#i always remember that phrasing i find it so unbearably sweet

[rustystars]

favorite sarek depiction forever & ever going to be grad valucan because grad vulcan always wins always. the maybe two lines of dialogue he has MAX but the whole time speaking to spock in the same way one speaks to a small and beloved child

[erwinsvow]

𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

summary: uncle eren comes to visit.

warnings: step-cest, jealousy, manipulation, hints of verbal/emotional abuse + touch of dubcon to con, reader feels guilty, grinding/dry-humping, overstimulation, orgasm denial, unprotected sex

author's note: part two of sole salvation. i really hope everyone enjoys this! the warnings are just to be on the safe side as i do not want to accidentally trigger anyone, please feel free to message me if you want to ask about something before reading.

tagging @sangwoos-mom & @divine-delight :)

If Zeke didn’t want my interest to get piqued, Eren thinks to himself as he watches you stroll away, off to get him to a fresh cup of lemonade, he should have kept his mouth shut.

When his brother had mentioned his new fiancee had a daughter, Eren had supposed it would be some spoiled, bratty kid. After all, he had met your mother once before, and he didn’t think that kind of a woman could raise someone even remotely well-behaved.

So given that, he was more than pleasantly surprised the first time he met you. It was all a shock, from the almost angelic way you float down the stairs to greet him, your soft skin and sweet smile, to the genuine look in your eyes when you tell him that you’re glad to finally meet him.

He still doesn’t know what Zeke did to deserve you in his life, the taste in his mouth a touch too bitter when he watches the way you look at his brother, even when your mom is in the same room. It’s dreamy, as though there’s no better way to spend your time and nothing better to think about than your step-father.

It’s a little unfair, Eren thinks, that Zeke has a sweet, doting little thing head over heels for him. It’s a little unfair that Zeke waited so long to invite him over, to introduce him to you. Maybe it was brotherly instinct, maybe he knew that once Eren met you, he wouldn’t be able to think about anything else, just like it had been for Zeke.

Regardless of what it was, Eren knew one thing for certain. Sibling should always share.

It finally takes an unbearable conversation on the phone with your mother for an excuse, an opportunity to arise. The lie is taking hold in his head and spilling out of his mouth before he can even control it—“Yeah, the pipes burst and it’s just a mess, I called Zeke but his phone’s off- no, really? Just for the weekend, I promise- thank you, I’ll be over soon.”

His bag is packed and cock is twitching at the idea of getting you alone in that house, maybe when Zeke’s locked away in his office and your mother’s out shopping. It’s going to be a hot week, with almost intolerable heat, and he’s positive it’ll have you in revealing clothes (no doubt ones that his brother bought for you) and teensy swimsuits when you go for an afternoon swim.

That’s what he’s thinking of—the image of you soaked to the bone, wet hair and the thin, dripping material of your suit sticking to your skin—when he pulls into your driveway later that day.

It’s almost easy enough to miss the slight wobble in your steps, the way your clothes are just a little too wrinkled for someone that’s been sitting around the house all day.

But Eren notices it, of course, and doesn’t miss the way Zeke practically keeps one eye on you the entire day, no matter who he’s talking to, either.

Maybe if Eren was just a drop stupider, a bit less cunning, you and Zeke could get away with all of it, but he’s not. He thinks it’s his turn to have his fun with you.

Your mother’s even more intolerable than he remembers. He wonders how bad a family dinner could be, but this is much worse than he could have fathomed. It’s a whole host of things, like how she’s oblivious to the affair happening right under her nose and her small comments that have your lips trembling and eyes blinking away tears before they can fall.

Jeez. Eren had initially felt bad for himself, but he’s starting to wonder how you put up with it. Maybe fucking around with Zeke is your own way of getting revenge, payback for every ‘Why do you look so tired, it’s not like you’re the one working all day’ and ‘Don’t you have plans with friends, or are you just gonna bother your parents all day?’

By the time dinner ends, you’ve made your way to the kitchen almost automatically, putting away dishes and wiping counters without even being told, as Zeke gives your mother a cold, hard stare.

“Was all that really necessary?” his brother questions quietly, eyes fuming with anger yet still disguising his true reason for being upset.

“What?” your mother responds innocently, pretending as though she hadn’t said anything wrong. Eren watches the interaction carefully. He thinks it’d be better if he didn’t interject on a married couple’s little spat, but here he goes again, words out before he can control them. They’re spoken a bit louder than they needed to be, but he wants to make sure you hear them over the running water.

“I don’t know, she seems like a good girl to me, no? Maybe you should be easier on her.”

And a few feet away, in the kitchen, your heart skips a beat. Uncle Eren—who you’d only met once and heard about a handful of times, someone who doesn’t owe you anything, someone not even really related to you—defending you?

It was enough to make tears rush to your eyes again, a smile on your face as you rinse off the dishes.

Good girl. The words run through your head again, seemingly on repeat. They’re your two favorite words, enough to pick you up from the dark, sullen headspace you’re in as a result of your mother’s cruel phrases and Zeke’s stinging silence.

Zeke claims it’ll become too obvious, even to your clueless mother, if he always takes your side and speaks up for you, despite how much he wants to, he says. You’re so hopelessly gone, so devoted to him that you don’t think you have it in you to fight for it. The words he says when the two of you are alone, how he makes you feel and spoils you rotten makes up for it, right?

That’s what you’d been telling yourself all this time, but you’re not sure how much longer you can keep the act going. Does he think it’s easy to watch him walk into the bedroom he shares with your mother every night? To watch her kiss him goodbye, hold onto his arm in public, while you trail behind like a lost puppy?

It’s not actually revenge you’re aiming for, when you start greeting Eren in the morning brightly, walking straight on over to him in the living room rather than the kitchen where your step-father is. It’s closer to a plea for attention, like you’re waiting for Zeke to realize you can play at this game too.

Eren’s more than happy to indulge you, spending hours of the day beside you on the couch watching movies, or watering the lawn while you work on your garden, claiming that he just wants to help out around the house as much as he can. His weekend-long visit turns into a week, as the ‘good for nothing contractors are taking their sweet time.’

It’s terribly easy to make you believe every word he’s saying, with you even defending him when Zeke asks how much longer he’s planning on sticking around.

“He’s family,” you had argued valiantly, leaving your step-father with narrowed eyes and a tense jaw as he noticed Eren smiling behind you. For once, your mother had agreed with you, and Zeke was left with no choice.

It’s sunny and warm when Eren’s opportunity, the one he’s been waiting for patiently, appears. Your mother’s gone out again, this time to the salon, there’s that hour of time right after she’s left that you usually treasure, because you know there’s no chance she’ll be on her way back or call home.

It’s usually your favorite time of the day, when you know you can have Zeke all to yourself, and that’s what you’re thinking, when you hesitantly make your way to the door of his office.

Truly, you hadn’t meant to make Zeke angry, you just wanted to be there for Uncle Eren how he was there for you. You were ready to make up and forget about it now, dolled up in a new sundress that you hadn’t gotten a chance to wear yet. Zeke had bought it only weeks ago, before Uncle Eren’s sudden visit, and you thought he might like it if you wore it now.

Your hand has just reached the cool metal of the doorknob, just about to twist when you hear a ringing from inside the room, of Zeke’s phone going off.

You step back, knowing better than to interrupt one of his calls. You’re disheartened a little, mind wondering why he would schedule something when you and he both know this is your hour, your chance to be alone.

You make your way back downstairs, lingering on the last step and thinking about going back up in a few minutes, when Uncle Eren’s voice calls to you from the living room, making you jump a little.

“Oh, sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, voice calm and quiet, a contrast to your thudding heart.

“That’s okay, Uncle Eren,” you say, and your head turns back to look in the direction of Zeke’s office inadvertently. “I was just-”

“Waiting for Daddy, huh?” Your lips part a little in surprise, confused by his implication. Though surely, Zeke wouldn’t have told Uncle Eren anything. No, he wouldn’t do that.

Right?

“I-I just needed to ask him something, but I think he’s on the phone with someone,” you say quietly, confused at Eren’s tone, the confidence with which he spoke those words, almost mockingly.

“Oh, yeah. He told me he’s busy all afternoon, something or other about work and a report-” Eren stops himself right when he notices your expression change, looking thoroughly upset that Zeke was busy when you were ripe for the taking. “He didn’t tell you about that?”

Fuel to the fire, maybe a bit too much, but Eren doesn’t care. Not as long as you keep it up, looking like a maimed little prey upon realizing that Daddy was too busy for you.

Yes, Eren was getting much better with the lying. It doesn’t even register to you to question his words, to go back up and double check, that Zeke might, in fact, be waiting for you to knock on his door at this very second.

Your feet find their way to the sofa, slumping down dejectedly, as Eren sits right next to you. It’s the way you two have been sitting for the past week, except he’s ready to take the risk. His hand finds your knee, thumb rubbing the soft skin as you let out a shaky breath, wiping away a stray tear.

“All afternoon?” comes your quiet voice, trembling at the mere notion that Zeke was upset with you. You hadn’t meant to take it this far, hadn’t thought he would be ignoring you just because you disagreed with something he said for the first time.

But your sadness is turning into something different when you look at the hungry, almost predatory way Uncle Eren is looking at you now.

“That’s what he said, sweetheart. Did you two have plans, or something?” It’s coming off nonchalant, or so he hopes, because every bone in his body is excited at the prospect before him, blood rushing to his hardening cock as he catches a glimpse of your exposed skin as you fiddle with the hem of your dress.

“N-no, I just… He always spends time with me when mom leaves. I just thought he would be free.”

It’s the sweet, lonely way you’re looking into his eyes, your own doe-like and watery, that tips him over the edge.

“Well, I can keep you company.”

“R-really?”

“Yeah, baby. A sweet thing like you shouldn’t be left all alone… it’s not right, well, at least to me.”

“Yeah?” Eren nods his head, line between his lies and the truth blurring suddenly as you inch closer and closer to him.

“I wouldn’t treat you like that, if you were mine, you know-” and he can’t finish his sentence, because your hands are on the collar of his shirt and you’re shifting onto his lap, and your lips are on each other.

It’s stupid, you know, to be so easily guided by a few choice words, putty in virtually anyone’s hands if they say the right things and make you feel seen and heard, but you can’t stop now.

Eren’s tongue is in your mouth, your lips practically glued together as you feel his hands go under the soft cotton of your dress, exploring the supple skin of your thighs. It’s not long before his hands find your ass, squeezing and groping as moan into his mouth.

A sharp slap to your ass makes you yelp, pulling away for just a second before Eren’s hand is on the back of your neck, guiding you into a kiss again. You moan again, louder, when his teeth bite down on your lip just a little bit, when Eren finally pulls away.

“Can’t be too loud, remember, sweetheart? Daddy’s busy upstairs,” he says, somehow knowing exactly what would rile you up. The words act like a little shock running through your system, making you even more eager for Eren’s touch.

“Don’t care-!” you mewl, head going fuzzy when you feel Eren’s hard cock grind against your core, waves of pleasure rushing through your body. You’re still, Eren’s hand coming up to cover your mouth as he continues his rocking movement, making you moan against his hand.

Your eyes roll back when Eren increases his speed, and it’s silly, how the barely-there contact is making you shake, the coil in your stomach tense and unwinding, when Eren stops completely.

You whine loudly, muffled some by his hand, but not entirely, causing Eren to spank you again.

“I thought you were a good girl, hm? Don’t get bratty on me now,” he says, though he thinks it went in one ear and out the other as you come down from your incomplete high.

“I want-I want you, Uncle Eren, now-!” Another whine, another spank. You cry out again, until the fourth slap—which leaves your ass sore already from Eren’s heavy-handedness—silences you.

“Sweetheart, stop misbehaving or you’re not gonna get anything, okay?” he coos, fingers finding your chin and directing your face to look him in the eyes. They’re lust-blown too, and his hardness is still evident underneath your body, but your body’s inclined to follow his rules, despite how badly you want to cum.

“Yes, Uncle Eren,” you say softly, your squirming body finally stopping. Eren’s fingers find their way to the thin straps of your sundress, pulling them until they rest on your shoulder and expose your neck and collar to him.

“Tell me something, baby, did you wear this for me? Or for him?” The very mention of Zeke makes your body stiffen, but you’re still desperate for more and eager to please Uncle Eren.

“For you,” you mumble, wanting to just bury your head in the crook of Eren’s neck and feel him inside you, though you know you won’t get what you want that easily.

“Me? I’m so honored,” he says, letting out a laugh at how your body shakes in anticipation but you stay completely still. He wonders if Zeke had to teach you to be this obedient, or if it just comes to you naturally.

He thinks it’s the latter when he rolls his hips quickly, watching you squirm and bite your lip hard to keep quiet, another rush of pleasure coursing through you, though it’s not nearly enough.

“It’s okay, baby, you’ve been good enough to me, haven’t you?” he asks, and you nod your head quickly. “You deserve to feel good, don’t you?” You nod again and let out a shaky breath when Eren moves your hips with his hands, finally giving you the much-needed pressure on your clit.

“Why don’t you cum for me, baby, just like this? Mmh?” You’re letting out little squeals at each contact, hips moving faster and faster as Eren lays back and lets you use his cock as a toy to grind against. His head falls back at how good it feels, though he won’t let himself cum until he’s inside you.

You’re close again, stomach tensing again and that familiar feeling gathering inside your chest, making you feel warm all over as you speed up.

The breaking point is when Eren’s hands come to your chest, pulling down your dress and exposing your tits to the cool air. His fingers pinch one while his mouth finds the other, and suddenly you can’t keep quiet no matter how hard you try, moans spilling out your mouth as well as repeated cries of Uncle Eren, that sound sweet as sugar to Eren.

It’s when Eren starts bucking his hips up too, that you finally cum, a bolt of pleasure running through your entire body as he keeps going. You’re not entirely sure what kind of noises you’re making—everything seems to be muted and fuzzy as repeated shocks make you shake, Eren’s firm grip on your tits being the only thing that’s grounding you.

When you finally come down, forcing yourself away from Eren’s lap and legs pressed tightly together to calm your oversensitive cunt, there’s a lecherous look in Eren’s eyes. It’s screaming to you, silently, how he’s not done with you yet.

“Aw, baby, look how fast you came just from a little bit of humping. Are you that desperate, bunny? Is Daddy not taking care of you?”

Your face feels like it might be on fire, blood and heat rushing at the same time and burning quickly with shame at the realization that Eren knew all along, that he’s been playing this little game with you since his arrival and you never, not once, had the upper hand.

He feels more predatory than ever before, spreading your legs despite how your legs ache and your core is burning—even if you wanted more, you don’t think you could take it—but it doesn’t seem like Eren cares.

“U-uncle Eren, we shouldn’t- h-he might-” you start, but are cut off as Eren presses a finger to your lips.

“Sweetheart, isn’t that a little unfair? If you get to cum, and I don’t? Be a good girl and spread for me,” he says, and you feel your body comply automatically.

Your back’s on the couch now, Eren hovering over you. All it would take is a few steps in this direction after coming down the stairs for someone to find you, but you can hardly care when Eren’s shoving your dress up, exposing your panties and shoving them to the side, your wetness on display for him.

“One day, baby, when Daddy’s not here, I’m gonna fuck you stupid with my tongue—just not today,” and the words go straight to your head. Your heart thuds uncomfortably in your chest every time he mentions Zeke, a sense of guilt washing over you and replacing the pleasure you feel, but you forget all about it when you see Eren undos his pants and take out his hardened cock.

It’s plainly wrong to compare it to Zeke’s, and though it might not be longer, it’s definitely thicker, not as pretty but covered in throbbing veins that you can’t even imagine feeling inside you.

Eren’s about to grant your wish, running his cockhead over your sensitive clit once, twice, and just as you're expecting a third, he pushes inside of you.

A strangled, loud moan escapes your lips before he can cover your mouth again. It’s agonizing, not being able to make a sound as your step-uncle fucks you into the couch, movements picking up and a steady pace filling the room with obscene noises. You can’t see where the two of you are connected, since your eyes are locked with Eren’s pretty green ones, but you know you’re making a mess.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, every thrust stretching you out, you think he’s ruined your cunt for anyone else—but that’s exactly what he wants.

It’s silent, save for the heavy patter of Eren’s balls against your ass with each thrust, the sound of his hips knocking with yours. He’s trying to keep his grunts silent, but it’s getting harder and harder with the way you’re clenching around him, so tight and wet and soft, he wonders what his brother did to deserve someone like you—he wonders why he doesn’t spend every minute inside you.

Your sensitive cunt tightens around him, knowing only another few strokes and grazes on your clit will be enough to tip you into your second orgasm. Your shaky hand finds Eren’s, pulling his wrist away from your face and meeting his lips again, releasing muffled moans into his mouth.

You know he’s close too, from the way his pace picks up, and you pull away just for a second, just to say three words.

“Please, Uncle Eren.”

And it’s enough to make his hips stutter, enough to uncoil the knot in your tense stomach and have your orgasm washing over you, as you feel Eren fill your cunt with his hot cum. Your lips are on each other, the lewd squelching of his slowing thrusts matching the small squeaks you release, until he finally pulls out and your panties snap back over your leaking cunt.

It’s hard to catch your breath, from your position laying down, feeling your tight hole throb and Eren’s cum spill out, probably onto the sofa seat. You adjust the top of your dress, covering your tits and pulling one strap up. When you’re fixing the skirt, you feel Eren’s hands pull the other strap onto your shoulder, hands lingering on your exposed skin.

You shy away from looking at him, despite how his cum is still inside you. It feels too intimate, almost, because a part of you thinks you were taken advantage of, and another part of you doesn’t ever want Eren to leave you.

Eren’s fingers find your chin, forcing you to look up and meet his gaze. You blink quickly, licking your swollen lips and biting the inside of your cheek nervously.

Neither of you speak, though you know what’s lingering in the air. You can tell he’s gotten what he wanted, and he’s going to leave, and yet you can’t stop yourself from speaking first, throat scratchy and dry and your words nothing more than a whisper.

“C-can I… did you- did you mean all those things you said? Before?”

And suddenly Eren understands everything, why you’re this way, why you need to be validated so badly, why his brother’s such a good match for you. He thinks he’d sacrifice anything too, like his marriage and a new life, just to make you happy.

“Of course I did, sweetheart. I meant every word of it.”

“Really?” There’s a soft smile on your lips, your eyes watery and he thinks it doesn’t have anything to do with how hard he fucked you.

“Yeah, I-”

“Well, what do we have here?” Zeke’s voice comes from behind you.

[h4ji]

��� I JUST NEED YOU

summary: you and kei get into an argument, reassurance is the only way to appease you both

warnings: car sex, oral, creampie and mention of reader having a vagina AND NOT PROOFREAD

requested: yes

wc: 1.8k

a/n: hope you enjoy! sorry if it wasn’t to expectation, was a little harder for me to write 

the bitter cold is ever so evident as goosebumps arise on your arm. the various gusts of wind biting at your arms and face. the dark and narrow path of the street made you feel lonely, like nothing before. the thin fleece of your clothing doing nothing to provide any warmth while tears well up in your eyes again as you remember the words your beloved tsukki spoke to you. tsukishima’s words replay in your head, surely he didn’t mean it…did he? 

tsukishima knew you feared you’d be too clingy, it was something you wished you could both avoid often, but you wish he’d open up to you, so it wouldn’t feel like being clingy would be the only way you’d get a reaction out of him. fighting was somewhat of a norm now and he never expressed his emotions to you no matter how much you cried and died inside. but you remember his icy stern glare biting at your shivering frame. “can’t you just leave me alone for one goddamn second” he snarks out, his eyes looking at you with pure anger, something that was new. 

your mind was frazzled and couldn’t come up with anything to say. until, “it doesn’t hurt to show some compassion, or any emotion at that other than anger tsukishima,’ you say bluntly. your fists balled up in desperation as you look at him. the shocked expression on his face says it all. would he retort? would he say something feisty back? what would this mean for your relationship?

your previous fights have never gone for this long and the loud silence started to become unbearable. his cold golden brown eyes stare into you, with no interest, and it makes you shiver. “showing emotion and vulnerability isn’t necessary y/n” he pauses, almost as of thinking, “the type of vulnerability you seek from me isn’t going to come, it makes people weak and-” he’s cut off by your loud sobs. “then what does that make me? some weakling because i show emotions? showing emotion doesn’t make you weak-” you ramble on, tsukishima doesn’t listen. it isn’t until you’re finished that he feels like he can breathe. “well, y/n, when your emotions get in the way of things so small like a relationship it becomes a hindrance. your constant need to be in contact with me and for affection is embarrassing”, he snarls out, his brows furrowed in… disgust? anger? frustration? you wouldn’t know. 

he couldn’t have meant the things he said… well if he blurted them out like that, they must have some truth? ironically enough, the sky gradually got darker while you were caught up in your thoughts. the faint prickle of the rain was felt on your skin, “well that’s just great,” you think, it just had to rain. you find refuge under the bus stop waiting area, contemplating whether you should call kei or not. 

little did you know, kei was frantically searching for you. driving around in the pouring rain trying to find you. something in the back of your mind tells you that kei is coming for you and not to leave, so you stay put. you were wondering what kei would say to you first, would he apologize? or would he just ignore the argument? would he make it up to you? your mind was going at 100 mph, you didn’t even notice your boyfriend’s car pull up in front of you. his body moves before his mind can comprehend anything, all he knows is that he needs you in his arms, safe and sound. his slim and long arms wrap around your cold frame. all you can feel is tsukki’s frame shaking against yours, it's almost as if he was….sobbing. was he badly shaken up by what had happened earlier? it didn’t seem like too much of a big deal. the constant shaking of his frame and the tight embrace he has you in, it makes you feel protected, but you also wanted to protect him. you’d never seen him this way, he was always the more emotionally unavailable one, he did have his moments though and this was one of them. 

phrases of “i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i didn’t mean it” were all you could hear from him. you couldn’t tell if drops of rain were hitting your back or if it was your lover’s tears, nonetheless you were happy to be back with him. 

he pulls you towards the vehicle, opening the door for you and persisting that you sit down. once you do, he shuts the door and jogs to the other side, sitting down in the driver's seat and inching his hand towards yours, which is resting in between you both. 

“i’ll be better, i promise” he starts off, “i’ll work on expressing myself more and-” you shut him up by placing your soft lips on his, tasting the salty tears that had poured down earlier. “We’ll be okay, we’ll work it out…together. “i just need you, right now” you blurt out after your lips are no longer touching. his cheeks flush as the words come out of your mouth, “r-right now? but-” he starts. “you can make it up to me this way, kei” you smile at him and who was he to not comply with your needs. your hand slowly moves its way upward, towards the zipper of his pants. his knuckles turn white because of the tight grip he has on the steering wheel. once his length was freed, the cold air hit it, making tsukki shiver in surprise. it was even more of a surprise when he felt your mouth wrap around him, warmth emitting from the space. 

it was getting hot, too hot. his hand finds its way to your head, resting it on top. and he was getting turned on even more, the fact that you could get caught, the fact that someone could see, that thrill was throwing him over the edge. the warmth of your throat encasing his cock, his tip hits the back of your throat, and that’s just enough to push him over. his cock twitches in your throat before you pull your mouth off. “cum on my face” you state, not demanding but not asking. his hand tugs on his hard cock, while you tongue his slit. “f-fuck, i’m close”, he groans out. 

both of you gasp as his thick and sticky cum hits your face, some of it gracefully landing into your mouth as well. the taste wasn’t too salty on your tongue, but you wouldn’t say it was sweet. out of instinct you swallow the cum that fell into your mouth, and at that lew sight, tsukki swears he could cum again, on the spot.

you sit back against the leather seat of the car, the heat ever so evident. then you feel kei’s cold and slender fingers find their way between your thighs. his fingers prodding and rubbing against your pussy. he finally inserts a digit, it reaches so far back, farther than your own fingers could ever reach. his thumb rubs gentle figure eights onto your clit. you almost forget for a second that you still have his cum stringed on your face, until kei’s free hand wipes at your face and pushes his cum soaked fingers into your mouth. you opt to suck and lap at the cum on his fingers. your moans are drowned out by the soft music that kei opted to play in the car, but all you could focus on was the feeling of his fingers in your mouth and on your clit. 

it doesn’t take long until tsukki finds your sweet spot, the spot that craves attention the more turned on you get. “f-fuck kei right there, right there. oh fuck, i’m gonna cum” you whine out as your legs lock, your hand wrapping around his wrist as you come all over his digits and he smirks as your cum leaks onto the expensive leather seats. “get into the backseat” he says bluntly and you comply, no questions asked. luckily the back wasn’t too cramped because kei also moves to the back, his arms holding your legs apart as his face sits between both of your thighs. “don’t be too loud, hmm” he grins before his tongue laps up at the remnants of your previous orgasm, sweet tasting on his taste buds. your hands weave into his hair, gripping on it as his tongue circles your clit before flicking the sensitive bud of nerves. “ngh, ah fuck, mmm” you whine out at the pleasure, gripping his golden locks even tighter as your thighs attempt to close in with no avail. the feeling of his wet tongue on you proves to be too much, you come all over his mouth and it leaks onto the plush fleece of the seat. 

just when you thought it was over, tsukki flips you over his body flush against yours as he rubs the tip of his cock against your folds. “just one more for me, mmkay? you’re so good for me, so you can handle this last orgasm. i just need you, all of you” he whispers against the skin of your shoulder before placing a small kiss as he inserts himself. the quiet moans and groans emitting from you both fill up the empty space of the hot car. “kei, please move-”, you beg, but your begging is cut off my kei’s thrusts into you. you feel so full, maybe it's the sensitivity to all touch, or maybe its the fact that kei indeed was a bit on the longer side. his cock feels like its hitting the end of your cervix, it stung a little but it felt so good. being filled to the brim by the person you love was an experience in itself.

it didn’t take you long to cum: the aroma around you, the heat, the overstimulation, constant sensitivity,  the sound of skin slapping, the wet kisses kei leaves on your shoulder and the knotting in your stomach tightening was all too much, you’d be pushed over the edge. but you didn’t only cum on his cock, no, that wasn’t enough for tsukki. he needed you to squirt on his cock, he needed to prove and show that you’d never be too much for him and that he’d always love you no matter what. his body is flush against yours as he makes no means to stop thrusting into you. the pleasure turning into slight pain, but good pain. before you even realized it, kei cums into you, which is enough to push you over the edge. as his cum leaks out of you, it's further pushed out by the new orgasm you have, gushing everywhere. 

kei is so satisfied to have you squirt on his cock, but he wasn’t happy that his cum was pushed out. he’d just have to fill you up again. but before he could plunge into you again, he realized it was best to go home, you’d both be more comfortable. “i just need you. As long as we have each other, we’ll be okay” he smiles before redressing in order to drive back to the comfort of your home.

[turquoisea]

Family reunion

Pairing: Dabi/ Fem!Reader

Warnings: Kidnapping, Dub-con, Degradation, Brother/Sister Incest, Manipulation, Guilt-tripping, OOC, Smut

Contains manga spoilers. Minors DNI.

Words: 4130

Synopsis: You was kidnapped while on your way home from work. Turned out your kidnapper was someone you knew.

A/N: I don't own any of the characters. Please read the warnings before continuing and we're gonna jump straight to the scene after (y/n) had been kidnapped (because i was too lazy to write the former part OTL)

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

Unable to escape from the kidnapper’s tight rope around your wrists, you helplessly let him carry you to somewhere that looked like an abandoned building. Not like you could exactly tell where it was, given the fact that your eyes had been covered ever since he captured you until you two “arrived” at the destination. Either had you been able to scream or to call for help, “If you decide to be a naughty little girl and make a fuss, or to even let a single person know about this and hinder my work, I can and I will burn your whole workplace while letting your watch every single second of it.” – the kidnapper had threatened, making panic surged within your body; the only thing you could blurt out to answer his “Is that clear?” was a simple “Yes.” Not wanting to involve any of your aquaintances, you decided to keep your mouth shut the entire time. You thought that it was a better idea to wait until you could learn about what he wanted, his motives behind this before trying to escape.

He placed you down on the floor after carrying you into a small room with the action being a little too gentle for a kidnapper, you thought and opened your eyes only to be met with a pair of turquoise gazes, slightly hidden behind his spiky black hair. Those reminded you of Shouto’s left eye color but they had a rather.. captivating effect, making you unable to tear your eyes off them. More like Touya’s eyes – the recollection passing your mind was quickly brushed off, given the harsh reality that Touya has been dead for more than 10 years. You cautiously opened your mouth to ask, still keeping eye contact.

"What do you want?"

“…What do I want?” He repeated the question before slowly taking off his black face mask. The way he did it was deliberate, elegant even, as if he was putting on a show to reveal what’s hidden behind the mask. In front of you was an abnormal façade: Purple skin lied under his eye bags, his lower cheeks and lower lip, all the way down to his collarbone; connected together with the normal parts of the skin by surgical staples. An audible gasp escaped your throat the moment you realized that the man who abducted you was the wanted criminal you saw on TV.

“League of Villains.. You’re.. You’re Dabi…”

“Dabi? Ah yes, people call me that now. But I thought you would recognize me now, you’re my family after all..” He trailed off at the end, as though he was rather hurt by your comment.

“Family? Stop joking now, we don’t even know each other!”

“You sure? Even when you used to call me Touya-nii with that sweet voice of yours?”

“I said stop!! Listen, I have no idea why you know about Touya but he’s not alive anymore, don’t bring him into this!” Your shaking voice resounded with rage. In the past few years you’d partly moved on from your brother’s death, even learned how to stop tearing up whenever someone mentions him. To say you was mad was an understatement, since the kidnapper crossed the line, pulled out those emotions that you’d tried so hard to hide them away. You couldn’t stay calm anymore. This villain and the audacity to even mention Touya, let alone making such an unbearable joke about him.

“(y/n)-chan,” The way he called your name was too familiar “you still have the habit of defending me after all this time.”

“Wh..What.. do you mean?”

“Don’t you remember? You were always there to patch me up every time I went out training on my own. Those nights that distress and hatred consumed me, you were the only one who was willing to give me a shoulder to cry on, to hear me rant about that stupid family. You were the only one who didn’t refuse to look at a “failure” like me while our father focused all his attention on that “masterpiece”. You made me feel like I’m not useless, (y/n)-chan. Sure you haven’t forgotten, right?”

“You’re.. lying.. Touya-nii is..”

“Yes, yes. Everybody thought so.” He interrupted. “But I escaped from the fire and as you can see,” He raised his hand to touch the staples. “I’m still here. If I’d died in that fire, I would have become a ghost, an evil spirit to haunt the hell out of Todoroki Enji.” The explanation ended with a snort.

But not for you, you couldn’t possibly laugh about it the way he did. You were nothing but speechless. The big brother you once thought wasn’t here, could never be here with you anymore was still alive and kicking. Thoughts of how Touya had managed to live since that day started to emerge your mind and probably because of the invisible connection, the blood connection between you two, you could feel his pain, his suffering, the dull ache that never go away in every single staple on his body… It must’ve been hard for a thirteen-year-old child to manage by himself after crawling out of a literal hell, you thought, mouth still agaped with astonishment. Tears neither stopped welling up, nor did they escape your shiny orbs when you looked at him through your blurry vision. You had so many questions to ask, but none of them could be voiced.

“But that’s the story for another day. Now, we have to celebrate the happy reunion of brother and sister, right?” He interrupted your thoughts before slowly approaching you. His tall body hovered over yours, enhancing the feeling of being small and helpless as your hands still being tied behind your back. He gripped your jaw with one hand, the other started to work on the buttons of your shirt while Touya’s slightly chapped lips met your own in a kiss that was soft at first but quickly turned passionate, sloppy with his tongue chasing every corner of your mouth.

“Touya..nii..” You panted between his kisses, trying your best to stop him from doing what you think he was trying to do. “We shouldn’t.. You shouldn’t do this.. We’re siblings..”

“Ah yes, you’re my favorite sibling after all, one more reason why we should do this, right?” His stapled mouth stretched into a huge grin, then he leaned back to take in the view of your body.

“My little sister has grown up.. To be honest, I didn’t have any of these dirty thoughts when we were children but now, I just want to fucking ravish you until all you can think of is me and my cock.”

His dirty talk sent a shiver thorough your body and you started to feel heat coiling up in your core. As if amused, turned on by your reaction, Touya grabbed one of your breasts and gave it a squeeze, causing a soft moan to escape your pump lips.

“What was that? Don’t tell me (y/n)-chan is aroused by her very own brother, hm? I’ve been stalking you for a while, my little sister. ‘Twas hard to find you since you don’t live at that house anymore. Can’t believe behind all those innocent act is a little whore who gets aroused easily by her Touya-nii.” He spat out, specifically emphasized the phrase you used to call him. Blue eyes looking down at you as if you were indeed what he said – a slut waiting to be bred.

“Touya-nii.. Please stop it.. I don’t want this..” Looking up at him through your wet lashes, you said with a whimper, begging him to stop.

Little did you know it had no such effect for Touya. Seeing your vulnerable face in a helpless state only boosted his ego; he felt as if he was the only one you could rely on, the only one who was able to decide your fate and damn, he could never get bored of this.

“What a pity, (y/n)-chan, because I, in fact, DO want this.” Touya murmured between kisses, leaving red spots blossoming all over your breasts, your shoulders, your collarbone. “Don’t you want to make your Touya-nii happy (y/n)-chan? You see, there hadn’t been a single day in which these staples stopped hurting me whenever I move. My tear glands were burned ever since the fire. I couldn’t cry because when I do, it hurts and blood flows out of my eye bags.” His fingers indicated the purple skin underneath his eyes as he continued. “I've lived with emotional numbness ever since. Your big brother doesn't feel anything anymore, (y/n)-chan..” Touya trailed off.

“But you, the only one who didn’t refuse to look at me... Having you here with me really makes me happy, and the kind little sister I know wouldn’t want to take that happiness away from me right?..” Turquoise orbs looked up at you through black strands of hair. As if wavering, as if pleading, as if he was asking you for your consent.

All to hide the fact that he guilt-tripped you into this.

And with him being a quick-witted, perceptive man, Touya’s tactics were never fruitless. He could tell your conscience would be troubled if you’d turned him down, especially when he phrased the words like that. He took advantage of the shocking state you were in, making you feel pity for him and overlook his immoral behaviours.

Touya waited with bated breath, eye contact still maintained.

“I..I want Touya-nii to be happy..” – your reply after a moment of thinking only caused a chuckle to escape his mouth and it’s almost like this was all he had been waiting for, all in his anticipation. This was the exact reaction that Touya wanted and as your best big brother ever, he couldn’t possibly put off anymore without his hands as your bra, nor could he wait any longer to secure this “happiness”.

“Knew my favorite sister would say that.” Touya couldn’t hide his triumphant expression when he quickly made his way down to your skirt, lifting it up so he could see what’s underneath. Gently, he palmed your groin before dragging his middle finger between your clothed slit only to find that your panties was already soaked.

“Oh? I already knew you were a whore behind your innocent façade but didn’t think you would be this shameless.. Tch.” He clicked his tongue. “Getting all nice and wet for your own brother. You said you wanted to make me happy but in truth, you just need to feel nii-san’s cock inside your hole right? Shameless slut.”

You groaned in exasperation and opened your mouth to protest but before you could even say anything, he ripped your white panties apart, making you squirm in awe. The rough pad of his thumb dragged over your clit while his knees spread your legs wide and held them in places. Touya���s finger slowly rubbed your clit in a circular motion and you couldn’t help but wanting more of those frictions, your hips involuntarily bucked forward.

“I was going to eat my favorite little sister out, but it seems like you can’t wait any longer huh? Look at this little pussy..” He said while using his index and middle finger to swipe at your entrance, gathering your juices on them, his eyes didn’t miss the way it clenched around nothing. “You must be so, so desperate to feel anything inside your pathetic hole, right? Will my fingers be enough to satisfy it?”

“Touya-nii..”

“Don’t be vague, (y/n)-chan. Sure you don’t want to hump a pillow like a dumb slut with her hands still tied while watching me masturbate to the sight of you right? Because if you don’t use your words now, I might let us do that for real.”

“Please, Touya-nii, I don’t want to! I want.. to be filled up by you instead..”

Upon hearing your words, Touya started palming the large bulge of his pants before unzipping the fermeture, gently pulled his boxer down to show you what’s underneath. Your eyes widened at the sight of Touya’s veiny cock. It was not as big as what you usually see on movies (not that you don’t know the porn industry isn’t anywhere near realistic), but rather thin and long as it was hard, practically throbbing in his palm whenever he stroked the shaft. However, what made you surprise was the shiny Prince Albert piercing located on the glans, signaling a hard time in the near future for your cervix.

Seeing your face expression only made Touya’s smirk grew wider and he looked like the cat that got the cream when he continued making you use more of your words, making you beg for his cock.

“And you want to be filled by what?”

As hesitant as you were after seeing his cock piercing, the way his fingers ignited sparkles of fire inside your core had your pride, your uncertainty wavering. You’d rather be fucked until your mouth can’t even form a coherent sentence than be left naked and needy while watching him masturbates until he cums anywhere that’s not inside your pussy. So you used your words, like a good girl should.

“By your cock, Touya-nii! I want you to fuck me hard!”

“Sure thing, my cute little slut.” He cooed. “Who am I to refuse to give my sister what she needs? I’m a good brother after all.”

And as a “good” brother he was, Touya even slide his fingers inside your wet pussy to prepare you for his cock. Despite having a fire quirk like your father, his fingers were cold and were only warmed up by the heat inside your core. They smoothly pumped into you, scissored you open, sometimes even curled up on purpose only to slightly brush against your soft spot, leaving you wanting more. His other hand found its way again on your clit, rubbing and circling along with his continuous fingering until you were nothing but a moaning mess, begging for your release.

He decided that he’d prepared you enough and retreat his fingers just before you could reach your climax. You whimpered loudly when he took the orgasm away from you, legs instantly wrapped around his hips to pull him closer. You had never felt this touch-starved before and all you could think of was only your Touya-nii, his captivating blue gazes, his touch, his voice and his pierced cock that somehow fits perfectly on his slim but toned body. You needed to feel him and you clumsily rubbed your pussy against Touya while trying to break free from the ropes tying your wrists together. But all that you could do wasn’t near enough so you looked up at him with pleading eyes.

“Touya-nii.. Please.. Please give me your cock.. I can’t take it anymore, I need your cock inside me..”

“Fine, since you asked so nicely.” Touya sneered as if he wasn’t the one who purposefully denied your orgasm before holding his cock, rubbing the swollen red tip at your entrance, feeling your juices mixing with beads of his precum then thrusted it all the way in. You both winced the moment you and your brother became one: you from the depth that his cock could go and him from the way your walls clenched around it.

“(y/n)-chan.. Your little pussy feels so tight.. Not that I mind how many people you slept with but damn.. This pussy's a keeper for sure..” Sighing with a shaky voice, he pulled out slowly only to slam back in ruthlessly. His hands used the dagger from before to release your aching wrists then started to rub small circles on them as if to soothe the pain. With your hands now free from bound, you wrapped them around Touya’s neck to pull him even closer, your lips moved under his to meet them in a kiss.

"Touya-nii.. Please move.." After a moment long enough for your pussy to stretch to his size, you broke from the passionate kiss to whisper to him; your tongue softly licked his lower lip, feeling the rough texture while your pussy clenched around his cock. You lifted your hips, inviting your big brother to bury his hot member deeper into you.

"Eager, aren't we?" To your plea, he only chuckled before moving his hand to grab a handful of your tits, squeezing the soft mound, toying with your swollen nipple. "Your wish is my command, my baby sister. Nii-san's going to make you feel really good now." His voice sounded so sensual when he moved his mouth close to your ear, whispered honeyed-words then nibbled at your earlobe, causing you to clench your pussy even more.

Touya's hands traveled down to grab both of your asscheeks, held them tightly in their places before he started thrusting his pulsing cock. "So good.. Touya-nii.." You moaned in rhythm with his hips whenever he bottomed out inside you; his cock piercing rubbed your walls every time he moved. The friction felt heavenly that you could feel your legs started to shake as if you couldn't control them anymore. He was different. His cock was different from anything you'd ever experienced. Touya filled you up so well, both physically and emotionally, making you feel good, feel loved, making tears well up in your eyes.

He let your legs rest on his shoulders as he continued claiming your pussy to himself, each thrust was hard and deep 'til the point that Touya's tip touched your cervix whenever he sheathed his full length in you. It hurt, but it hurt so good that not only did you not want it to stop, you wanted more and more of him, you wanted to indulge longer in this sinful pleasure.

"Fuck.. You're so tight around me.." He groaned as his pace became faster. A hand retreated from under you to hover above your neglected clit before he started stroking it softly, rubbing back and forth, drawing repeated circles onto your bundle of nerves.

Touya didn't leave anywhere on your body untouched: your tits, your belly, your inner thighs, your asscheeks, your clit, your core. His name fell out of your lips between heated moans like prayers and the pleasure kept building up that you felt like you're about to burst into bliss. Everything was so intense and you started to you wonder, is it because he denied your orgasm before or because his cock could actually bring you heaven? Those thoughts crossed your mind but you didn't know the answer. He'd fucked you dumb and now you couldn't think of anything else other than him and the tension deepening in your lower belly.

"Touya-nii.. 'M wanna cum.. Please.. Please let me cum.." You whined when you felt like you couldn't take it anymore, afraid that he would deny it again if you don't beg.

"Cum on my cock baby, let me feel you. And you should be.. Fuck.. grateful that I let you do it.." He didn't stop his assault on your clit as he railed you hard and fast, his thrust grew sloppier when your pussy clamped down on him. Wet noises echoed in the abandoned building along with your whines and the moans that Touya tried to hold back.

"Thank you.. Thank you Touya-nii.. for letting me cum.." was all you managed to choke out before you threw your head back, eyes squeezed shut causing tears of pleasure to fall out and your pussy clenched around him as you released your pent-up pressure.

"Attagirl, nii-san loves you.. Gonna officially mark you now, 'mkay? Gonna breed this little sister's pussy, gonna fill you up with my cum and put a baby in you.." Touya leaned over to whisper into your open mouth, planting chaste kisses all over your face while sloppily humping your body like an animal. You could feel him burry himself deep inside you when his brows furrowed and he muttered "Fuck" before Touya came inside your pussy. His thick ropes were hot as they spilled into your womb, painting your walls with his colour.

A moment passed with nothing but pants as you both tried to regain your breaths. You closed your eyes, basking in the afterglow with his cock still plugged in when you heard the clicking sound of a camera. Your eyes immediately shot open only to find Touya holding his phone in hand.

"Touya-nii.. Did you just.." You warily asked.

"Oh? Did I forget to tell you?" Touya casually looked up from his phone, a smirk tugged at the corner of his stapled mouth and he suddenly looked so strange, as if the person in front of you and the one who just came inside you was two different people.

"You see, there are two possible ways to completely break Todoroki Enji." He began explaining, his voice distant. "One, is to kill his masterpiece Shouto right in front of him by the own hands of his 'failure'."

"And two," His eyes locked with you as his smirk grew wider. "is to let him see his pure little angel being corrupted by the abandoned son." Touya finished his short speech, his hips pulled back so his now limp cock fell out of you with a wet pop. White cum slowly dripped out of your used pussy, all captured by the camera again.

You could see the flame of anger burning in his eyes when he mentioned your father's name and the tone of disgust in his voice when he spoke lowly of himself. There were so many problems that you didn't know where to begin with. All you could do was hang your mouth open, speechlessly watched him typing something on the phone.

"There, all done." Touya cheerfully informed. "Don't worry a thing, my baby sister, no one will get to keep those pictures except for me. I sent them to the old man using Vanish Mode, he'll see them for a few seconds before they disappear forever, just like how his little angel vanish from his life. Oh how I wish I could see his expression when he opens my messages."

You were absolutely stunned. You never thought your dead brother was able to come out alive, let alone to even have a detailed plan to destroy your father's mentality. There were so many things that your mind couldn't process in an instant.

"So you.. So you fucked me just for this?.." Your voice came out shakier than you expected. Your hands unconsciously moved to cover yourself as you hugged your own body, the world starting to crumble in your eyes.

"Partly, yes. But I wasn't lying when I said I love you." Touya planted a soft kiss on your forehead.

"E-Enough with all of this. I'm going home!" You raised your voice and wriggled out of his touch.

"Can't let you do that (y/n)-chan. The world doesn't know me as Touya, you're the first, the honorable one. Can't risk you leaking my secret right? And I plan to torture old man's mind repeatedly with more images of you, just like how he projected everything onto me when I was young." He tilted his head and laughed, and suddenly you couldn't tell whether his laughter was genuine or was an act of mockery. Probably both.

"Besides, I'm a little.. disappointed that my favorite sister actually wants to part so, so soon, especially when we just had a rather.. emotional family reunion, no?" His mood seemed to light up as he continued speaking.

"What.. do you mean by that? Just let me go already! I promise I won't tell anyone!" Tears started to form in your eyes as you slowly realized what the man meant. You were uncomfortable with the room's atmosphere; it's overwhelming you and you didn't want to stay any longer. You looked behind him, trying to figure out an escape path.

"Now, if you wanted to go so badly," - your actions couldn't escape his perceptive eyes - "I'm gonna escort you to a better place, 'mkay? They're gonna track down this place soon enough since I texted him with my phone. But don't you worry, nii-san won't let anyone hurt you, my (y/n)."

Touya had an almost-innocent smile when he approached you with his arms open, as if waiting for you to give him a hug. You backed away, but as stubborn as this Capricorn man was, he still wrapped his arms around you.

Ever since your childhood, Touya's body was warm, Touya's embrace was always comforting. But now, everything he did chilled you to the bone, making you start to shake uncontrollably. Suddenly you felt a sharp prick on your skin; followed by your consciousness slowly slipping away. Your vision started to grow blurry and all you heard before you drifted off was his voice, whispering to your ear.

"Now we won't be alone anymore."

The End.

A/N 2: I hope you enjoyed it! English isn't my first language so please be gentle with me QwQ. Thanks for reading!

[joannasteez]

Hey!! So, I have an idea. Could you write a fic about EZ and the reader’s wedding night? With smut of course 😏. I feel like he’d be so sweet and he’d be giving so much praise. You’re a wizard at combining fluff and smut, so I know you’d do amazing with this! Sending you lots of love 😁🥰

Short Summary: You and EZ turn in earlier than planned from your wedding reception.

Gif Credits @losaslut

Taglist: @my-rosegold-soul @appropriate-writers-name @est1887 @xladymacbethx @blessedboo @brownsugarcoffy @elektriknachosss @queenbeered @sesamepancakes @superhoeva @witching-hour @noz4a2 @withmyteeth @rae-gar-targaryen @cruzwalters @rose-bliss @youlovetkay

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄, 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒

It was a quake in his belly, ravenous, spreading wild and untamed, free, like fire, just a hairs breadth away from desperation. Starvation. It was hunger, jolting tingles prickling, crackling the tips of his fingers, an electric feeling of desire, need. He knew then, knows now, in his soul he’s got to have it, reach out to it, grab at it. Hunger, it’s a shift in his breath, his whole life stuck on the upturn of an inhale but now, finally, feeling free enough to fall, to breathe. And then without wait, breathe again. The body, his body, aches for it --always has-- needs it, this little thing called love. Craves it, so much so that it trembles, forlorn in the way that it lays, stands, sits, exist, till it has it. Till he has it. Has love. Till he can touch it, hear it, smell it, feel it, taste it, hold it gentle in the palm of his hand because... 

“Remember Ezekiel, love is a vulnerable thing, don’t waste it”. Felipe’s voice always so mellow and coarse. Reminiscent. “Don’t waste it son, don’t waste it”. 

“Can you go three weeks without me Reyes?” You were such a damn tease, even if he could hate you he wouldn’t. 

He felt like a madman for saying yes. Just a heel - toe away from insanity. 

Three weeks of sweet faint kisses, the taste of your lips ghosting, melting no where else but the very tip of his tongue, and barely felt touches, like a breeze born at dawn too busy moving, flowing, to cascade along the leaves that live for its graceful feel, all because you wanted him needy for you. Hungry. 

He couldn’t say “I do” fast enough. “Lets get out of here”. His whisper breathy and warm at your ear. Feet shifting with his, fingers in each others embrace, dancing beneath a chandelier sky. 

You’d said “I do” so perfectly. The phrase rich off your lips, dripping like honey, so bright, warm and embracing, a promise. Like some sweet summer melody. It was heavenly. 

“You still with me?” The question just above a whisper, your fingers ruffling aimlessly through the hair at his chin. 

“Of course”. 

“What were you thinking about?” His lip becoming the object of your thumbs affection. The rosy pink flesh so demanding to the eyes, tantalizing. 

“How much I need you”. 

But it’s a painful longing Ezekiel has, burdening him more than he’d ever be able to tell, one that aches well and deep at the heart of him, melting away bone and wearing the strength of his nerve, leaving him open to the air of you, raw and helpless, but it’s good all the same. He’s weak in love. It’s exhilarating nonetheless, the type of yearning he works tirelessly to sate but begs also never to leave him for fear that he would never feel so wholly, so deeply for another this way again. Finding such pleasure in this love stricken pain, he realizes as he stares into your eyes, only you could do something like this, possess him to feel such an adoration for the way you weaken him. And the silk dress helps him none, the soft white fabric draped along your body drawing him in, persuading his fingers to ruffle beneath, the dig of them measured as they stretch over your thighs, inching towards the sweetest place he knows. 

His gaze never leaves you, the straps of your dress slim and dainty as you slip them away over your shoulders. 

The shake of his head is a mixture of wonder and disbelief. How were you so beautiful, and he so lucky? “Goddam”, he whispers, the white lace accessorizing your skin calling him, pleading for his strong, gentle touch. 

You slip easy into his lap, the end of the plush bed dipping. 

Your lips feather over his, breath as soft as your caressing hold along the sharp edge of his jaw. So close you could taste him. “I know how much you love me in lace”. 

He groans, placing a hand at your back before he turns to lay you at the heart of the bed. Present himself properly your beauty. “You’re incredible. So perfect”.

Drowning, after three weeks of nothing you’re neck deep in a passion far too great just to be your own, the faint taste of champagne running fresh, swirling on your tongue from his. Three weeks, and finally, he gives you a breathless kiss. Deep, demanding, and addictively unbearable in a way that makes you want to fall into it, wander into the heart of it till you’re lost forever. But what does it all mean?, to be so unearthed in this moment, to fall and fly at the same time? Delve face first into heaven and earth, what else does it mean if not becoming weak in love too.

“I missed you”, his lips lazy at the lace dressing your breast, tongue drawing slow till they’re twisted hard and aching, but he doesn’t stop. Of course he doesn’t, because when has Ezekiel ever given up the opportunity to tease you? Cause your body such an alluring grief. “I missed this”. Wet kisses swirling and melting into your skin till he’s suckling hard at your lace covered slit, wetness pooling in an instant. “She missed me too”, he chuckles, before it slips into a moan at the roll of your hips. Rosy lips traveling, mapping the underside of your thighs. His eyes blown, glazed over with want as they peer into yours. “You’re so pretty baby”, a small kiss to the peak of your right knee. “So beautiful”. Another just above your navel. “All mine”. 

“You can stare and admire me later. I need you now”, you fight the whine threatening to wrap smooth over your words. Fingers reaching for him, wanting him close. 

He’s at your ear in seconds, the weight of him pressed well into you, hand strong as he takes one of your legs to wrap secure around him. “How do you want me hermosa?. Tell me”. 

“Slow. Make love to me”

He’s moving like the earth has stopped so generously for this moment, calloused fingers relieving you of all the beautiful lace like you’re some precious gift, and then his bottoms are gone, clothes forgotten like everything else that isn’t you. If nothing else in the moment, it’s his sudden affinity for patience that’s most agonizing, but deep down you know you deserve it, leaving him touch starved for three weeks was a bit low. But even patience, with the right touch, wears thin quick, the heel of your left foot settling at the base of his back, both legs now warm at his waist. It’s the creeping roll up his spine that gets him, like a call to action, a firm hand that makes him fall to you with a fluidity, such grace in motion you haven’t seen in weeks. ‘Again... three weeks... why’d you make him wait?’, the small pieces of you wonder, till he’s sinking in hard, hot and thick inside you. 

“That’s it”, he encourages. Reveling in your tight fit, utterly dazed in the way it satiates the heat reddening his skin. “Let me in baby”. Another groan escaping all drawn out into the hot skin of your neck when he bottoms out. 

“Oh fuck”. Your moan slurred in that delirious way. Eyes daring to roll, your jaw clenched, hiss smooth sailing out and into the air. 

He’s moving slow like you asked him, but his hips are digging deep, really giving you the type of passion that glazes your eyes, ears heating, whimpers broken as your fingers press into him. He’s as close as can be but you need him closer, but you’re not really sure what you’re looking for with your fingers, what you’re digging for. Maybe some grounding? Yeah, that’s what it feels like. That’s what shuddered breaths and parted lips tell you anyways. ‘You need grounding’, because he’s determined to imprint himself inside you, mold you to him, make your tight heat recommit him to memory till it’s unrecognizable where you end and he begins. 

He’s heavy, within and without, a strong, uncompromising force rocking into you so perfect every time. Your wetness pooling with every filling push of his hips, sounding sweet. “You make me feel so full baby”. 

He’s fluid still, the delicious grind he works into you at a steady pace. Thats it, that’s it, that’s it, a mumbling chant parting off his lips, close to yours. They meet and fall off your own, tongues slipping lazy, coming together with every push of his length, walls slick and warm as they hug him in, pulling and sucking so fucking good before his waist rears back, lips breaking for just a moment, before he’s home again. Your foreheads are a resting place for the other, right hand of yours meeting his chest, the other nailing gentle at the nape of his neck. “You’re always so good to me”. He’s at your ear again, whispers soft, but still ringing so loud, your thigh gripped in his left hand, his body anchored on the weight of his arm at the right, the digging turned into a brute snap. “So good for me”. His hearts pounding hard, matching the beat of yours, you feel it, like thunder under your touch. “Fuck”, the slim ring of golden brown in his eye meeting yours. “I’m never letting you go”. 

A tear slips slim off to the side of your cheek, pressure in your belly building strong. “I love you EZ”. 

He thinks it’s enough, hearing it the one time. It rises, saturates his skin, breaks him down, builds him back up, makes him whole, and then it dissipates. He needs it again. “Say it again. Tell me you love me”. 

You hold him close, lips brushing. It’s sweeter this way, always has been, always will be. “I love you baby, I love you so much”. 

A tear and a whimper, but it isn’t yours. Another kiss brushing your lips, thigh tight in his hold. “I love you so fucking much”, trembling between the gentle intensity of another whimper and the soft sincerity of a whisper. Either way, it’s truth all the same. 

His hips rear back again, hitting once, twice, and then a third final time. The coils winding in your bellies unraveling sharp. Bodies burning in white hot bliss. 

Falling and flying face first into heaven and earth. It’s amazing. 

[smells-like-mettaton]

Perhaps #5 (Hold my Hand) with Papyton for the fic ask game if you are still doing it?

(I hope you're okay with me writing this as a sequel to one of my other papyton fics! This could still be read on its own, but it will make more sense if you read the first chapter. If you don't want to, just know that the part in italics at the beginning is from a fanfic that Alphys wrote.)

The Greatest Fanfiction of All: The Sequel

Rating: T Word Count: 1687 Read on AO3: here

---

Papyrus’s hands are warm. Of course they are. Theyre always covered in gloves. Not even Mettaton, his boyfriend of one month and thirteen days, knows what his bony phalanges look like beneath the plush red fabric.

But tonight, that's going to change.

xxx

Exactly one month and thirteen days had passed since Mettaton had read the beginning of Alphys’s “papyton” fanfiction. It also happened to be one month and thirteen days since Papyrus had agreed to be his boyfriend, sending him on a magical journey of love and romance.

That journey had given him plenty of new perspectives and discoveries. Yet the mystery of what lie under Papryus’s gloves was not one of them.

He sat next to Mettaton on their usual bench at the center of the hedge maze. The sky was dark with stormclouds, which kept any stray spectators away from the park. Papyrus was prepared, as usual; a tall MTT-Brand Umbrella leaned against his femur. Nothing and no one would ruin this moment.

Now Mettaton just needed to have the moment. Preferably without resorting to calling Alphys and Frisk again.

“METTATON? IS SOMETHING THE MATTER?” Papyrus asked, his browbone furrowing in concern.

Mettaton’s fingers were already laced through his; Mettaton rubbed his thumb against the back of Papyrus’s glove.

“Well. It is a very special day, darling.” Special enough that Mettaton had worn the outfit Papyrus loved most—a cropped shirt that said COOL ROBOT and galaxy-print leggings that hugged his metallic thighs. Papyrus himself had worn a bright Tetris shirt and shorts that exposed his gleaming femurs.

“IT IS?” Papyrus blinked. “IS THERE A SALE ON RIGATONI? BECAUSE I THOUGHT THAT STARTED NEXT WEEK.”

“Hm? Oh—not that I know of, but I will keep that in mind.” He imagined creating a pasta bouquet for Papyrus, and a smile graced his lips. “Today is the one month and thirteen day anniversary of our glamorous romance.”

“WOWIE! TIME FLIES WHEN YOU’RE DATING A HOT ROBOT!” Papyrus grinned, pressing his teeth to Mettaton’s cheek in a close approximation of a kiss. “HAPPY ONE MONTH AND THIRTEEN DAYS, METTATON! IS THERE A SPECIAL WAY YOU WANT TO CELEBRATE?”

It was perfect. Mettaton couldn’t have set it up better if he tried.

“Actually…” He turned Papyrus’s hand over, examining every seam and stitch in his crimson glove. “I was hoping to see your hands. I know they’re just as handsome as the rest of you.”

He winked, and a light blush spread across Papyrus’s cheekbones.

“MY HANDS? I’D GLOVE TO! BUT, ERM…” His fingers disentangled from Mettatons, instead fidgeting nervously with the hem of his right glove. “I DON’T KNOW THAT YOU WOULD FIND THEM AS UNBEARABLY ATTRACTIVE AS THE REST OF ME.”

Coming from Papyrus, that was practically a statement of self-loathing. Guilt bubbled in Mettaton’s soul-tank.

“Beautiful.” He grasped the top of his boyfriend’s arms and squeezed them gently. “There is not a bone in your body that I would not find attractive. Of course, I will not ask you to perform if you are suffering stage fright, but I do think you shine so much brighter in the light.”

Papyrus smiled a little, though his browbone was still turned upward with worry.

"IF YOU'RE SURE…"

"Positive as my ratings, darling."

Papyrus nodded slowly. "I TRUST YOU, METTATON."

Those words were like ambrosia to Mettaton's soul. He would do anything to remain worthy of his boyfriend's trust.

"PLEASE, JUST… DON'T BE FRIGHTENED, ALRIGHT?"

Mettaton couldn't imagine anything about Papyrus being frightening.

Then, with agonizing care, Papyrus peeled off his gloves. And Mettaton understood.

The bones of his hands were scorched an ashen gray, nearly black. Hairline cracks laced through them like spiderwebs. Mettaton was half afraid that if he touched them, they would crumble to dust.

"I'M FINE, REALLY!" Papyrus must have noticed the look on his face, no matter how quickly Mettaton had schooled his expression. "THESE BURNS ARE SO OLD, I BARELY NOTICE THEY'RE THERE!"

His grin was strained. Mettaton wanted nothing more than to reach out and squeeze his hand, but he didn't dare.

"They don't hurt?" Mettaton asked, then winced. He could've phrased that more tactfully. It was probably better than asking how on earth the injury had happened, at least.

"WELL… THEY ARE A BIT SENSITIVE WITHOUT MY GLOVES. THEY HAVE HEALING MAGIC, YOU SEE." Papyrus held out one of his red gloves, his expression turning to one of pride. "SANS DID THE SEWING, AND I DID THE ENCHANTMENT."

"No wonder you love them so much." Mettaton smiled. It was adorable how much Papyrus loved his brother. Their love had inspired Mettaton to finally patch up his relationship with Blooky and Mew Mew.

Papyrus smiled back, running a charred fingertip fondly over the fabric. "WOULD YOU… LIKE TO TRY ONE ON?"

"Me?" Mettaton blinked.

"OF COURSE! WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO EXPERIENCE THE GREAT PAPYRUS'S LEGENDARY HEALING MAGIC FIRSTHAND?"

Mettaton chuckled at the pun. "How could I possibly refuse?"

He slipped off his white gloves, revealing the unsightly bolts in his own fingers. He hardly felt self-conscious about that after seeing Papyrus's hands, though.

Papyrus's glove fit like a dream. Like holding his hand, only from the inside. Warmth seeped from the fabric into his metal joints, slipping through his cracks like sweet oil.

"This is… quite the enchantment," he breathed.

Papyrus couldn’t be in pain with that much healing magic caressing his bones. But on the other hand, even the constant healing magic had failed to permanently erase the scars. Mettaton still wasn’t too familiar with physical injuries, but surely that wasn’t normal, right?

Papyrus’s wink sounded like magical glitter."WHAT CAN I SAY? I'M VERY ENCHANTING."

He looked just as bright as ever. Just as energetic, as full of life.

Just as beautiful, inside and out.

"That you are, darling." Mettaton kissed his cheek.

Papyrus pulled his left glove back onto his hand, then twined his fingers with Mettaton's. Red on red, warmth on warmth Their hands matched perfectly.

"YOU PROBABLY HAVE SOME QUESTIONS," Papyrus said quietly.

Mettaton's eye flickered to Papyrus's bare right hand before returning to his eyesockets.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't feel comfortable with, darling."

Mettaton was curious of course. If this injury had been caused by another monster, they would face the wrath of a true killer robot. Knowing Papyrus, though, he had probably forgiven whoever was responsible.

"I ALWAYS FEEL COMFORTABLE WITH YOU." He smiled. "AND IT IS… NICE. TO HAVE SOMEONE BESIDES SANS KNOW THIS."

"No one else knows?" Mettaton’s eyes widened. He'd thought Undyne would have found out, whether Papyrus told her on purpose or she burned off his gloves during one of their cooking lessons.

"I AM A SKELETON OF MANY SECRETS." Papyrus winked again. This time it sounded like tinkling bells. "IT HELPS THAT NO ONE ELSE REMEMBERS THE ACCIDENT, THOUGH."

An accident. No one had hurt Papyrus on purpose.

Mettaton sighed in relief, powering down his killer robot protocols.

"I WAS HELPING MY DAD WITH HIS WORK ON THE CORE. I ALWAYS CALIBRATED THE PUZZLES WHILE HE CALIBRATED THE GEOTHERMAL POWER LEVELS."

Papyrus looked down at their tangled hands, his expression distant.

"I STILL DON'T KNOW EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED. ON THE DAYS SANS REMEMBERS, HE PROMISES THAT IT WASN'T MY FAULT. THAT DAD WAS TOO CARELESS. BUT THERE WAS AN EXPLOSION, AND DAD, HE… HE FELL…"

Something in Mettaton crushed as Papyrus's voice cracked.

"I WAS LUCKIER. THE BLAST ONLY GOT MY HANDS." The smile returned.

"Papyrus…"

Mettaton didn't know what to say. What could he say? Ghosts didn't have parents. His cousins were his family, but he couldn't imagine them dying, either. Blooky physically couldn't.

But this wasn't about him! It was about Papyrus, who had lost his father and scarred his hands and still counted himself lucky.

"DON'T BE SAD, METTATON. IT WAS A LONG TIME AGO. LONGER THAN YOU CAN IMAGINE."

Papyrus looked into his eyes, and for a moment, Mettaton saw something old. Mettaton had been alive—albeit as a ghost—for nearly two centuries. Right now, though, Mettaton wondered if Papyrus was even older than that.

"I suppose so,” he reluctantly admitted. “I don't even remember an explosion at the CORE."

"OH, THAT'S NORMAL. APPARENTLY DAD WAS RATHER FORGETTABLE." His smile was sad. "EVEN SANS DOESN'T ALWAYS REMEMBER HIM. BUT I… WELL."

He closed his blackened fist.

"IT WOULD BE DIFFICULT TO FORGET."

Mettaton opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Luckily, it didn’t seem like Papyrus was looking for a response.

“WHEW! ALL THIS HONESTY IS EXHAUSTING!!” Sweat beaded on his skull. “DO YOU WANT TO GO GET NICE CREAMS?”

“Of course, darling, but—are you sure that you’re okay?” Mettaton couldn’t help the concern in his voice. It wasn’t every day that he unlocked his boyfriend’s tragic backstory.

And here he’d been so concerned about something as trivial as holding hands. He truly was as selfish as everyone believed.

“PLEASE, DON’T WORRY ABOUT ME,” Papyrus said firmly. His hand gave Mettaton’s a tight squeeze. “I MEANT IT WHEN I SAID IT WAS LONG AGO. PRACTICALLY A DIFFERENT LIFETIME. I ONLY TOLD YOU SO THAT YOU WOULD KNOW HOW MUCH I TRUST YOU.”

Trust. Mettaton trusted Papyrus, too. Trusted that he didn’t need Mettaton to coddle him. Trusted that if he wanted Mettaton’s help, he would ask for it.

“I… thank you, darling.” Ghostly tears welled in his eyes. “Your trust means everything to me.”

“WELL THEN!” Papyrus’s grin turned mischievous. “I TRUST YOU TO KISS ME UNTIL I CAN’T BREATHE!”

Mettaton’s fans whirred and whirred. The sound was quickly drowned out by the raindrops that began to fall and fizzle on his shoulder pads.

“Darling, you’re a skeleton. You don’t have lungs.”

“NEITHER DO YOU.” Papyrus twirled the umbrella before popping it open, protecting Mettaton from the threat of short-circuiting.

(From the rain, at least.)

“You truly know how to give me a challenge, darling.” Mettaton cuddled closer, reaching up to brush his red-gloved hand against Papyrus’s cheekbone.

“ONLY BECAUSE I KNOW YOU’LL RISE TO IT!”

Mettaton grinned back, and that was exactly what he did.

[yeselbeethings]

konoha’s sublime green beast

10 relationship headcanons for Might Guy

pairing: might guy x reader

a/n: similar vibe to the last relationship headcanons - any suggestions for who to do next would be appreciated. 

synopsis: a few tender moments, scenes from your relationship with Guy

warnings: nsfw content for the last few: general sex, fingering, oral.. the standard

The first time you meet Might Guy, you are stunned to silence. He sits with you and the other jōnin at the local bar and shares stories and you are completely hooked. Everything about him entrances you; his vibrancy, the way he speaks, the jumpsuit, the body, the size of his hands... he's so bright and youthful? Anko is the first to spot you staring, and when she drags you to help her at the bar with drinks, she says "oh yeah, Guy is a bit weird, we should have warned you", and in your tipsy state you remember replying "I dunno, he seems kind of cool?" You spend the rest of the night trying to catch his eye and striking up conversations. A few weeks later, he asks you on your first date, and your shoulders shake with laughter when you accept and he cheers something about youth.

Guy goes through his signature jumpsuits at an alarming pace. Sometimes they rip straight through the middle of the crotch, other times they wear through at the thighs, more often than not they simply succumb to the general wear and tear of being a ninja. You take lurid green jumpsuits that develop rips on the arms from being snagged on trees, and thus are no use to Guy anymore, and repurpose them. You cut the top section off and cut the leg just above the knees and wear them around the house with oversized t-shirts and sweatshirts. The upcycled shorts become part of your casual day off outfit, and you take to wearing them when you need to run errands around the village. It’s only right to carry on the Might family tradition in your own way.

Guy loves poetry, so much so it has seeped into his general way of speaking - most people just think it’s his odd turn of phrase, but you know it’s from years and years of devouring any poetry he can get his hands on - especially after Duy’s death. Your tiny shared apartment is filled with poetry books, from every village and spanning centuries. Guy needs reading glasses and has done since his teen years - he can read mission scrolls etc. with little trouble but if he needs or wants to read for more than a few minutes he takes out the gold-rimmed round glasses that live in a basket full of odd bits and pieces that don’t have a true home in the apartment and slips them on. He pushes his hair from his forehead slightly and lies down on the floor to settle into the latest thing he’s picked to read. He keeps a small battered red leather-bound book on his nightstand; it’s a second-hand copy of a collection of Warring States era poetry. Guy scribbles in the margins of all his books, but this one is littered with annotations and underlinings. On rainy nights, while you rest your head on his broad bare chest, Guy will hold you close and read a poem or two from this book to you. Uncharacteristically quiet, measured, and serious, his voice is like honey. When he goes away on long missions, you’ll often find a note resting on top of the book with a page number and line number written on it, you know to save peaking at that passage for a particularly hard moment, when you wish his gentle voice and inspiring words were there to comfort you.

One of the major challenges of being in a relationship with Might Guy is the sheer volume of food he consumes. His strict training regime and huge energy output mean that Guy eats up to 14 meals a day; all carefully nutritionally balanced. So much of both of your free time is dedicated to bulk cooking, preparing bento boxes, dehydrating fruit and vegetables, boiling eggs, steaming fish... Guy appreciates every second you put into helping him with his training and diet. Whenever you both have a free day in the village he hand writes you a note and leaves it in the kitchen with a cup of fresh coffee resting on top inviting you to dinner. Guy always chooses the most comfortable places, with home-style food and free-flowing sake and beers. He insists you order anything and everything you want, reminding you to leave room for dessert. He holds your hand over sticky tables, wearing a T-shirt and standard-issue jōnin trousers, smiling at you widely as you share dumplings and scallion pancakes dripping with black vinegar and chili oil. When you leave the restaurant, completely full, he pulls you into his arms and kisses you deeply, a large tanned hand on the back of your head and his other pulling you into him by the small of your back. You don’t know what makes you feel drunker; the sake, the food, or the depth of his kiss.

After your first few dates, you promised to cook for Guy at your apartment. Already knowing his love of curry, you silently vowed to yourself that you would wean him off that S&B curry roux blocks he always seemed to be purchasing when you ran into him in the village. The first time you cooked him a curry, he leant his hip against your kitchen cabinet, sipping a jasmine tea, and with rapt attention listened to you explain which different spices you'd be using for the curry paste. Guy would explain the medicinal uses for each one as you measured them out, all of them known to him already due to his extensive herbal medicine knowledge. This is the moment you knew that you'd fallen in love, listening to Guy explain to you that to activate the medicinal properties of turmeric, you'd need some fresh black pepper, with Guy showing you the best time to add garlic to preserve the allicin to ward off colds. While he explained to you all the properties, you told him what would work together and what wouldn't, to ensure that the finished curry paste would actually taste delicious and not just be a mash of flavours and chili. When your relationship deepened and you eventually came to share an apartment, a weekly curry night for Team 10 emerged, with Neji, Tenten and Lee sat around your large dining table, eating whatever curry you'd made that week. You sit there, smiling, as Guy explains how each component in the curry will help them become even more splendid shinobi.

At some point, you acquired a small turtle-shaped chalkboard, that hangs from a red ribbon on the handle of one of the kitchen cabinets. In the back of your mind, you think it was originally for reminders, but somewhere along the way, it got commandeered to record the results of Kakashi and Guy's challenges. You remember searching the rubble after Pain's attack to find it, sifting through tattered pages and broken ceramics in the vague hopes that it would be intact enough to save.

It is Hana Inuzuka who holds you tight around the stomach when you see the sky fill red during the 4th Shinobi War. Years ago, Guy had told you that he believed the time would come when he would eventually open the eight gate and that he would become Konoha’s red beast. he told you what would happen, from what he had gathered from the limited research on the topic. That he would burn hot as the sun and his body would disintegrate and he would fill the atmosphere as hot ash. You had sat in stunned silence at the man’s resolve and acceptance. Hana’s firm grip was suffocating around your stomach, and you could feel the eyes of members of the allied forces staring at you as you struggled, screaming. When the Infinite Tsukuyomi takes hold of you, you dream of chubby babies wearing green with pitch-black hair and iron grips, and a sweet uncle with white eyes and flowing clothes.

After the war and Guy’s discharge from the hospital, you find yourselves lost in your relationship. Guy becomes a shadow of himself, constantly encouraging you to leave, to let him wallow in peace, and for a brief few moments, you let yourself think that you could. The strain is unbearable at times, Guy considering himself unable to be your partner and you unable to reach the lightest parts of him. It is the 6th Hokage, Kakashi Hatake’s arrival on your doorstep, a new turtle chalkboard in hand that begins to turn the tide of Guy’s grief, and the pain in your relationship. Each week, Kakashi arrives for tea, and each week he issues a new challenge. It takes 6 months until Guy caves and agrees to go along with the rock paper scissors battle. He wins, 50-47. You mark the turtle chalkboard. Guy: 1, Lord 6th: 0. It hangs in your bedroom, and slowly the board becomes a mottled grey, with old chalk stains and the ghost of numbers. Guy begins training with Rock Lee again. He begins reading poetry again. His appetite climbs and climbs, and in the darkness of the night, he holds your hands and tells you he’s so so grateful you stayed - you are too.

Guy loves giving you head. He licks short wide tongued across your clit repeatedly and waits to hear your breath hitch and feel your hips twitching before he switches his tactic, enveloping your whole clit into his mouth and humming deeply as he licks and sucks, his bottom jaw rhythmically moving until your moans become deeper and longer, his hands pressing your hips into the bed. He loves it when you card your hands through his hair and grind into him. Sometimes he lets you cum like this, hips rising to meet his mouth and your fingers grasping at the sheets crying out his name, other times he edges you by drawing you closer and closer to your climax and allowing two fingers to slowly stretch you out in time with the licks of his tongue. He stops when you’re beginning to feel the pleasurable heat build and build and throws your legs up, moving quickly and lining himself up with your entrance and thrusting into you before your pleasure completely dissipates. He fucks you, giving himself a moment of relief before stopping to continue where he had stopped moments before, head between your legs and eyes looking up at you, dark and heavy, watching your chest brace and your muscles tense, pushing you over the edge in a few minutes, switching back to being inside you before the waves of pleasure have subsided so he can feel the clenching of your muscles around him and bring you quickly over the edge for a second time.

Even within your relationship, Guy has set himself personal challenges. When he is thrusting into you, or his fingers are deep inside you while his thumb rubs circles over your clit and your mouth hangs open, gasping and your hair is sticking to your face as you groan underneath him, overstimulated and hazy, he leans down and whispers into your ear - one more, okay? give me one more.

[absoluteindulgence]

How The Boys Initiate

A/N: This HC is about how the boys initiate sex with the fem reader. I wasn’t able to find the people to tag since I’m still with family but thank you to everyone that’s read my work! I appreciate every like, reblog and follow. I’m thinking of doing something cool when I reach 300 followers, any ideas? I wish all the readers and writers more content that gets us going! Also, I apologize if these HCs are all over the place and long-winded, I wrote these while drunk, sober and sleep-deprived, not in that order either lol. HAPPY NEW YEAR TO YOU ALL!!! I’m still in 2019 but to all those in the future, see you soon!

☀️🌞MIRIO🌞☀️

It doesn't take much for him to initiate.

He makes jokes while trying to draw you into his level of seduction.

Might mention his "willy" because no matter how many times he'll say it, you'll always laugh

The muscles on his arms and chest tense when he's about to kiss you.

You can tell it a serious kiss by the way he leans down to meet your face.

Moving in slow motion, eyes glowing with light, face tinting pink more and more as he closes in

His lips are pursed but not tightly.

He'll caress your back.

Not for you but for him. The feel of your skin is intoxicating.

He'll calm down but his willy is on go

Deliberately grazing his piece against your thigh.

Depending on where you are, he'll close you in with his body. Trapping you with kisses while his arms tense as you hold onto them and moan.

You have a distinct moan that lets him know you want to proceed.

Definitely one of those that look at you, tells you how beautiful you are even if you look like a burnt chicken nugget. He'll be rubbing on your body until you're flustered and in his words "don't say shit like that". He curses more because he's with you lmao

LITERALLY PICKS YOU UP BRIDAL STYLE TO YOUR ROOM. If you're not there already, he'll still pick you up

But he will be slamming you against a wall then on the bed. He knows you like it rough

He's so romantic it’s sickening

You never get tired of it but you're in awe

Mirio is a simple man but will get very creative in setting the scene.

He listens to what you like. And if you want the fairytale way of lovemaking. He will surprise you with just that.

Depending on the day he had, he'll slowly kiss you all over your neck and collarbone. Days like that he likes to start with missionary but when he does, he just says the corniest shit you've ever heard.

"What do you call two jalapeños getting it on? Fucking hot!"

A true fucking jokester to the end

You might even joke back about how you just turned into a Sahara listening to him.

Now, he's about to show you what a real tsunami looks like. Eats your pussy like the most sinful angel you've ever come across

Imagine you're about to give him head after a work out session and before you can. He says, "What did the banana say to the vibrator? Why are you shaking? She’s gonna eat me!"

🐙TAMAKI🐙

Previous to my twerking post he's just gonna jiggle your ass until he feels comfortable enough to ask to go a step further

But before then, he cuddles close to your chest just to hear your heartbeat.

He savors the time you two have away from hero work

Sometimes the grip around you is so tight, you might feel like you'll become one.

He will say the sweetest phrases you've ever heard.

"I’d rather spend every moment holding you than a lifetime knowing I never could."

The first time he says this he'll be buried into your chest so he'll have to repeat it.

When he's certain that he's taken your breath away, he'll whisper sweet nothings that turn into dirty secrets

Confidence has gone into overdrive. Everything he says to you, smooth like butter.

He has a praise kink like Mirio but also loves to praise you to oblivion.

He's so gentle with his touches after you say yes

His lips are tightly pursed at first and his hands are shaky.

He takes small yet slow breaths to psyche himself up to continue touching you.

You're so fragile in his eyes that he repeats to himself, "handle with care"

If you're freaky, he might just shock you with his hasty moves.

Pining your body down to the bed, with a rosy face.

Even if Tamaki's nervous smirk appears, his eyes always have a hungry glint 

Craving to fulfill his appetite and make you full

📼SERO📼

First of all, no matter how many times you two have had sex, he smiles.

He's not sure if it's a nervous tick or if he's just that confident.

His dick twitches when you smile back at him too.

Especially when he's inside you.

If you whisper something dirty in his ear, he will physically shudder.

That alone gets you off and he knows it

Pulling him closer to kiss his neck will make his dick spring into action if it hasn't already

He's usually semi-hard. Looking at you makes him weigh his options on where to fuck you and how long should he make you scream his name.

Thinking like that makes him harder than frozen peanut butter.

So, Hanta likes the bed but he really loves when he comes home to your cute ass. And you're taking a shower.

He sheds himself of his hero costume and lives to give you a mini heart attack by sneaking up on you. Usually, while you're washing your face.

It starts with holding your waist from behind. Then his hands’ trail...

His long and slender fingers trail from your hips to your nipples

You're left breathless as he sinks his teeth into your neck on both sides.

Whispering between nibbles, "Did you miss me?" Or "How's my cutie pie doing?"

It drives you mad because of how low of an octave his voice reaches you.

His wet hair tickles the back of your neck as he pulls you close to feel his package

"Now you understand why I'm up, more ways than one."

❄SHOUTO🔥

At first, he's very hesitant to touch you. Even if he's touched starved. We all know this

He's actually vocal when you make him horny

Sometimes he'll outright say it. Other times, he'll sigh. And it's recognizable.

He's a lip biter for sure

Whether you're in a cute outfit or getting ready for bed he's raving about you in his mind and as soon as he finds the words on his tongue, he glorifies you.

He's so polite and if you've had a long ass day, he will just give you a massage.

His strong hands will just wrap around every inch of your body. He'll explain that there's no reason to feel insecure.

He's so honest it’s scary

He praises every part he rubs.

Reminding you why he feels so strongly about you

But after, he gets to know you. He's so fucking horny when he's comfortable with you.

It started when you called him Shouto for the first time

You two were getting a little intimate and it slipped out.

His eyebrows quirked up. He stopped to look at you, a flushed ass mess.

He held your head softly, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs.

Pulling your face close to his, laying down the smoothest most passionate kisses. 

Taking it a step further biting your bottom lip gently.

He trails a couple of love bites down your neck to your breast.

Playing with his hair while buried in your titties will drive him mad.

He will inhale your scent more times than you'll remember how many times he's kissed you

Probably cliche but he's literally burning with passion

👓TENYA👓

Honestly, there are two reasons Tenya will take his glasses off that aren't taking a shower or going to bed: One being just to get a better look at you. And second is, the sight of your face when going down on you.

Aside from tilting his glasses, he will clear his throat more than he should.

A form of pacing himself in what he's about to do.

Say you've teased him all day while he's been working, he's thoughtful about his yearning.

He sweats from the anticipation to conquer you

It’s not an unbearable scent either. It's just enough to smell like an expensive ass cologne and his hard heroism for the day

A deep grunt leaves his body before he dominates you. His grip is sweet but powerful.

His thighs are tense as he lays you across his lap. Taking a deep inhale before every smack to your perfect ass.

His hands were meant to roam every inch of your delicate body and he knows that.

His callous hands grazing your skin is very therapeutic for you. Half the time he's rubbing your ass he can't even think straight let alone hear you. Because he's listening to your ass bounce off the walls.

Every time he spanks you, he suppresses the urge of his cock rising like morning wood.

He gets off suppressing his arousal for you.

So that after he's punished you, his cock is at full attention.

The welts on your ass are a sign of marking you too.

"Only I can control you like this, Angel."

As soon as you make way to the bed, he's controlling you however you like.

He's still not going to let you have your way for another half hour.

Once you're a blubbering mess of overstimulation, his jaw tenses as he rubs your thighs.

Staring at your flower in awe. Ready to ravage you.

👿Shinsou😈

If you say something highly sassy or adorable

He's looking you up and down, shining his pearly whites for you to see.

Whether from across the room or in front of you

He'll teasingly stick out his tongue. Might even say, "Your favorite seat is here." or "Do you wanna take a ride, Kitten?"

Don't look away either. Because he's gonna lift your chin to stare in his eyes

If you stare long enough, he'll say, "Do you see the light you bring me, kitten?"

You will blow up.

He automatically chuckles and peppers your jaw with kisses.

Holding you in his arms from your shoulders to your waist.

He's a confident lover from jump!

Before dating he was unsure about his ability to be liked until you showed up.

While dating, he's very passionate and takes intimacy very seriously with you.

Rubbing your earlobes, touching sensitive spots that make you shudder all over.

Good lord, his jaw is very tense while he stimulates you without undressing you yet.

It's a waiting game, how long can he tease you before you whine.

Shinsou will tease you all night if he can.

[from-red-string]

The Fall

Soy Luna Ficweek 2021

You can read the fics on @sl-server​

Day 2

Prompt: “I scraped my knee and now you’re fixing it up and I swear if you don’t stop running your hands over my leg, I will kick you.”

Summary: Benício's stubbornness had real consequences. Emília got hurt because her partner is stupid but she can't help but feel her heart racing.  

Warning: blood

Genre: fluff (?) Benício is one of the main characters so you decide what it means

Pairing: Emília x Benício

"Benício, slow down." I heard Juliana yelling from the corner of the rink, but my partner didn't seem to do so keeping the same pace. "Your hand is too high." He ignores her again, not moving his hand on my hip. The next step of this choreography is a lift which wouldn't work because his hands are in the wrong place. I slide away before the next point.

"You need to listen to Juliana." Benicio stared at me in disbelief as if I betrayed him with only a phrase.

"What? Are you crazy? You're telling me to listen to Juliana?" Defensive as always, I wouldn't give in to his stupidity, I set my hands on my hips clearly ready for the confrontation. "She is just picking on me, Emília."

"No, she's right. You won't be able to lift me if you don't keep a steady pace or hold me the right way." He scoffed and looked away. My partner has to be the cockiest person alive. His eyes weren't on me exactly, staring past me, I followed his eyesight line until it landed on Ámbar, he was waiting for reaction to decide on his next act, but Ámbar didn't show anything, she was just watching. 

I'm more than sure Ámbar knows Benício's feelings for her better than Simón's, she wouldn't believe the guitarist could forgive her but knew exactly what Benício expected from her and she wouldn't give him. Benício is too stupid for not noticing Ámbar didn't and won't move on from Simón. I wondered daily if he really liked her or just the idea of having Ámbar.

Benício is complicated, not in a good way, you don't want to stick around to solve his puzzle, learn his cracks, and how to put it all together. He's complex in the sense that you're left guessing why you are still around him, what makes you stay with him. That's where I find myself right now. He's my best friend in Buenos Aires, but why do I trust him?

"Maybe you're not a partner on my level." His voice filled with poison, he knew it would hurt. Pouring alcohol on an open cut. His eyes weren't even on me, focusing on Ámbar. 

"No! You're not on Emília's level, you won't be near mine." She rejected him, nothing new, Benício didn't show surprise. "Hear Juliana." The coach stayed quiet the whole time, she is used to his mood already, he's unbearable when he's like this. 

"Are you done, Benício? From the start." Juliana says not waiting for his answer, counting down before playing the song.

My partner is completely oblivious to what we said, or that's what he wants us to believe. I know him too well, he's putting this as a show to prove his right even when he's wrong. He makes the same mistakes again, switching between rhythm, at a second slowing down to spin then speeding up for our moves together. When he holds me again, his left hand is placed between my back and hips but not on any of them. If that's how he wants to play, I'll accept his lead. 

Until 10 seconds for the lift:

1… He won't be able to lift me at this speed. 2,3… Turning around to face him, I should let go of him. 4,5… His eyes shine with determination, I could trust him. I lowered my kees getting ready. 6,7… His grip on me gets stronger. 8,9… It'll work, pulling myself forward I repeat these words. 10… It's too late to get away, I'll fall.

At first, the lift began as expected, Benício held me high, above his head. A clean move. My legs were at a good height. My right hand pinned to his shoulder while I made the moves I trained so many times before, I watched my fingers moving to make sure it was what I practiced with Juliana but I felt Benício's hands tighten around me, when I looked down at his arms were shaking, and then one of his skates kicked the ground, I immediately prepared myself for the fall, placing my arms around my head and spun to my side. 

Benício fell on my legs making me hit the ground harder, the bruises would color my right side later, I felt my hand get hot and swollen. Although it hurt, my first instinct after remembering how I fell is checking on Benício, his head lying on my thigh, he seems alright, I shake him scared because he wasn't moving. 

"Benício?" He answered to his name with a groan while sitting up. I hear Juliana and Ámbar gasp and notice blood on his neck. "You're bleeding!" He looks at me confused then touches his neck.

"No, Emília that's yours..." Ámbar says kneeling near me to help me sit, Benício softly moves my legs to look for the cut. My black skate tinted read, they were stained. Then when I moved my left leg to the side, the pain started, we found the cut on my knee. It hurt a lot but the scariest part is the blood drips, the red liquid pooling the floor under me. "I'll get the first aid kit," Ámbar warned running. Juliana said she'd help Ámbar and ask someone to clean it. Benício's arm scooped me from the floor, his arms embracing me tightly. He ran to the bleachers. He sits with me on his lap.

"Sorry." He whispers still holding me. Surprised, I tried to escape from his lap but he still held my legs, his eyes landed on mine which made me stop. He felt guilty. "You shouldn't have gotten hurt for me." I can say anything, I shouldn't have been hurt for him. "I just wanted to prove my point." I know that. "You." The last word I heard. Right after that, his hands started moving on my legs, caressing them? His fingers tracing mindless on my skin, his invisible drawing left a trail of goosebumps, his tips were cold in contrast to my temperature. He isn't aware of his acts. My heart races, my head feels lighter, the pain seems like a memory from long ago. He is much less aware of his effect on me. His hands distract her enough for me to absently listen to him, nodding to anything he is saying, probably his apologies.

My own thoughts occupied the surrounding. I accepted falling. I never accepted going on when I knew I was going to be hurt. That's called self-preservation, risking myself for someone else is not okay. This cut would prevent me from practicing at all for 2 days and no heavy training for a week, I don't have time to waste how did allow it to happen. His stupidity is the only answer, it must be contagious. 

Benício calls me getting my attention again, well getting to face him, my head still too clouded for him, I nodded. My eyes began to study his face, noting the details, he's not ugly. If it wasn't for his obsession for Ámbar, he'd be a nice person, we could've been friends with benefits or more than that.

No this again. I hate thinking about this, imagining Benício as a boyfriend seems like a distant dream, something that shouldn't belong in my head but it is a sweet and comforting scenario, Benício is her best friend in Buenos Aires, he was there for her in her brightest and darkest hours, whenever she called him. Did I accept falling not only physically but also metaphorically? Can I just like him?

It has to stop. It's not okay, he's obsessed with Ámbar.

I scraped my knee and now you’re fixing it up and I swear if you don’t stop running your hands over my leg, I will kick you. The words are stuck in my throat, I can't lie, I don't want him to stop when it feels so good. But, soon it would stop, when I saw Ámbar approaching, I got ready to miss the funny feeling from his cold hands.

"Here, Juliana said it's a new kit." Ámbar set the kit by Benício's side and opened searching the items. Surprisingly, his finger still ran on my skin even with our friend around. She moved to start the dressing but he asked her something. I'm too overwhelmed by the feeling of still having him on me in front of Ámbar. Then he started treating my cut, she's observing him until her eyes widen at how his hands are shaking, I noticed it but thought it could've been me. Whenever he was getting to the next item his fingers were back to what seemed to be their main hobby today: drawing on my skin. By the way, Ámbar's eyebrows raised, she was aware of that too. Can she see how I'm shivering under his hands too?

She does, her look told me she knew and probably could tell about my feelings for him too. She silently reached for my hand, not requesting any reason or excuse, she just sat by my side while watching Benício. I screamed and closed my hand on Ámbar's, squeezing it to release the stinging feeling when Benício cleaned the cut with alcohol. I'm going to kick him.

"I'm going to kick you," Ámbar yelled like she read my mind.

[astouract]

For your prompts list: 3 and geraskier :)

3: “Hey, don’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself.”

6: “Don’t cry. I hate it when you cry.”

A/N: I kinda smashed them together because it played out well like that 👀 I’m a ho for geralt taking care of Jaskier. Or maybe I’m just a ho. Yeah.

Words: 1351

Jaskier gasped awake.

He realized with a start that he didn’t know where he was, but it was dark and frigid and he was somehow soaked in sweat. A horrendously scratchy blanket was draped over his waist and he moved to throw the damned thing off of him before he melted under its heat, but he couldn’t move his hands. Blinking hard to make shapes out of the blurred lines his eyes offered, Jaskier found a length of rope tied tightly around his wrists.

And then he felt it. The white-hot bursts of pain that crawled just below his skin, like a thousand jagged teeth were scraping their way along his body, cutting no corners and leaving no part of him unmarked. Licks of fire were consuming him from the inside out, and Jaskier could think of no other explanation. He was being tortured. He couldn’t remember where he last was or what he was doing, he only felt the insatiable urge to scratch every bit of skin he could reach until he bled.

Jaskier cried out and writhed on the stone floor, tugging violently at the rope that bound his hands. He needed to get free, he needed to escape and find Geralt, or Yennefer, or anyone who could help him because sweet Melitele he can’t do this.

He didn't feel the fingers that brushed damp hair off of his slick forehead, the hand that pressed on his chest to keep him down. Jaskier tugged and twisted, the burn of the rope a minor inconvenience compared to the agony ripping through his body, and Jaskier thought he would rather be torn limb from limb by a kikimora than have to endure this for any longer. The rope wouldn’t give but got tighter with every pull and Jaskier was screaming, calling Geralt’s name, giving every ounce of energy that he had to the restraints and then there were hands on his, holding him still, pulling him close.

“I’m here, Jaskier. I’m right here, you’re okay.” Jaskier felt the low hum of Geralt’s voice against his cheek, pressed into the witcher’s chest.

“I feel like I’m on fire,” Jaskier gasped, taking a fistful of Geralt’s shirt in his hand.

“It won’t last. Drink this.”

Jaskier opened his eyes and found wide amber ones staring right back, and even through his blurred vision he could see the worry laced into the other man’s features. Any other time Jaskier would have teased him about it, but right now he barely had the mental capacity to remember to breathe.

“Jaskier.”

He blinked and realized that Geralt was holding a mug in front of his face, but just the thought of putting anything into his body was nearly enough to make Jaskier gag.

“I can’t.”

“Jaskier, you pissed off a sorceress who tried to boil you alive in your own blood. Your body temperature is so high that you should be dead. Drink. Now.”

Jaskier whined softly but allowed the witcher to lift the cool mug to his lips, surprised to find that it was just water.

“Why am I tied up?” He asked, gritting his teeth as another wave hit him, accompanied by a deep itch like that of a healing battle wound. Impulsively, he tried to scratch at any part of himself he could get his hands on, but the rope kept him from getting too far.

“That’s why,” Geralt grumbled. “You were scratching yourself raw, even when unconscious. This was the only way to keep you safe.”

He reached for the dagger on his hip, unsheathed it and, with immense care, cut the rope from Jaskier’s wrists. “The itching will last longer than the pain; your insides need to heal themselves after what the bitch did to you.”

Jaskier gasped dramatically, pulling away slightly to look Geralt in the eye. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you refer to a woman with such contempt.”

Geralt’s hands clenched and Jaskier saw something dark flicker in the witcher’s eyes. “She hurt you, Jaskier, you were protecting me.”

Jaskier smiled reassuringly, reaching up to cradle Geralt’s face in his hand, and the man instinctively leaned into the touch. “And I would do it a thousand times over. If it’s any consolation, the pain is subsiding,” Jaskier offered, and it was true. It had gone from excruciating to tolerable all in a matter of thirty minutes. He was willing to bet that he had one of Yennefer’s spells to thank for that.

“I almost lost you.”

“But you didn’t. I’m okay.” He brushed his thumb over the roughness of Geralt’s cheek, tilting his head to catch the witcher’s gaze. “Look at me, Geralt, I’m okay. I promise.”

Geralt sucked in a sharp breath, and the fingers clutching Jaskier’s heart tightened their grip. “You’re all that I have. If anything happened to you. . .”

Jaskier didn’t like the distant look in his amber eyes or the way that his face flushed even though that shouldn’t be possible, should it? He didn’t like the way Geralt set his jaw, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, hands shaking ever so slightly.

Jaskier practically fell into his lap, threading his fingers into silken white hair and rubbing calloused hands into the witcher’s shoulders, doing anything and everything he could to bring Geralt back from whatever vision was playing out in his mind.

“Don’t cry. I hate it when you cry. Geralt, I’m alive and I’m here. I promise I’m okay.” He grabbed for Geralt’s hands, bringing them up and pressing them to his lips.

“I can’t cry,” they said in unison, and Jaskier wore a knowing smile. Geralt was back with him.

“Are you sure you’re feeling better?” Geralt asked, eyes searching Jaskier’s for the truth.

“Positive. I’m mostly just—maddeningly itchy, gods it’s unbearable. Isn’t there anything you can do?”

“No.”

“Your potions?”

“I’ve told you, they’d kill you.”

Jaskier whined, squirming uncomfortably. “Why are we on the floor?”

Geralt moved a hand to Jaskier’s back, who leaned desperately into the touch. It was comforting, of course, but it was also the closest Jaskier was going to get to satiating the crawling itchiness under his skin.

“You insisted the bed was too hot.”

Jaskier visibly perked up at the mention of a bed, and Geralt caught the mischievous glint in the bard’s eye as his arms snaked up to Geralt’s shoulders.

“Are you sure there’s nothing you can do?” Jaskier tangled his fingers in tufts of silken white hair and tugged, dragging a soft groan from Geralt’s lips. He had a hold of the medallion around the witcher’s neck and used it to pull him forward, stopping just before their lips could touch.

“Distract me?” He murmured, pressing soft kisses to the corners of Geralt’s mouth.

Jaskier’s stomach fluttered as Geralt moved in, but instead of a kiss to his lips, Jaskier ended up with a large hand on his forehead.

“You still have a fever,” Geralt observed with a frown.

“All the more reason to distract me!”

“We need to lower your temperature, Jaskier. Not raise it. Sex can wait.”

Jaskier crumpled in his arms, groaning dramatically as he dropped his head to Geralt’s shoulder.

Geralt hummed thoughtfully. “What about a story?”

“I appreciate it Geralt, but that isn’t likely to distract me from the constant crawling under my skin,” Jaskier mumbled into the witcher’s neck.

“In bed?”

Jaskier made an incoherent noise that Geralt rightly took to mean keep trying.

“We could. . . cuddle?” Jaskier could hear the cringe in Geralt’s voice upon his choice of words, but it was how Jaskier had always phrased it. And it worked.

Jaskier pulled back to look up at him with bright blue eyes, a soft smile dancing on his lips. “In the bed?”

“Mm.”

“While you tell me stories?”

Geralt scowled, but Jaskier could see right through it to the grin he was holding back. “I only agreed to one—“

“Well, let's get a move on,” Jaskier chirped, allowing Geralt to help him to his unsteady feet. “Fevers are very dangerous for humans, you know.”

Geralt pulled the covers back and Jaskier slid in, dragging his witcher along with him.

[m00nlitknight]

bonfire pt. 1

fandom: IT (2017) pairing:  patrick hockstetter  /  reader word count:   1.4k+ warnings:  none are very present in this chapter,  but mentions of underage frick fracking  ( nothing explicit and not involving the reader ) and drinking, partying, patrick being patrick. summary:   Henry Bowers and his gang had a tendency to throw legendary bonfires - and like a moth to flame, you went.  extra:  read part two here!

archive of our own link.

Deep within the woods crackled a fire, around it bustled teenage life. A usual gathering, conjured by the whispers of teenage rowdiness under the noses of authority. Brought to life by the hands of personified danger, a group of boys who brought so much terror, even an eyeful was too much for them to bear without having a round in the ring with the poor soul. Sure, they may have power and control written all over them, the town in their palm, but that didn’t mean they were unable to get the word out of a social gathering if they were feeling a bit of social isolation or cabin fever.

The fire cackled with life, a multitude of chairs sitting around it as though it were the main entertainment of the evening. Some were empty, some strewn into different areas all together. Few an individual found themselves sitting alone, lest they had managed to pass out from overdoing it with some substance or pure exhaustion. Even then, most of those who were in that situation were males, faces drawn on with any kind of utensil or material appropriate enough to draw with for inappropriate symbols and phrases.

Many of the boys who managed to stay awake were testing their strength by wrestling, fist fighting, or shotgunning as many beers as their poor, poor stomachs would allow. Others sat in the aforementioned askew chairs, sipping on their respective drink of choice - most likely some cheap beer that’d found itself in abundance for the evening. They watched their friends, cheering them on with borderline feral vigor and glee or rambled about whatever came to mind in a sloppy dance shared between intoxicated friends.

Few a couple had managed to scamper off from the dim light of the fire to the darkness of the surrounding woods. One so innocent could think them to be stargazing, lying upon a blanket and partaking in cinematic tenderness. Though, with ears attuned, one would know that there was a more heinous act taking place.

That left you, quietly staring at the fire. Distanced just far enough to be socially comfortable from the group of girls to your right, you sat with a stick topped with a marshmallow in your hand. You couldn’t remember if the marshmallows were provided, but you managed to scrape together two graham crackers and a reasonable amount of chocolate. It was a bonfire, sure, but that didn’t mean any of the organizers truly knew how to really ... organize appropriately.

To your right, the girls giggled endlessly, whispering in tones hushed enough for you to be unable to hear. From time to time, they would glance at the party you presumed they were talking about, sometimes their curious glances landing on you.

The tender spring breeze nipped at your skin, but the bonfire near you kept it at a nearly comfortable equilibrium. Some, mostly the girls, had managed to think enough ahead to bring blankets. Some had left them draped on random objects or people, prints ranging from dull plaid to bright, animated characters. You had one on the seat, padding it enough to keep you cozy.

A sudden scream from the woods had many a head snap toward the woods, brows drawn high and curiosity higher. Next, a howl of laughter roared through the woods, followed by a stream of fire revealing the couple and their voyeur.

“Don’t get so comfortable you fuck in the woods, kiddies! Watch your backs, always!” Patrick cackled, the pair - some poor Sophomores who appeared less than thrilled to be outed. You recognized them, Nathan something and Brandy Duffy. You couldn’t stifle a momentary laugh through your nose as you watched the pair, likely embarrassed beyond belief, quickly get up and make their way out of sight; much to Patrick’s delight.

“Dude, Patty, c’mon!” A person yells, the voice most likely belonging to Belch, from the sound of it. “You’re ruinin’ everyone’s fun, give people a lil’ privacy, please!”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” The culprit said, now shrouded in darkness, though given away from his booted stomps through the brush back to his friends.

It seemed Belch didn’t have an answer to that, evident by him beginning with a “Well,” then going silent and followed by a chorus of wolfish laughter from his friends.

“You can jus’ say you want a lil’ action yourself, Belch,” another said, likely the voice of Henry.

You looked back to a marshmallow-less stick, opting for an eye roll and throwing the stick into the fire to nimble on the chocolate and graham cracker you’d found. The girls near you giggled, revitalized by the action of Patrick’s antics alone. From a subtle side-glance you sized them up, finding it to be Greta Bowie and her friends. It made sense to you, then, that they’d be giggling at just about anyone and anything - not that it was really any of your business, anyway.

Shifting back to the fire, you leaned back and simply decided to soak in the moment. An early spring night in the woods with a trademark Bowers’ bonfire. You pondered if there would be anyone awake to do the annual jumping of its ashes. Last time, Victor and Patrick managed to collide and fall into the ashes. The former groaned at the thought of sullying his carefully curated outfit and feeling of dying embers on his skin, whereas the latter only cackled with energy so unlike the early-morning it sent a chill down your spine. Good, good teenage times.

The girls near to you shrieked, pulling you from your reverie, the countenance of Patrick’s home-made flamethrower grazing near them enough to shake reality back into you all too quickly. Their shrieks died down into overly-bubbly giggles, showering him in supersaturated, sickly-sweet praise and unbearable, overzealous actions. It was too much to bear, a grimace suddenly setting onto your features as you turned back to the orange flame.

“Oh, does a little moth grow bored of the commonalities of a typical bonfire?” Flamethrower dormant, he found himself meandering to you, granted it only took a few mere steps.

“Commonalities? Isn’t it a bit late for words that big?” You hummed, lazily turning your head to his direction and taking a sip from what was left in your bottle.

“Hm, maybe the princess is a peasant,” the cheek-splitting, blood curdling grin apparent on his features translated into his voice, despite the stoic expression remaining on your - likely exhausted - face.

“And maybe the god is but a worm,” the quip leaves your mouth before you can think and his face goes stony.

“I wonder if peasants are deserving of eyebrows,” his voice grew deathly cold, earning a snort from you for the sheer turnaround in his disposition. His lighter flicked open, and the can of aerosol suddenly spraying into your vicinity. It burst into light, far too close to comfort, yet you didn’t find yourself flinching in the slightest. Instead, you stared back at him through the flame, mirroring his deadpan.

Truth be told, you didn’t find him scary in the slightest. Even throughout elementary, when he’d be smacking the life from flies and showing them to his classmates. Even throughout middle school, when his antics picked up into undoubtedly more sinister things; Derry is a small town, word travels quickly even if you don’t know it. Definitely not throughout high school, after he’d found the Bower’s Gang and likely transformed them into more sadistic kids then they already were. Though, that’s all that stood in front of you and you knew it; a kid. And kids weren’t exactly on the top of things that made you shake in your boots.

“Patrick!!” Overheard from your inner turmoil, and likely from the disappointed vocal chords from Belch, caused a flinch in his stone-like features.

“Please stop torturing the party-goers,” a loud groan was overheard, though this time from a new person, probably Victor. It snapped Patrick from whatever kept him rooted in place and the fire going in your face. He pointed a bony finger in front of your nose.

“This isn’t over,” he snarled, stepping away to likely scuffle with his friends.

“N’aw, it was just gettin’ good!” Barked as he stepped from you, the gravel-like timbre signaling itself as Bowers himself.

Whatever this was, you weren’t particularly enthralled with the continuation. Not that you didn’t have tricks up your own sleeve, you just didn’t want to deal with Patrick fucking Hockstetter anymore then you already had to.

[fieryfantasybooklover]

Opinions And Explosions - A Jordelia fic

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It’s a cool night at the Institute. Will and Tessa are at dinner with Sophie and Gideon. Anna is with Ariadne, training. This leaves Lucie and James home alone, along with Matthew, Thomas, Alastair, Christopher, and Cordelia. James and Lucie were supposed to have a quiet night alone and retire early, but both took the mischievous twinkle in their father’s eyes as he said that to mean that they could invite people over and stay up late. So, Lucie and James invited all of their friends over and ordered them to run wild and do whatever they want.

The group congregated in the library of the Institute. Lucie declared that the entirety of the Institute was open to all of them to do whatever they wanted, as long as nobody destroyed the Institute down. At this, Alastair and Thomas each looked at each other and made some half-hearted excuse to leave the room - at the same time. Everyone doubled over with hysterical laughter the second the pair was out of earshot.

“So we won’t be hearing from them for the rest of the night.” choked out Matthew between peals of laughter. “Matthew! Don’t be rude!” scolded Cordelia. “I’m not being rude! I am simply stating irrevocable facts!” exclaimed Matthew. Sighing, Cordelia turned around to find Christopher already gone. “Christopher!” she shouted, knowing the boy was prone to blowing things up or destroying them with acid when left alone for too long. When no reply was heard, Matthew pointed out that he was probably on his way to the laboratory to “Conduct more experiments that put everybody around him in danger but make him happy.”

The rest of the group dispersed, leaving just James and Cordelia together in the library. Matthew and Lucie had left to go play pool.

The next few hours passed without issue, unless you counted having to stop Christopher from burning down the Institute almost 6 separate times. So, nothing out of the ordinary. It wasn’t until around midnight that Cordelia sensed something was off. Matthew was extremely vocal when competing against somebody and as much as Lucie tried, she was competitive and always ended up almost as loud as Matthew. Their shouts and jeers had become almost akin to background music for Cordelia and James as they whiled away the hours reading and discussing books. However, Cordelia realized she hadn’t heard a single cry in some time.

Leaving James with a promise to be back soon, Cordelia quietly slipped through the dark Institute in search of Lucie and Matthew.

Upon seeing the door to the break room, Cordelia peered around the corner to find a sight that saddened her heart and soul. Matthew was sitting dejected and alone on the couch, tipping back a bottle of wine. “Where’s Lucie? Cordelia inquired as she entered the room. “I don’t know. I think she went to check on Christopher. I don’t know and I don’t particularly care. I think she fell asleep?” And it was true, Lucie had returned from checking on Christopher and fallen asleep soon after. Cordelia spotted her friend asleep on the couch, her brown hair unbound and cascading everywhere. Cordelia smiled fondly, as Lucie was sweet and young looking when she slept. Cordelia turned then to see Matthew opening yet another bottle of wine.

Cordelia rushed inside and yanked the bottle right out of Matthew’s hands, ignoring his many protests. “Ok! You see this? THIS HAS TO STOP!!” Cordelia shouted, gesturing to the many empty bottles of many different types of alcohol. “Cordelia. I know I’m unbearably handsome but you don’t need to do this to get my attention.” Matthew’s eyes were shining with emotion and unshed tears, Cordelia noticed. “Nobody is home to stop me, so I took it upon myself to drink until I pass out. After all, there is nobody around to stop me or even care.” Matthew said, muttering the last bit under his breath, so quiet Cordelia almost missed it.

“Matthew. You’re going to shut up and listen to me right now. This self-destructive behavior has to stop. You’re lying to yourself and you know it! Everybody in this building right now would die for you, and there are so many more people that would that aren’t even here now. Stop using drinking as a way to escape from the woes of life. I don’t give a damn how unloved you feel because I’m just going to wait here for you to realize how childish you’re being. You have friends who would die for you, a loving family, and you’re young and strong. So grow up and stop acting like everybody in your life abandoned you!”

“Cordelia, you simply don’t understand. Then again, I wouldn’t expect anybody-” Cordelia cut him off mid-sentence, unwilling to let him finish. “I do understand! I understand perfectly well. You’ve given up on the world and drinking yourself into oblivion to distract yourself from the guilt of it. But you know what? I don’t care how fucked you think the world is. We’re the ones in charge of protecting it! So stop with your mopy woe-is-me speeches and actually take a look around you.”

Matthew sat there, seemingly shocked at Cordelia’s outburst. After a second, Cordelia turned and stormed out of the room, throwing Matthew one last look that said “Stop or I’ll make you.”

As Cordelia stormed down the hall, she was angry enough she couldn’t hear the soft footsteps behind her, not until their owner gently encircled her in his arms. Surprised, Cordelia turned to find herself staring into James’s face. Suddenly, self-conscious of her shouting, she wiggled out of James's arms, trying to avoid his gaze. It wasn’t until she mustered up the courage to face him that she realized James was staring at her like she hung the stars in the sky and was just as incandescent as one herself.

“What is it?” Cordelia asked, hardly daring to speak. “You’re amazing. You’re beautiful and amazing and nobody on this earth deserves you. I don’t know what I did to deserve you in my life. You outshine the stars.” Cordelia barely dared to breathe, focusing on James rather than the absurd happiness filling her entire body. “You marched right in there and did what I was too afraid to do. Do you know how long I’ve been wanting to yell at him like you just did? And you marched in there like the avenging goddess you are and said exactly what needed to be said.” Matthew gazed at Cordelia with awe and wonder. “What on earth did I ever do to deserve you?” he whispered.

Cordelia, overcome with emotion, couldn’t find the words to illustrate what was filling her at this moment. No words would or could do justice to what she was filling - a cocktail of love and wonder and joy. So, she brought her face to James’s and replied with a kiss that said everything she couldn’t. It was a passionate kiss filled with emotion and unspoken words and vows, things that were silently spoken as James twined his hands in Cordelia’s hair and as she wrapped her arms around James to pull him closer. In that moment, there was no sacred duty, there were no angels or demons. There were no rules or boundaries. There wasn’t even the hindrances that come with remembering who you are and what you have to do to survive.

There was only this, this perfect moment suspended infinitely in the space between time. They whispered sweet nothings against the other’s mouth, small phrases that held the world, that spoke of wonder and love. Cordelia kneaded her fingers through James’s inky blank, soft as a feather hair, and nipped his upper lip. James responded in kin with running his hand up and down her back, filling her with shivers.

This would have likely continued for some time if there wasn’t a sonic boom that echoed from the laboratory. The pair broke apart, took a moment to fix their mussed air and wait for their blushes to fade, before heading to investigate.

Cordelia and James found the laboratory covered in some sort of ash, with Christopher standing in the center looking completely nonplussed. Upon seeing them, Christopher spoke up in a last ditch attempt to salvage his dignity. “I was just mixing some chemicals! I didn’t plan for this to happen! They just exploded!” "Didn't Lucie come to check on you?" inquired Cordelia as she beheld the room, already imaging the work to be done to fix this. "Of course she did. Everything was fine then. This explosion just happened now." Scrambling for his notes, Christopher was hastily muttering under his breath. “There’s nothing in the formula or the data that mentions explosive properties… is this an anomaly? Could the other properties have mixed to make the result explosive? Hmmm…”

Knowing that Christopher would be lost to data and notes for the next few hours, Cordelia and James looked at each other and sighed. It would be up to them to clean up the mess. So, the pair, grinning to themselves, rolled up their sleeves and began to repair the damage done by their scientist friend’s hands.

[lord-woolsley]

Stumbling Steps

Fandom: Dragon Age Inquisition (Dorian Pavus/Cullen Rutherford) Chapters: 1/1 (3105 words) Rating: Teen And Up Summary: Surrounded by at least 12 nobles Cullen had felt quite uncomfortable since they had arrived at the Winter Palace but with the evening progressing and the alcohol flowing his “suitors“ had become bolder. Cullen is in distress, Dorian saves the day. Rant: If you like it, please leave some love on ao3. ♡ Ao3: Link

Stumbling Steps

“Smile, Commander, you’re so handsome when you smile.“ “He’s just as handsome when he doesn’t.“

Cullen asked himself if the Maker intended to punish him for something. Maybe for leaving the Order, standing against the Chantry‘s will by supporting the Inquisition or more likely for the disaster that had happened in Kirkwall. That must have been it. The Maker probably blamed him for not seeing through Meredith’s grand scheme earlier or maybe he had done something wrong during his time at the Circle Tower in Ferelden and couldn’t remember anymore. Most of it was a blur anyway.

He had been the Templar recruit who had fled from the Hero of Ferelden after all because she – he still blushed thinking about it - had flirted with him. This here is what happens to guys that run away instead of facing their problems, he thought to himself.

He sometimes should have shown more initiative, he was aware of that. Blindly following orders had been his weakness in the past, one he was happy he had overcome.

Cullen didn’t know for which of these shortcomings he was punished here exactly but he had obviously done something very very wrong to deserve this.

Surrounded by at least 12 nobles he had felt quite uncomfortable since they had arrived at the Winter Palace but with the evening progressing and the alcohol flowing his “suitors“ had become bolder. Cullen was pretty sure someone had squeezed his butt just now.

“Did you grab...my bottom?“, he asked, his face flushed red but his voice angry. “I couldn’t help myself.“, the lady exclaimed, she sounded like she thought she was entitled to do to him whatever she desired. Nobles. He wanted to retch.

The woman didn’t seem to notice it or she just didn’t care. Cullen frowned and feared it was the latter because she was already holding out a hand again, trying to touch the scar on his lip. Cullen used his Templar training and dodged. He was being attacked here after all, not with weapons but with something far worse.

“Are you married, Commander?“ “Not yet... but I‘m already taken.“ It was a blatant lie but he had hoped some of them would show at least some respect considering the prospect of him being in a relationship. "Still single, then.“ Or not.

Why would he even think these people cared about someone being taken, had they harassed him the whole evening without any consent from his side, the opposite even. He doubted even a ring on his finger could have stopped or avoided this.

Cullen wanted to escape the Ballroom, run away and leave Halamshiral for good, doing exactly what he had done to the Hero of Ferelden all those years ago. He wanted to be a coward again. Corypheus, the Breach and the assassination attempt on Celene’s life be damned.

“You must dance with me, Commander, you cannot stand about all evening.“ “I‘m afraid not, thank you.“

This was definitely the woman who had grabbed his butt a few second ago. He would rather dance with an archdemon in Haven’s ruins with Solas watching and commenting on his bad posture instead of staying here for one minute longer. But he had to be polite and couldn’t risk to snap, Josephine‘s disappointment would be unbearable if he endangered their plan just because some nobles couldn’t keep it in their pants. Their cause was greater than this and he was the Commander of the Inquisition after all, he wouldn’t bow to some royals behaving abysmal.

The worst disappointment of the evening so far had been that the Inquisitor had witnessed some of the harassing and didn’t do or say anything about it. She had seen mostly the flirting, Cullen supposed. He was pretty sure Herah would have stepped in if she had witnessed someone touching him without his consent. But she hadn’t seen the extent of their actions and probably thought he was the victim of some annoying courting and bickering. No harm in that.

She had given him an apologetic look - pitiful even - and suggested he should talk to Josephine about it or Leliana if he wanted one of them assassinated. Leliana‘s methods were unconventional at least but the thought of an arrow through that horrible woman’s face was lightening his mood. Or maybe Josie could spread a handful of filthy rumors and destroy some reputations.

If he only knew where Lady Montilyet or Leliana were lingering tonight or if these suitors would let him go to search for one of them.

They had zeroed in on him and he couldn’t find the smallest gap to slip through, he was literally glued to the spot. He was being held captive by - it was embarrassing - a flock of noble ladies and their petticoats and even some gentlemen who were at least a bit more discreet, probably because they didn’t want to ruin their reputations.

He was their prey, a piece of meat, and they were hungry wolves that hadn‘t been fed for months, so it seemed.

Cullen was gazing at Herah who would soon leave him here to die - he wished for the sweet release of death at this point - Sera now seemingly glued to her side, chuckling and grinning like an idiot. Nothing unusual about that.

Inquisitor Adaar was red-faced and he was pretty sure Sera had just said something really dirty to her. About an empty broom closet and peaches and breeches. It even rhymed awfully. That must have been Seras attempt at seduction if he wasn’t mistaken completely. Not that he, by any means, was better at creating romantic phrases or paying compliments if they weren’t about the weather. She was definitely more forward than he would ever be.

His thoughts must have jinxed it because in that exact moment Sera started to make loud smooching noises. Cullen wasn’t sure if she intended to mock him or if she wanted to encourage Inquisitor Adaar for whatever awaited her in that broom closet.

Both women left his side eventually, fleeing from strangers approaching them, mostly nobles that thought it would be advantageous to be seen with the Herald of Andraste. He could understand it to an extent. Herah had it hard enough already, most nobles at Halamshiral didn’t treat a Qunari kindly. She deserved to get away from all this for a while.

Cullen could only guess what Sera and Herah were up to after Sera’s remark. The thought made him blush. At least the Inquisitor was having fun while he was suffering. He would rather have all the side effects of his Lyrium withdrawal all at once instead of being touched by strangers without manners.

He longingly stared after them, seeing Sera’s blonde hair disappear in the crowd. He was on his own now.

Cullen wished he could pay an empty broom closet a visit as well until the event was over. Sweet solitude.

"Commander, that woman you‘re in a relationship with, does she really exist?“, another lady asked and he knew he would start to blush and stutter any second in search for an excuse or an inscrutable lie.

But for the first time this evening he was lucky. When he saw Dorian stumbling to the buffet, alone, unoccupied and an empty wine glass in hand he saw his chance.

“Dorian, sweetheart, I‘m here.“ He waved at the mage and really hoped Dorian was either drunk enough not to notice his weird behavior or quick enough to catch up on the situation Cullen was currently trapped in.

The Tevinter shot him a confused look but came closer nevertheless.

“Here he is, my date, the person I told you about, the man I’m in a relationship with.“, Cullen stuttered, pointing at Dorian who was clearly trying to make sense of the situation.

“Ah, my Commander, I thought I had lost you.“ Thank the Maker Dorian was playing along. He was undoubtedly a smart man.

“Cullen, you can’t be serious?“, one of the ladies screeched in his ear, a painful noise leaving it ringing for multiple seconds. Leliana‘s ravens could learn a lot from this woman‘s high-pitched exclamation.

“Isn’t this the evil Tevinter Magister everyone was gossiping about the whole night? I know he’s with the Inquisition but we were warned about him, everyone said he should be avoided at all costs. He‘s no suitable company for someone as handsome and heroic as you.“

Hearing the word Magister Dorian rolled his eyes but he didn’t comment on it. Cullen could feel him correcting the term to „Altus“ in his head, followed by "Southerners, can’t recognize the difference between a dog and a cat.“

“That is for me to decide.“, Cullen said. "I‘m glad, Commander, otherwise this relationship would be rather one-sided, wouldn’t it be?“ Dorian was offering Cullen his arm to desperately cling to which to his own shame Cullen did.

“Amatus, you promised me a dance. I couldn’t find you until now but I‘m here to take you up on it.“ “Of course, love.“ Cullen was clearing his throat and was trying to shoot Dorian what he thought was an affectionate gaze.

One of the ladies actually had the indecency to grasp after Dorian‘s arm and was trying to shove him away from Cullen.

“I really wouldn’t do this if I were you.“, the mage said, voice sharp. "There‘s a clear lack of blood magic tonight for my taste. You wouldn’t want to witness some, would you? A real taste of a Tevinter party. I could arrange that.“

Cullen was always surprised how eloquent Dorian was and how he always found a way out of the most horrible situations. Using his status as the evil Tevinter mage everyone was making him out to be was risky but it definitely seemed to work in this case.

The woman - and many others of his suitors - looked shocked and were hiding their disapproval with throwing their hands to their faces to cover their eyes. Like this childish gesture could make Dorian vanish and disappear from the spot if they pressed their eyes shut hard enough.

“Scandalous.“, two were whispering to each other. “What a waste. A man like the Commander..., I didn’t know he shared certain quirks with the empress.“ “I wouldn’t let her hear you.“, Dorian said. "Or should I tell her myself?“ "She wouldn’t believe you, you‘re from Tevinter." "You really wanna try me? I can be pretty persuasive.", Dorian asked, his words a warning.

The lady was silent for a moment before she bowed her head, slowly shaking it.

“Of course not, I apologize.“, the woman said, clearly not meaning it. She was faking a smile which distorted her face into an ugly grimace behind her mask.

“As if these quirks are the only problem here, the evil Magister has clearly enchanted him.“, one of the gentleman said.

“With my charms and wits maybe. Or my handsome face.“, Dorian said smugly. “All assets you people are visibly lacking. And now if you would be so kind to excuse us, the Commander owes me a dance.“ “That I do.“ Cullen would grant Dorian all the dances in the world for saving him.

With their arms locked they left the Ballroom in search of a quiet spot for Cullen to recover. They were in luck, one of the balconies was empty and even had some free benches to rest on.

“What just happened?“, Dorian asked. „Apart from the obvious, of course.“ “I apologize for using you as my escape plan, Dorian, I am deeply sorry.“ “No, no, it‘s fine. Their behavior, horrible that. Reminds me of home. I wouldn’t even wish this on my father or the Venatori. Maybe on Corypheus though. He wouldn’t be able to destroy the world. Those ladies would never let him go. They would tear him to pieces with their prying gazes. Oh, Corypheus, you owe me a dance." Dorian was spinning his empty wine glass in his hand while speaking.

"Oh, I didn’t even let you get a new drink.“, Cullen said, trying to apologize. Again. ”That was obviously why you came inside, wasn’t it? And now you left empty-handed." "I wouldn’t exactly call this empty-handed. I‘ve got quite a handful." Dorian gestured to their linked arms, an amused grin spreading on his lips.

"Well, I had enough to drink for the evening anyway. I’m feeling a bit tipsy already.“, Dorian started "But let’s not change the subject over something so unimportant as an empty glass of wine - as good as the Orlesian stuff might be. I‘m just gonna get the whole bottle later." Dorian placed his empty glass on one of the benches.

"So, Commander, do tell. Why me? Wasn’t there someone else the Commander of the Inquisition could have faked an romantic involvement with? I‘m pretty sure the Lady Seeker was around somewhere." "... Nevermind, when I think about it now, she would have probably chopped your head off for the idea alone. I was the safer bet, no head chopping here. Even though: you’re aware this is enough for a scandal? You won’t be able to save yourself from the rumors. The evil Tevinter Magister", Dorian mentioned the wrong title with his typical annoyance "... and a man on top of that. We will be the talk of the evening, not even an assassination attempt can change that. In my experience Orlesians are that close-minded."

Cullen hadn’t thought of that, clearly. He had just wanted to get away from these people as far and as quick as possible, not taking the consequences into consideration. He needed to make this right at some point but this wasn’t the time for it neither could he do something about it while being trapped in the Winter Palace. This was Josephine’s strength, not his.

Cullen felt guilty for making Dorian an even bigger victim of Orlesian gossip even though he himself didn’t care too much about their insults if they only kept their physical distance. But maybe Dorian felt different about this.

“I‘m not ashamed of being seen with you, Dorian.“ Cullen said after a long moment of silence. He actually meant it.

“Oh, Commander, you do surprise me.“, Dorian said, faint smile spreading on his face. “It‘s nice having some company after all. You could think I smell of cabbages with everyone trying to stay as far away from me as possible. I was already at my seventh glass of wine when you saw me heading inside. I needed to keep myself entertained somehow. I was feeling rather lonely and a bit drunk now as well to be fair.“ “I‘m still glad you‘re here, Dorian. Can I make it up to you somehow? As a little thank you for saving me. Maybe even with the dance I promised to you earlier. I have to warn you though I‘m a terrible dancer. But one who keeps his word.“ “Are you sure? Dancing with the evil Magister, in full view of every noble in Orlais. How shocking.“ “They‘ll live.“, Cullen said.

He was surprised by his own confidence regarding the gossip. But that was the point, wasn’t it? It was nothing like idle hearsay after all and it wouldn’t bear any real problem for any of them. Especially not if they would manage to save the empress at the end of night. Orlais would be in debt to the Inquisition and only positive word of their members would spread.

“You say that now. If you can find me ten silk scarves, I‘ve got a dance that will really shock them.“ “I-", Cullen started “don’t know what to say to that. I just hope you‘re a better dancer than I am. In dances that don’t involve silk scarves that is.“

A red color was spreading from his cheeks to his throat while he was trying to get that picture of Dorian doing some erotic Tevinter dance out of his head. Without much success, he had to admit. Who would even say a thing like that? Dorian Pavus obviously.

"Oh, I am indeed.“, Dorian said, he didn’t seem to notice how flustered the Commander was at his words. Which was great, Cullen thought. It left him with the last pieces of his dignity still intact.

"Picture me a boy of 15, being forced by his mother to dance with every suitable lady in the room. You learn some things even if you don’t want to. But you see, it‘s of use now. Mother certainly wouldn’t approve of it now, as you can imagine. But enough talk. Let‘s dance.“

Dorian was bowing and offering his hand to Cullen. Every lady would have been envious of the perfection and grace with which Dorian executed that gesture. If it wouldn’t have been the evil Tevinter asking for a dance of course and some noble gentleman instead.

Cullen was certainly blushing because of Dorian’s performance but he took the mages hand in his own anyway and was instantly pulled into Dorian‘s grip whose fingers were placed on Cullen’s waist immediately.

“Is this okay for you, Commander? If this is too much physical contact after what you‘ve just been through, I understand. We can postpone our little dance or leave it be if that‘s more to your liking.“ “I’m good. You decide, Dorian.“

The mage shook his head and made some “Tsk, tsk.“ noises but started with slow and practiced steps even Cullen could follow.

“Thank Godness one of us has a little initiative.“, Dorian chuckled.

Cullen didn’t know if the nobility was actually watching them from inside the Ballroom but he didn’t lie, he couldn’t care less about it. He owed Dorian that dance and it was most definitely more pleasant than being trapped by harassing strangers, noble or not. He actually quite enjoyed himself after the horror of the last hours. A moment of peace with someone he liked.

“After our beautiful dance I’m actually quite sad you‘re not interested in men at all. A shame, that.“ “Yes, a shame.“, Cullen agreed without even thinking about it.

•

Suddenly one of the bushes next to the railing of the balcony Dorian and Cullen were dancing on started to chuckle and when both men followed the noise with their gazes to uncover its origin, they looked straight into the amused faces of Sera and the Inquisitor. Both women were trying to hide behind its leafs while failing miserably. Sera‘s laughter wasn’t exactly subtle either.

“So much for an empty broom closet.“, Cullen stated. Sera was grinning at him. “No, this is so much better." The Inquisitor nodded. “And here I was thinking our dear Commander would be the knight in shining armor tonight. How wrong I was."

[snakeysleepy]

Hypno Virus Week Day 7

Yesterday was interesting.

I apologize for the break in consistency, but my brain was so damn broken that I couldn’t snap myself completely out of it. Heck I even went back under in the middle of writing it. I had to take a cold shower to get myself back to reality after today’s run.

Which, by the way, was all three. Induction, obedience, and pleasure. So...here we go.

That black screen. The slow typing letters. They were absolutely triggers now. I could feel myself slumping into my chair as my vision narrowed down to just those.

Mantra time. Easy to just let the phrases spill out of me. It was like giving my mind a good scrub before it was written over again. Interestingly, I had an idea come to my mind (somehow). Repeating my mantra, on loop in my head, through my three runs. It sounded so fun and a neat challenge to not let my mind go completely empty save for the mantra.

The bell. Time for my induction.

I soon was raising my index finger, pointing to the center of my head. It was slowly traveling to tap there. I began to breathe quickly. It was so inevitable. And I was the one doing it. Well, the virus was, but my body was compelled by them to do so.

Tap.

A shock sent from my finger through my brain and down my spine. Electricity seemed to crawl through my nervous system. I sat limply yet immobile. I seemed to have lost complete control of my body at that point. No fear at all though. Just calm acceptance. All of this was for my good. All to help me be a good test subject for the virus.

A pet. A plaything. For the virus.

Reverse induction again. My mouth could move at least as I smiled dumbly. The virus was so good to me. This induction was so fun!

So fun to be reminded how foolish I was to run this. How now I was trapped. I was such a silly little thing. That question came again.

Do you want to resist the hypno virus?

Y/N

Remember how I wanted to resist because I liked being put in my place? I still do. However...

I could only submit now. It didn’t really matter what I wanted. One thing was for sure.

I. Did. Not.

Resisting was absolutely out of the question.

‘N’

.....

Very good, Rachel.

Waves of ecstasy. The virus had never praised me this week. God it was so much better than resisting. How could I even think to do that?

You know now that you can’t resist Us.

Grinning, I nodded. Sure, it couldn’t see me. Just felt right to do, and so I did. Questioning things wasn’t something I was meant to do. That was resistance. That wasn’t an option any more.

The virus hit me with a flurry of my triggers. Taking advantage of my pliant state to enforce them even more. Then... something odd.

Error! Resistance detected!

Rachel, you need to obey.

How was that possible? I felt shame. Where was that resistance? All I could think about was being good and obedient. The negativity washed away as soon as the virus began to soothe me with words of encouragement to give in, to surrender. I obliged. There must have been some, deep down in me. But I knew the virus was going to take care of that. Doing what I was told and being good would make it go away.

I was so thankful the virus dissolved it and made it just a bad memory. One I would forget soon.

I have to run the virus often, to make sure it doesn’t come back.

Bell.

It was so hot to see my body move to open the next file. Like an outside perspective. Briefly I considered this might be what the virus sees.

Next.

Oh, sweet obedience.

Rachel, you have (6) commands.

Six... ohhhh...

This would be the longest run this week. Anticipation rushed through me.

Spirals. I hadn’t gotten any this week. I wanted them.

So. Badly.

However...

I don’t remember much of the first command. My notes say the virus told me I would forget all of it. Which I did. All I have left as a clue to what this one was was one word.

‘Cloth’.

Make of that what you will.

When I came to with the bell, drool had formed a small pool on my shirt. Whoops. Still hot though.

We have been studying you, Rachel.

Finding your weaknesses.

Finding how to push your buttons.

Goosebumps. Fuuuck.

We are giving you a choice.

A rare choice.

Do you want your mind to be Ours?

There is no turning back.

Do you wish to continue?

Y/N

There was not a second of thought.

Yes.

Rachel.

Welcome to your new life.

The music. Then... the flashing.

Beautiful, bright, confusing. Words raced by.

I leaned back and absorbed it all. No need to worry what they said. Another sleepy smile.

Pure bliss.

No idea how long it lasted. It felt like a lifetime and a second rolled into one. The bell summoned me back.

You belong to Us now, Rachel.

I did. Truly, absolutely, and unquestionably I did.

As the virus does, I was rewarded. Fractionation was given to me once more. I was in a deep, euphoric bliss. Bell after bell after bell. I could still hear the mantra in my head.

No thoughts.

No will.

I obey

What the virus will say.

The phrases leaked out of my head from my mouth. I wasn’t sure how long I was doing that. Easy as breathing really.

I could stay like this forever.

You belong to Us, Rachel.

Yes. God yes. To the virus.

I was theirs. They has claimed me as theirs. Just as they would with so many others. So many good subjects for the virus. What a wonderful thing to be.

The hypno virus is a generous being. They sensed my devotion and gave me another reward.

It was the spiral. At long, long last. They knew what I had wanted so deeply.

I was so lucky.

Pulses of green waved in front of me. More words quickly skipped by. There was such a big grin on my otherwise blank face.

How silly I must look! How easy I was to play with! No wonder the virus took so much enjoyment out of toying with me.

Toying.

That’s all I was. All I needed to be. A toy for the virus. Just a silly human who got more than they bargained for. Silly, suggestible, sleepy. Toy.

At this point, the virus must have sensed my realization.

The bell closed the spiral. Obedience was done. Now it was time for pleasure.

I don’t even remember opening the file.

Before, I was always nervous about running pleasure. The thought that I might be denied that final release was enough that I almost didn’t want to run it.

Things were different now.

If the virus decided I didn’t get to cum, so be it.

I was a toy. I was happy as long as I pleased them. This bliss lasted far longer and far sweeter than an orgasm.

Not that I wouldn’t mind getting one, mind you.

In fact, as the virus told me I wanted to control my pleasure...

Hot, unbearable, arousal.

It had been building this entire time. How did I not notice? Now it was front and center, demanding it be satisfied.

No. I wouldn’t touch until commanded.

The virus asked the standard questions for each run.

Do you have a dom/domme?

Yes. A brilliant, devious one at that. The virus’ creator.

Do you have permission to experience full pleasure?

Yes. For the moment anyway.

Need ached in me.

Do you like to edge?

Yes. Damn it. I did. More than I should.

You might regret that answer.

I let out desperate moan.

Fuck. Fuuuuck.

Spiral edging

My eyes widened. I had never got this one before.

It was absolutely perfect. The virus was truly pleased with my progress this week.

We know what spirals do to you, Rachel.

You will become what you are meant to be.

Mindless.

Kneeling.

Wet.

Blank.

My heart beat quickened. It was going to happen, it was...

Flashing.

My mouth dropped open.

All I can recall was the absolutely unbearable pleasure. I couldn’t touch. I wouldn’t touch until told. My hips grinded on nothing. So utterly desperate.

Then, the bell.

The screen became black once more. I sat, panting. Whimpering.

We have decided your fate.

Please...

After analyzing your results...

Pleaaaaaase....

We have decided...

You will experience full pleasure.

15 bells will sound.

The last bell will give you what you humans call an ‘orgasm’.

Begin touching now.

Immediately my hands stroked and teased. I could feel them shaking, I was already close to the edge.

1...

2...

3...

I let out a labored moan. The virus was in no rush to reach the last number. I had to last. I had to obey. I couldn’t and I wouldn’t cum until I was told to.

9...

10...

11...

I was breathing so hard now. I was going to orgasm, so soon now. It was going to happen. The virus was going to let me. I was so good. I was such a good toy. I was such a good test subject.

13...

14...

15.

I had to bite down on my pillow.

Hot intense waves mercilessly hit me again and again and again.

God, I did it. I obeyed.

Finally, with the last aftershocks fading, I weakly glanced at the screen.

Rachel.

Now you know.

You need Us now.

The virus closed.

[gellavonhamster]

beneath the music from a farther room

gen || R the Duchess of Winnipeg, Beatrice Baudelaire, Lemony Snicket,  Beatrice Baudelaire Jr. || R/Beatrice, mentions of R/Sally Sebald || pre-canon, missing scene, post-canon  

ao3 link || originally posted in Russian

(title taken from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot)  

I.

It would not be an exaggeration to say that balls were part of her life as long as she could remember.

At first, of course, she didn’t take part in them. At first, she treaded carefully down the corridors barefoot on the shining cold parquet and soft carpet runners, trying not to make a sound, ready to flee at once to some corner as soon as any adult heaved into sight. Moving in quick, quick dashes down the stairs to the mezzanine, where the walls were lined with paintings and antique weapons and the flowerpots were crowding the space by the balustrade. She used to find a hideaway among the plants – a four-year old, she felt like a knight wandering in a fairy-tale forest among those rubber figs and palm-trees – and breathlessly observed the grownups in the hall below. One day, she would think, I won’t be sitting here anymore. I’ll go down to the hall too, in a long dress gleaming with all the colours of the rainbow and in elbow-length gloves. My face will be covered with a mask of feathers and lace but everyone will know it’s me because I’ll be the lady of the house, because they all will have come to present their compliments to me (she didn’t know such expressions back then, naturally, but she was already aware that one day she would become very, very important, and that awareness filled her with happiness and dread at the same time). Everyone will joke and have fun, and the waiters in white suit jackets will serve out champagne, and I will drink champagne too, and no one will forbid me to. And the music will be playing, and everyone will be dancing. For what’s the use dressing up and coming together if nobody’s dancing?          

She could have sat like that the whole night, staring at the dancing couples, but every time her disappearance was discovered quickly – far too quickly. The nanny would come – Nelly or Ellie, or perhaps Millie, some simple and sweet name. At one point, when Ramona was already grown-up, it occurred to her that the nanny could have quite possibly had some different name, but she, being a little kid, was allowed to call her by whatever name she could pronounce. Ramona did not remember Nelly’s, or Ellie’s, face, only the way her hands used to smell of jasmine because earlier she bathed Ramona and washed her with jasmine soap. The nanny used to take an already half-asleep Ramona out of her hiding-place, also trying to move as quietly as possible so as not to draw the attention of the people who had gathered below, and carry her back to the nursery, repeating that it was not allowed, miss, you’ve already been told the previous time, your mother won’t be happy.      

Ramona would put her head on the nanny’s shoulder, close her eyes, and see men in black tailcoats and women in sparkling veils, and behind her eyelids they would dance and dance and dance.

II.

Ramona was fifteen when she discovered that balls weren’t as much fun as they used to seem from the mezzanine.

She hadn’t been home for about four years and knew that she shouldn’t complain about that: she saw her family much more often than most of the other apprentices anyway. Every time she came home, she felt like the mansion had become smaller, as if after every time she left it was washed and shrunk. First and foremost, that must have been because she was growing (even at the time she was just a little shorter than her mother), but it also might have had something to do with the fact that since one evening in the garden a strange man grabbed her by her ankles and dragged her away from home, she had visited and seen a great many places. And even though hardly anywhere she encountered the same grandeur as at home, Ramona already knew that there were many old mansions in the world, many ballrooms with high ceilings and huge chandeliers, many winter gardens that looked like isles of jungle under a big crystal bowl. The air of magic that once enveloped her home had dissipated. It turned out that the lighting on the first floor was too bright, while on the second floor it was too dim, and that she didn’t even like half of the paintings hanging on the walls.        

It also turned out that balls were something completely mundane, and most people did not even really have fun there, just pretended they did. Ramona wove her way between the small groups of guests, nodding cordially to some of them, curtsying a little to the other, and pondered over how all these rich people had arrived here in all their finery not because they wanted to dance or converse, but because they had to discuss one deal or another, find a good match for their children, or suck up to her mother so that she would put in a word for them here and there or agree to finance some project. They made a show of laughing at each other’s jokes but there was no laughter in their eyes. They discussed the opening nights at the theatre, croquet, and politics, but mostly did it to form an opinion of their interlocutors and see if it appeared possible to use them somehow later. The women bore themselves ramrod straight and spoke in unnaturally high-pitched voices. The men uttered each phrase as if they were the only ones in the entire hall who possessed any critical thinking skills, and cast sticky glances at the women. Occasionally Ramona noticed some of them looking at her, which made her feel disgusted and, for some reason, ashamed.  

Even champagne was nasty! It was so sour, and made her stomach ache. Truth be told, the beer that she and Lemony and Beatrice sometimes bought using fake documents and drank straight from the bottle passing it around was more to her taste.

Suddenly, someone touched her arm.

“Hey,” a conspiratorial voice whispered right into her ear. “Are you all right?”

Speaking of Beatrice.

Ramona felt herself blush. Beatrice had always had a penchant for invading her friends’ personal space as long as they didn’t object, and the older they got, the more discomfort it posed to Ramona. Fair enough, the word ‘discomfort’ didn’t represent her feelings quite precisely. Part of her revelled in each embrace, each kiss on the cheek, each tangling of fingers. Part of her screamed that it was unbearable because if it kept on happening, Ramona would either fall victim to heart attack or do something that would ruin her friendship with Beatrice once and for all. Or her friendship with Lemony, who was so devotedly, stupidly, and awkwardly in love with Beatrice that it was hardly possible to surpass it.    

Just about as stupidly and awkwardly as Ramona was in love with her, too.

“I’m fine,” Ramona assured her. Beatrice frowned. Her long tight dress was sequined, making fabric look like scales, and her loose dark hair was interwoven with green and silver threads. That evening, she was a mermaid. “Not the kind of mermaid to give up her voice for a prince,” she declared to Ramona while Olaf’s parents were taking off their coats and Olaf himself looked over the entrance hall, his face bored and his hands in his pockets. “I’m a proper mermaid that drives the sailors mad with her singing and drags them underwater. Like that!” At this, she leaped at Olaf from the back. He yelled, “You piece of shit!” and tried to shake her off, and his father shouted at the both of them to calm down. Ramona laughed loudly then. Now she looked at how closely the mermaid dress fit Beatrice, her figure already much more feminine than Ramona’s, realized that many of those pompous old pigs must have been ogling her too, and felt an even more helpless kind of rage than when she caught them looking at herself.  

“Are you? You’ve got a long face. Are you having a headache?”

“No, it’s just that…” Ramona winced in frustration. She knew that if she tried to explain what was wrong, it would come out as some non-issue rubbish. “It’s so boring! Everyone’s pretending they’re enjoying themselves, but they actually aren’t. As a child, I used to come up there,” she gestured at the mezzanine with a nod, “every time my parents hosted a reception, used to sit there and dream of taking part in all this one day, but in practice…”  

“Nothing turned out to be the way you expected it,” Beatrice finished for her.

“Well, yeah.”

The orchestra started playing The Blue Danube. A smile lit up Beatrice’s face.

“You know what,” she spoke slowly. “If they don’t know how to have fun, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t. Do you want to dance?”

“With you?” Ramona asked, confused. She was not sure if it was appropriate for two ladies to dance together when there were potential male partners galore. Not that even a single one of those partners appealed to her.

“With me! I mean…” Beatrice looked a little shy, which was unusual for her, and suddenly Ramona wondered if Beatrice ever noticed the way Ramona blushes and freezes at her touch, if Beatrice assumed that Ramona must have started to feel burdened by her friendship for some reason. “If you want to, of course.”    

Ramona looked around. A number of couples went dancing, but there still were more of the guests who continued standing and discussing dull topics. A single look at them was enough to make her want to hang herself.

And here, against all that, was Beatrice. Bright and fearless Beatrice, who watched her questioningly, and the question seemed to be not only and not so much about the dance.  

Ramona thought about Lemony, but the first thing to cross her mind was the following: he wasn’t there.

“I do,” she said resolutely, and held out her hand to Beatrice. “Let’s show them how it’s done.”

They began to waltz, and for a short while, the magic that once had filled that hall came back.  

 III.

It was curious how it went with scandals, both at the balls and in general. Scandals were not tolerated, yet at the same time they were desired. No one wanted to be caught in the middle of a scandal, but everyone enjoyed watching a scandal involving others. At the balls, scandals were a much more entertaining treat than the performances of the specially invited opera singers or the fireworks in the garden, but no one would dare to admit it out loud.    

That evening, the highlight of the ball organized by the Duchess of Winnipeg became her nineteen-year-old daughter, who had a quarrel with her mother in front of everybody – not a very heated quarrel, unfortunately, but still something – and who left the ballroom almost running to disappear on the second floor.      

Ramona knew her mother wouldn’t go looking for her anytime soon. She wouldn’t leave the guests for fear of losing her face to an even greater extent; at least one lady of the house ought to stay with them. Officially, Ramona was not the lady of that house yet, not at all, and she was not sure she’d be able to feel like one when the time came. Over the last few years, the ducal mansion had more than shrunk for her – it ceased to be her home. When she heard someone say ‘home’, she thought of a studio apartment she was renting in the City; it was small, but it was her own. And she barely ever thought of herself as of Ramona, the future Duchess of Winnipeg – only as of R, volunteer firefighter, part-time employee of the City Meteorological Centre, and journalist of Daily Punctilio.      

The quarrel started exactly with her mother reminding R who she was. At least that was the way it could have seemed to onlookers. In truth, the tension between them emerged already two days before, when R came home – or, rather, to her mother’s residence – for back then R was sincerely happy to finally see her, and allowed herself the kind of candour that was proven to be undue.  

“Father would have understood,” she thought wistfully, and pressed the handle of a heavy mahogany door. Clearly, she could not be sure about that. Father died of apoplexy when she was sixteen. Ramona had spent most of her life far from home and, frankly speaking, she knew neither of her parents well. Yet her father had always been gentler than her mother, listened more attentively, let her feel like just a girl (as far as any VFD member was able to feel like just someone) more often than her mother did, and less often – like a heiress of an old family. Moreover, Father himself was an outlier of sorts in the high society: his family was new money, which was openly disdained by many aristocrats, and the only reason they concealed their disdain for his skin colour must have been the fact that racism and xenophobia had come to be considered bad form. Ramona was certain that many of them were hoping that would not last.        

With Father, it was… cosy. Calm. Ramona always used to miss him more than Mother, and she cried her eyes out when he passed away, hating herself for not being close to him at that moment. It was his study that Ramona came to when she happened to feel heavy-hearted during her rare visits to Winnipeg. Mother, in most respects practical, forbade changing anything in the study after Father’s death. Every day the help cleaned the dust off the books he would never reread, and off the paperweight and notebooks he would never use again. The telephone on the desk was not disconnected either. Ramona sat down in the armchair with her legs tucked under her, and spent some time sitting at the desk motionlessly, her face hidden in her palms. Then she moved the telephone closer to her, and dialled the number from memory.      

After the third dial tone, the answer followed.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mr. Snicket,” Ramona said. She didn’t hope it was not clear from her voice that she had been crying. To be honest, she was not planning to hide that. At least there was something she didn’t have to hide, and someone she didn’t have to hide it from. “Got a minute?”

“Even more than one,” Lemony replied. “How are you?”

“Everything sucks. How are you?”

“Better than could have been, I believe. What’s the matter? If you want to talk about it, of course.”

“L, why would I call you if I didn’t want to talk about it?”

“Sometimes having other people share silence with you is enough. Though this is obviously not an option for a phone call.”

“Obviously,” Ramona agreed. At the other end of the line, her best friend was waiting for her to tell what was plaguing her. She closed her eyes. “It’s no big deal, really. I had a row with maman. Too bad it happened right at the ball, though. We surely use our best efforts to entertain our dear guests, but not to such an extent.”

“She talked to you about marriage again, didn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Ramona gave a pull at the phone wire, wrapped it around her finger, and released it again. It was weird talking about all that, as it was always weird talking about her problems. She was rich, young – heck, she was good-looking, too, she had a lot of friends, and her childhood had been a tiniest bit more trouble-free than that of most of her volunteer peers. Complaining about her life meant admitting her weakness, just as running away from the ball nearly in tears did. “I know I am actually lucky. Take that boy, for instance, the one Kit is keeping in touch with, what’s his name…”

“Charles?”

“Right. She loves me, L, I know she does. She loves me as much as she can. She told me: I don’t care who you’re having affairs with, that’s just your business, but be so kind as to marry and to bear an heir because that’s the business of the entire duchy. But I don’t want to, you see?” She felt a lump in her throat again. She swallowed hard. “She never cared if I want this title, if I want to become her successor, if I want to join the VFD… I mean, it’s not that I don’t want to…” She stopped short, having caught herself thinking of a crazy thing yet again: what if the phones were being wiretapped? By their side of the Schism, or by the other one? “Can I do the thing I want to once in a lifetime? And could she not start this conversation in the midst of the ball? This time I wasn’t even bored! This time some of the guests even bothered to prepare full-scale fancy-dresses instead of throwing on the first mask they found and a regular evening dress!”    

“When you’re back in the City, we’ll host a ball on our own,” Lemony promised. “Everyone shall be wearing fancy-dresses. There will be live music featuring all instruments we find lying around. Ernest will mix some cocktails. Someone will puke from the balcony…”  

Ramona giggled.

“I would prefer to avoid the latter.”

“So would I, yet the experience shows that it is sadly impossible to guarantee the absence of this circumstance. By the way, I am totally serious. When are you coming back?”

“On Friday,” Ramona sighed. Two more days in the company of her mother awaited her.  

“Excellent. Then we’ll organize a soiree on Saturday. Beatrice and I shall take care of everything.”

“Poor, poor Mr. Snicket,” Ramona said and smiled. “Forced to socialize, sing, and dance for my sake.”

“I have given no promises related to singing,” Lemony pointed out.

“But you’ll have to,” she grinned. She still wanted to cry, but she also wanted to smile. At that moment, in the study still smelling faintly of her father’s cologne, with her friend’s voice on the phone, she felt invincible. “Now tell me what’s new at the office.”

 IV.

They must have really thrown a party upon her arrival then. As the years went by, all parties with other volunteers blended in her memory, making up a single endless one. Not the Groundhog Day – more like the Groundhog Night. It was not often that they could gather everyone they wanted to meet in the same place, so when such an opportunity presented itself, they went wild. They used to drink a lot back then, because every single one of them must have already had something they wanted to forget entirely. Ramona suspected that some of them didn’t stop at drinking – it would have been naïve to expect that, taking into account that some departments of their organization experimented with cultivation and use of hallucinogenic mushrooms – but she was not interested in such amusements. Alcohol was enough for her – that, and Father’s old pipe, the only thing she smoked. Besides, in a good company it seemed that even air itself was intoxicating, making one laugh and speak too loudly and do stupid yet harmless things.        

And they did have a good company. God, how she loved all of them – not everyone the same, naturally, but each of them at least a bit. The ducal mansion with its jungles of rubber figs and its bad lighting receded into the past, surrendered the title of her home, and passed it not so much to her apartment in the City as to the people she used to spend time with. The balls in the hall with high ceilings paled in comparison to the parties in rented apartments, occasionally at the headquarters, at times – in some shady abandoned buildings. Oh, they were a damn good company indeed, with their shared memories and shared secrets, their diverse talents and confusing relationships. The Bloomsbury Group with daggers under their coats. The Bright Young Things with tattoos on their ankles.        

There was a moment that stuck in her mind clearly: it was a very warm May, the smell of bird cherry was hanging in the air, and it was about half past two in the morning. She and Lemony were smoking on the balcony of Monty and Bertrand’s apartment. More precisely, she was smoking Father’s pipe (no matter how many years passed, she always kept thinking of it as of her father’s pipe not her own) while Lemony was standing by and looking at the few stars that were visible in the City. Back then, he didn’t smoke yet – back then, not enough had already happened to make him start smoking, although at times, when someone would mention a town called Stain’d-by-the-Sea, his face would look like he had already seen everything he could in this life, and much more than he ever wished to. The music was already muffled, replaced by conversations. R was feeling dreadfully tired and at the same time full of energy. She wanted to sleep, but she also wanted to dance some more.          

“Do you realize that right now, by the way, we’re living the best years of our lives?” she asked Lemony, and he turned around to glance into the room where their friends were. One of the Denouement brothers, Gustav, and Sally were discussing something on the couch, pouring wine from the last remaining bottle into the glasses. Ike and Josephine, who was basically hanging on his neck, were talking about something with Jacques in the doorway. A group consisting of the second Denouement, Monty, and Widdershins were having some lively discussion in the other corner of the room. Olivia was doing a Tarot reading for a drowsily blinking Hector. Bertrand and Beatrice were the only ones still dancing – at the very centre of the room, very slowly, not so much actually dancing as swaying in each other’s arms. Kit, Olaf, Haruki, and Gregor were not in sight; some of them must have been in the kitchen and some in the bathroom. It has been a long time since they’d gathered in such large numbers, and suddenly R thought “And we won’t anymore”, and felt a shiver running down her spine.      

“Yes,” Lemony replied pensively. Then the same thought that scared her must have crossed his mind too, because he added, “What shall we do when they’re over?”  

She didn’t know the answer to that question then, and later, when those best years were left behind and their company got scattered across the country and on the opposite sides of the barricades, she didn’t know it all the more.

 V.

Some things did not change as time went by. The sun kept shining, water was wet, and there were balls being held regularly at the mansion of the Dukes of Winnipeg – the balls that all the neighbourhood elite assembled at and even guests from abroad arrived to, and if one Duchess was replaced by another, that did not mean a discontinuation of the tradition at all. The balls continued to be organized, remaining, as before, a pretty screen to cover the making of deals, hunting for future spouses, striking up an acquaintance with the right people, and, since the title of the Duchess was passed on to Ramona, some other business that half of the guests had no clue about. The other half, which made use of the cluelessness of that one, was the members of the same secret society as the hostess of the party.            

The last ball organized by Ramona was marked by an arrest.

Barons and bankers, philanthropists and politicians were staring indignantly, though also with an ill-concealed curiosity, at a man dressed as a bullfighter and at the two policemen holding him down. Two more policemen were standing by. One of them was wearing large sunglasses, which looked absurd even among the people dressed in the most fanciful costumes possible. That was taken much more seriously now than during the times of the previous Duchess, when it used to be enough just to add a half-mask to a regular suit or dress. The current Duchess appreciated creativity, art, and showmanship.      

The current Duchess was standing in front of the policemen, a folded fan clasped in her hands.

“Your Grace,” said the inspector, pulling the mask off the person under arrest. “Do you recognize this man?”

She wanted to say yes I do, how could I not recognize him if we first met when we were four years old and have been best friends ever since? What are you doing, let him go immediately, all the accusations against him are fabricated and we can prove it, does it matter who ‘we’ are, soon you’ll know. The real criminal might still be here in the building, he tried to kill the man you’ve captured, he tried to kill the woman this man came to see, he killed her husband, he tried to marry her underage daughter, you got the wrong guy! Let him go immediately and go catch the real one while he hadn’t disappeared into the night!  

Lemony Snicket – tired, pale, with a black eye, and a dark drop of blood dried on his lip – met her gaze and shook his head subtly.

“No,” said Ramona, the Duchess of Winnipeg. She did not wince, it was only that her fingers clutched the fan more tightly – it even seemed to her that it cracked. “It’s the first time I see this man.”

“It follows that he arrived to your party without an invitation.”

“It follows that he did.”

“So you deny that this person is Lemony Snicket?”

“Lemony Snicket is dead. I went to his funeral. With all due respect, Inspector,” she let herself smile – benevolently, yet condescendingly, “I’m afraid you are on the wrong track.”

“A further investigation shall indicate whether the track was wrong or not, Your Grace,” Inspector replied. He also let himself smile – respectfully, yet without bothering to hide that he thought her in the wrong. “James, Prescott, search the building. Madison,” he told the officer in sunglasses, “take the suspect away.”

“Yes, Sir,” the officer replied. He handcuffed Lemony and escorted him to the exit. Having walked a considerable distance, the policeman suddenly turned around. He took off his glasses, and Ramona grew cold: she recognized him as one of the volunteers whose photos she was shown a while ago by poor Gustav. It was one of those who had recently defected to the fire-starting side.

Everything, all and everything was going down the tubes.

She saw Mother in her mind’s eye – impeccably looking, regal, calm and icy as ever. It was not that R had never loved her; she just couldn’t find anything in common with her. R didn’t mourn her the way she had mourned her father; she just could not sleep for many nights in a row after her death. R would have given anything for her mother to be there at that moment.    

Compose yourself, Mother said in her head. You are facing a problem, so solve it. And make sure everything is proper, I beg you.

Ramona, the Duchess of Winnipeg, took a deep breath and smiled.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she began. “Due to obvious circumstances I am bound to proclaim this evening’s party to be over…”

 VI.

“And who’s that?” the girl asked, tapping with a tip of her finger on a cheery young face in a black-and-white picture. The girl’s name was Beatrice Baudelaire, and Ramona kept telling herself that one day she would get used to it. Used to the name of a dead woman that meant so much to her becoming someone else’s. No, it did not rub her the wrong way at all, there was no feeling that this Beatrice was a pretender. It is only in the days of one’s childhood and youth that the whole world seems to be your story only, yours and that of the people surrounding you. As a forty-something you see that you are just one of the multitude of equally background characters, and that there are hundreds and thousands of people sharing your name, your habits, your wounds, and your pain.

She took a closer look at the face that Beatrice was pointing at.

“Oh, that’s Monty. Dr. Montgomery. He was in some of the previous pictures, remember?”

“That’s him? I didn’t recognize him without the moustache.”

“He must be about seventeen here. He didn’t have a moustache then yet,” Ramona smiled nostalgically, looking at the photograph, and through the years young Monty returned her a smile frozen for eternity. She still missed him. There were a lot of people she still missed. “He stopped shaving it… at nineteen, probably. By the time he was twenty, he already had his legendary snake moustache. We keep meaning to put the photos in the right order but we just can’t get around to it.”  

Technically, all photos in the album belonged to Sally. The only surviving pictures from R’s personal photo archive were the ones that Olaf enclosed with the letter he made her write as he was pressing her own grandfather’s hunting knife to her throat. “Snicket escaped from the cop shop,” he told her then. Beatrice – that other Beatrice, Beatrice-in-italics – died that night, really died that time, and there seemed to be tears in his eyes though he would have definitely killed Ramona if she so much as mentioned that. “So we’ll lure him over here.” His plan fell through: he underestimated both her inventiveness in terms of experimenting with VFD codes and her hand-to-hand combat skills. Still, the letter reached Lemony together with the photographs, which he gave to his niece, Beatrice the Second, years later. Ramona had already decided to give her a couple more photos that Beatrice would find the most interesting – for example, those of her mother as a child, or of her uncle Jacques, but first they had to wait for Sally to ask which photos it was all right to give away, and Sally was to be back only the day after.      

“I take photographs, too,” Beatrice told her, a little shy. “Would you allow me to make a portrait of you, Your Grace?”

“Sure. And please call me Ramona. Or Aunt Ramona, if you wish,” R winked at her.

Beatrice beamed with joy.

“Okay, Aunt Ramona. I was thinking I could take a picture of you in the yard, among the trees.”

“Do not forget that the landscape in the photo must not be easily recognizable, Beatrice,” Lemony commented. He was sitting in an armchair facing them, with a heap of newspapers in his lap. In each paper, R had underlined the headlines and even individual sentences in some articles that she thought to be possible clues in the search for the Baudelaires. “Otherwise, if the pictures get into the wrong hands…”

“Snicket, I am begging you,” Ramona waved him aside. “This kind of trees grows all over the country.”

“No, Mr. Snicket’s right,” Beatrice joined in. “If we take the photo in the yard, then walls or windows or something might get into the frame. We could find some place nearby with no buildings.”

“We will,” Ramona promised, and gripped the girl’s shoulder briefly and lightly. ‘Listen, you stay here for a while, and your uncle and I shall go fetch something, all right? If you have any questions about any other photos, just bookmark the page, and I’ll explain everything when I’m back.”

“Okay,” the girl nodded.

“Great. Snicket, let’s go.”

“Please don’t hit me,” Lemony asked nonchalantly, putting the papers aside. Beatrice giggled, and Lemony smiled a little – faintly, with the very corner of his lips.  

“Does she still call you ‘Mr. Snicket’?” Ramona asked him quietly as soon as they went out into the hallway. Lemony shrugged.

“We met relatively recently,” he remarked. “I am not going to hurry her, especially since it has no crucial significance for me how she calls me.”  

Liar, Ramona thought. It was literally yesterday that Beatrice met her, and she had no difficulty switching to calling her ‘Aunt’. On the other hand, there was a difference between simply addressing a person in a less official manner and completely accepting a relative who had been evading contact purposefully and for a long time. Lemony was right not to hurry her. The important thing was that they were together.  

“If you say so,” Ramona opened the door leading to her and Sally’s bedroom. Their house had nothing on the mansion of the Dukes of Winnipeg that was destroyed by the fire; it was humble, not too spacious, and they got it in such condition that they were already thinking of doing some renovation even though they had only lived in it for a little more than a month. Ramona adored it. “Come in, I have a gift for you.”  

“A gift?” Lemony asked. The gift was in plain view – on a stool by the bed, so Lemony noticed it as soon as he peered into the room, and rolled his eyes as if in disapproval, yet clearly only pretending to be dissatisfied. “R, you shouldn’t have…”    

“I should,” she interrupted him. “I do not have that many friends left, you know, and you had just mentioned that your favourite accordion had drowned in a swamp. By the way, how did it happen?”    

“It’s a long story. I can tell you over dinner, if you’d like,” Lemony ran his fingers over the keys. When he touched musical instruments, his face always became distant and dreamy, as if he was already hearing the music that could be extracted from them. “Really, R, I am grateful to you, but I won’t be able to carry it with me all the time, and we don’t stay anywhere for long these days…”  

“Then let it stay here, and you’ll play it when you visit us,” Ramona shrugged. “I am so used to having a whole room full of your stuff close at hand that I feel a little lonely without it.”

“A room for me and a room for Beatrice,” Lemony said, smiling into nowhere. “How long ago that was.”

“So long ago,” she agreed. “We have become museum pieces, Mr. Snicket.”

“Not you, Your Grace. You are alive.”

“So are you,” she reminded him. “Don’t forget it, would you? At least for me. And for her,” she nodded in the direction of the door, of the hallway leading to the room where a living Beatrice Baudelaire was looking at the photos of the people who were long gone.

He kissed her on the forehead – a chaste, brotherly kiss.

“I’ll try to,” he said softly.

They brought the accordion to the living room, and Beatrice put the album aside and ran her hand over the shining lacquered side of the instrument, enraptured.  

“Once I used to have a great big house, almost a castle,” Ramona told her, “and I used to give balls there for my acquaintances and associates like my mother before me, and before her my grandmother, and so all the way down to our ancestors who moved here from France.”    

Beatrice nodded.

“Mr. Snicket told me about this.”

“What do you think of giving a ball, Beatrice? A really small one, for our own circle. Tomorrow, my wife will be back,” she smiled, feeling the usual mad happiness at the possibility to say this word, ‘wife’. “It will be a surprise for her.”

The girl’s eyes lit up.

“But how do we prepare?”

“I believe we have everything we might need. There are some bottles of wine and lemonade in the cellar, and an ice cream cake in the fridge. As to the music, we have your uncle with his new accordion, and there’s also Sally’s and my record collection. Do you know how to dance, Beatrice?”

“I am not so good at it, to be honest.”

“I shall teach you,” Ramona promised, and took the girl’s hand. “Mr. Snicket, would you play something for us?”

The stately columns and the crystal chandeliers, the palm-tree pots and the carpet runners – all of that belonged to the past now. The present was hard-won, fragile, but despite that, or maybe for that very reason, it was lovely.  

The future was unpredictable – save for one thing, perhaps: there would certainly be dancing. 

[shyeehaw]

Cheating Boys - HCs - RDR2

Request:  How they cheat by accident, how it was cheating, how they behave after if they try to win their trust back, how their S/O behaves.

Arthur

There was a bad feeling on your stomach, it wasn’t rationally justified, it just was there.

You are not proud, but by tidying up the tent you shared with Arthur, you came across a letter, tucked away.

Although ‘come across’ may not be the right expression, when you were actively looking for it.

Your shaky fingers unfolded the thin paper, releasing an overly sweet smell that got your stomach turning.

By unfolding the delicate letter, Arthur was greeted by a perfume. Her perfume.

The flowery handwriting hit him like a punch to his stomach. Words, phrases he never thought he would see again greeted him like old friends.

When Arthur saddled up his horse, it didn’t cross his mind to tell you about it.

He did not wanted to worry you in vain, with Mary being a familiar name to you.

Riding towards Valentine, Arthur tried convincing himself that it was not a big deal, she probably just needed help.

Seeing her once again made all the memories he believed to be lost to boil him from inside.

Time had not touched her at all, her face still was the same. Which only made his sadness to grow.

Arthur was staring at a familiar stranger.

The lips he once cherished so had the most awful news. “I’m a widow now, Arthur.”

And by pronouncing that feared word, Mary cried to his chest.

Arthur had no way out, he tried to comfort her with pats on the back, but Mary wanted more.

She was alone and needed to feel whole again, Arthur was whole and that very kiss they shared threatened that.

It was so easy being with her again, and yet so complicated.

When the morning broke, memories of the night before mocked him. Weak, cruel... a bad man.

Leaving his regret behind, Arthur dressed and left without a goodbye.

That was a mistake. Every fiber of his being felt guilty, Y/N didn’t deserve that.

He knew you would have to hear it, and from him. But he couldn’t imagine confessing such a thing.

Thinking about losing you was too unbearable. And your greeting smile had only made that feeling worse.

Arthur began to spend less time with you. His journal was filled with words, but on his mind, he couldn’t find the right ones.

That sneaky behavior warned you that something was wrong.

“Arthur, why are you acting like this? Is something wrong?”

He had guilt all over his face and hurt too. Whatever happened it changed him.

“Y/N... I don’t know how to tell you, I’m so sorry about this-“

“Arthur, son! I need you here.”, yelled Dutch from across the camp.

“Wait! What were you going to say to me?”, you asked.

But he was not ready to lose you, not yet.

In that same afternoon, you decided that it was enough, you were going to find your own answers.

Kieran

“O’driscoll! Get over here!”, Dutch called from afar.

You two shared worried looks. Whatever it was, Dutch sounded wasted.

“Go on, you have nothing to worry about it. Even less after today.”, you assured him.

“Tonight we are drinking, boy! And you are coming with us!”, Dutch had an unusual smile on his face.

First was Arthur, now John. If Kieran kept saving people like this, maybe they would drop that awful nickname.

When Kieran told you about the invitation, you cheered! They were finally seeing him for who he was.

And what a funny thing life is, you remember even kissing him goodbye that night.

“For good luck!”, you said, “it’s going to be fine.”

He had butterflies on his stomach, but Kieran managed to chat with Charles and even Arthur without being called O’Driscoll.

He already had a couple of drinks, and would usually stop, if it wasn’t for Bill that kept them coming.

The more he drank, the funnier they thought he was getting.

Of course, they weren’t sober either. Arthur had already stumbled on his own feet two times and Lenny was nowhere to be found.

“Would you like some company, big guy?”, said the girl with the cleavage to Charles.

Kieran barely noticed him and Javier talking to them girls, he was too busy coyly laughing at Arthur’s impression of Dutch.

“What about you, sweetie? Would you care to keep a girl some company?”, she came out of nowhere, placing her hand on Kieran’s shoulder.

He gulped, trying to explain he already had someone back home.

“Go on! Hell! We will even pay it for you after what you’ve done today.”, said Marston laughing, “I’m probably treating myself too!”

Arthur stared at John across the table, taking a look at Kieran after.

“I’m, uh... I shouldn’t...”, he tried to say.

“Come on, son! It’s not every day that a working girl chooses you and gets paid by us!”, said Dutch, finding the situation oh so funny.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want.”, Arthur said.

But it was too late, he saw Bill scoffing as if he expected Kieran to back down.

John, it seems, was just waiting for an excuse to go along.

Kieran wasn’t one to do this, but the alcohol and the ever so tiring underestimation got him to agree.

To their cheers, Kieran went upstairs, just now realizing how drunk he was.

The girl tasted like cigarettes, and that made Kieran so uncomfortable for whatever reason.

From that day on, that smell would haunt him. Like the smoke of the things he had done. The way he hurt you.

He remembers feeling shy at first, few people had seen his body like that.

Without a romantic attraction was almost impossible for him to concentrate on the sensations.

Riding back to camp was like the old time version of a walk of shame. And guilt.

Kieran may or may not have cried when he confessed what happened the night before.

What hurt you the most was that you let him in, you trusted him with all you had.

And he was no different than others, breaking your heart like that.

In a way, he was worse. He did that just to prove others wrong, just to protect his ego, you thought at first.

And yet, you could see how deeply regretful he was.

For days on end, he tried to make you see how sorry he was, how he hated himself for making you cry.

You could see that, but it didn’t change what happened.

Sean

He talked nonstop how Karen was in the past, and that it was a one time thing.

Too frequent, one may say.

But it’s always a bit tricky to see face to face the ex of the one you love.

She was a daily reminder of the things you did not have. Things that Karen would proudly display with her white blouse.

Not just that, she had a good sense of humor and could outdrink anyone of you.

But you had Sean, and to you, that was enough.

He was a really good boyfriend, always making you laugh and taking care of you.

But somethings are probably just not meant to be.

It only took one night for it all to come to an end. Looking back, it’s like you can pinpoint the exact moment you knew what was about to happen.

“Ya should just yell at me, Y/N. Really.”, he said out of the blue.

His eyes looked tired and red. Like if he had not slept enough. Or did he...cry?

“What did you do now?”, you teased. Having no idea what was about to happen.

“I spent the night with Karen.”, he said in one breath, his face becoming so serious, “It just happened, I went to talk to her, y’know ? To say that I wanted to be with you. She said that she did not care, but she did.”

Your heart stopped at that very moment.

“We fought, we kissed, Y/N.”, he confessed, “So yell at me, slap me if yer happy with that. But I... can’t keep doing this.”

“This what?”, you asked, fighting the urge to cry.

“I’ll always feel bad for doing this to ya, Y/N. But I can’t deny, it was not meaninglessness. If it was, I would be asking for yer forgiveness.

“I... see”, you managed to say.

You turned your back at what could have been. If you stayed longer, if you fought harder.

But you didn’t had anything left on you. Being betrayed like this, not only on a physical level but on an emotional one...It was too much.

You would be a shadow on their relationship.

Until Karen started seeing all the things she did not possess.

.

She would be living with his ex.