshin!

wc:- 0.9k || masterlists

Xiao stood silently on the terrace of Wangshu Inn, watching the hustle-bustle of the mortals, lost in thoughts. It would be midnight in an hour or two, and with it would come the beginning of another new year. 

Xiao didn’t get all the excitement these mortals created around New Year. Nevertheless, as usual, he did his job to protect Liyue every night. 

He was staring at the brightly-lit scenery in front of him, countless stars twinkling above and all sorts of lanterns burning bright below, when he felt a familiar presence come up to him. And a rare small smile graces his pretty face, when he sees you stand next to him with a grin. “Enjoying the view? The celebrations this time are even more festive than last time.” You ask. 

“I don’t see the point in these activities. Perhaps these mortals have nothing better to do.” He scoffed, although there was no sting in his words.

Often Xiao wondered how he had been so lucky to find someone as extraordinary as you. You- kind, caring, empathetic, understanding, and yet you could also be ruthless, merciless and fierce when it came to protecting your loved ones. You, who stayed with him all of this long time, never once abandoning him, even when he came home exhausted, covered in blood, late into the night. It couldn’t have been easy, to put up with him all this time, and yet you did. And when you passionately told him that you’d always stay with him, no matter what, he could somehow believe your reassuring words. Sometimes, no, often, Xiao felt like he did not deserve you, not knowing that you felt the same way. After all, he was one of the great adepti, and incredibly reserved and antisocial. How you’d managed to get him out of his shell, not even you knew. But oh well, enough of all that. It is New Year after all.

“Alright, alright, Mr Adeptus.” you laughed jokingly. “Come on, I have somewhere I wanna take you to.” Sensing his hesitance, you add, “Don’t worry, I’ve made sure no one’s there. Its pretty secluded, so it’ll be just the two of us. Its my surprise for you for New Year’s.” And again, he falls a bit more for you like he does everyday, at your care for him, something he’s undeserving of. (In his opinion- you would beg to differ.)

So you two set off, with Xiao following your lead, silently admiring you from behind. The atmosphere between you is quite comfortable as you hold his hands easily, leading him through some forest to a hilltop. Judging by the lights and the activity they could see in the distant Harbor, the clock was close to striking twelve, and you hurry him through the final stretch before they emerge into a familiar clearing. 

“Remember this place, Xiao?” you ask with a grin. He nods in response, looking around the place where he first met you, where his life completely changed for the better. “How could I ever forget it.” He murmurs, looking around at the decorations you’ve set up here. There was a small hut here, and you ‘d put up lights on it and the surrounding trees. In addition, there’s also a comfy picnic blanket and homemade food. Everything here has a little touch of you, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Again, a comfortable silence falls between you two as you rest on the blanket, overlooking the bustling Harbor, occasionally munching on some goodies (aka you stuffing food in his mouth because he refused to eat.) As the fireworks go up throughout the Harbor together, illuminating the sky brighter than the stars, you lean against him as you take his hand and put something in it. He carefully holds it as if it’s a valuable treasure (Which it is- anything given to him by you is), seeing a beautiful pendant that matches his attire. “..Did you get this for me?” He asks softly, touched by your gesture. “No, I made this for you as your New Year gift.” You respond quietly. “Should I put it on for you if you want?” “Yes, please.” After a bit, he says, “Thank you so much.” You merely smiled as you finished clasping the pendant behind his neck, and then backhugged him. 

He speaks up again. “I… also have something I made for you. It’s not as good as what you gave me, but it’s an adepti protection bracelet. It could help you out sometime.” He cautiously puts the mentioned item into your hands, and he thinks the effort he put into making it is completely worth it when he sees the beautiful smile on your face as you immediately put it on, admiring it.

You spend the rest of the night on that hilltop where everything began, watching the celebrations of a new start, a new chance far below, in each other’s loving company, with the promise of a long and happy future ahead.

Reblogs, votes and comments are very much appreciated <3