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softpascalito · 2 months ago

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Dulcissima I Marcus Acacius x Vestal!Reader I Chapter II

! This Fic contains major spoilers for Gladiator II ! Proceed with caution !

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Vestal Virgin Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 12k+ Tags: Secret Relationship, Vestal Virgins, Religious Guilt, Gladiator fights, Gladiator II compliant (more or less), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Ancient Rome, Age Difference, Slow Burn (ish), More tags to be added (!)

AO3 // Series Masterlist // Masterlist // Fic Playlist

notes: ! last major spoiler warning for gladiator II below the cut !

thank you all so much for the love on the first chapter. we delve a little bit into their backstory now (gladiator II is set around 211 AD). feel free to let me know if you are interested in reading how these two get to where we picked up before <3 i also have a little acacius playlist that fits the vibe of this fic very well. feel free to check it out here!

vestal (vigins) - priestesses of vesta, virgin goddess of Rome's sacred flame (details will be explained later in the story) dulcissima - sweetest (fond nickname) domus - a roman house palla - a traditional mantle for women paludamentum - a cloak worn by high ranking military officials

Chapter II

209 AD

The domus sits just on the edge of Palatine Hill, on the side opening towards the Forum Romanum and Via Nova. You have passed below it more times than you can count, though you have rarely walked the small street that weaves up the hill and leads to the edge of the property.

Many of the neighboring houses are too harsh for your taste, with columns twice as wide as your body and barely a shrub of greenery in front of them. A supposed sign of strength, no doubt. But when passing the house with the large garden, you like to take as much time as you dare, occasionally catching a whiff of the lavender that grows all around it.

It reminds you of the shadowy figure you often saw walking those same gardens after dark, many years past. A bereaved woman, shrouded in dark cloth, keeping her head down as she tended to the plants with dainty fingers, decorated with a thick gold ring that framed a green stone. You remember lingering too long on your way past the iron fence once, fascinated by the way her dress flowed in the wind. She had called out to you, beckoning you towards her.

Lucilla was not a terrifying woman but you knew that every misstep could cost you, especially in your position as a vestal. She had knelt down in front of your trembling form, brushed your hair out of your face and looked at you with an expression you did not understand. But she had whispered words that you did. Asked you not to collect the water after dark, to stay with the older vestals. Then she had offered you a small bundle of lavender.

You stuffed it under the linen of your bed later that night, breathing in a scent that felt like a world where a woman could freely roam her garden and the city beyond, who did not have to be afraid.

The guard at the gate gives a small bow of courtesy when you reach him and moves to the side, allowing you to tread the stone path that leads up to the house. “The General is inside. Please, knock.”

A gentle “Thank you” escapes your lips as you reach to lift your stola just enough to not step on it. The torches lining the way are extinguished, not needed during the day. A short glance down the hill allows you to spot your own home, right beside the rounded building that is the Temple of Vesta.

When you reach the wooden door, you raise your hand and will yourself to knock with enough force to make it heard.

You can hear someone calling out from inside and a few seconds later, a man with broad shoulders opens the door. His gaze flies over you briefly–taking in your white tunic and the palla wrapped around your shoulders. The thin veil attached to your headdress and all the linen of your clothes tucked neatly into place are usually enough indication for whoever is stood in front of you to understand your status.

“General Acacius?” You ask softly, your eyes taking in his brown eyes and the curve of his nose, one that looks like it belongs on a statue rather than a living man.

“Vero, that is me. Please, come inside.” He gives a small bow, gesturing past himself and you nod at the invitation, gracefully stepping into the house and finding yourself in an atrium that renders you speechless. The columns that line its sides are slightly worn, flowers stretching along them towards the upper floor. Stone basins and pots holding a variety of plants stand at almost every corner of the open space, making it feel more like a garden than the stuck-up room you would have expected in a Generals home.

Acacius’s hand hovers behind you, guiding you past the fountain that holds a few orange fish and to the opposite end of the open room, though he never actually touches you. “Please. Have a seat.”

“Thank you,” you repeat your earlier words, lowering yourself onto the chair he indicated.

“Would you like some wine? Perhaps some grapes too?” He waves to one of the servants, who promptly places two glasses on the table, though Acacius takes the carafe and dismisses him with a small nod as he begins to pour you some of the dark red liquid. You make to reach for your glass to hold it steady but he shakes his head quickly. “Allow me. Please.”

You nod at that, leaning back and waiting politely while he pours himself a drink as well. It allows you a moment to take in his form up close, the white tunic and his red paludamentum wrapped around his body. A cloak fastened with a gold brooch, one that–similar to your headwear–makes him a respected man no matter where he goes. You wonder if he feels the same about it, that some days it's more like a heavy curse weighing one down. Then again, he is a General of Rome. You are a priestess of Vesta. Your paths may cross today but you are certain they look very different from one another.

He sits down across from you, a small sigh leaving his lips as he toasts in your direction and takes a sip of his wine. Then, he leans to the side and produces two rolls of parchment. “I had to make some adjustments to my will. It was kept by one of the other priestesses, but I believe she has finished her service with the Vestals since I last saw her.”

You give him a small smile as you take the parchment from him, nodding. “Yes, she left the year before last. But of course I will be just as happy to keep the will for you.”

His eyes fly over your face briefly and he gestures to the rolls on your lap. “I crossed out the old version. I married, you see.”

You stare at him for a moment before nodding a little too quickly. “Of course. Yes, I–The lady of this house I presume–” You break off, realizing your mistake. If he indeed married Lucilla, he is now the head of this house. “What I meant–” you add hastily. “–is that it is your house now. And the house is beautiful, I mean–” It’s the second time you stop in the middle of the sentence. But this time, it is because you have dared to look back over at the General. And he is not even trying to conceal his amusement.

You bow your head in another silent apology and he tuts softly. “You are quite right, you know. As far as I am concerned, she is the woman of this house.” A smile plays around his lips. “And I would not have it any other way.”

It’s clearly not his atrium that surprises you. He is not what you would expect a General to be. Especially not one that is about to entrust you with his will. “I give my word that I will see it is stored safely,” you reassure him, carefully taking another small sip of the wine.

Acacius nods. “I appreciate that. You have my thanks.” He pauses briefly, his gaze darting around the atrium for a split second before landing back on you. “You seem uneasy. Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“No. No, of course not, General.” It is not a lie, per se. But you are all too aware that it sounds like one.

“Is it your first time taking a will?”

You do not know how he does it. He seems to have read you so easily–or he is just very well connected to know such a thing. “Yes. It is, but I promise–”

“I trust you,” he states almost casually while reaching for the grapes and offering you some as well. You politely decline.

“Forgive me but … you met me mere moments ago. How can you know I am trustworthy?” Your eyes catch his and this time you hold his gaze, not missing the small glint in them.

“All of Rome trusts the Vestals. If not you, who would we put our faith into?”

“The gods. You should put your faith in the gods,” you say quietly.

“I prefer to put my faith in people,” Acacius responds, though his voice is slightly lowered as well. “The gods do not fight our wars.”

You stand up so abruptly that you almost drop the scrolls. “I should go.”

He seems perplexed for a moment but quickly catches himself and nods, standing up before leading you back the same way you came. You allow yourself a quick sideward glance at his face and are met with a professionally neutral expression. At the door, you turn towards him, giving a last, small bow. “My General.” His title falls off your lips like the silk they sell at the market, flowing effortlessly. His brown eyes lingering on you as you address him–even if normal custom–as yours, make your stomach clench slightly.

Acacius lets his hand hover beside you again, never quite touching you. Yet you almost seem to be able to feel his touch. “I did not mean offense.” His voice is much softer than it was when he greeted you.

“Of course.” You force yourself to smile and step away, shaking your head at the brief moment of confusion you allowed yourself. He is a General, you are a Vestal. He has sworn his vows and you have sworn yours. And both include promises that are enough to keep you at a few feets distance for several lifetimes. “Please, call for me if you ever need to make adjustments to the will. And–” You force yourself to smile a little wider. “Congratulations on your marriage.”

You turn around before he can speak again, suddenly wanting to put some distance between yourself and the house you so longed to see from inside–until you did.

***

211 AD

“You have to go, dulcissima.”

Acacius' voice is quiet, the back of his head resting against the stone pillar as he watches you drag the chaise lounge across the atrium, muttering under your breath when you have to maneuver it around the small fountain in the middle of the space.

“Please.”

You shake your head just as you reach him, gesturing for him to sit down. His begging breaks your heart–it always has. But the thought of leaving him here with open wounds is worse.

“Let me see your arm.” He doesn't move, forcing you to become a bit more stern. “Acacius. Let me see the arm. I am not leaving until you do.”

A curse slips out under his breath but he does as told, sitting down and allowing you to inspect his wound. The rustle of the chain on his ankle breaks the quiet as he moves and you pointedly ignore it as you crouch down in front of him.

You let your hand hover above his skin for a moment, taking a small breath. It is still difficult to break the rules you have been taught for so long sometimes. You tell yourself that this is not even a sin, that you are merely caring for a wounded Gladiator. It tricks your brain enough to lower your hand onto his skin. You do not believe it tricks Vesta.

“He should not have fought you,” you mumble quietly, thinking back to how Lucius was swinging away the moment he entered the arena.

“He did not understand. And it is how the Colosseum works, you know this.” Acacius mutters back, tensing slightly when you run your finger over the cut the sword left on his arm. It doesn't seem too deep but you know Acacius must be in much more pain than he lets on.

“I hate that place,” you whisper, surprising yourself with the force of your words. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes and you stiffen when you feel a calloused hand tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before brushing over your cheek.

“Oh, sweet,” he mutters, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. “I am fine. I made it out, see? I promised I would.”

“They were going to shoot you,” you choke out, trying and failing to hold back the tears now slipping down your cheeks. You feel his lips touch the crown of your head briefly.

“But they didn't. Now, please, I will take care of this. But you have to leave.”

You wipe your tears with the back of your hand and shake your head again, blinking a few times to clear your vision and shift your attention back to his wound. “How would you take care of this? They have sentenced you to death. The Emperors have called for it, in front of the whole empire.”

“I can talk to them. I have things to offer, even now. They do not know how to lead an army. But they need someone who does. And–”

“You would sell your soul to stay alive,” you whisper as you reach for a piece of cloth and begin to wipe down the crusted blood.

Acacius sighs. “No. But I would sell my soul to stay with you.”

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shadowkoo · 5 months ago

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Just Dance It Off

→ Summary: You're over the moon when you land the female lead in the end-of-semester show. It feels like your hard work has finally paid off, everything is going great. Well, until you learn who your partner is…

↠ jimin x f.reader | 9.5k words | 18+ ↠ genre: smut, angst, fluff, ballet dancers au, enemies to lovers, performing arts college au

→ Warnings: explicit and unprotected sex, jealousy, masturbation, alcohol consumption, underage drinking, use of fake ID, mild exhibitionism, creampie, hair pulling, angry sex, nipple play, degradation, dirty talk, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, multiple smut scenes, heavy teasing & banter, edging, orgasm denial, light choking

→ Author Note: This is a rewrite of an old 2019 fic of mine, so I hope you enjoy the newest version! If you’d like to read this on ao3 instead it’s been crossposted here! Also a biiiiiiig thank you so Sarah @caelesjjk for beta editing this for me. Go show her some love if you aren't already following her! As always, all likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated <3

“Oh, no,” you hear one of the dancers behind you whisper to another, “Look who’s walking in.”

Your curiosity gets the best of you as you casually stretch, your eyes betraying you by glancing over your shoulder toward the door, dying to see who they’re talking about. You recognize him almost immediately and the whispers continue to grow about the slender male who is walking across the room to set his stuff down.

Park Jimin.

Of course, he would be auditioning for this show. It’s his final semester, and you really should have seen this coming. Especially since you knew he was bound to get whatever position he was auditioning for. That’s a given.

Park Jimin always gets whatever he wants in life; whether that be a specific role in a performance, who his performance partners are both on the stage…and in the bedroom, that sort of thing. He’s the most pretentious person you’ve ever met, seeing as he acts like he is God’s gift to the dance world, and you’re already dreading any interaction you’ll have with him.

Rumor has it that his daddy, former dancer and sponsor, paid his way into Juilliard, but as much as you hate to admit it, he (unfortunately) happens to be very talented and you doubt the school didn’t already have something lined up for him, regardless of who his family is. Unlike you, who was on the waitlist for two months and had to take out a loan worth more than your life to attend this school.

Your eyes meet his and Jimin does a once-over before moving onto the people to your left. What a prick.

“Y/N!” a voice yells from the entryway. Your familiar, freckled, redheaded best friend is quickly prancing towards you.

“I’m so happy to see you here,�� Catalina squeals before hugging you tightly. “What part are you auditioning for? Please tell me it’s lead. God, I miss you. It sucks that we don’t have any classes together this semester. How are you?”

You hug your petite friend back, “I miss you too! Please tell me that you’re not also auditioning for lead, I don’t want to be judged against you. Your pirouettes are perfect compared to my lousy ones.”

Her laugh echoes through the room. “Apparently you didn’t hear about my recent tumble,” she jokes, bumping her shoulder into yours. “I’ll gladly be in the background after my solo-gone-wrong.”

“Alright, everyone!” One of the male judges calls out, walking past the lineup of dancers to collect everyone’s entry form. “We’ll start with the routine you were required to memorize as a group, and then it will be individual evaluations after. Make sure your numbers are secured and let’s line up outside the door.”

After taking your place and getting into position with the rest of the packed room, you wait for the cue to begin. The routine is short and simple, and years of practice have made some of the required moves second nature.

Before you know it, the judges are escorting people out the door for the individual sessions.

You're about twentieth in line, right behind Cat. That makes you a bit nervous because, even though she’s not auditioning for the lead role, her impressive skills might land her a more prominent part than the one she’s aiming for.

Everyone else is quietly chatting in line while you do your best to relax, working through your routine in your mind. This is one of your pre-audition rituals. It always helps with easing your nerves.

By the time you finish running through a couple of full-outs in your head, you’re second in line. You wish Cat good luck as she’s ushered into the dance studio. Her five minutes go by almost too quickly, but she exits with a happy smile.

“Hey, good luck! Kill it, okay?”

You nod, quickly following after the woman who calls your name next.

“Miss Y/N, it says here that you’re auditioning for the female lead. As a sophomore?” Mr. Jenson, one of your dance professors and judge, questions. You prepared for this. It’s very uncommon for an underclassman to try out for such a prestigious role.

“Yes, sir. That’s correct.” You hold your head high.

“Well, I have to say I’m quite impressed with your confidence. Whenever you’re ready.”

You wait for the familiar beginning notes of Tchaikovsky’s Waltz Of The Flowers to play before flying effortlessly through your well-practiced routine. You’re banking on the emotional state of your dancing along with the technical moves you’ve included to impress the judges, and based on their faces when you finish, you figure you did just that. You can’t help but grin widely as you watch the four of them scribble furiously onto the sheets of paper. That’s a really good sign.

“I have to say, I was a little thrown off in the beginning by your song choice since it’s so, hmm, how do I say this, so amateur. But I was very surprised by what you chose to express and the level at which you dance,” the first judge says.

“Yes, the lines you created with your body were very exquisite,” another praises.

You nodded, taking in their advice and criticism.

“Thank you, Miss Y/N, you may exit.” Mr. Jenson says with a smile.

As soon as you step out the door and exhale, you feel a sense of relief. The excitement of your successful audition courses through you, filling you with good energy.

You find Cat stretching in the warm-up room next door.

“Oh my god, you got it. Didn’t you?” She squeals the second she sees your face.

“I don’t know…” You have a pretty good idea based on their responses and comments but aren’t positive.

“Oh, please,” she rolls her eyes, “That’s your ’I just nailed my audition’ face. You totally got it.”

“I hope so. God, wouldn’t that be so insane? When was the last time an underclassman got the lead?”

Someone behind you scoffs; you look over your shoulder and see that it’s Jimin. Your eyes narrow at him, but Cat turns you back before you go off on him. “Not worth it, the rest of us seniors think it’s great that you’re trying for a top spot. How about we go get a drink from the vending machine while we wait?”

You nod before grabbing your warm-up bag and follow her out. “I can’t believe him. He’s so stuck up,” You grumble once you’re far enough away that no one but Cat can hear you.

“He’s always like that, just be thankful that you don’t share any classes with him.”

You’ve heard that Jimin is usually the center of attention in class, whether it’s his choice or not, so you can’t imagine being stuck in one with him. It sounds like it would be impossible to get good feedback if the teachers only care about him.

After you both buy the drinks that you want, you head back. The line is smaller but it will still be at least a half-hour until everyone has had their turn. You sigh impatiently and head back into the warm-up room.

Deciding to sit along the mirrored wall, you rummage through your bag to find a pair of headphones and put your favorite playlist on shuffle while you wait. Even though it feels like half the day goes by while you’re sitting there waiting, it’s really only been about an hour.

Everyone’s attention lands on Madam Jamie, one of the contemporary dance professors, when she asks everyone to re-enter the audition room.

“Okay,” she starts once everyone gets in line, “Those whose numbers I am about to call, please step forward. Dancers eleven, one fifty-three, one forty-seven, seventeen, thirty-eight, twenty-two, and one ten.”

Cat gives you a concerned look as she steps forward without you.

“Seventy-two, fifteen, sixty-eight, thirty, thirty-four, eighty-two, one twenty-one–” you step forward and sigh in relief once she spoke your number. Tuning out the rest of the numbers called, you smile at Cat as she reaches for your hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

“Everyone else, I’m sorry to inform you that you have not been selected. Thank you for your time,” She finishes, resting her clipboard against her chest.

Those who didn’t make the cut are escorted out as Mr. Jenson stands up to make an announcement.

“I have everyone’s part listed here,” He shakes the paper in his hand. “It’ll be left on this table for you all to look over. However, I want to first congratulate you all. We are excited to have this much talent for the semester’s exhibition show. We have some great things planned and cannot wait to get started with you all. Please take note of our rehearsal schedule. Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Eight to noon. Most of you should not have conflicting schedules as all dance classes are held in the afternoon anyway, although if you do have a problem just stay after and we can work it out. Madam Jamie and I will see you back here Monday morning. Dismissed.”

You and Cat both wait until more people clear out of the room before you have the guts to read the paper.

Catalina Wilde - Corps de ballet

Your eyes wander across the page as you search for your name.

Y/N - Lead Female Soloist

Turning towards each other, you squeal “Oh my god,” at the same time.

“I can’t believe it. We both got what we wanted,” you excitedly rush out.

“I know, this never happens. Oh, I’m so excited!” She reaches for your hand and squeezes it again, picking up the paper with her other hand.

“Oh, no.” She turns the paper towards you, “Look who your partner is.”

Park Jimin - Lead Male Soloist

You huff, “Of course, I’m not surprised.” You turn your head and search the mostly-empty room for him. You have a feeling he’s still here, it’s like you can sense his presence.

“Cat! You coming?” the group of dancers near the door asks.

“Shoot, I’ve got to head to my next session. I’ll see you later, okay?” Cat says, giving you a quick hug as she runs out the door.

Leaving just you and Jimin.

Deciding to let go of your prejudice against Jimin, you figure the best move would be to congratulate him on getting the part he auditioned for.

He watches blankly from the mirrored wall as you walk towards him.

Once in front of him, you stick your hand out. “Hey congrats, I’m looking forward to–” you begin before he rudely cuts you off by holding up his hand.

“Yeah, whatever,” he sneers, “We need to take this extremely seriously so I expect you to be at our rehearsals an hour early so we can get in extra time,” he looks you over again, “From what I can tell you’re gonna need it.”

“Also,” apparently he isn’t finished, “I expect that you’ll be taking care of your diet from here on out since I’m going to be lifting you and I don’t want my arms to give out, or worse, snap.”

“Well, you can always go to the gym and work on that yourself,” you say defensively. What a jerk.

“So can you, sweetheart.”

“Uh, wow. Okay…” Here you are trying to congratulate him and here he is treating you like dirt. “Guess the rumors are true,” you mutter as you shift your duffel strap further up your shoulder, turning to leave.

“Excuse me?” Well, shit. He wasn’t supposed to hear that part. You look him in the eyes without showing any regret for your previous statement.

His eyes narrow at you, clearly not liking your RBF, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Sorry.” However, you aren’t.

“You know,” he remarks, “I don’t care about what you’ve heard about me or what you think about me. I care if you’re going to be too immature for this role and if that’s the case I’ll have no trouble replacing you.” He follows you out the audition room.

Oh boy, you’re pissed now. You turn around and get right in his face.

“What the fuck? In case you haven’t noticed, you aren’t in charge here. Just because you’re a senior and I’m a sophomore doesn’t make you any better than me,” you bark while shoving a finger in his chest.

“Secondly, I don’t need to believe the rumors because you’ve just proven them to be true. You’re an ass to all of your partners to the point that they don’t want to dance with you so you can,” you lift up your hands to finger quote this next part, “Pick who you think is good enough.”

You scoff, “Well, here’s a fun fact dickwad. I’m not going anywhere. The judges chose me and I fully intend on dancing as the female lead in the show. So get the fuck over yourself ‘cause you’re about to be seeing a lot of me in these next few months. Got it?“

"Fine,” he huffs, pushing past you.

“Fine!” you snap, turning away from him and heading towards your next class. Now that you're thoroughly annoyed and not in the mood for your next class, which happens to be a two-hour lecture on the history of interpretive dance, you sigh and get moving before you’re late.

The first two weeks of ‘rehearsals’ are spent training, just at a higher level than you’re used to. However, you hide it well. You’ve been making sure to keep up with the upperclassmen because you know that you are, unfortunately, replaceable if Madam Jamie or Mr. Jenson deems it necessary.

It doesn’t matter that your thighs feel like they are on fire, or that your calves might be ripping at every bend and arch you make. You’re going to complete the one hundred pliés just like everyone else without a single complaint.

Jimin must have taken your last conversation to heart, or he’s exceptionally good at masking his feelings if your words bothered him, because he’s been an excellent partner all week. Although, you know you aren’t going to grow a typical relationship with him as you did with all of the other partners you have had over the years. You’ve been friends, good friends, even, with your previous partners, something you know is never going to happen with Jimin.

He doesn’t do small talk. He really doesn’t have much to say at all other than pointing out when you are making a mistake. No good comments, nor praise–not that you’re expecting any–but it would have been nice to hear him say that he is impressed with how well you’re keeping up with him.

It’s Friday of the second week, which means that it’s the last day of the training period aka hell week, thankfully. You’re dying to get started on learning the actual program. You aren’t looking forward to Jimin’s request of showing up an hour earlier than everyone else this next week, but even though you hate to admit it, the extra time will end up benefiting you.

Today also happens to be the day the choreographer is coming in. You’ve heard the whispers throughout the school this week, everyone trying to guess who it’s going to be.

And after seeing who Madam Jamie walks into the studio with, you’re so happy to see that they were all wrong.

“O-oh my–ohmygod,” you bumble and did a double-take. It couldn’t be, could it?

The brown curls hung gorgeously on the tall man’s head and you internally drool at how much better looking he is in person. He’s so tan, so fit, so delicious–

“Can you concentrate?” Jimin grumbles in annoyance, pulling you out of your slightly inappropriate thoughts. You’re doing partner stretches, which does require some level of focus, but not enough that you have to look away from the literal Italian God who stood a mere six feet away. “What’s your deal anyway? We’re supposed to be preparing our muscles for the toughest training session yet and you’re over there stuttering like a fool.”

You scoff at him and lower your voice, “Don’t you know who that is?”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “Does it look like I care?” He mutters, pushing the backside of your thigh towards your torso.

“You can’t be serious,” you exasperate. “That’s Luca Black! You know, one of the most famous choreographers in the dance world right now. I can’t believe you don’t see how big of a deal this is.”

“The only thing I care about right now is making sure your hamstrings are loose so you don’t kick me in the face when we’re dancing.”

Now there’s an idea…

“Alright, everyone! Front and center please,” Mr. Jenson announces as he walks in the door, right on time as usual.

“Dancers, I would like you to meet Mr. Black, your choreographer. I expect you all to treat him with the same level of respect that you give me and Madam Jamie.”

“Oh please,” Mr. Black says, stepping forward, “You can all call me Luca.” His smile hits the heart of every girl in the class, and even a few of the guys. “I am looking forward to working with you all to make this performance one to remember. Can we get into a lineup to start?”

Everyone moves into the typical sequence based on each person’s position of where they belong. Which meant that you and Jimin were dead center with Luca’s eyes right on you.

You swallow slowly when he walks towards the two of you. “You must be Y/N. Mr. Jenson has told me quite a lot about you. I have to say, I am most excited to work with a dancer like you.”

Jimin is perplexed that Luca went straight to you. If anything, he’s the better dancer here and he doesn’t quite understand why a sophomore is getting so much attention. He’s nearly sick to his stomach listening to the nauseating conversation that you two are having.

“It’s an honor to have you working with us Mr. Black,” you say in awe as you shake his hand.

“Luca,” he corrects before lifting your hand to kiss it, “And the pleasure is most definitely all mine.”

“Sorry,” you pant, rushing through the door. “I know I’m a couple of minutes late. I couldn’t find parking. Why is it so freaking busy? It’s barely seven.”

“Don’t let it happen again,” Jimin says ignoring your question. You bite your tongue and get straight into your morning stretches.

“What do you want to work on today?” you ask, knowing what he is going to say after you’re warmed up. For the past three weeks, you and Jimin have been dedicating extra time to perfecting scene two's Pas De Deux.

It’s the only section of this scene where you’re both completely alone on stage and Jimin is dead-set on making it nothing less than perfect. He reasons that just because you are the only two people on stage doesn’t mean that the audience’s attention is a given, you need to earn it.

Which is a very on-brand thing for Jimin to say.

“Do you really need to ask?” He snickers with a playful smile plastered to his face.

“Nevermind then,” you banter back, joining him as he finishes stretching.

You’ve surprisingly gotten pretty comfortable with Jimin after spending more time with him. Dancing with him is mostly fun, besides when he calls you out on your mistakes…repeatedly. But even then, you know he tries to mean well. You both have to be the best or the other will end up looking like a fool–which (you assume) neither of you want to happen.

Knowing that you’re almost halfway through the semester is a little terrifying. All the dancers have been making great progress and everything is coming together seamlessly, but you can’t help but feel the nervousness set in.

You take a deep breath and clear your thoughts, getting nervous right now will do you no good. Thankfully, when you start dancing your mind settles and you’re able to concentrate on your performance.

Well, that is, until Jimin drops you during the lift. You might have understood the mistake if he hadn’t done it three times prior.

“Get up.” He holds his hand out for you, pulling you to your feet. “We need to get this number down, you know how important it is.”

“I’m aware of that,” you hiss. “But it would be nice if you weren’t letting me fall every two seconds.” You rub your aching side and stretch to see if that helps ease the pain.

“Just dance it off, you’ll be fine.” Jimin walks over to his stuff along the wall, before bending down to grab his water bottle.

You scowl. “Stop being ridiculous and hold me properly. I don’t have teeth anywhere down there,” you say motioning to the space between your legs. “You can put your hand where it belongs without worry, you know.”

Jimin blushes as soon as he hears your words, he turns away quickly before you notice. Yes, it’s technically his fault that you keep falling. It isn’t intentional, but he can’t help it. Especially when he can feel the warmth of your center from where his hand is resting when he goes in for the lift.

The thought of other parts of him being this close to your heat is driving him crazy and yeah, he may have faltered, which yeah, may have caused you to crash down once…twice. Okay, maybe three times. Or four?

It doesn’t matter. He’s so hyper-focused on why he’s thinking about you like this at all. You’re attractive, he already knew that. But this new-found thought of wanting to take you hard and fast, right here in the studio is something else. It comes from deep within, and he can’t decide if he wants to squash the idea completely or let it lead to something wild.

Jimin shakes his head, trying to get rid of those thoughts just long enough for you to both get through these next ten minutes before the rest of the crew arrives for rehearsal. “Alright, let’s go again.”

You get into position, Jimin falling behind you. You try to hold still but his breath tickles your neck while you wait for the music cue.

The motions are practically natural to you at this point, and you take a deep breath, preparing yourself in case you fall again.

You rapidly suck in air when you feel Jimin’s fingers press deep into your inner thigh this time as he lifts you. They are incredibly close, much closer than they were last time.

You won’t ever admit to it, but your mind is overflowing with dirty thoughts of Jimin’s fingers somewhere else. Particularly somewhere that would have you writhing within seconds.

Those thoughts are distracting, and you’re late for your cue to jump down. And somehow instead of jumping, your body twists around in a weird way as your head dives down toward the ground below you. Tensing, you brace for the impact that doesn’t come.

Unexpectedly, Jimin manages to catch you before any damage happens, and he quickly pulls you up, as if you were never upside down to begin with. His arms are wrapped right below your butt, causing your head to be directly above his. How on earth it got there, you have no idea.

But you aren’t questioning it. Adrenaline runs wild through your body, and you cling to him as if your life depends on it. Your arms are wrapped tightly around his neck, scared that you still might fall somehow.

Your faces are only a few inches apart in this position, which allows you to see how soft and smooth Jimin’s lips look. You slowly lick yours as he lowers you down to the ground, keeping the same amount of distance, or lack thereof, between you two. The realization that it would be so easy to kiss him right now has set in and you swear Jimin has the same mad thoughts; especially when he’s gripping your hips this tightly.

What you both don’t realize is that outside of the main doors, the rest of the dancers are watching with wide eyes and shocked faces. If it weren't for the unmistakable red hair you see in the mirror's reflection, who knows what might have happened? You don’t think about it, instead, you pull away and play it off before heading toward your bag to grab a drink.

“Morning everyone! What are we all waiting for?” Luca says from behind the dancers, “Let’s go in and get warmed up.”

He opens the door and sees you and Jimin at opposite ends of the room, each taking big gulps from your water bottles. Interesting…

Cat walks in and sets her stuff down next to Jimin’s and silently watches him. His face is flushed but she can’t tell if it was because of the intense moment you two just shared, or from the strain of the lifting sequence. She was the first to notice the look you two shared before the crowd outside the door, and she has a weird feeling about it.

Last she knew you were still fighting with Jimin during your pre-practices, although she’s very aware of the saying ’there’s a fine line between love and hate’. Cat makes a mental note to ask you about this morning’s situation later.

The first half of practice is weird, to say the least. Jimin is treating you like nothing happened. And while technically nothing happened, something almost did and you don’t know how you felt about the something.

Needless to say, you aren’t on top of your dance game today. It’s hard to concentrate with your head filled with empty-answered questions and even more confusion.

“Okay, everyone,” Luca echoes, stealing every dancer’s attention, “Let’s take five. When we reconvene we’ll do a recap of Scenes One through Three with no breaks. If we can get it down we’ll move onto the beginning of Scene Four today.”

You and Jimin happily turn in opposite directions, grateful for some space.

“Y/N, can you stay back? There’s something I want to go over with you,” Luca calls out, stopping you from heading in the direction of Cat and some of the other girls.

Oh no. That’s never a good sign.

“Don’t worry, you’re not doing anything wrong,” he says after seeing your smile falter. “I just see a little room for improvement with the last sequence before the song changes in scene three.”

He gestures for you to get into position in front of him, which you do without hesitation.

Luca moves closer to you and rests a hand on your lower back, “Tighten here and stretch.” He shows you how to position your body to make it look more elegant and elongated. “See how much longer you look now?” His eyes meet yours in the mirror. “Hold yourself like this through the rest of the dance. Trust me when I say you’ll notice a difference. So will everyone else.”

A blush creeps up your neck when his hand slides across your hip before he steps away from you, “Thank you for the tip.”

His eyes burn into yours, and you feel the heat growing in your lower stomach. “Anytime, Y/N.” His lips turned into a small smile, which you returned.

Jimin stalks silently as Luca touches you, his anger bubbling deep down inside him. Fuck, he doesn’t exactly want you, but he definitely doesn’t want anyone else to have you either. And he sure as hell doesn’t want Luca touching you like that or giving you those looks; looks that have disguised intentions with ulterior motives behind them.

He wants to tell Luca where to go and how to get there, but he knows better. Not only would it be unprofessional as hell, but Jimin would probably be screwed out of a lot of future events if he tells one of the best choreographers to fuck off.

He forces himself to look away and takes another deep breath, calming down a little before part two of rehearsals starts.

The second half of rehearsals ends sooner than expected, and Jimin storms off before you even have the chance to talk to him about this morning. You sigh, your eyes trailing his fast exit.

“Y/N! I’m heading to the vending machine for a granola bar, want to come with me?” Cat asks. You’re sure that her question has a hidden agenda too, but you go along with it anyway since you’re starving and need to eat something small before your next class.

“Sure, just give me a second to switch out of my pointe shoes.” You don’t like to wear yours for walking since they’re new and still stiff.

“So,” Catalina begins, watching you put the money into the machine. “What was that this morning? And don’t you dare try to say it was just dancing, because I’ve seen 'just dancing’ with Jimin and that was not at all what I saw earlier.”

You groan internally, not wanting to deal with her interrogation. Cat isn’t the type to judge you if you told her that you would’ve fucked Jimin right then if it wasn’t for the fact that you noticed her (and the rest of the dancers). But you don’t want to admit it to yourself.

Saying it and thinking it are two very different things, and you aren’t sure you can come to terms with saying that you want to fuck Jimin. Hell, you have no idea if you will feel the same way in an hour. So you choose to keep it to yourself for now.

“Did something happen between you two?” she asks bluntly.

“No, nothing happened between us.”

“And is that a good or bad thing?” she questions next.

“Good,” you huff, “I think…”

It’s been another busy few weeks, and things have been going great…until today. To be honest, this is probably the worst dance day you’ve had in years.

“I’m sorry guys, let’s start from the top,” you apologize again for messing up. The scene you’re going over today isn’t complicated by any means, it’s only a transition scene. But your head is elsewhere which, in turn, makes you mess up every couple of seconds.

You're not getting many approving looks from the room. Luca is a little worried, Madam Jamie has pursed lips, and the dancers are severely annoyed with you.

“No, Miss Y/N. Stop before you hurt yourself.” Mr. Jenson lets out a frustrated sigh. “Kyra, would you stand in for Y/N and show her how it’s properly done?”

You’re embarrassed that it’s gotten to this point. What is with you? You’ve done this sequence perfectly with Jimin this past week, hundreds of times at least. Now with the extra dancers on the floor, you seem to be forgetting it all.

Taking soft, shallow breaths is the only thing keeping you from crying in front of everyone. But they wouldn’t notice. All eyes are glued to Kyra, a senior who had also auditioned for the same role as you, as she dances with Jimin.

They dance beautifully, you can’t deny it, even if you want to. You can’t help but wonder if she would’ve been the better choice for the female lead.

“Thank you, Kyra. Everyone back into position now.”

Kyra walks past you and smirks. You know she’s thinking the same thing that you are. She probably also thinks that she’s capable of sweeping in and stealing your position. Like hell if you’re going to let that happen.

Even so, it’s not your decision to make and you know if you keep screwing this up it’s more than likely to happen.

“Hey, are you okay? What’s your deal?” Jimin whispers once he lines up with you again. The last thing you need is for him to make you feel worse for fucking up.

“I don’t know, it’s not a good day for me,” you whisper back as your eyes fill with tears. You’re completely exhausted, defeated, and disappointed.

“Just dance it off, we all get days like this. Follow my lead, okay? I promise I won’t let you mess up again.”

You nod, blinking back your tears. This is a different side of Jimin than you’re used to. He’s caring and knows exactly what to say to make you feel better.

After shaking off the earlier mishaps, you get yourself together and push through practice, making sure that the first official run-through of the program is a total success. It makes you feel a hell of a lot better than two hours earlier. You can tell that the rest of the group is just as ecstatic as you and Jimin are.

“That was great, Y/N!” he says, pulling you into a comforting hug. “See, all you needed was a little reassurance.”

You’re slightly sad when he pulls back, the warmth of his body is no longer felt. “Thank you for today. I would’ve completely fallen apart without you.”

“Hey don’t worry about it, make sure you get some rest this weekend. See you Monday!” He smiles softly and waves bye. Who knew Jimin had more to him than what everyone else saw?

“Hey, Y/N!”

You turn your head and see Madison, one of the upperclassmen who’s also in the show, walking toward you.

“What are you doing tonight? Some of the girls and I are planning on going out to celebrate our first successful run-through of the show. We’re wondering if you’d like to come?” She leans in a little closer, “We have a fake you can use to get into our favorite club, Wander. We’d love for you to let loose with us.”

Usually, you would turn down any interaction that involves alcohol, especially since you’re underage, but you don’t want to disappoint your potential new friends. Plus it does sound like a lot of fun, and after the practice you just had, you deserve to let loose and relax.

“Yeah, totally! I’d love to come.” Madison smiles and you both trade numbers.

“Okay cool, I’ll text you my address later. We’re gonna get ready at mine before we head out. See you later!” She gives you a quick hug before heading out the door.

You’re secretly excited to hang out with the older girls since you don’t have many other friends in your year. Especially not now with all your free time taken up by rehearsals.

Jimin stands outside the dance studio’s side door, slyly eavesdropping. He makes a mental note to accidentally run into you later. He isn’t sure what’s gotten into him, but he doesn’t want to go without seeing you for two days.

You intrigue him, and after your almost-kiss, Jimin wants to know what your lips feel like for real this time, not just what he has been imagining.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks over the pounding music. You have no idea what to ask for; you obviously don’t drink and ordering something from the bar is a little out of your comfort zone since you don’t know what you’re doing.

Madison catches on and takes over. “Five shots of tequila for our group!” she yells while leaning over the bartop so he can hear her.

Oh boy, you don’t know much but you know enough to feel safe assuming tonight will be wild if you’re starting with shots, of all things.

With about a month left until the show, deciding to let loose with the girls is exactly the kind of break you need. Dancing, drinks, and good friends. Looking around, you’re happy to see that you have all three. It’s all a part of tonight’s plan.

What you don’t plan for, however, is seeing Jimin in the middle of the dance floor with Kyra all over him. After practice today, this is a total slap in the face.

You aren’t sure if the progress you’ve been making with Jimin is just one-sided, or if you had been imagining it this whole time. It feels like you’re both taking two steps forward in the right direction and then something like this will happen, sending you ten steps back.

Your eyes are glued to Kyra’s body as she dances with him, her hips moving at the perfect speed. You can’t help but be jealous of her. Not only is she gorgeous and a great dancer, but she also has a way of demanding everyone’s attention in any room she graces. Although, there’s only one person’s attention you want right now, and from what it looks like, you doubt you’ll be getting his anytime soon.

“Oh my god, is that Luca?” Catalina asks with a surprised tone, pointing towards the opposite end of the bar, “No way, it can’t be.”

“It is,” you laugh nervously before looking away. You’re a little worried that he might remember that you’re under the legal drinking age, only by a year, but still. How embarrassing would it be for him to get you kicked out…

“That’ll be $42,” the bartender drones, pushing the over-spilling shot glasses toward your group and happily taking whichever girls’ fifty-dollar bill in return.

You lift your glass along with the others, “Here’s to letting go and having fun!”

The tequila burns the back of your throat but that doesn’t stop you from hollering, “Let’s go dance!”

You pull Madison and Catalina onto the dance floor, coming to an abrupt stop when your back collides with someone., “Oh my gosh, I am so sor–” You pause and stare at the dark-haired man, “Oh. Hi.”

“Hi ladies, I hope you’re not getting into too much trouble tonight,” Luca jokes with a wide smile displayed across his face. He looks gorgeous dressed in all black, the leather jacket tops off his outfit.

“Oh of course not, Mr. Black,” Catalina giggles playfully, “We’re all good girls here.”

He raises his eyebrow which makes each of you giggle, “I’m not so sure about that. Can I buy you all a drink? Or is that a little weird?”

You look around at the girls; they do the same.

“Uh, sure? Madison finally says, breaking up the awkward silence.

Cat and one of her friends entertain Luca’s conversation while they wait at the bar. You slyly peek over your shoulder while dancing, looking for you-know-who. You can’t find him, but you’re happy to see that Kyra has moved on to her next man of the night.

"Hey,” Luca says, walking towards you with an extra drink in hand. “Here you go. Shhh, it’s our little secret,” he says humorously.

You thank him for the drink, nervously swirling the ice with the slim black straw in your cup.

“I’m happy I ran into you,” he begins, “Can I talk to you for a second, alone?”

“Oh, uh, sure!” You nod to Cat, silently saying that you’ll catch up with her later. He smiles and pulls you aside from your friends.

“What’s up?” You ask tensely while Luca grins, running a hand through his hair.

“I just want to tell you how impressed I’ve been with your progress so far, I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of you at rehearsals.”

Oh my god.

“Really?” You gape.

“Absolutely,” he reaches for your hand, bringing you closer to him before bending down to plant his lips on yours. You freeze as he kisses you gently, entirely unsure of what to do in that situation.

He quickly pulls back after reading your body language, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Luca,” you say curtly, taking a step back, “I appreciate your tips in class and kind comments, but I think we should keep things professional here. You’re the choreographer and I’m a student...”

“Of course, I apologize again. How about I walk you back to your friends and we forget this happened?”

“That would be perfect.” You’re thankful that things don’t seem too awkward, and you only hope things will stay that way when you see each other Monday morning.

Jimin’s fingernails dig into the flesh of his palms as he clenches his fists. Fucking Luca Black. He was heading your way to say hi, but Luca led you in a different direction than the one your friends are heading to. He should have known better, but he follows behind slowly. And what he sees when he finally turns the corner doesn’t sit right with him.

Luca’s hand on your cheek as the two of you kiss. Jimin isn’t exactly sure who initiated it. And even though it’s eating him alive, he doesn’t want to know because it pains him either way.

He watches as Luca pulls away, and takes note of your stunned face. Jimin wants to believe that was because you didn’t enjoy it. He can’t hear what you’re talking about, and he truly wants to believe that Luca is making you uncomfortable based on your reaction to the kiss. But that hopeful thought is squashed as soon as you smile and take Luca’s hand, allowing him to lead you to the dance floor.

Jimin is still trying to process what he just witnessed even though you’re both long gone. He steps out of the shadows and throws his drink at the wall, ignoring the sound of the glass breaking behind him. Grumbling under his breath, Jimin takes the closest exit and slams the club door behind him.

He heads home with the hopes that a cold shower will ease his rage, but the cool water running down his back isn’t doing much for his boiling blood, nor is it getting rid of the image of Luca’s lips on yours. And inevitably, he can’t get you out of his head either which in turn results in him masturbating to those thoughts of you … which is anything but calming.

Jimin closes his eyes and imagines that it’s him kissing you, not Luca, and that he’s the one who has you pushed up against the wall. He can practically hear your soft whimpers, the ones you make when you’re doing partner stretches that always have him close to losing it right there in front of everyone at rehearsals.

But it isn’t him who’s stretching with you. His length quivers in his hand as he speeds up, trying to change his thoughts to you aroused in the club bathroom, his hand sliding underneath your dress and slipping into your panties. Jimin throws his head back at the image of you getting all worked up, but once again, it isn’t him that’s driving you wild. It’s Luca.

After the fifth attempt and still failing to picture himself with you, Jimin gives up. He groans, looking down at his length’s angry red tip that’s aching for release. And there’s only one thing that will give him that. You.

But not an imaginary you. The real you. The real you wanting him just as much as he wants you. He doubts that you ever will, not when you can have Luca instead.

Meaning that Jimin is basically screwed.

Monday is a killer. Jimin has been hateful to you all morning, and you genuinely have no idea why. He seems to be fuming now at the end of rehearsals, compared to the quiet angry vibe he was giving off earlier this morning.

“Hey, great job today Y/n. You’re doing phenomenal. I can’t wait to see this all come to life next week. See you tomorrow!”

“Thanks! Yes, see you tomorrow Luca.” You wave bye while he rushes out of the room, leaving just you and Jimin behind.

Jimin waits until Luca is out of earshot before saying anything. He’s been annoyed all day by your and Luca’s behavior after witnessing the two of you making out in the hallway of Wander.

He’s disgusted, even more so by the afterthoughts of Luca bringing you back to his place and taking advantage of you. Needless to say, he didn’t sleep much this weekend.

“God, you’re such a suck-up,” he criticizes, failing to hold back his evil words. “How special do you think you’re going to feel when the paid help you’re boning doesn’t remember your name the second he moves on to the next school and finds a new student to seduce?”

“Excuse me?”

“You can pretend all you want but I saw you Friday night. With him.”

Oh god…

You shake your head, “Jimin, I can explain–”

“Whatever, waitlist. I don’t want to hear your excuses.” He turns around and internally grimaces, upsetting you isn’t what he was going for. He’s pissed and unfortunately, you’re the only person he can take it out on. It’s a dick move to say things like that, especially since you deserve to be here just as much as everyone else.

Jimin knows he should just let it go, but he can’t help it. It’s been eating him alive all day. He’s pissed that you’re acting like a damn fool because of Luca’s attention. Luca’s eyes hadn’t left your body the entire day.

Fucking perv.

Jimin is more pissed that it’s bothering him so much. He shouldn’t care, he doesn’t–or at least, that’s what he keeps telling himself.

Jimin’s words stung, and you’re shaking out of pure anger. “What the fuck is your problem? I can handle the normal stick-up-your-ass behavior but it’s on a whole new level today. Chill out, okay? It isn’t what you think. Nothing happened after he kissed me. Not that it’s any of your goddamn business, but it actually made me, like, super uncomfortable and he apologized directly after. We both agreed it wasn’t professional, so piss off Jimin. And even if I did decide to take it further with Luca, it wouldn’t concern you. So stay out of it.” You’re near him when you finish, with crossed arms and eyes glaring.

It’s unbelievable Jimin would make such a comment; the last thing you need is for him to start telling people what he saw.

You know you would be harshly reprimanded for using a fake ID to get into a club, but also for accepting a drink from someone who is a teacher, and especially for kissing that same teacher.

Jimin is just as heated as you are. So his intuition was right that night. His anger only grows, wanting to punch Luca over and over again for making you uncomfortable like that. How could Luca not tell that you weren’t actually into him, but rather idolized him for his contributions to the dance world? How dare he use that against you to pull a move like that?

“Fine,” he growls in your face, totally furious at the situation, and furious with himself for caring this much about it–about you. You’re driving him crazy, even now when you’re pissed with him. It turns him on how strong and defensive you always are, and fuck, he wants to do something about it.

“Fine,” you snap back, taking another step forward as your eyes subconsciously lower to his parted mouth.

In a matter of milliseconds, your lips collide and your hands are all over each other’s bodies. He lifts you into his arms and slams your back into the mirrors. It’s a miracle that they don’t shatter from his force.

You gasp at the contact and Jimin takes the opportunity to shove his tongue further into your mouth. Your legs lock around his waist while you continue to explore each other’s mouths and bodies ravenously.

Jimin pulls away and tugs your leotard down your arms, freeing your breasts from the tight compression.

“You’re so fucking annoying, do you know that?” He snarls before leaving a line of rough kisses along your neck and down your chest. You whimper at the sensation and run your fingers through his hair.

“You’re so fucking loud, do you always have to say so much?” You moan in response.

Jimin is starved for your taste and can’t wait any longer. His hands travel down your side while his lips close over one of your soft peaks, sucking it in between his teeth.

You mewl, crashing your head back against the glass from the sheer amount of pleasure.

Jimin abruptly pulls away and brings his face back in front of yours. “What? Do you have something to say?” he asks with fire in his eyes. But with his lips replaced by his fingers, twisting and tugging, you’re helplessly tongue-tied.

He moves one hand lower and another soft moan escapes your lips, his middle finger dancing dangerously above your panties before dipping into your slickened folds.

Jimin knows exactly where and how to touch you, causing your head to spin. He feels himself hardening watching your face contort in pleasure, and nearly coming in his pants when you slowly lick your bottom lip, pulling it in between your teeth and letting out a long moan in the process.

“Mmm, Jimin,” you cry, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. Jimin notices this and instantly pulls away. You don’t get to come that easily. Even though it makes him super fucking excited to see what his touch does to you. God, this is so much better than what he imagined.

You whimper at the loss of his touch, “What the fuck?”

“Turn around,” he demands, his eyes flooding with lust and a dash of something dark. He undresses you rather quickly, leaving your tights and leotard wrapped around your legs.

You decide you aren’t going to let him have all the fun, sneaking a hand back behind you. Jimin grits his teeth in pleasure as your hand slips into his pants. His length twitches in anticipation of feeling you wrapped around him. You pull his member out and lead him between your damp folds, moaning deliciously at the contact.

The scent of your arousal has now filled the room and Jimin can’t hold back any longer. He wants to fulfill his fantasy of taking you hard and fast, right here in front of the mirror. Without a warning he slams himself into you, causing you to lose your breath.

Your back is against him as he relentlessly pounds you from behind. The force of his thrusts are hard and you use your hands as leverage against the mirror to avoid being crushed by him, even though it would certainly be worth it.

Jimin brings a hand up around your neck and holds your head straight so he can watch when you come. You’re close and he knows just what to do.

“Say my name,” he demands, using his other hand to pinch your clit. “Look at me and say the name of the man who’s making you come like you never have before.”

“Jimin, oh my-” The waves of pleasure wash over your entire body, every inch of your skin tingles. You pulsate around him, but he’s not done with you yet.

“That’s damn right.” Jimin twists you around again, lifting you against the reflective glass. He keeps his fast pace, with a fistful of your hair held between his tightening fingers.

“You’re such a fucking slut. Look at you losing it over my cock,” he snarls with a clenched jaw, “I’m gonna fuck you like this until the rest of the class comes in.”

Jimin rams into you with twice the amount of force as before. “I’d make that fucking Italian bastard watch as I take you hard and make you feel this good.” He brings his lips up to your ear and whispers, “He could never,” before harshly biting your ear, sending you completely over the edge for a second time.

Jimin watches you unfold, your beauty completely mesmerizes him. Your entire body is on fire from oversensitivity while Jimin’s fingers rub your throbbing nub. You watch, completely hypnotized, as he brings his soaked fingers up to his mouth and sucks them clean.

“Oh, don’t think we’re anywhere near done yet,” he smirks devilishly, moving his thumb back to your clit and rubbing in crude circles. Your eyes squeeze shut at the sensation, and you can’t catch your breath. It’s too much.

Jimin hisses when your fingernails dig into his shoulders. “Fuck, Y/N. You’re so tight right now.” It isn’t long after those words leave his lips that he’s shuddering inside of you, his release shooting into the depths of your heat.

Your insides coil as you reach the peak of your third and final orgasm. Jimin holds your legs steady as you come hard over his cock, and swallows your moans with his mouth.

He slowly retreats out of you and presses his flushed cheek against yours. You can feel his heartbeat thumping out of control while you both catch your breath.

After a moment, he draws back and lowers you to the ground. You both chuckle at the state of your appearance. “I think I have a towel in my bag, one sec.” He says while tucking himself back into his pants as you readjust your hair, trying to make the whole ’i just had sex’ look a little less obvious.

You’re still breathing heavily when he returns to wipe you clean.

“Mmm,” you hum in total satisfaction, and still a little out of it - if you had to be honest. “I should piss you off more often.”

He gives you a look, “Hurry up and get dressed before anyone sees you.”

You’re the one to smirk this time, “I thought you wanted people to see me?”

“Haha, very funny.”

“Hurry up, you’re taking too long,” you whine while Jimin attempts to undo his stage pants as fast as he can.

“I’m trying,” he mutters, silently praying when his zipper finally works, “There we go.”

He lines himself up to you and pushes into your center.

You bite your lip to avoid making any noises as he stretches you out. The two of you are in the small storage closet behind the stage; there’s only about an hour or two until the opening night show starts.

Jimin thought you had to be joking at first when you whispered how badly you needed him after you both were dressed and ready to warm up with the rest of the dancers. But much to his delight, you weren’t kidding.

Hopefully, they won’t notice your absence. Who are you kidding, they probably know that you two are fucking. Plus, it’s kind of obvious when both lead roles go 'missing’ at the same time.

At first, he was torn between following you into the tight space–wanting to be in another tight space–and doing what he normally would call the right thing, which was preparing for tonight. But after seeing the look on your face, Jimin was quick to follow you into the closet.

“Shhh, you need to stay quiet,” Jimin grunts quietly with a hand over your mouth, silencing your moans.

You grip his shoulders as he quickens his pace, bringing you both over the edge.

“Holy fuck,” he quietly whines, the sensation of your inner walls clenching his length is addicting. It isn’t long after your sweet release that he’s quivering. He pulls out, knowing you can’t dance with his release filling you. He shudders one last time, his come shoots out and onto the wooden floor below.

You giggle, “Good thing we’re in a place that can clean that up.” you say referencing his load.

He rolls his eyes at your joke and leans in to give you a quick kiss, “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”

“Yes, typically.”

You flatten out your costume and zip each other up, leaving the closet one at a time. You first of course, since you needed to touch up your makeup now. Leaving Jimin behind to clean up his mess.

About fifteen minutes later you meet Jimin backstage to practice, stretch, and chat along with everyone else. The jitters are bouncing off of everyone and you can’t stand still from excitement, a little nervousness too. But mostly excitement.

“Jimin, are you feeling okay? You look a little stiff and tired if I must say…” Madam Jamie mentions after watching him practice a few scenes.

“Nothing to worry about Madam, had a tiring warm-up is all. Not to worry though, I am more than ready for tonight.”

Madam Jamie reminds him how important rest and lots of water are when practicing hard before moving along to the next student.

“Hmmm, what is it that you usually tell me?” You begin, giving him a coy look, “Oh right. 'Just dance it off.’ That should fix your issue, correct?” You look down at his crotch, and back up at him with a twinkle in your eyes.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says, daring you to go on.

“After our vigorous warmup, I’m sure you do. But we’re going on stage soon. So suck it up, sweetie.”

He can’t wait to make you regret that statement when he teases you later tonight. He had big plans to celebrate. And knowing you, you would love them.

#jimin fanfic #jimin oneshot #jimin smut #jimin x reader #jimin x you #bts fanfic #bts smut #jimin bts #park jimin #ksmutsociety #kvanity #shadowkoo #200

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cyrusthedragon · 2 years ago

Text

Mother of his child

Explicit ‼️ MDNI ‼️ NSFW 18+

I promised and I did: Simon sucks his wife's titties while talking about a big happy family with her.

Relationship: Simon Ghost Riley / f!Reader

Tags: porn with plot, dominance, married couple, rough sex, established relationship, breastfeeding, creampie, LOTS of dirty talk, some of spit play, LOTS of milk, LOTS of breeding, LOTS of 'mama'-calling, nasty stuff, happy family fluff for aftercare, size kink, sex after some time, no "Ghost", babying Simon.

Simon Riley really loves his wife, like... possessively. Almost obsessively.

Notes:

f!Reader gained weight after giving birth, and she has too much milk. Greedy and perverted Simon can't think about her selling her milk to people who have feeding problems. He's jealous.

You and Simon serve(d) together.

(Kinda, cuz it's funny, but not actually) Bossy!Reader in the end.

You and Simon have a newborn child.

Trigger warning: English isn't my first language, so, please, write a comment if I did a good job, I need to know if it's good, cuz I'm not really sure. But i enjoyed writing it! You can subscribe to me, I'll write a lot more about him! And I take requests, hehehe, especially most dirty ones. So. Please, enjoy ♥️

AO3

"You'll bore a hole in me..." you said under your breath, touching baby girl with just your fingertips and not taking your eyes off of her.

Simon immediately straightened his back, paying attention to the book in his hands again, and you chuckled softly:

"What's going on in your mind, baby?"

Silence in the room, only a soft melody from somewhere in the house, and the three of you sitting in your bedroom: you, feeding your precious baby girl, she, smacking from the delicious milk, and your husband, trying to pretend he's reading his book. Considering how he didn't touch a single page for the last fifteen minutes, he was either repeating that one spread or trying to memorize it all.

Or just being a pervert.

It's Simon we're talking about, no one on Earth would ever suspect him of thinking about something nasty, but... You were his wife. Mother of his child.

You knew there was something in those blue eyes of his - he looked at you exactly like that one day when you... When you decided to have a child.

You weren't, actually.

It was an accident.

But when you told him about your pregnancy and asked if you should take a Plan B, for one moment after that horrific word, he looked at you, almost shaking from nervousness, with something in his eyes that you recognized as a... Reluctance? "Yeah," he cleaned his throat, moved his gaze away because, obviously, the floor was way more interesting than a damn pregnancy test in your hands, "yes, you're right, Plan B... We shouldn't.. we should, uh...". Words have never been one of his strengths, if you were not in bed.

You looked at him trying very hard to say something, and one thing in him just matched you so perfectly, that for one second you thought maybe.. maybe...

"Can we keep-"

"What if we..."

You said it at the same time, and neither you nor he understood who was saying what, but the excitement was so loud, that you couldn't resist impulses to grab his hands. Neither could he help but stretch out his arms to you and hold you to give you a hug, even if he himself was just as terribly scared.

That shit was scary. No doubt.

It would not have been that horrifying if not for these thoughts of yours. Common.

"If we..." you heard Simon speaking, felt him swallowing loudly, "Maybe, if.. maybe we can..."

"Can keep it?" you helped, squeezing him with all your strength just to feel yourself safe. "You think we can?.."

"I think... I think I want to, but.."

"You want?"

And that was the moment when you moved away a little to look him straight in the eyes, seeking there for something you weren't sure exactly what.

"Yes?.." he answered under his breath. As freaked out as you were. Of course, he was. Both of you were soldiers, to the core. No one of you ever dares to dream about having a baby... It's a huge responsibility, and neither he nor you thought you could handle it, that's why you always used protection to minimalize your chances. It doesn't mean you didn't want to - hell yes you wanted, especially with Simon, and the more you got to know him, the better you understood he wanted this, too.

A family.

A real family, bonded with each other, someone you can hold in your hand and give all your love, all your affection, untapped awe for having something you and Simon created together. Holy hell, you married a dead man, did you think you had no strength for a little human? Just a baby? It took almost half of a year for you and Simon to finally get married, you took his last name and did it with all your patience, although the boys in one-four-one started calling you Mrs. Riley a long time before you became Mrs. Riley, and all these troubles, years of waiting for something with him, all this situationship, candy-bouquet period, all of it...for being afraid of having a child? It can't be that ha-

You were selfish.

Thinking about yourself, not your baby, who would most likely live alternately with one parent, then with the other - depending on which one of you would be called for a mission. You knew it. You knew you can have your parental leave, for twelve weeks, and, and, and...

"..ve. Love!" you shuddered - Simon rarely used to raise his voice at you, and often it was because of how easily you were distracted by thinking about something very important to you. You lose your patience when you were afraid of something. You blinked, looked up at him, and suddenly he was so calm that you were immediately infected by his calmness, without realizing it. "Breathe, love," he whispered, holding your face in his palms, so huge compared to your head. "Do you want to keep her?" and when he asked, looking you dead in the eyes, he already knew your answer, but...

You breathed out: "Her?"

Eyes to eyes, one very important dialogue without a single word between you, your shiny to his bright, deep ocean blue. "I want a girl," he whispered, not even blinking. "I want a boy", you said lowing your voice to match his, and he nodded, pulling you closer to touch your forehead with his. "Then... Let's see who it will be," Simon's lips were so close to yours, you half closed your eyes, pressed your lips into a tight line, and then closed them completely when he murmured in your mouth before kissing you full of his endless gratitude: "...shall we?"

And that was it.

You lost your little bet and were very happy about it.

The little one was happy, too, sucking milk, already ready for her beauty sleep, so beautiful, and a bit... sassy, biting your swollen nipple with per pink gums, making you hiss and chuckle softly. She had her father's shiny eyes. Your love. Your precious child.

"Simon, darling, you're staring." You finally moved your eyes from your daughter to your husband, smiled at him and he could no longer pretend he was reading his book. He wasn't. "Am I?" you heard him sighing, but his gaze started to be a little more... heavier than a second before you decided it was enough for baby girl and took her away from your chest. "Yes, darling, you are," your voice softened, small one whined, lying on the bed, twitching her hands and feet, and you giggled: "What a greedy creature... Never enough for her." But she quickly calmed down - the music changed to a comforting lullaby... You could finally get up and stretch your legs, fix your dressing gown, and move to Simon, sitting on the armchair.

"You didn't answered my question."

Baby monitor right behind your girl, and you allowed yourself to go straight to the kitchen - hungry as hell, while Simon simply followed your steps God knows why.

"What question?" He asked, watching you getting your snacks.

Bare feet, loose hair, mid-thigh gown, and the wet spots in it, right in front of your nipples. You're still leaking. And mouth-watering. And holy shit he just can't stop looking at your covered chest, how heavy your breasts are, how they freely jiggle when you're just moving. "Simon." he can't hear you, all his nature is focused there where your nipples touch your closes, these eyes are wild. You watched him, busy analyzing your chest or whatever, and didn't get yet the hell was wrong, but it's Simon, so... Whatever he was thinking about he would tell you, sooner or later.

But you didn't expect 'sooner' will be that...soon.

You turned your back to him to find something in the fridge and gasped when he suddenly lifted you, sitting you on the table, face to him. "Riley, the hell are you?!-" and then you met his eyes again.

Truly, wild.

"What? Eat your food, love." his voice was strange, he completely was strange, something just cracked in you, a blush appeared in your cheeks immediately, then he pulled back the gown and your hand trembled, accidentally dropping a snack on the floor.

He bared your chest with a face like nothing happened, and you swallowed your tongue like a proper coward, did not know how - did not want to - stop him and did not even try to interrupt whatever he was going to do. You felt the shivers down your spine - his hands on your ribs, fingertips almost tickling you, forcing you to smile, but there was nothing to smile about, just your husband being odd and making your legs shake with just his hands.

God, you didn't touch him for almost six months...

"I can't," you whispered, shutting your eyes while feeling his hand off you and somehow knowing for sure he was pulling his mask up to his nose.

"Why?" The hoarse voice of his just drove you crazy. Your brain was about to explode with this sudden satisfaction he brought to you by massaging your torso and jelly belly, and you couldn't answer properly: "Because you... What are you... Just take what you want already." You hissed, and maybe it would be fear for him to feel embarrassed by your tone and hands, hugging his head, but he did not care anymore or simply did not understand that, so he just... Did it.

You felt his wide tongue in front of your nipple.

And you inhaled.

"Simon... Simon, what are you doing, Simon..."

Your voice was less caring than you wanted it to be, and he didn't even look at you to answer: "Joining you to eat a snack."

"Oh I'm a snack now, wonderful..." words came out of your mouth before you shut it, "You little pervert, are you seriously going to su-... Oh, god."

Tongue swept all over your breast before Simon straightened up to his full height - and even though you were sitting on the table, he had to tilt his head to look at you. Giant. His gaze was much heavier than before, his pupils bigger, his brows furrowed to let you know, he was ashamed of you:

"That's how your talking to a baby, love?" Simon murmured and you did not even try to believe what you heard. He continued, seeing your confusion: "I see... I'm no longer your baby, am I?"

"Wha-.."

Oh.

'"What's going on in your mind, baby?"'

So that's what it was all about.

"You pervert," you said, watching him laying you down on the table and towering over you like he was some kind of mountain of muscles. This whole situation was quite crazy, and you swallowed, losing all your boldness just because of how dominant he became, taking your hands in his one so tightly that you couldn't move your fingers if you wanted to. Breath-taking Simon. First, you met on your first night together. A completely different person than what you usually see. His gaze was on you, examining you - how the fabric glided effortlessly over your body, showing up your ribs, tummy, chubby sides (you gained some weight after giving birth and were a little worried about it, but the way he cravingly looked at your fat...), your white panties, already wet for him. Of course, you were wet. He was between your legs, holding your hands, ready to eat you up.

"'Baby?..'" you whispered under him, trying to move your feet, but his other hand grabbed your knee abruptly and pushed it aside, leaving you completely open to him. "Don't try to hide, mama," you gasped at his words, heart started beating faster, and his head lowered to touch your belly with his lips. Soft and full. "It's nothing you need to be ashamed of.. if it's not me. Are you ashamed of me, mama?". Impossible, how he affected you with this damn 'mama' spoken by his powerful, quiet voice, "You don't need to be ashamed. Didn't you say today that your breasts are full? Don't you remember?".

You swallowed your saliva, chest up and down, and your voice cracked when Simon slightly touched underneath your filled breast, "I said we can sell it... There are many people with.. problems with.. with feeding. Simon, what are you-"

"Stop asking. You don't trust me?"

"I do, but-"

"No 'but'."

You should've said something, but when he grabbed your tit with his wide palm, compressed your nipple lightly between the index and middle fingers, everything that was in your head vanished immediately. Milk ran out over his fingers, to his wrist, and tangled in his short hair above the tattoo. "So easily, mama," he murmured, following the drop of your milk, "you're so full.. and you wanna give this to someone else? You wanna take it away from our daughter? Deprive her of that, mama? Is that what you want for her?"

You just said there's too much milk in you, useless milk, because your girl never starved, but the mere idea of giving part of you to someone who wasn't his child, just made him so, so jealous. You choked - Simon pulled your nipple with his fingers as if in punishment.

"No, no, of course not, I just wanted..."

And then the moon fell:

"You can give it to me." Your eyes widen in shock. And you saw him raise his milk-stained hand and watched his tongue follow the line from elbow to finger, licking your juice. "Sweet..." He murmured, "So sweet, so delicious..." And before you even realized, he sat you up at that table, wrapped his hand around you, and pressed his open, greedy mouth to your milking breast, moaning, like it was the best thing he ever tasted. A cry escaped your lips, you instantly grabbed his head, closed your eyes tightly - your nipples were so, so sensitive after feeding, and now he almost ate 'em. Shivers ran through your body, every cell was tense, trembling legs closed behind his back, as if locking him with a fuckin' padlock pressed against your body, yet still fully dressed. "Madman," you whined, squeezing the back of his balaclava, "you're a madman, Simon Riley, you're out of your mind...Teeth-!" Your sob forced him to let go of your chest with a loud smack, just like your baby did before, and the marks of his teeth were clearly visible on the soft, full flesh around your nipple.

"Watch your teeth- god, you-" you cried out, almost ready to hit him on the back, but then he, stooped, suddenly looked up at you, so innocent, so open, that something in your gut began to tighten. "Something wrong, mama?" He said, and you miraculously felt how his second hand was lost between your thighs. Breath didn't want to recover, he clung to you, pressing his cheek against your chest, and milk flowed out of you harder.

"No..." You answered, not sure if he's a pervert for calling you 'mama', or you for enjoying it so much, "Nothing wrong, baby... Just.. watch your teeth, okay?" Eyes to eyes, without a blink, you sucked air through your teeth and slowly put your trembling hand at his half-covered cheek, stroking until he closed his eyes, "You want to be good for mama, don't you, baby?"

"Mhm", he whispered, kissing your hand softly.

You didn't know your first sex with Simon after such a long time would be like that, but his finger, just one, was in your underwear and it pressed your clit so good, that you almost lost your mind, tilt you head back.

"I will be good for you, but I'm so mad at you..." Suddenly his voice softened and your hips tensed; his palm was fully in your panties, squeezing your cunt, pressing the middle finger to the entrance.

"Why mad, baby?.."

"I'm so mad you want to give yourself to someone else, mama," and when he opened his eyes, his finger entered you on the first finger phalanx, you hold your breath and bit your lip - you forget how big his fingers were, one of his like two of yours, and there was no lubricant, just your sloppy juices. Every tiny scar on his finger was fully felt, every callus, every cut. "You wanted to share yourself with hell knows who. That's how you feel about us, love? Is that it? Instead of giving everything to your, to my child, our child, you were going to.. what?" finger thrust further, you gasped, he pressed you into himself tighten. One small kiss to your neck and you already was useless, when he lifted you again and whispered in your ear while carrying you to the couch and putting you on his thighs so that you could lay down on him completely naked.

You don't need clothes, do you?

"You were going to waste it, love." He continued. "Instead of calling me, your husband, to help you."

"Help me with what?.. sucking this milk?.."

"Exactly, love."

You would've chuckled, but then there was a crack and your torn panties fell to the floor.

He tore them on you.

Animal.

"Beast..." You whispered, putting your head on his shoulder and feeling him squeezing your tits once more with both his hands.

"Me?" Simon's soft laughter was almost unbelievable, "No, no... I'm not. You are. A little cow, mama. Leaking your sweet milk. Just like a cow. Allowing me to drink it..." he pressed his face into your chest, threw you back, milk splashed from your nipples and hit him right on the balaclava, "What a mess you are. You're looking? Look carefully." fingers squeezed one nipple, twisted, pulled, milk splashed in all directions, flowed all over your chest and down to your torso, and his hands, warm, making you whine and mumble in pain in half with pleasure, just like a cow. "Oh love, and not just here. Don't take your eyes off, watch how wet you are, you ruined my clothes," his second hand went down to your groin, suddenly you wanted to cover yourself, but his middle and index fingers had already opened your vulva, revealing his hungry gaze your lower lips. "Look at you, you're soaking, mama... Do you hear it? That's your sound."

The sloshing of your juices as he circled around your entrance, the crackling of his clothes as you squeezed his shoulders, your whimpering as he purposely ignored your hard clit - all this cacophony was his symphony for your ears, and only yours.

"You sound so well, love..."

"Simon.. Simon, please, Simon..."

"What 'please'?"

"Simon, please, I want to kiss you..."

"Kiss me then."

"No! No! Please, Simon, I want to kiss you so bad... Please let me just-" and your shaking fingers touched the edges of his balaclava, throwing aside.

Scars.

Scars all over his face.

His bright eyes, his short blond hair, and all these scars made him look way older than he was. Breath-taking Simon.

You couldn't resist the impulse to praise him like he always secretly loved:

"You're so beautiful..." Fingers ran over his cheeks, cheekbones, brows, nose, lips, so kissable, you pressed your mouth to his with a hiss, feeling Simon again in you with his whole finger. "Damnit, baby..." You said, silencing him by taking his tongue with yours.

His hand on your ass, his finger fucking you, so tight girl, he loves feeling your walls around him, up and down - you got up on him, fucking yourself with his finger, and lowered to feel how he put his second finger to your entrance. Your breath hitched as he broadened your entrance, slowly pushing himself inside. Juices sloshing, his panting against your neck, his other hand gripping your ass so hard it threatened to bruise it, and his fingers fucking you like he was re-examining you - twisting the hand, pushing in, speeding up and massaging your inner lips and your clit, making you moan so loud, thank god rooms were soundproof. "I want to be inside you so bad, mama..." You heard him, hissing in your skin, biting it with his sharp teeth, you could've just hugged him tighten, "So wet, so delicious, look at you, how beautiful you are, ready to carry my second child...are you ready, mama?"

"Second child?.." you whispered barely audible, eyes watering from his aggressive pounding, and almost whining when the sound of unfastening the belt reached your ears and the cold steel of its plate touched your hot skin.

"Of course," and he didn't even stop pounding you, that dirty pervert; pulled his boxers down, letting the cool air touch the head of his cock. Red, wet head. Big. Thick. You didn't have to look at it to instantly lower your palms down and, howling like a wild dog, grab his cock with your both hands. "Fuck, love..." He cursed, clutching your ass, "You missed me, huh? Did you?"

"I did, I did, so much, baby, so much..." your trembling voice, your confident hands stroking his already hard fat dick, your cunt, shrinking from the memory of how sweetly he filled you that last time before your pregnancy... You, cock-drunk, beneath him, full with his thick hot sperm and covered by it all over your body - your ass, your vulva, your belly, your face; he came so much then, it was your first night together after you both returned from your mission. And now you can have it again... Finally.

"Pink on your cheeks suits you, love," he murmured, stroking your cheek like you did with his, "but I prefer your tears..." and before you even understood, his tongue already was on your face, licking off salty tears, mumbling, moving his hips to you while you jerked him off. "Everywhere... Wet everywhere... Did you always have been such a dirty fat slut?.. Crying, milking, soaking... I can eat you alive. Show me your mouth," he took his hand off your butt, roughly opened your mouth, looked, "Oh, I see... Would you mind, if I-"

And you felt his saliva on your tongue before Simon finished his sentence.

"There you go, such a good girl..."

But he didn't even think about letting you swallow his spit, and while you were trying to get back into rhythm, drunk on his saliva, he threw you onto the sofa, covering you from above, like a goddamn wall: "No, no, don't close your mouth." An animal, a real beast, twice your size, towered over you, mocked you, deprived you of his fingers and you could only helplessly scratch his hands near your head and push your pelvis in him, trying to somehow sit on his cock with your pathetic leaky pussy. "Don't close your mouth, you don't want me to fuck you, mama?" Sly bastard, so different, so cold, so soft for all of them, role model, best fighter, squad pride...Made fun of you, so turned on. You nearly hated him for this, but couldn't deny how you loved him above you.

"I want," trembled lips parted, saliva flowed slowly down your tongue to its root, your heavy breath was the only music for him.

"You want? Then be good for me, and I'll be good for you, mama, your good, good baby boy, mama... I would be anything for you, open your mouth, open it, let me fill you everywhere, will you, please?"

You barely had time to grab his short hair when he pressed his mouth to your mouth, but your tongues did not touch each other, you only shared your breath with him, as you always did, and when the tip of his fat cock touched your entrance, you held your breath, feeling how, along with his length, ripping you apart, widening you, inch by inch, he poured into you also his spit. Thick saliva - that's how hungry he was for you, his mouth was full of this viscous liquid.

"Good mama," words were hard for you, he closed his eyes, stopped at how tight you were, grabbed your leg, and slung it on his belt, thrusting deeper into you. Each vein on his long cock, each brought so much pleasure to extremely tight you... It was nearly impossible to move, but he always was stubborn and even when the drop of sweat ran over his neck, he continued entering you, sadistically slowly. "Relax for me," he almost begged, and you whispered:

"I've already..."

"So that's how tight you actually are, then, huh?" Seems Simon was starting to lose patience, fingers of one hand pressed on the upholstery of the sofa near your head, the second he squeezed your breast as if in revenge: "I almost forgot how it's like...when you're not in the shape of my cock." he sucked in air through clenched teeth, staring into the tears in your eyes, like he wanted to lick them again, "But it's okay..." He continued, thrusting you exactly to halfway of his cock, "We have plenty of time to make you perfect for me again, love. It's okay. I'll fuck you 'til you'll be open for me every time I want to fill you with my cum. You like my cum?" you cried, his heavy hand gave a slap on your ass, "Of course you do... Mama's such a slutty thing, she's always ready for me to cum in her, give her so much of my sperm, so she can give birth to our future big family."

"Big..." You whined about how he was ripping you with his dick, demonically slowly to the very core, to the root. You felt the warmth of his full, heavy balls, as he promised, filled with his cum just for you, and your back arched in an unthinkable angle, as soon as you felt the coarse hair on his groin.

"Yes, love, big family," and even his mumbling reached you with difficulty, you suffered on him, scratched him, beat, squeezed him with your legs, wriggled like a snake, and he hung over you, indestructible, like a rock, tried to take a breath from the pain in the cock. "Me, you, our children, so many children..."

And there was the first thrust.

Right on the nerves.

Until the pitiful cry and eyes rolled back.

Big, big, big-

So fucking big-

"What, you can't handle me anymore?" his hoarse rough voice came from above and your body shook as he thrust into you and slap your thigh, leaving the big red shape of his five fingers. "How you're going to have my children then? Be the mother of my babies, raise 'em, feed 'em with that delicious milk of yours-" Simon compressed one of your nipples again and you choked on a scream as the milk spurted freely up. "Dirty, dirty mama..." Was his only response.

And he fucked you.

To the cries, putting all his strength into you, moaning loud and clear, just like you love, forcing you to beg for his cock, but already fuckin' you, watching your tits jiggle and milk splash everywhere, spoil his clothes, get on your cheeks. To legs shaking, to an exhausted body, growling in your face how much he's going to cum in you so that you burst from his sperm, pregnant with his children, forever, for your whole life, so everyone, every fucking single one from everywhere could see whose are you, who you belong to. This belly, squishy and fatty, this face, these tits, hips, legs, feet, mouth, this milk, and other juices, these eyes, beautiful, beautiful eyes, these delicious lips, this heart and soul - all, all for him and his children, all for the Riley family, all of it for them and no one else, no one fuckin' else. You're trapped here, you're never gonna leave this man and his child, you belong to them with your whole being, you understand that? Do you, mama? Do you understand there's no escape, he would fight Death if that sucker would ever allow himself to at least think about taking you away from Simon; he would fight Death, and he would kill it because no one has the slightest right to take even a piece of you from him.

"Mine," he groaned, sinking his fangs into your neck, suddenly grabbing you by the waist and lifting so that you sat on his cock as tightly as physically possible, and kept fucking you, beating out from you every moan, every deep scratch your nails left on his shoulders as you bathed his neck with your tears. Pressed into each other, like two halves of a whole, crazy, lost in each other, interwoven, and you won’t understand where you begin and he ends. Your cunt hurts, but the pain is so sweet that you're not sure you want to cut it, you're not sure you want him to stop, to be more gentle, not pounding you like a fucking hammer, and the angle is so right - you can feel not just his dick deep inside you, but how your clit is stimulated by him, his rough movements. Oh, this beast, this madman, this insane man... So insane just for you. You cried out, moaned: "Simon... Simon! Simon!" as if it was the only thing you remembered in your life, and the rubbing of your bare nipples against his outer clothing forced you to snuggle closer to him and at the same time as if trying to get away from him.

He was no longer there, he was all inside you, thrusting you like it was his last day, angry, but carrying you so perfectly that you could've let yourself lay on him, and you knew he would never let you fall.

"Simon, Simon, listen, listen to me, please-" your trembling voice almost vanished in all these sex sounds, but he pushed you closer (there was no 'closer') and you simply whined: "Simon, I'm going to cum, I'm going to cum, I'm going to- I want to cum so bad- please, Simon, I wanna cum, I want you to cum, please, cum with me, please-" Your fingers pulled back his hair. You yourself pulled back, arched in your back, and instantly your muscles contracted on his cock, forcing him to fall, falling with you on the soft sofa. A little more and he would've crushed you with his weight, but with a desperate groan he managed to grab your hands and, lacing your fingers together, lean on them to hang over you, not for a second slowing down the speed of his deep, passionate thrusts.

Your useless legs struggled to stay on his lower back, your breasts were shaking painfully and you felt the blessing of heaven when he clung to you, pressed, as tightly as it was physically possible, and instantly squeezed you in both his hands. "Cum for me," he moaned in your ear, his veiny cock almost touched your uterus, but it seemed that if he wanted to, he would fuck your womb just to impregnate you. "Cum for me, mama, let me see how happy you are to be pregnant for me, just for me, showing people how you love me, scream, mama..."

Heavy breathing, deep unforgiving pounds, bursting cock, burning heart, nails scratching his strong broad back, ribs compressed with iron arms - and you, so tiny compared to him, you, so little, so fragile looking in his arms... were ready for anything for this man. "Cum for me," he ordered, grunted, and you tensed on him, squeezed him with all your might to his own loud moan, and tears gushed from your helplessly rolled eyes. His moans, low but beautiful, just for you, were the only thing you heard in your petite mort.

And his seed filling you, hot, thick, was the only thing you felt.

The maddening feeling of being filled with rich cum, his cum, your husband's, your man's, drove you to a silent scream, to open mouth from which no sound came out, and saliva flowing down from the edge of your mouth only to dry on your cheek when you tilted your head back. And as if boiling sperm in you, poured into your insides.

"Greedy mama..." you didn't even come to your senses when you focused your blurred vision on Simon overhanging you, cupping your wet cheek with his large hand. His quiet, purring voice settled in your head like a gooey honey. You could nearly discriminate his words. Not understanding what was happening around, hearing only his voice and feeling only him in you, you were like gutted and thrown into the light while his sweat dripped on you from above, and his heavy breathing only miraculously did not blow you away. "Just like that..." Even his voice cracked, this man couldn't resist the devil, and mumbled inaudibly: "So good for me... So good... Such a good girl..."

Hot seed in you, his weight on you, his warmth all over you, his loud breath and your inner muscles tightening and loosening around him while he, overstimulated, continued moving in you, also overstimulated, and the movements were so...gentle ... So soft... His soft pounds, his smooth swings, almost like trying to rock you, but that orgasm was so blinding, you couldn't breathe, you couldn't concentrate on the outer world, just him and his hands, his hips between your legs, his balls tightly pressed to you, his cock inside you completely... So... Soft... Hot... Your body temperature was almost past its peak... And that gentle touch Simon gave you on your belly, lying his head on your shoulder.

After what he did, you barely remember how carrying he was... This big softie...

"You..." your hoarse voice sounded like you hadn't spoken in at least ten years, there was fuckin' Sahara in your throat, and your eyes couldn't even close from the experienced orgasm, "What you just... What you... Wha-...."

Tied tongue refused to obey.

You literally could not utter a word, only mumbling something incomprehensible.

Boneless.

Dry out.

Dehydrated.

The son of a bitch literally sucked all the juice out of you.

"Si..bl... Bml... Ah......"

And when he, as exhausted as you, pulled away to kiss you on the pink hot cheek, after all, that he had done, you nearly could look at how calm he was.

"You alright, love?"

Blue eyes glanced at you in slight worry, he stroked your wet hair, raised himself with both hands to look at you, but you could not take your eyes off him. You stared at him in disbelief or shock - doesn't matter, you just experienced the nastiest sex in your life, and he was so calm, so confident, like nothing happened, like it was a daily basis for you - being fucked 'til semiconscious state while your husband was 'mama'-calling you and sucking your tits, and, holy shit, did that really-

"Do I..." You swallowed, looking him dead in the eyes, without a single blink. "Do I look like I'm alright?... Do I?... And what happened with 'mama', baby?.. what happened with 'mama'?" suddenly your voice became demanding, insistent, from somewhere you found the strength to weakly hit him in his rock-hard shoulder, and Simon's eyes flashed with shame for a second, then he moved them from you, almost trying to hide, while leaving your core and sitting on the edge of the sofa at your useless boneless legs still shaking from whatever the hell that just was.

He inhaled, "I..."

"Shut up." and he closed his mouth instantly, staring at the floor, even before he heard properly what you said. "You sucked my milk."

"Um..."

"I said shut the fuck up- You just- where are my pills?"

"What?"

The slight surprise in his voice almost pissed you off and it was funny how he almost trembled with fear and tried to shrink under your gaze: he, that behemoth of a man, two meters tall, mountain of muscles, Lieutenant, a brave soldier of the Queen, Chain Dog of Captain Price and Commander Lasswell, trembling under your gaze, your, women half his height, twice as weaker than he ever was, furthermore, unable now to even wake up on her own, move her limbs, he was fuckin' scared-

Indeed.

You did have power over him.

"My pills." You barely raised your voice and he already was on his feet, pulling on his pants and trousers, looking for your plan B.

You watched him, nervously seeking after them, making as much noise in the bathroom as he would never make on a battlefield, and you could almost see his shaking hands turning the whole room upside down.

"We're gonna have a nice long talk about all of it," you heard yourself surprisingly serious, when he came to you with a glass of water and your medicine, helping you, holding your head for you to drink, "we gonna..." you swallowed the pill from his hands, drank all the water from the glass without taking your eyes off him, and exhaled loudly as he kissed your cheek after.

"We're gonna?.." he echoed you and you saw him squatting down next to the couch, against your head, so you could lie down and look him straight in the eyes without getting tired.

"We're gonna clear up your... This. Simon."

"Mhm?"

"Eyes on me."

"They already are, ma'am."

You could've laughed, because he never called you that unless you were extremely serious about small things in your life, no one ever saw him mocking you, or smiling like this, widely and openly, but there were topics you wanted to discuss before admitting that both of you were total perverts, and nothing would even help you clean your conscience from it.

To be fair, you didn't actually want.

You knew he was more playful, more... Different when you were alone, there were demons inside his pretty blonde-haired head, that was true, you knew the man you married, and he never was such a jealous person without any reason, and... You didn't know how, but you were sure this talk about 'sharing with someone else' wasn't just... Dirty talk. There was something else deep inside.

"You're thinking too loud, love," you heard him hawed it out and then felt his strong hands on your aching legs. "Again."

"I'm just... You know what?"

"Mm?"

"We... We should..."

"We should?.."

"We should... Holy hell, Simon... You..."

"I was serious about what I said, love."

Boom.

You tilted your head, met his eyes, moving from your legs to your face.

His deep and at first sight as if almost naive eyes.

"About?..." You whispered, feeling something strange growing inside you with every second he was looking deep into your soul.

Nasty, nasty soul.

"About having a big family." you felt his gentle kiss on your ankle, his head relaxed near your feet, he mumbled, "We already have one pretty girl... I want more. I want... I want to come home... And see a hoard of children running to me... Meeting me... And you... And then I'll sit with them, and you will work, and, imagine... Coming home, where there'll be a bunch of kids, siblings, maybe playing with each other, or arguing, or... Else. Our little world."

"Our little world..."

Unbelievable.

Dreamy, absorbed in his fantasies, soft, affectionate Simon. Telling you about that.

"Even if we could... What if something goes wrong?.." you couldn't resist your fears, not for yourself, but for hypothetical children. "What if... We won't be able to give them what they deserve?.."

And suddenly he smirked:

"I'm not telling you making a second one right now, am I?" your eyes met, your uncertain, and his, surprisingly romantic. "I'm just... Maybe we shouldn't stop at just one. She needs a friend. We were able to do so many things. I will buy a big house somewhere in the middle of nowhere..."

"With a garden and greenhouse?"

"Yep. I will arrange the area. Maybe we can have cows?"

"And chicken."

"And chicken. And..."

And you completed his sentence without looking at him, just knowing what he would say:

"...and have a daydream house with white picket fence and a golden retriever..."

"I prefer Alsatian."

There was something wrong with this man. Who was without a drop of doubt thinking that you two, and now with the third little human, can have that unrealistic happy lovey-dovey life.

Scarred soldiers, hardly married, only a year ago trembling from fear because of the thought that you would have a child in your house, such an irresponsible thing to do- and- and- now-

Now he was saying you can have more, can take responsibility for more people, more little ones- where were the guarantees that he would not die in the field? where were the guarantees that you would not be killed? where there were guarantees that you could become good parents, raise good children, fulfill your duty to them, and remain happy, not break down, challenge life, who stubbornly told you over and over again that you weren't made for this, you simply cannot have this, this isn't for you, and-

There really was something wrong with him.

And maybe, only maybe, there was something wrong with you, too.

Because you believed him.

You believed him with all your being, you trusted him, you knew he would never betray your trust, he would do more than everything to keep his promises, you knew the word "family" wasn't just a sound for him, and you became his family, he did not just wanted kids and that shitty house, fuck it, that wasn't about the house.

All of that was only about you.

Making family with you.

Having kids with you.

Introducing you as his wife, being a father to your kids, calling you the mother of his kids, knew exactly that is your and his blood running in their veins, that's your common children playing in the garden.

And in his face, which for some reason everyone finds impenetrable and dispassionate, you read so much that your heart breaks, your breath hitches, your pulse skips a beat:

Simon Riley doesn't want this house without you. He doesn't want kids without you. He doesn't want any white picket fence, no garden, no greenhouse, nothing without you. It's all is just meaningless for him, if it's without you.

You are that one thing that makes him believe he's unstoppable. You're that one person for whom he wants to try, despite fully understanding how hard, almost impossible it will be. Definitely will.

The man will move mountains just for you.

He would fight Death, and he would kill it just for you.

That's truly crazy.

But once again, if he's crazy, then you are too.

"Okay..." your quiet voice sounded in the silent room, only the cozy melody accompanying your words. "Alsatian it is."

It took a second, stretching for years, for him to slowly, with the grace of a well-fed tamed predator, get up from the floor and lean towards you, giving you the most tender kiss you have ever felt.

Delicate as silk, sweet as chocolate, a touch of love.

All his feelings for you couldn't fit in one kiss. But he needed to try.

And as soon as you relaxed, trusting yourself to his strong, safe arms, loud baby cries came from the baby monitor.

Damn.

Simon pulled away from you with a quiet "Don't move, I'll go get the Princess" and you couldn't help but giggle when you heard him open the door to your bedroom and start talking like an idiot, cuz she just loved when he was goofy around her.

In one second, promises to make you perfect for his fat cock again, and in the second after that, rocks your common child while making hilarious noises to pacify her.

"Simon!" And when he, rocking your tiny Princess, looked out from behind your bedroom door, you said helplessly, unable to remove the silly smile from your face, "I love you, baby."

His gaze softened.

"I love you, too, mama."

Oh, this man...

Oh this man!

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intrepidacious · 3 months ago

Text

about that night (the bugs and the dirt)

summary: You never talk about that night, and Bucky never asks. Even though he can't help but suspect something is wrong.

pairing: bucky barnes x witch!reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings: past character death and vague mentions of blood (yk, spooky stuff); there's no actual dialogue in this and the characters are worse for it 💛 please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: it only took me three years but i finally managed to finish a fic in time for halloween 😌🎃 i genuinely don't know how to describe the vibes of this except buffy the vampire slayer season six meets "if lisa frankenstein was a drama" meets hozier's like real people do. have fun 🫶🏼

masterlist | read on ao3

Something’s wrong.

Something’s been wrong for a while, but Bucky can’t quite put his finger on it. It’s a fragile thing, this knowledge, this certainty, lingering at the back of his mind like the dim light of a forgotten lamp, shimmering, seeping through the cracks.

Whenever he asks you, you tell him that everything is fine, and he wants to believe you, desperately. You wouldn’t lie to him, you with your luminous eyes and your soft smile. Deceptions would taste foul on your lips.

But something’s wrong.

It’s all wrong.

He’s always been too smart for his own good, and he’s going to find out, you know he will, but that’s precisely why you can’t let him. He’s going to know how far you’ve fallen, and he’s going to despise you for it.

So he forgets.

Sometimes, when he wakes up, his tongue is heavy with bile and dirt, his eyes crusted shut with something worse than bad dreams. Sometimes, when he listens closely, he can hear the air humming with lost hymns that are not from this earth.

Maybe he should’ve gotten used to that, by now; your walls have always had ears and mouths and eyes, after all. That’s the price for loving a witch, you’d say, back in the days when your smiles came easy. Wherever you are, you’re never alone.

It’s different than he remembers, though, even through the cracked and blurry pictures of his memories, his foggy mind, but he can’t put his finger on why. Darker. Colder. Damp. It’s like something has left.

Doubt follows his every waking hour, even more so when he tries to think of that night.

That night.

Oh, that night.

The taste of blood on your lips when you kissed him, desperately, like you hadn’t seen him in months. The muddy streaks on your arms when he looked at you in the pale moonlight, the scrape of dirt underneath your fingernails. It had been raining. You smelt like pain.

What had you been digging?

He needs to forget about that night and what it actually was you’d dug up, then. You’d told him you’d had to bury an animal that had gotten lost and died in the garden, and it was a half-truth even by the most generous account.

Dark, evil things happened that night, and no matter their intent, you were the sum of them.

You’d sacrificed a lamb to dig up a wolf.

He doesn’t remember your answer now, but it must’ve been enough for him, then. It must have been.

So he doesn’t ask again, no matter how hard uncertainty tugs on his lungs.

On that old, familiar path, he follows you home and feels like a stranger.

The blood itself was the easiest to wash off, and maybe that was the worst part. In the human world, crime rarely disappeared without a trace, but magic always left its mark.

You remember tumbling on your way back, almost tripping over your doorstep, a sudden pulse of energy pulling the breath from your lungs. These were your own four walls, the ones you’d blessed yourself, tended to and looked after for years, and they seemed to recoil.

Bucky caught your arm without even looking, catching you like he always had, and you crossed the threshold together. You looked at him, then, for the first time since the graveyard. You could feel his pulse under your grip, his heartbeat strong and loud enough to be mistaken for your own, but his gaze so uncertain, like he wasn’t sure he actually belonged here.

With you.

You made up your mind right then and there. He could never know.

You stir your tea as you always do, and you’ve set out his cup on the kitchen table. Alpine paws at it before he can pick it up, a fierce growl accompanying the sound of smashing porcelain.

She’s been angry with both of you, and he doesn’t know why. She keeps hissing at him, and she refuses to sit on your lap when you study your books next to the fireplace like she always used to. Like she’s punishing you in whatever little way she can for a crime he doesn’t understand.

You sigh, and you repair the cup with a flick of your wrist, and then you don’t reach out to pet that spot behind Alpine’s ears.

It’s little things like that.

And it’s your tired eyes.

Of course, no one else can know either; it’s not a risk you’re willing to take.

If Bucky notices the phone’s been unplugged all this time, he’s never said a word. He’s never been much for talking, anyway, but he does it even less so these days. You’ve both turned quiet around each other, but the only thing that matters is that you’re both still here.

Even now, you can feel the dark powers humming through your veins, just like you could that night. You hear the whispers calling out your name and see the shadows at the very periphery of your vision. They follow you into your dreams until you give up on them, slipping out of the warm embrace of your bed to hunch over the tome again, again, just a little more.

Perhaps you should worry about repercussions, but what for? After all, everything you did that night, you did out of love.

Everything you’ve done, you’ve done for him.

Sometimes, he doesn’t notice them for a very long time, and then it hits him all over again just how exhausted you look. When he wakes up in the middle of the night, your side of the bed is empty and the roof of his mouth tastes like ash and decay. In those moments, he thinks he might still be dreaming; his bones are heavy and cold and unyielding, and he lies there like something forgotten, and all of his thoughts revolve around you.

He’s so worried about you.

He wants to ask if it’s something he’s done. He wants to know if he can make it better, make you smile again like you always did at the sight of him, every time. But he’s afraid of the answer.

You’ve not been yourself and you know it, but at this point, you feel unable to stop it. It’s too late, anyway. The dead already walk to earth, and you’re the one to blame. You’re the one to thank.

Sometimes, the thought does hit you that there’s something a little wrong with you these days. But then he looks at you and he smiles, and you’re young and foolish and in love all over again, that weight of all those weeks of screaming and crying lifted with every glance, every touch, every kiss.

This, the uncertainty, is the worst part of it. It becomes his closest companion, and it only lifts slightly when you return to him, if only for a moment. When you do smile, when you put your hands around his neck and kiss him and he can feel real again, feel like himself again.

He barely notices that you will only look him in the eye when it’s dark, when he can lose himself in your touch, foreheads pressed together, breaths heavy and mingling, the only real creatures in the world. The sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

Maybe you are wrong. Maybe you are wicked and evil and rotten to the core, and maybe there’ll be hell to pay for it yet.

But you’re not sorry.

hearing hozier perform "like real people do" as a duet with victoria canal changed lives y'all

thank you for reading!! if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!! also, comments are trick or treats that last all year long. just saying 💛

oh, before we leave, here's an extra shoutout to @brandycranby for telling me this was fun and the perfect length. i accidentally made it longer again. love u 🫶🏼

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshot #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfic #about that night (the bugs and the dirt)

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lady-pug · 5 months ago

Text

Written Between the Lines

Chapter III - Parallel Lines Intertwined

Summary: You are now betrothed to Aemond, with the promise of being crowned together when time comes, your family no longer headed unquestionably on warpath, but now you can’t help but wonder if this is truly what he wants, if he’s as happy as you are with this arrangement.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Word count: 3,6k

Warnings: canon-typical incest (uncle-niece), nudity, making out, allusions to sex, canon-typical misogyny regarding sex and female virginity, some steaminess (but nothing more than that really)

Notes: Another chapter is here! Yay!

I’m tagging this as mature because there’s some steaminess in it but not full blown smut (yet).

I’ve accidentally fallen in love with these two and cannot stop thinking about them, I have so many installments planned out you guys have no idea.

I decided to use some High Valyrian as I had mentioned before Aemond and reader are used to speaking it with one another (does it break consistency, as I haven’t used it until now? yes, but better late than never). For this I used an online translator (I don’t know if it’s grammatically correct, I’ll just roll with it, if someone spots any mistakes please let me know and I’ll correct it right away), translations are in the end notes.

Thank you so so much for reading and I hope you have enjoyed this story! <3

Next chapter | Previous chapter | Masterlist | Read on AO3

The steaming water was doing wonders for your sore muscles. You hadn’t realized how tense you had been until you had reached your chambers and felt as if a weight had been lifted off your chest, your shoulders slumping with the force of everything falling into place. No sooner had you stepped foot inside your room you requested that the maids fix you a bath, the water steaming hot. Now, with your body submerged and the steam clouding your thoughts, you felt like you could finally breathe properly.

It had worked. Your mad, crazy, stupid idea had worked. At least as well as one could expect. Alicent and Otto, of all people, had agreed to it, and now it seemed like there would no longer be a war inside House Targaryen. The promise of their blood eventually occupying the Iron Throne seemed to appease them enough to, most likely, support your mother’s claim as King Viserys’ heir, apparently no longer questioning her legitimacy as ruler just because she was not a man.

But now, alone in your chambers, you were no longer sure of yourself. While, yes, this idea could just fix things within your shattered family, you weren’t exactly sure if everyone involved was on-board with it.

After your dance with Aemond was cut short due to the King feeling unwell and needing to be escorted back to his chambers, to which Alicent nudged Rhaenyra to follow and spend some moments with him (something that lit a flicker of hope in your chest that things could indeed be mended), you hadn’t managed to speak to him for the rest of the night. Once you returned to the table, you caught Luke giggling under his breath, and when you realized what exactly he was laughing at you were quick to pull him from his seat and request a dance. You swiftly poked Helaena on your way to the open area of the room, who in turn pulled Aemond for a dance before he could notice, signaling her mother to alert the servants to move the offending dish to the middle of the table and away from his seat.

The night ended not long after, Baela and Rhaena keeping you company, the three of you giggling like little girls at the thought of your respective betrothals. However, once you were all excused by the Queen, you didn’t even manage to catch a glimpse of Aemond, who was whisked away by his grandsire with his mother following behind them.

And here you were. Although you had no doubt this plan of yours was the right thing to do, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was what he wanted. Even though you knew this was the right thing for the realm, for your family even, was it the right thing for the two of you? As you stared at your face reflected upon the surface of the water, dark thoughts simmered in your mind. Perhaps you had been blinded by his words regarding his mother’s wishes to find him a wife, or by the resentment he felt towards the treatment his brother received. What if he wanted nothing to do with you? What if he wanted to ascend to the Throne of his own accord, or what if he wanted to be wed to someone else, one of Borros Baratheon’s daughters, maybe?

At least there's no doubt about the purity of their blood.

He could have any woman on the realm if he wished. He was just so regal, all sharp edges and cunning eye, and you were merely… you, your mind tried to convince you.

Would you give up your freedom and be trapped in a loveless marriage just for the sake of your family and the realm?

Not loveless, that nagging voice in the back of your mind spoke out of turn again, just unrequited.

The answer was most definitely yes. You’d rather have him, even if not the whole of his being, than not have him at all. And if you could prevent the realm, and your own family, to succumb into flames and ashes in the process? All the more reason to do so.

Lost in your thoughts you barely heard the unmistakable sound of stone sliding against stone, as the wall suddenly pulled back to reveal the man in question.

“A-Aemond?” you stammered, sliding further into the water in order to preserve some shred of your dignity “What are you doing here?”

A deep, low hum was his only response as he stepped further into the room and closed the secret door behind him. The soft patter against the stone cold floor indicated that he was barefoot; that, along with the white linen shirt and soft looking breeches he was wearing, meant he was just about to go to bed before he decided to come visit you, for whatever reason.

“Qȳbor…” you bristled when he refused to elaborate.

“Can I not visit my future wife’s chambers to check on her well-being, mandianna?” he spoke lowly, his eye never leaving your frame.

“We are not yet married.” you squirmed under the intensity of his gaze “This hardly seems proper.”

He again only hummed, eye flitting around the room, before pulling his shirt over his head.

A sudden heat rushed to your cheeks as you stared at him. Much like you had noticed before, he was slim, his form lithe and elongated, making him appear even taller now that he wasn’t covered in green leather. His muscles, on the other hand, were well defined, taunt under his skin as if sculpted in the finest of marbles, his years of training with a sword under Ser Criston Cole reflected on his flesh.

His lips pulled in a smirk as you basked in his image, swiftly untying and pulling down his breeches as well. That caused you to avert your eyes immediately, going as far as to hide your peripheral vision behind your hand.

“What are you doing?!” you squealed in surprise, not at all expecting him of all people to pull a stunt like this. Aegon? Sure, but him?

“You once told me it was nothing you hadn’t seen before.” he spoke, amusement dripping from his tone as he walked closer to the tub.

“Yes, when we were children. Not like this.”

You felt the ripples of warm water beating against your skin as he joined you in the bath, leaning back against the side of the wooden tub with his legs extended in front of him, only slightly bent at the knees as they brushed softly against your own. You quickly pulled your knees to your chest, trying to put as much distance between the two of you as possible.

“Why do you hide from me?” he asked, his lips curling in a smirk “You are to be my lady wife, we ought to see each other like this on many occasions.”

“Like I said” you hissed, crossing your arms over your breasts and straightening your spine, his eye following your every move “we are not married yet.”

He hummed in response, pursing his lips as if annoyed with your resistance, but you could see the mirth swimming in his eye. He extended his arms over the rim of the tub on either side of his body, and when your eyes involuntarily followed his movement, retaining your gaze on his chest for a tad too long, he smirked. Heat burned your cheeks as you averted your eyes, realizing that he enjoyed watching you squirm.

“Why are you here?” you questioned, annoyance simmering in your voice.

He stared at you for a long moment, like he was assessing you, searching for something, but what you couldn’t tell.

“I wanted to see you.” he spoke before glancing away from you, his once jesting tone having turned soft, betraying his sincerity.

That statement had you feeling all your annoyance dissolving, your body uncurling and legs extending closer to him. If you were to be honest with yourself you wanted to see him too, you desperately wished to know what was going through his mind during supper and after. You wished to know what he thought about you.

His mind seemed far away for a moment as he chewed on his lip before his gaze fell on you once more.

“My grandsire had interesting things to say about your proposal.” the corner of his mouth turned up almost imperceptibly “More so than my mother.”

That caught your attention.

“What did he say?”

“She was, albeit vexed by your choice of timing for the delivery of said proposal, delighted.” he completely ignored your question, choosing instead to talk about Alicent Hightower instead of Otto “Like I mentioned earlier, she’s been nagging me to find a wife, and now you’ve just delivered the solution on a silver platter for her.” his smile softened “She wished to know if I was happy with this arrangement.”

“And what did you say?” your throat felt as dry as the Dornish desert, and you wondered if he could hear you swallow nervously. But from the way his grin turned again into a smirk you knew you wouldn’t get the answers you craved for.

“My grandsire on the other hand was perfectly satisfied.” he shrugged, as if Otto Hightower’s opinion didn’t truly matter to him “He believes the Seven have answered mother’s prayers of having one of us be crowned king, and that this gives us the perfect opportunity to seize the throne for ourselves.”

“What?” you physically recoiled, shoulders curling into yourself once more, as if you were physically struck by his words.

“He told me” he continued, either not noticing your reaction or wanting to push forward regardless “that when time came for us to be crowned, you and I, I was to usurp you of your ‘birthright’ and be crowned the sole King of the Seven Kingdoms.”

You let your arms drop from their position over your chest, not even being able to revel in the way pink dusted Aemond’s cheeks as his eye followed down our body to your now exposed breasts, so much was your shock. You felt so stupid, so humiliatingly naive in having believed such a ridiculous idea could ever work. Otto Hightower would never respect you, or your mother, or any possible daughters you came to have simply because you were all women. Just remembering the way you stood before him, before your entire family, before Aemond himself and said those foolish and rehearsed words, dragged yourself practically as low as the streets at Flea Bottom, made your eyes sting in embarrassment.

You were so caught up in your own swirling thoughts you barely noticed Aemond’s smirk slipping from his face, a frown now adorning his features.

“You cannot possibly believe I would do such a thing.” he let his own arms fall back into the water, his back straightening as he looked at you almost… hurt? “Do you truly think so lowly of me?”

You couldn’t hold his stare any longer, shame clawing at your chest and climbing up your throat. The truth was you didn’t know him. It’s been six long years since you’d last spoken, you couldn’t possibly know who he was anymore. Had he turned out like Aegon? Or had his grandsire shaped him in his image, a mere puppet for him to manipulate and do his bidding for him?

His stare hardened, a resigned exhale leaving him as extended a hand in your direction.

“Come here.”

You didn’t dare move a muscle, too scared to embarrass yourself even further. That wouldn’t do it for him tho, if the annoyance that took over his features was anything to go by, and his hand found your ankle underwater and tugged. Hard. Unexpectedly you found yourself almost on top of him, holding onto his naked shoulders for balance as the contents of the tub sloshed around the two of you and over onto the ground.

“Aemond-!” you chastised him, trying to pull away but one of his arms snaked around your waist, holding you firmly in place. Something about the whole situation, the way his eye was locked on yours, as if studying you, felt strangely intimate, making your heart skip a beat.

Then, with the lightest of touches, he grabbed one of your hands almost reverently, removing it from its place on his shoulder and holding it in his own, the back of your hand against his palm so your own was facing up. He brought it closer to his face, examining it closely, his thumb caressing your skin in slow movements. Where his palms were calloused, you noticed, his fingers were silkily soft, the gentleness in his touch making shivers run down your spine and goosebumps prickle your skin all the way up your arm.

“Your line of life is quite long, thankfully.” he hummed, not taking his eye off your palm, so he didn’t notice the confusion brimming in your eyes “And your line of heart not only tilts upwards, but it is also incredibly long, almost touching the place where your palm meets your fingers, right here.”

“And what does that mean?” you whispered, not daring to speak any louder for it might break the spell that befell upon the two of you.

“You will be the most beloved woman in the entire realm.” he whispered back, his eye finally meeting yours, a storm of emotions threatening to spill over in the form of unshed tears “Your lord husband would burn the whole of the Seven Kingdoms to the ground just to see you smile.”

Wetness dripped down your cheeks but you could no longer distinguish between tears and the lukewarm water from the bath. Your heart clenched and twisted painfully in your chest as his gaze turned to your palm once more.

“And would you look at that,” Aemond gently turned your palm towards you, pointer finger tapping against a faint line near your wrist “it’s the line of the king. Or should I say queen.” he glanced at you once more, a soft smile growing on his lips “You once told me it only appeared on the hands of those destined to rule over the realm.”

You bit down hard on your bottom lip, a choked sob threatening to escape, desperately clinging to his every word.

“I may not be like my sister, for the future eludes me.” the arm around your waist tightened its grip, bringing you even closer to him as he rested his forehead against your own, bringing your intertwined hands close to his chest “But if there is one thing I can promise you is that you will be queen.” his next breath came out of his lips trembling with barely contained emotion “And I’ll be right by your side when that happens.”

The sound that left your lips was a perfect blend of a laugh and a sob, your lips quivering as you tried so very hard not to collapse into his arms as all your previous worries vanished. His own face lit up in a genuine, full blown smile that brightened his face; you couldn’t even remember when the last time he allowed himself to smile as brightly as he was now. It suited him.

Warmth filled your chest, quickly climbing up to your face, as he nuzzled his nose against yours, but one detail made you pull back. His face twisted in confusion, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek, thumb tracing the line of his scar.

“I wish to see all of you.” you spoke softly.

“You already have me bare before you, woman. What more could you possibly want?” Aemond tried jesting but you could notice the way his entire body tensed against your touch.

“I want to see all of you.” you whispered, thumb catching against the edge of his eyepatch.

Before you could lift it, though, his hand shot out unexpectedly, halting your movements by encircling your wrist. His fingers were firm against your skin, but his touch didn’t hurt; you didn’t think he ever could, not again. You didn’t press any further, nor did you retreat, waiting for him to either give you permission to continue or push you away. He did neither. Instead, his other hand reached up and removed the eyepatch from his face, throwing it somewhere around the room.

You didn’t truly know what exactly you were expecting but were surprised all the same. Where you believed you’d find an empty socket lay a small round sapphire, hidden from the world beneath his eyepatch most of the time. It was alluring, glimmering under the light emitted from the candles, contributing to his mystifying nature. His grip on your wrist loosened, and you took this as an opportunity to cradle his jaw, tilting his head to be able to see his eye from different angles. The gem suited him, the deep blue contrasting with the violet of his other eye.

“Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?” you breathed out.

“Not a single soul.” he shook his head, his own breath coming out trembled.

“Well, then, they are utterly blind, the lot of them.” you caressed the corner of his mouth, bringing your own lips impossibly closer to his “You are beautiful, Aemond.”

Something shifted in him, the last of his restrain melting away under your touch, as he leaned forward and closed the gap between your lips, sealing them in a tentative kiss. His lips were a contradiction on their own. For a man so taunt and sharp and strong, his lips were incredibly soft, akin to his voice, as strange as the comparison sounded. He kissed you unhurriedly, almost chastely, his hands finding hold in your waist. You pulled back for a moment and his lips chased your own, unwilling to part from you just yet.

His mouth then started tracing a path of lazy kisses down your body, first against your jaw, then slowly down your neck. It was when his grip on your waist tightened, trying to bring your hips closer to his own, that you pulled back, a hand against his chest.

“We can’t.” you mumbled regretfully. He tried sitting up again, get closer to you once more, but you pushed him back gently, cupping his face in both your hands “Aemond, please.”

“Why must you deprive me of what I long for so desperately?” he whined against your lips.

“I cannot risk losing you…” you exhaled, voice barely above a whisper.

It was his turn to pull back, eyebrows curling in confusion, and you knew he wouldn’t let you go without an explanation.

“When I was close to reaching marrying age, mother pulled me aside to explain some of the more… intricate details of what goes on between a husband and a wife.” you shrugged, the same embarrassment you felt back then flooding you now, before you sighed “She also told me what befell her before she married my father.”

Realization dawned upon him, remembering all the times his mother uttered words unbefitting of a queen to address not only her successor, the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but also a former dear friend. Words more suited to the women who worked on the Street of Silk. From what he had gathered over the years this was the very last nail on the coffin of their friendship.

“I will not allow the same to happen to me.” your tone and your eyes alike hardened, fingers grasping his face more firmly as you forced his gaze to remain on you. Not that he could look at anything else with the way you spoke with such determination “I will not allow my virtue to be made a spectacle of, I will not give the opportunity for some lesser man from a little house to question it, to question me.”

Aemond couldn’t help but swallow thickly, the fierceness in your voice doing humorous things to his heart.

“If I was born a man this wouldn’t be a concern, but alas I was not.” something in you softened, fingers letting go of his cheeks and sliding softly to cradle the place where his jaw met his ears “If your mother so much as hears word of any misdemeanor, at least in her eyes, on my part she will tear us apart. Kesan daor ivestragī zirȳla gūrogon ao hen nyke.”

I will not let her take you from me.

When questioned later, he wouldn’t be able to tell you what came over him, but something inside his very soul snapped as he surged forward, claiming your lips in a desperate kiss. His lips moved against yours with the intensity of a man starved, like he was overcome in a thirst only your mouth could quench. It was passionate, it was harsh, it was… honestly kind of clumsy, all tongue and clashing teeth, like he didn’t truly know what he was doing. Huh. You would store this information away for later.

He pulled back with the last bit of self control he had, practically whimpering when your lips parted, resting his head on the crook of your neck.

“Kesan umbagon.” his breath was labored as he spoke, placing a tiny kiss on your shoulder before raising his head to look at you “I will always wait for you, ābrazȳrys.”

Your heart soared at the term, but when he went to gently move you away from him so he could stand up you gripped his hand to stop him.

“Stay.” you pleaded “Just a little while longer, please.”

Aemond smiled lovingly, helping maneuver you so you were sat between his legs, with your back against his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder. His arms wrapped protectively around you, his fingers absently drawing patterns against the skin of your arm. The water from the tub had since run cold but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when you were in his arms.

Aōha valzȳrys. Aōha dārys.

High Valyrian translations: - qȳbor - uncle (mother’s younger brother) - mandianna - niece (older sister’s son or daughter) - kesan umbagon - I will wait - ābrazȳrys - wife - aōha valzȳrys - your husband - aōha dārys - your king

Also, this two were getting quite steamy while Viserys was literally dying in the other room. At least this time Rhaenyra was the one with him so, you know, no mixing up names this time (I stand by my argument that if Alicent’s eldest son was called Godofredo none of this would have happened, but the Targaryens were not known for their creativity when naming their children).

Tag List:

@callsignwidow

@sleephereicome

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x f!reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen x velaryon!reader #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #aemond targaryen x niece!reader #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic

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vxsellie · 10 days ago

Text

‧₊˚┊simple living things﹗

a hunger games!au ellie williams fanfiction.⌇ 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔦𝔦𝔦

summary. a train ride to one's demise alongside an addict and a capitolite. only to be followed by a flowery attempt at beautification as to be flaunted like cattle to your soon-to-be butchers. what a lovely way to go, though, right?

content warnings. mentions of addiction, abuse, exploitation, nudity, and murder.

total wc. 10,802

notes!! i'm gonna so honest rn: i rewrote this entire chapter 5 different times. my writers block did, in fact, return after writing last chapter. surprisingly, the push it took to get my thoughts flowing again was getting drunk for new years. so! yay for alcohol! (im kidding) (no im not) anyway. once again, reminder that it's better read on ao3!

𝜗𝜚 series masterlist ⸝⸝ playlist ⸝⸝ ao3 𝜗𝜚

21:23.

DISTRICT FOUR’S TRAIN.

Seductive. Smart. Dull. Funny. Strong. Fragile.

There are infinite ways one could present themselves to the Capitol prior to the Games. The catch, however, is that whichever of these facades is chosen must be completely reliable; mustn’t be a doubt whether the tribute can withhold the mask. Usually, this is something that the tributes’ mentor is burdened with — figuring out how best to please the Capitol. But your mentor is Ruben and, seeing as you’re not exactly on talking terms, you’ve decided to take matters into your own hands. Plus, nobody knows you better than you know yourself. This should be easy.

Except it’s not. You’re good at wearing masks in front of authoritative figures. You’d done it all your life for your mother. So it’s really just a matter of which of these facades will work best. And you’re coming to realize you don’t know yourself at all. How could you, anyway? To perceive oneself is nonviable. You know how you look and where your mind resides on certain topics, sure, but you’re oblivious as to how others deem you. You’d never really had friends, what with your parents’ belief that other children will taint you. Do people think you’re funny, attractive, strong? You haven’t a clue.

You tear yet another piece of parchment from your notebook, balling it up in your fist.

I’ll come back to that later. You tell yourself, despite knowing you won’t be doing any such thing.

The room you’ve been given is rather remarkable, considering it’s on a train. You have your own private bathroom and dressing quarters. The space is smaller than your bedroom at home, but you honestly prefer it this way. You don’t feel nearly as suffocated, despite the irony of the size to tolerance ratio.

The floors are hardwood, perfectly cleaned by virtue of the Avoxes aboard. The wallpaper is tan with floral designs, small metal windows providing evidence to how unnaturally fast the train is moving. Though you’ve long since shut the curtains, as the speed made you dizzy. You’re currently sitting at a wooden desk, a plethora of papers and notebooks flooding the surface. Your thoughts are running at a speed of which rivals that of that train. You’re trying to puzzle everything out within one night, think it best to have a plan laid out.

You pick up your pen once more, tapping it against the newly blank page as you ponder on where to redirect your attention. There’s so many things to be solidified — how your stylist will dress you for the parade and interview, how you’ll manage to survive the arena considering, what to think of what Ruben told you regarding the other tributes, what life you’ll lead after returning back home. Will you get married or will you remain a Capitol diamond all your life, forever single in order to remain desirable to them?

You’re about to resume your mental mania when a knock is heard at your door.

With a heavy sigh, you push to your feet and head toward it. You open it only a few inches, just enough to poke your head out. Alice Reymond is standing in the hallway, a plate of food in her hands and a freakishly white smile on her face.

You open the door wider to allow her entry. She saunters in, nosily peering around as she takes in the sight of your current living quarters. Her nose is upturned in judgement of the mess, though she doesn’t dare utter a word. Instead, she moves to place the plate atop an open book on your desk. You grimace at the sight of the steaming dish resting on the delicate pages.

“Oh, I hope the meal is up to your standards. I’m sure, as a L/n, you’re fed only the best Four has to offer.” Says Alice Reymond as she begins an unprompted spiel about, well, who knows what. The assumptions she makes about you cause you to bristle, though you remain silent. “I gave very strict instructions to the Avoxes, informing them to make sure the food is as perfected as possible. Though you can never trust an Avox. I mean, they’re made into silent servants for a reason, yes?”

She falls into a tangent following that, one that entails elongated complaints regarding the Avoxes and the loathing she holds for them. You’re forced to bite your tongue so as not to shout at her for withholding such ignorance. But you should’ve expected such idiocy from a Capitolite of ehr standing.

You find yourself tuning her words out, smiling and nodding as she practically talks to the wall. Her chatting flows from one topic to the next like a never ending river of panache. All the while, your meal grows cold with neglect atop your residually blank notebook.

You’re only brought consciously into the conversation when she speaks Ruben’s name. Your head snaps up, now deeply invested.

“—I’ve worked with him for years, you see.” She says. You suppose that’s true as she’s the escort to his mentorship, the two of them working as a pair to train the yearly tributes and attempt to bring them home. Frankly, you haven't a clue how Ruben can tolerate her when she talks so fucking much. “I think I’ve come to know him rather well, due to this. But, in all the lovely years spent in his company, I’ve never since witnessed such seclusion. He’s hardly eaten since the Reaping and prefers to hole up in his room rather than speak with me as he usually does. He’s not taking care of himself and I’ve begun to worry.”

“He’ll come around.” Is all you can think to say in response.

For some reason, her claim to know him oh so well sparks a sense of irritation in your chest. You’re aware that your irascibility is due to more than her mere claim of rapport with your brother — it’s due to the Reaping, to your mother, and to your lack of ability to do everything yourself.

But gall is a creature of impulsivity, rearing its head in the most accessible direction possible. And, at the moment, the easiest target is Alice Reymond and her lack of affinity. It takes everything in you to hold that tangible feeling back, gritting your teeth as you bite your tongue. Though, like the dull magnate she is, the woman continues on, completely heedless to your rising temper.

“Perhaps.” She hums, though it’s evident that her worry for Ruben’s recluse remains ceaseless. What she says next plucks the final thread that’d been holding the leash around your animalistic gall. “At times, he feels like a brother to me, y’know? That’s the kind of relationship—”

“Get out.” You interrupt, the tether snapping like a twig. The sharpness to your tone mocks that of your mother’s, only further fueling your rage as you scowl at the Capitolite before you.

Her overly large eyelashes blink dumbly, “What?”

“I said, get the fuck out.” You repeat, lip upturned with disgust as you take a threatening step toward her. Her eyes grow comically wide as she registers your words, surprisingly hasty to put the pieces together.

“Oh, dear,” She bleats, “I didn’t mean—” “Out!” You shout, voice reverberating off the metal walls of the train. You sound so similar to your mother that it makes your stomach churn. You vaguely wonder if Ruben had heard you, possibly mistaking your voice for hers.

One good thing comes out of it, though, and that’s Alice Reymond’s swift exit. She shrieks, turning on her heel and quickly traipsing out the door.

A week. You’re expected to live like this for a week.

Not always in the train, of course, but always in the company of three people — First of which being Ruben, your mentor, who you’ve yet to speak a single word to. The heavy tension between you two is nigh palpable whilst surrounding your proximity, albeit rare. Second being Alice Reymond, the nosy escort who can’t seem to mind her own damn business. In the past two hours, she’s asked you about fifty questions regarding your family, your financial decisions, and your relationships with certain people. And lastly, Remy Wilson, your fellow tribute. He’s, admittedly, the most tolerable of the bunch. You pity him greatly due to his being Reaped at such a young age. And, despite having nothing in common and not having said a single word to one another, you’re pretty sure the two of you have come to form an alliance of some kind. Wordlessly, of course.

See, after being separated from Ruben in the Justice Building, you and Remy were led to District Four’s train station. There, hundreds of cameramen were buzzing around the both of you, trying to get the clearest shot for the Capitol news. They reminded you of bugs; pestering and obnoxious. Not to mention their appearances. It’s kinda funny, the way the Capitol treats the people of the Districts as less than human when they’re the ones that look like monstrous deformities.

Under the flashing lights, your mother’s voice rang through your mind. “Back straight, chin high, eyes level, brows set.” She’d repeatedly told you this, slamming her cane into your spine to ameliorate your posture. You had been so occupied trying to recall each technique your mother had beat into you that you nearly failed to descry Remy. He was hiding behind your dress. He’d done so with such subtlety that nobody else noticed, this act being made especially easy when you were unintentionally taking up most of the reporters’ attention.

You glanced back, catching sight of his watery eyes and rapid breathing pattern. For a split second, a voice in your head told you to shove him away. Catering to a kid would be a look of weakness, of vulnerability. But nobody was even looking at him; they’d be unable to deem you weak if they hadn’t seen the act to cause it. Plus, the voice in your head sounded oddly like your mother. And you’ll be damned if you abide by her senseless rules in her absence.

You then flicked your dress, flashing the gemstones on your waist. The cameramen gobbled it up, taking a million more photos. Though, unbeknownst to them, you’d only done so in order to fully shield Remy from their sight.

Knock knock knock.

You’re broken from your thoughts at the sound of a second visit to your bedroom.

You’d just begun eating, having returned to your prior endeavor of mapping out every plan for the Games possible. You’re not very hungry, though, so you hardly mind the interruption in regards to dinner. But you’re still irritated at Alice Reymond and don’t particularly wish to see her so soon after your last interaction. Not wishing to stand up again, you simply call out for her to enter.

But it’s not her whose voice reaches your ears. It’s Ruben’s.

“Alice sent me to tell you that the Reapings are about to be aired.” He says, voice uncharacteristically rough. Perhaps he hasn’t been taking care of himself. “She claims that the two of you got into a ‘squabble’ of some kind.”

You spin your chair to face him. There are bags under his eyes, his lips chapped. Worry settles in your chest at the sight. Though the moment you recognize it, you squash it beneath feelings of distaste.

“I’ll be out in a bit.” You reply, surprised to hear how steady your voice is.

He pauses, appearing as though he wishes to ask you something more. Probably what you and Alice Reymond could possibly have argued over. But he never voices it, instead giving a curt nod before shutting the door.

Upon his exit, you release a heavy breath.

You don’t hate Ruben, despite how much you sometimes wish you did. Frankly, you don’t think you could ever hate him. When your parents were abusive, Ruben protected you. He raised you. And for that, you’ll forever be in his debt.

When you were six and Ruben was eleven, your father was Reaped. He won his Games, as expected, and thus began the lush life of a diamond. He still lives in District Four, but he’s a full-blown Capitolite in every other sense. He became so obsessed with the life of wealth and riches that he never returned to normalcy.

The closest you’d gotten to having a conversation with him is watching his interviews on the television — which you did a lot as a kid. He was presented to the public as a sweet man and a loving father, wearing that mask so well that you nearly believed it in spite of how he’d treated you.

You and Ruben lived with your mother for two years. She trained you two so strictly than it was more rare to go to sleep sweaty than it was to not. From dawn to dusk, you’d train. Just in case you two were Reaped. This was the height of your relationship with Ruben. You only had each other.

You’d sneak into his room at night, loathing the vastness of your own bed. You’d stay up until midnight, laughing into the darkness. Then, at dawn, you’d be woken together by your mother and made to train as one. Whether you got food depended on how well you’d performed. If he were to be punished, you’d sneak some bread into your pocket and give it to him when you’d slip into his room at night. And vice versa.

Though that relationship didn’t last long. When Ruben was thirteen, it was his name to be pulled from the bowl. You screamed and cried, the cameramen gobbling up the image of an eight year old sobbing over her big brother’s sealed fate; of a L/n showing such raw emotion. Your mother, however, was not pleased. She threatened to forbid you from visiting him in the Justice Building. Though, as it turned out, she had at least a small ounce of morality in her heart because she ended up allowing you to say goodbye.

“Don’t leave.” You’d pleaded, crying into his chest as his shirt became soaked with your salty tears.

“I’ll come back.” He promised. “You know I will.”

He hadn’t lied then. He did return, though he wasn’t the same. Never again would he be the same. He was distant and oftentimes thrashed out on you when you tried to be around him. One night, two months following his return, you were sleeping beside him when you awoke to a pair of hands around your throat. Ruben was choking you. Luckily, your mother intervened before he could kill you, though you were left with bruises around your neck for a week.

He was a child; you both were. He could hardly be blamed for having nightmares considering all he’d been through during the Games. To have been forced into killing people at such a young age… it’s no shock what befell him.

You insisted you’d forgiven him, but he never forgave himself. Because, after that, he moved out of your family home and into his assigned house in the Victor’s Village. He was only fourteen, living all alone in that mansion of a building.

He’d visited home often, though that dwindled as well over time. Then, when his Victory Tour rolled around and he’d visited the Capitol, that’s when he officially became a diamond. They loved him so much, infatuated with all he entailed. And, due to having been so young and so deprived of love from his own parents, Ruben became just as obsessed with the lush life as his father before him. The more time he spent with Capitolites, the more he mimicked their etiquette and behaviorisms. And, at some point along the way, he became addicted to Capitol-enhanced drugs at a young age. One of his creepy “friends” made the drug specially for him, to rid him of memories regarding his traumas.

Nothing that happened was his fault and you know that.

But you were a child yourself, left all alone in that house of horrors. Alone with your mother, given no explanation to why your beloved brother left so abruptly. To be nine years of age and abandoned twice is no small feat. Not to mention the way your mother spoke of Ruben and your father, cursing them for having left. It gets to a child’s head. And, eventually, you came to resent him.

Whenever you saw Ruben on TV, he was smiling and talking about how much he adored the Capitol. And all you could think of, in those moments, was how vehemently he’d once hated them for having stolen his father away. No, your father wasn’t a good man, but he was still your dad. Even more so to Ruben than you. Due to this, Ruben should know better than anyone how badly his own absence would affect you.

And that’s what hurt most — he knew leaving would ruin you, and he did it anyway.

“There she is!” Alice Reymond grins as you enter the living room.

Everyone else is already settled in, three couches surrounding the television. Two single chairs and one triple cushioned sofa. Alice and Ruben sit in the chairs, postures perfect and movements impeccably graceful. Your mother would be gushing over her son’s flawlessness. The thought makes you frown. On the larger couch, Remy sits alone in the fetal position. His legs are hugged against his chest as he peers over his knees at the TV. He looks every bit the helpless child that he is. You move to sit beside him, leaving an entire cushion empty between you two.

You seem to have arrived at the perfect time because the Reapings begin playing just as you settle down. They begin with One, going through each of the other Districts until ending on Twelve.

Ruben hadn’t mentioned the tributes of One, causing you to assume they’re unimportant. Oh, how wrong you’d been. Anthea Solace is the first name to be called. A small girl, sixteen years in age, walks up to the stage. Her hair is dirty blonde, her face contorted into one of wonder as she overlooks the town square. Next to be called is Thalia Thatcher. You know who she is the moment you see her as she looks exactly like her older sister, Thea, who was the victor of the 68th Games six years ago. Thalia appears absolutely elated to be Reaped, a viscous grin on her face.

The screen cuts away from One and moves onto the next District.

Ruben told you about the tributes of Two — Lev and Yara. Siblings. Yara is called up first, walking onto the stage with a raised chin. She appears even younger than Anthea Solace from One, though she stands with such valor. This bravery quickly fades when her younger brother’s name is called. Her face drops as he walks up to the stage, taking his place at her side. They look absolutely distraught to have been Reaped. The Capitol must hate that, their humanity. This assumption is proven correct as the program flicks to District Three the moment Yara begins to shout in protest. No shock there, the rush to get away from the pain that the Games induce.

You were informed of Three as well. Sam and Henry. Another pair of siblings. Their Reaping is far more peculiar than Two’s, though. Sam’s name is called and Henry volunteers for him in a heartbeat. Sam screams for his older brother as he’s yanked onto the stage. Though, right after, Sam’s name is called a second time, something unheard of. To have one’s name called twice in a single Reaping? It’s outlandish. Henry’s act of volunteering proves futile by Sam’s second name call. Henry’s eyes are wide with horror as Sam walks onto the stage. The cameras are cut off just as Henry begins screaming at the escort who Reaped them both.

Next is Four. Your District. You watch as Remy’s name is called, the boy beside you hiding his face in his knees as he refuses to look at the screen. Your name is pulled next, the entire square going silent as you walk up to the stage. From this angle, you’re able to see the trepidation that floods Ruben’s face as you exit the mass of people. You hike up your navy dress as you ascend the stairs, careful not to lift the hem above your ankles. As you turn to the crowd, you’re rather pleased to see that your expression is blank, appearing more bored than anything. Good. Had you cried or screamed, the Capitol would know of your agitation. You relish in knowing that they’re clueless to how you feel at this moment.

Ruben told you about Five’s tributes as well. Best friends, Ariadne Evans and Selene Jones. They both seem to be around the age of eighteen. Ariadne is called up first, a woman with jet black hair and bright green eyes. She ascends the stage with a set jaw and darkened gaze. Selene is the polar opposite with platinum hair and brown eyes that glint with something akin to hope despite the situation she’s been thrusted into. They’re the face of perfectly balanced dualism, yin and yang. Though they’re both wise enough to keep their emotions shielded from the cameras.

District Six you heard of as well. They’re the ones in a relationship. Archie Bardot and Roland Jennings. The two men stood side by side in the crowd, hands clasped together. Archie’s name is called first, his eyes wide and glossed over as he’s yanked to the stage and away from his boyfriend. Roland screams, the sounds guttural and ringing through your ears; pure agony, fear. The escort utters not one syllable of the second tribute’s name before Roland is volunteering in their place, yearning to be with his lover despite knowing the pain it’ll bring them both.

It’s horrible. It’s absolutely horrible that they’re put in this situation, that anyone should be put in this situation. Though, before you’re able to fully register the awfulness of Six’s Reaping, the program moves onto Seven.

Ruben told you about this pair as well. Another duo of best friends. Riley Abel is called up first, her coiled hair tied back into a low bun at her nape. Her gaze is condescending as she approaches the escort. You recognize the expression all too well; this girl is pissed. Whereas most tributes exude fear, sadness, or even avidity, Riley is irate. The next name to be drawn is Ellie Williams, a girl with short auburn hair done half-up. Her eyes are light green, mocking the hue of Seven’s leaves. Freckles fan across her tanned skin. She’s wearing a wrinkled linen shirt and a pair of worn out jeans. You almost laugh at the sight of such laxity in her outfit. Ellie walks onto the stage with wide eyes, a faraway look to their viridescence. It’s not long before Riley grabs her by the hand and lifts it into the air.

You instantly wince, knowing exactly the intentions of such an act. To others, this may look harmless. But it’s the very opposite. Tributes are meant to be enemies. Duos are being called together this year, likely in hopes that they’ll turn on each other and provide the Capitol with a good show. But Riley doing this is a direct defiance against the Capitol, a clear way to say ‘Fuck you, your plans to separate us are idiotic.’ It’s smart in the fact that only certain people will understand its gravity. But it’s impulsive and thereby foolish.

The cameras cut quickly after the show of repudiation, flicking over to District Eight.

The first name called up is Raven Hansley, a girl with frizzy brown hair and doe shaped eyes. She looks so small on stage despite clearly being older than you. Ashley West is the second tribute, a girl with fiery hair done into a braid down her back. She wears something strange on her ear. You only realize what it is when a ginger man — who you assume to be her father — turns to her and does something weird with his hands. Sign language. She’s Deaf. Your heart drops in realization that they’re Reaping a Deaf girl. Is that not immoral? Ashley seems rather strong, though, as she nods curtly to her father and then walks up to the stage with a hardened expression. Frankly, she looks more resilient than half the other tributes.

District Nine Reaps Elliot Delcan, a blonde boy with circular glasses and dopey hazel eyes, and Whitney Sato, a girl with a slick back bun atop her head. Whitney is quick to shove something into her jacket when her name is called. It looked almost like a game system, though you’re unsure how someone from Nine would get their hands on that.

From Ten comes Nolan Barlowe and Violetta Yaxley. Nolan is huge in the muscular sense of things. His shirt appears too tight for his biceps as he walks to the stage with a wicked grin. Violetta, on the other hand, is nigh impossible to read. She looks terrified when her name is called, though she looks bloodthirsty once she’s on the stage. Perhaps she changed her expression for the camera? Or maybe she truly did have such a hasty change of heart? Who knows.

Eleven offers two children. A small boy named Cooper Whitlock and an even smaller girl named Dahlia Hart. Dahlia has poofy black hair that form two buns atop her head and big brown eyes that are glistening with tears. Her hands fumble together in front of her as her bottom lip quivers. The mentor for their District, who you believe to be named Dina Woodward, reaches forward to comfort her. The show of humanity causes the scene to be cut short.

District twelve, last but not least, Reaps two old men. James, who has a scar down his face and a heavy beanie atop his head, and David, who had a thin beard and huge red nose. You briefly wonder why Twelve Reaps such old men, as they appear to be in their forties, then you see that the crowd is mostly middle aged people. Twelve is the lowest District and thereby the poorest. They barely have enough food to scrape by; it’s no shock if they simply don’t have any kids to offer up.

The program ends with the anthem playing solemnly.

The room is silent for a long time, none of you knowing exactly what to say. There’s so much to address — the amount of pairs, the vicious boy from Ten, the Deaf girl from Eight, the show of defiance in Seven, or, most hauntingly, the two lovers from Six.

With so much to take in and process, one thing rings through your head loudest. The Capitol wants a show this year. And with who they’ve Reaped, it’s no doubt that they’re sure to get one.

22:00.

DISTRICT SEVEN’S TRAIN.

The program hadn’t even ended when Riley stood from the sofa and stomped off to her room. Eleven’s Reaping was being aired and, upon the sight of such young children being drawn, Riley left. Ellie can’t blame her for this, of course. Seeing such a display of cruelty is rather hard to stomach.

But, the thing is, Riley has been acting off for a while now. In fact, she hasn’t yet spoken a single word to Ellie since the Reaping. And, considering they now only have each other, this act of neglect is infuriating. What with Cat’s departure and Marlene’s peculiarity, Riley was supposed to be the break in that. The calm to the chaos. Instead, she’d done nothing but add weight to the burden on Ellie’s shoulders.

Ellie only realizes she’d missed the entirety of Twelve’s Reaping when Joel powers down the screen with a huff.

Joel Miller has proven to be a strange man. He’s easily irritable and drinks a lot — though he claims that he always remains sober enough to do his job as a mentor. Ellie’s not so sure that’s true. Setting alcoholism aside, he’s not too bad. He’s got a country drawl, the Millers having come from the deep South before the formation of the Districts. He’s not talkative, but doesn’t shut down conversation when it’s offered to him. Ellie can’t tell if he hates her or not.

“Fuckin’ Four.” He curses under his breath, tossing the remote onto the coffee table with a scoff. “‘Course one of them had t’ be Reaped this year.”

“And Ruben’s sister, no less.” Chimes in the escort — whose name Ellie has found to be Tilly Reymond. The Capitol woman huffs, nose upturned in displeasure. “Oh, I’m sure my sister is rapturous beyond her wits about this. Not that she has many.”

Ellie has no clue who Tilly’s sister is, though she doesn't dare ask when both she and Joel appear so vexed.

“Alice is always pleased when one of ‘em is Reaped.” Joel points out, leaning back in his armchair with a distasteful expression. He crosses his arms over his chest, lips pursed. “Only adds t’ her inestimable mountain of wealth.”

The two continue to complain about Four’s tributes, speaking without providing context. Ellie finds herself swimming in lack of information, completely lost on what they’re talking about. Tilly’s sister, some guy named Ruben, some girl in a navy gown, etc etc etc. It’s dizzying. After a few more minutes of cluelessness, Ellie finally cuts into their conversation.

“Okay. What the hell is so special about Four’s tributes?” She asks. She’d watched the same program they did. Though, to her, all she saw was some rich girl and a teary-eyed little boy.

The two of them face her with mirrored expressions of shock. Joel is the first to speak, tone laced with annoyance. “Don’t play dumb, kid. We ain’t got the time for this.”

“I’m not playing dumb!” Ellie exclaims, her own annoyance spiking.

He scowls at her before pushing to his feet And, without another word, he exits the room. Ellie continues to seethe, sitting on the sofa with a glare despite the person of cause no longer present. She scowls at the doorway he exited through.

Tilly turns to Ellie with comically wide eyes. Her hair is green, done up in a star-shaped braid that balances crookedly on the top of her head. Her eyes look upside down, having only the bottom row of lashes made three inches long. A Capitolite, she is. And, even more so than that, she’s terrifying. All of them are, having been shifted into humanoid concepts of people rather than natural beings. The Capitol always has a new style trend, each more insane than the last in terms of unattainability.

“The tributes Reaped from Four are Remy Wilson and Y/n L/n.” Tilly explains. Her voice is so gentle that Ellie nearly feels bad for having judged her for being a Capitolite. “Remy isn’t the one that causes such fret. It’s the girl. The L/n.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of the family.” Ellie brushes her off. “Dunno anything about them aside from the fact that they’re crazy rich.”

“You don’t know why they’re rich?”

“Nope.”

“Oh dear,” Tilly hums, lips thinning as she ponders on how exactly to explain. “The L/ns are Capitol diamonds, you see. Reaped more commonly than any other family in the country, they’ve built a long line of tributes in the Games. The catch, however, is that they’ve all come out victorious.”

“All?” Ellie questions, finding this hard to believe.

“All.” Tilly confirms with a solemn nod. She then holds up a hand to her side, counting on her fingers as she lists off your esteemed relatives. “Ethan L/n, victor of the 32nd Hunger Games. Cassiopeia L/n, victor of the 38th Games. Emiliana L/n, 42nd Games. Lysandra L/n, 47th. Penelope L/n, the oldest of their living lineage, victor of the 50th Games — the second Quell. The Capitol adores her. Yasmin L/n, 54th Games. Elina L/n, 57th. Then, for the 60th Games, Y/n’s father was victorious. Two years following his victory came his son, her brother, Ruben L/n, for the 62nd Games. Theodore L/n for the 64th. And now, for the 74th Hunger Games, ten years after the last one of them was Reaped, there’s Y/n L/n.”

Ellie’s eyes narrow, her mind struggling to keep up with Tilly’s unprompted history lesson. Truly, all she managed to process just then is that this family has a lot of kids. She shoots Tilly an incredulous look. “And you’ve memorized them all?”

The woman simply shrugs, “They’re diamonds, Ellie. Everyone has memorized them.”

“Not me.” She points out.

“Well,” Tilly tilts her head, “You’re the only one.”

God, these Games are even more insane than Ellie has initially deemed them to be. She knew they were malicious, everyone knows that, though some people choose to ignore it. Children are killed and starved for entertainment. Nothing should shock her considering that. But here she is, mind unable to keep up with even more lunatic information thrown her way.

An entire family tree memorized by almost the entire country purely because they’re inherently skilled at murdering people. What the fuck? But yeah, Ellie’s the weird one for not having all of their hundred children known by heart.

And what’s worse is that one of these crazed L/ns will be tossed in the arena with her. With Riley. Does Riley know about this? She probably does, but that doesn't stop the worry from seeping into Ellie’s chest at the thought. Had Ellie not known of this, she’d likely have not thought the navy woman to be any different from everyone else. She would likely have died for her lack of care for the Capitol. Perhaps that’s the point.

Before she can spiral further down the rabbit hole that is her mind, a soft gasp escapes Tilly’s lips, pulling her attention back to reality. The woman moves toward the window of the train, her upside down eyes impossibly wide as she looks outside. She pulls the window open with a loud thud. She attempts to poke her head outside, though her hair is too large to fit.

They’re in the Capitol now, crowds of people swarming the tributes’ trains as they coast down the tracks. Despite Ellie’s loathing for the Capitol, her curiosity gets the better of her and she ends up walking over to the glass alongside Tilly.

It’s gorgeous, the Capitol. Skyscrapers stretch high above the clouds, built into a plethora of colors, the entire city bursting with vibrance. Below the skyline, is a huge crowd of people. They’re all just as silly looking as Tilly, their hairstyles larger than their heads and their makeup reminding her of clowns. Their clothes are industrialized, some people wearing literal paper or leaves or other unfathomably odd fabrics.

“Wave!” Tilly says, placing an excited hand on Ellie’s shoulder. Ellie shrugs her off with a scoff, wordlessly refusing to do such a thing. Tilly frowns, “They’re here to see you! One wave or one smile could go a long way, y’know.”

Ellie looks back out the window, scowling at the mass of people. “They’re here to see me before I’m in a casket, you mean.”

Tilly groans, “Is it so hard for you to be pleasant?”

“Yes.”

“They’re clueless, you know.” Tilly says, tone far more somber than that of before. “They’ve been conditioned to enjoy this. Just as you’ve been conditioned into loving the woods as a person of Seven; just as those in Four are conditioned to love water; just as those in Twelve are conditioned to fight for scraps. Everyone is equally as controlled by the president’s thumb.”

“Yet the effects of such control vary in morality.” Ellie points out harshly. “Capitolites are controlled into enjoying the death of children and eating feasts until they puke whereas Districts are controlled into offering their kids to the Games and be well off with eating only a crumb. There’s a colossal difference between the two.”

Tilly says nothing for a while after that, only frowning. Then, after a few minutes of silence, she says, “Y’know the word Capitolite is offensive,” and walks away.

Her lack of reprimanding in response to Ellie’s entire spiel speaks more than a lecture would have. In her last six words of acknowledgement, she manages to point out yet another thing that Ellie has been ‘conditioned’ into. Something harmless to her yet the opposite to others. Everyone in Seven refers to them as Capitolites. Since when was that offensive? Perhaps it’s always been, Ellie oblivious to it just as they’re oblivious to their malice.

But she can’t process it. They love the Games, gathering ‘round the television to watch twenty-four innocent people fight to the death. They relish in the gore of it all. Something like that can’t be controlled, she feels. Something so malicious can be altered if one cares enough to do so.

But they don’t.

8:33.

REMAKE CENTER.

Tributes are to meet their stylist today for the Chariot Parade. Ellie, however, already knows who Seven’s is to be this year.

For the first time ever, she dreads seeing Cat’s face.

“No need to be so nervous!” Tilly says kindly, taking notice of Ellie’s fidgeting fingers and weary expression. Beside Ellie stands Riley, her face hardened. They still haven’t spoken. “They’re just going to make you nice and pretty. Then you’ll be paraded around as an introduction to the Capitol.”

They're currently in a building called the Remake Center, though it feels more like an asylum than anything. The walls are white concrete, the floors and ceilings both made of shiny tile. There are two rooms on either side of the one they’re currently waiting in. Behind one of those doors is Cat, waiting.

Joel is nowhere to be found, though Ellie supposes that’s a good thing. He’d probably manage to get into an argument with the stylists about one thing or another.

“So you’re saying we’re to be flaunted about like cattle?” Riley asks dryly. “Makes fucking sense.”

Ellie says nothing, her hands continuing to pick at the skin around her nails. Marlene would always tell her to drop that habit because it made her fingers look dirty, but the stylists will probably create her new ones anyway.

“See, that’s what we’re not going to say.” Tilly replies pointedly.

Though, before she could say anything more, Riley and Ellie are being pulled into separate rooms by their respective designers. As she’s being led away, Ellie looks over her shoulder. A small ounce of her hopes that Riley will be looking back as well. But she’s not.

“Here, here,” Says a male voice she doesn’t recognize, “Have a seat.”

The man gestures behind him where a metal table resides. A mini mattress is placed atop the table, pure white in color with a thin, crinkly sheet embodying it. It adds a hospital-like effect to the entire situation, making Ellie a bit uncomfortable. Despite this, she obliges and sits on the mattress. The room is exactly like the rest of the Remake Center, white in every place, made of tile and concrete.

The man stares at Ellie, looking her up and down with intense eyes. It makes her feel like some sort of animal to be tested on. She supposes, in his eyes, she likely is.

“Ah, sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable!” He apologizes. His hair is bright blue, matching his vibrant makeup. “I’m Clay, your designer, aka your stylist’s helper! She should be here shortly. I’m going to prep you, and she’ll dress you.”

Ellie nods, a bit dazed by it all. “Yeah, okay.”

“Perfect.” He chirps, clasping his hands together with a kind smile. “Now, now, get undressed.”

“Excuse me?” She blurts out.

“Hm? Oh! No no no.” He chuckles as he pieces together the reason for her defensive tone. “No need for modesty, Miss Williams, I mean nothing indecent by it. My job is to help you look perfect for the parade! Nothing more than that shall be done. You have my word.”

But Ellie doesn’t trust his word. She doesn’t even trust him. “I’m keeping my underthings on.”

“Whatever makes you comfortable!” He smiles. “That’s fine until you get into the bath. Then, I’ll have to see you at least a bit.”

Ellie does not like this, but she has no choice but to agree. The Capitol has no issue with nudity, they deem it normal. Tributes strip in the arena all the time to bathe, change, or get out of old clothes. Nobody minds. So, she knows this is normal to Clay. He thinks not a thing by it. But, as Ellie is not from the Capitol, she loathes it.

She eyes Clay, taking in his build. He’s thin, his clothes hanging off his shoulders. It comforts her to know she’ll be able to fight him if need be. Ellie vaguely wonders about Riley — is she arguing with her designer or is she silent and abiding?

It’s driving her crazy. The disregard, the lack of communication. She used to know everything about Riley, knowing her better than she knew herself. And yet.

“I’ll turn away while you bathe.” Clay offers.

Ellie’s grateful for this, though it’s the bare minimum. God, how do other tributes do this? Nobody mentions these parts of the Games — the people she’s expected to just trust. She’s putting her life in Joel’s hands by trusting him with gaining her sponsors, she’s trusting Tilly to manage her schedule and meals and everything else domestic, and now she’s trusting Clay to see her nude. It’s maddening.

She bathes quickly, scrubbing her skin harshly with the floral scented soap. The aroma of the wash is so strong it makes her nose hairs sting. It’s a good smell, though way too pungent for her preference.

When she steps out of the tub, she wraps herself in the robe Clay provides her. His hands remain over his eyes as he passes it to her, though it’s clear he’s unused to doing such a thing.

She ties the robe around her waist and follows Clay into another room. He does his job within that space, then leads her into another. Then another. Then another.

By the end of it, Ellie is sure she doesn’t have a single strand of hair on her body. It makes her feel vulnerable, the lack of it. In Seven, where she hunts year-round, body hair is useful in cold weather as it provides an extra layer of warmth. Plus, nobody there gives a damn if you have hair. It’s normal. In fact, Ellie had an abundance of it — much to Clay’s distaste.

Her brows are shaped, her nails are filed, her legs are waxed. She feels like a plucked bird, ready to be roasted and feasted upon. It’s unsettling, the way she’s being prepped for death. The arena would be the equivalent to the butcher shop, the other tributes being the weapons wielded by the president to kill her.

“You have so many scars.” Clay comments bluntly, once the entire ordeal has been completed and she’s sitting atop the thin mattress once more. “I tried to hide the one in your eyebrow since it’s on your face, but some of them can’t be covered. You have tons on your legs and back. It’s—”

“It’s fine.” She finishes for him.

He nods kindly, though it’s evident he doesn’t necessarily concur. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s— Uh, it’s human.”

She gives him a condescending glance, “Exactly.”

Clay shifts from one foot to the other as he tries to think of what else to say. He inhales deeply before deciding on his next course of action. “I think you’re ready to be dressed, don’t you? Yeah, I’ll go fetch the stylist. You’re gonna love her.”

Without another word, he turns on his heel and leaves the room, leaving Ellie in naught but a robe and lack of hair. In fact, it feels like he’d ripped off at least three layers of skin when he waxed her. She didn’t make a single noise of pain nor complaint, refusing to show any sense of pain to the Capitolites people of the Capitol.

The Chariot Parade isn’t something she’s exactly looking forward to, either. It’s where each pair of tributes are stuffed into little carriages and shown to the Capitol. If the tributes don’t stand out, the Parade hardly matters. Though, if they do, it can be a great way to gain sponsors before anyone else. For as long as she can remember, Seven’s tributes are always dressed in odd tree-like gowns or suits of paper. However, since Cat’s rise to diamondcy, the game has changed a bit. She branches out more into unexplored territory — using designs inspired by leaves, wood, textile, and other things that a Capitolite wouldn’t think to use. But, as someone from Seven, Cat appreciates the trees more than the past stylists did.

The one good thing that’ll come out of the Parade, though, is the fact that she’ll be able to catch a glance at all the other tributes. After being dressed, they’re all stuffed into a room together. It’ll only be for a few minutes while the chariots are being set up, but she’ll make the most of the time. She can analyze them, get an idea for each character and their structures. She hopes to analyze everyone, of course, but most of all you. The infamous L/n of whom she’s heard so much. Will you be modest or will you flaunt your wealth and predetermined fame? Will you be kind or rude to the child you were Reaped alongside?

“Miss Ellie Williams!”

Before she can even turn her head to the sound of Cat’s voice, she’s being hugged. Ellie is taken aback by this, the public show of affection not exactly Cat’s forte — even if it’s only in front of one person who she works with.

But then she’s whispering something in her ear and the odd behavior suddenly makes sense.

“We’re being recorded, don’t say anything about our relationship.” She whispers, speaking fast and almost frantically. Almost like she’s in danger. “Act as though you’d just met me.”

Cat pulls back, hands on Ellie’s shoulders and a wide smile on her face. Worry instantly shoots through Ellie’s chest, but she’s quick to play along.

“You must be my stylist.” She speaks, slowly removing Cat’s hands from her shoulders as though the action makes her uncomfortable. Despite, in all honesty, wanting nothing more than to pull her closer.

Cat laughs, her arms falling to her sides, “Yeah, sorry, I’m an affectionate person. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine.”

“Let’s get a look at you, shall we?” Cat says with a smile. She looks over her shoulder at Clay, wordlessly telling him to leave the room. He abides by this, quickly exiting the space and rendering the two alleged strangers alone.

Ellie takes this time to examine Cat. She’s wearing another Capitolistic outfit, dressed in silver head to toe. Her dress has one strap, thick on her right shoulder, and is tight around the torso before turning into a muffin shape past the hips, ending at her knees. Her shoes are just as blindingly shiny, their tall heels adding a significant difference to her height. Her makeup is all silver as well, her eyeliner forming an artistic wing of metallic lines.

“Remove the robe, please,” Cat asks kindly.

Considering their history, Ellie wouldn’t hesitate. Cat has seen her body too many times to count. But with the knowledge that they’re being watched, Ellie feigns defense. She pulls the cloth closer around her body, scowling at Cat in a way she’d never do outside of peering eyes. “No.”

“I just need to see what I’m working with, ma’am.” Says Cat. “You can cover your chest and private area with your hands, if you’d like.”

Ellie pretends to think on this, considering the thought before nodding in agreement. She unties the robe and quickly moves her hands to shield her body. Cat pretends to examine her, though they both know she doesn’t need to.

“Okay, you can put your robe back on.” Cat says. “Follow me.”

Ellie obliges, trailing behind Cat as they enter a new room. One that Clay hadn’t taken her into. It’s large, the all white interior now feeling more fancy than stifling. There are two couches at the center, clothes strewn about everywhere. Cat sits on one of the couches, crossing her legs elegantly. She looks like she belongs here, among such wealth.

Ellie moves to sit on the sofa opposite her, surely looking far less comfortable than Cat. She fidgets with her hands, looking around the space. She can feel Cat’s eyes on her, raking up and down her body. Had they not been in this particular situation — broken up and forced into roles of formality — Ellie would probably be flustered out of her mind. But she knows Cat’s only analyzing her like this for work, to imagine certain pieces on her for the Parade.

“I’m thinking of putting you and your partner, Riley, into something that matches.” She says. “To highlight the show she’d put on at the Reaping.”

The words are innocent enough, but Ellie knows the passiveness to Cat’s tone. She recognizes it from all the times Cat would curse Riley for her impulsive defiance. Ellie can tell that Cat is pissed. Well, until she sees a hint of something else in her gaze. As though her irises caught the light, her eyes sparkle with something Ellie can’t quite place — amusement, admiration, mischief? But that can’t be right. Cat isn’t defiant. To the Capitol, she’s loyal to a fault.

“What’re you thinking?” Ellie asks casually, trying to hide the way her mind is reeling with confusion.

“Well, as you likely are aware, the Chariot Parade is meant to introduce the tributes to the Capitol. You’re to be dressed in something that relates to your District, rather than to you yourself. That is saved for the interviews.” Cat explains, talking with her left hand as her right reaches for a wine glass sat on the glass coffee table between them. She holds it between her fingers as she continues on. “I hope to bring attention to Seven in a unique fashion, whilst simultaneously making you and Riley to be deemed a pair. An unbreakable duo.”

Ellie thinks back to all the past Parades for Seven. A few years back, the tributes were rendered completely naked, covered only by paint to make their skin resemble the bark of a tree, their hair dyed green to mock the leaves. In short, most Parade outfits are hideous. People expect them to be because they mirror Capitol fashion — which is, well, hideous.

The catch, however, is that it’s Cat this year. Not some random elder.

“Sounds good.” Ellie agrees shortly, still attempting to maintain a facade of distrust.

Cat smiles kindly, professionally. She takes a sip of wine before standing from the couch with a flourish. It’s unsettling how she moves. The very way she places down her glass and crosses the room is sickeningly Capitolistic.

Ellie loves Cat, she likely will for a long time following their disbandment, but she’s beginning to see things she’d not noticed when she was blinded by adoration. Like the sharpness to her gaze, the fluidity to her actions, the rise and fall of her voice — all traits of the Capitol. But then again, perhaps she’s only doing these things to keep up their act. Ellie can’t tell and that irks her.

“Come, come,” Cat beckons her toward one of the many overflowing closets.

And within a half hour, Ellie is dressed. She’s adorned in a suit-like outfit. It’s far too tight around her thrtoat and she feels as though she’s being suffocated. Her pants are forest green and flow around her legs so, at certain angles, it might appear to be a skirt. She’s wearing a blazer, which fits snugly on her shoulders and neck. It’s the color of Ellie’s skin with black lines that mimic tree roots, these lines coming out to cover her chest. It gives the appearance that she’s hardly wearing anything, though she is.

Cat positions her in front of a full-body mirror, asking for her opinion on the outfit. Ellie doesn’t respond, though. She looks like herself well enough, just accentuated oddly. Her face looks too symmetrical, her hair pulled into a half-bun to highlight her cheekbones. Cat is quick to pick up on Ellie’s hesitation to respond.

“You’re an attractive woman, Ellie.” Cat tells her, though her tone remains casual, conversational. She places her hands on her shoulders from behind, a friendly act between strangers. Ellie visibly stiffens at it. “The Capitol loves an attractive tribute. Take Ruben L/n for example, do you think he’d be nearly as successful if he weren’t so hot? No. So, in my choice to dress you like this, I provide the Capitol with thinking they’re seeing your bare skin, whilst also providing you with the consolation of knowing that they’re not.”

Well. Ellie definitely hadn’t viewed it that way initially. She’s right, though. If the Capitol finds a tribute to be appealing, they’ll have a much easier time obtaining sponsors for the Games. This way, everyone gets what they want — the Capitol gets to exploit a young woman and Ellie gets to know that she’s tricking them. In knowing this, Ellie actually kind of likes the outfit.

She gives Cat a nod in the mirror, “I like it.” She grins, “Oh, I’m glad! Come now, Kenyon Clampitt should be finished with Riley.”

Cat leads Ellie out of the room. As they exit, Clay spots them. His eyes widen with glee as he sees the design. He compliments Cat on her work, trailing behind them as they continue on their way to the bottom floor of the Remake Center where all the tributes will be loaded into Chariots for the Parade. Clay doesn’t stop talking the entire way down, Cat kindly nodding and indulging him.

The bottom level feels like a horse stable, everyone lined up by District as their mentors, escorts, and stylists assist them in readying their chariots. Ellie instantly spots Riley. She’s wearing a long green dress, the same color as Ellie’s flowy pants. She wears fingerless gloves that are the same material as Ellie’s top, root designs tracing up her arms, stopping at her elbows.

Tilly holds out a hand, offering her help to Riley up. Though, expectantly, she declines the offer and hoists herself into the chariot on her own.

Ellie and Cat near the carriage, Clay in tow. Joel is the first to notice their presence, eyes widening at the sight of Ellie’s outfit. He turns to Cat with a deepened scowl, pulling her aside to reprimand her style choice.

He speaks lowly, though Ellie can still hear his words. “That’s way too showy!”

“It’s not actually her skin, Miller.” Cat argues back. “She’s completely covered, the fabric is just the same color as–” “It doesn’t matter!” He exclaims. “Fake or not, the Capitol’s reaction’ll be the same. Exploitation. She may be an adult, but she ain’t old enough for that shit!” That’s when Ellie tunes them out. She vaguely wonders if they’d ever met formally before, though the answer is obvious. No. Joel is the mentor, assigned to pass the tributes off at the Remake Center to the stylist. He then waits by the chariot on the bottom floor until the tributes are brought to him, then the stylist leaves without making much conversation. Sometimes, if the tributes come to like their stylists, they can visit their suites in the Training Center. Ellie wonders if that’s ever happened. She can’t imagine it, though. Joel, Tilly, Cat, Clay, and two tributes all eating dinner together. She almost laughs at the mere thought of it. The awkwardness.

Ellie hops into the chariot, standing beside Riley. Riley says nothing, expression hardened as she overlooks all the other tributes. Ellie decides to do the same thing.

She recognizes everyone from watching the Reapings. The people who stand out most to her are Thalia Thatcher, who is the younger sister to the 68th victor; the pairs of siblings — Lev and Yara, who stand shoulder to shoulder, then Sam and Henry, where the latter is giving what seems to be a pep talk to the former; Ashley West, the Deaf girl who is signing with a translator as means to communicate with her mentor; the couple, Roland Jennings and Archie Bardot, who appear to be inseparable and always touching in one way or another; and — who everyone else is already staring at — you.

You’re dressed in a pirate outfit. You’re wearing an overly large linen blouse, a corset atop it that’s a blue so dark it’s almost black. An abundance of belts are secured around your hips, adding layers to the look. Below them resides a few layers of skirts — ranging from light blue to navy. The back of the skirt reaches the floor, the front coming to your mid-thigh. Combat boots are on your feet, heeled to add a few inches to your height.

It’s clever, Ellie thinks, to take such a unique approach to your District’s fishing fixation. Most past tributes of Four wore odd outfits of flowing blue tunics or, three years ago, they wore nothing but seashells to cover their chests and crotches. As it turns out, most stylists yearn to have attractive tributes because they can exploit them to the Capitol and be praised for having as little clothes on them as possible. Ellie is, admittedly, shocked you’re so covered. Not that she finds you attractive or anything personally, it’s just a fact. You’re good looking. Everyone knows it. It’s more than just your body, though, it’s your eyes and hair and—

Yeah, okay. Moving on.

A young boy stands beside you in your chariot, two feet shorter than you. He’s wearing a pirate hat and a linen shirt the same color as yours. As he’s not wearing a bodice, his pants are the dark blue shade that your corset is. His outfit is much less complex, though still gives off the same piratey feel to it that yours does.

“Don’t stare at her.” Riley’s voice takes her by surprise, Ellie’s head snapping to face her. “Her ego is probably inflated enough as is.”

“Nice of you to fucking speak to me.” Ellie snaps, unable to help her irritation.

Riley scoffs, not saying anything more. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Ellie turns her attention to where Cat and Clay are retreating back into the building. Joel watches them leave, standing with his arms crossed in disapproval regarding their conversation. Ellie looks around for Tilly, unable to find her. But when she does, she sees that Tilly is speaking with Four’s escort, your escort. They look similar, actually. They have the same bone structure, mouth shape, and stand the same way.

Realization smacks her in the face. That’s Tilly’s sister. That’s why she was talking about her sister being happy for a L/n being Reaped. Because she gets to escort you. Fucking duh. Ellie suddenly feels stupid for not having realized earlier.

Ellie watches the back of your head, not at all heeding Riley’s words. Your head is chin held high, shoulders back. You exude power, wealth, and confidence. Anyone would be a fool not to sponsor you. Ellie’s sure she would, had she been a Capitolite person of the Capitol. Well. For logical reasons, not personal preference. Of course.

Just then, a blinding light stings her eyes. The front wall opens up like a door, allowing the sounds of cheers and screams to pass through the opening. The crowd is already lined up, anxiously waiting to see this year’s tributes. The mentors and escorts back away from their respective carriages, allowing the horses to pull the chariots out.

First to leave is District One, Anthea Solace and Thalia Thatcher. Directly behind them, Two comes out. Lev and Yara. Then Three, Sam and Henry. Ellie finds it rather odd how many sibling and friend duos there are this year. She’d recognized the peculiarity to it, though she never gave it much thought, as she was preoccupied with other concerns such as Cat and Riley and the fucking Hunger Games.

Her attention is snapped back forward as the crowd goes wild. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who they’re cheering so loudly for. And, when she looks up, she realizes her assumption was correct. Four’s chariot is being pulled out. Yours and Remy’s faces flood the screens overhead, all cameras pointed in your direction. Ellie watches from within the building as you wave at the crowd, smiling brightly. She wonders, briefly, if it’s fake, your elation. She doubts it. Someone who grew up in the spotlight has to love it. Right? God, you’re probably eating this up.

Before long, Seven’s chariot is being pulled forward. The crowd cheers, cameras now turned to them. Cat was right, the Capitol is loving Ellie’s outfit. They whoop and clap, and it makes Ellie feel sick. They’re cheering, yes, but for what? For their excitement to see her tossed into the arena to be killed?

She then feels Riley grab her hand. Ellie has no time to react before Riley is hoisting it into the air, a carbon copy of what she’d done at the Reaping. The crowd goes wild, loving their show of amity. But now that she’s aware of what it symbolizes, Ellie can’t help the way her stomach churns. Marlene’s words ring loudly through her skull.

“I’ve seen the Capitol kill people for less than holding hands.”

She wants to drop Riley’s hand. But she can’t, not when the cameras are zoomed in on their clasped fingers. So she simply puts on a mask, just as she’d done with Cat. She lifts her chin, mimicking the way she’d seen you do it. She hopes desperately that she exudes that same air of confidence that you had. She’s dressed to be attractive so her personality must match that, yes?

Ellie adjusts her expression as to appear more alluring — a sharp gaze that she’d learned from Cat, set shoulders that she’s learned from you, and parted lips that she’d learned from Riley. Ellie isn’t sure how to naturally look a certain way. But she’s observant. She’s able to use people like puzzle pieces to form her own image. Taking features from those she finds most appealing, she’s able to concoct that puzzle of hers. And, when put all together, she looks beguiling. The crowd loves her.

The commotion dies down only when the carriage comes to a halt, Riley releasing Ellie’s hand as she peers up at something. Ellie follows her gaze to see a building that holds people of status — Capitol Diamonds, early victors, and the president himself. His first name left unknown, President Fedra is the puppeteer pulling the strings behind every malicious act that happens within this country. The Games, the deaths, the wars. It’s all him.

The look of hatred within Riley’s gaze is evident as she scowls up at President Fedra. Ellie kicks her in the ankle, subtle enough nobody aside from her would notice. In an instant, Riley has managed to tone down her loathing, though it’s still painfully obvious.

Fedra rakes his gaze over the tributes, all twelve chariots stopped in front of the building for examination. His eyes go to Four first, as expected, analyzing you harshly. Ellie doesn’t fail to notice the way your jaw clenches under his gaze. She wonders if it’s due to nerves, pride, or if you loathe the president as vehemently as she and Riley do. Afterall, you’re a pawn in his games as well, Reaped just as unwillingly.

Then, Fedra gazes at the other tributes, pausing for a brief moment on Riley. Ellie prays that he’s not taken her hatred as a threat, though it definitely is one.

And, with that and naught more, he turns and walks away from the window he’d been peering out of. As though the tributes matter no more. As though they’re already six feet under his expensive boots.

Following his sudden absence, the carriages pull forward to complete one more circle before retreating to the Training Center. Ellie watches your chariot as it pulls away, your hands holding onto the rail tightly. Beside you, Remy has wide glossy eyes.

It takes Riley kicking her in the ankle to pull her gaze away.

[post] notes!! ellie’s top for the parade is heavily inspired by the root designs that zuhair murad explored in fall of 2013 for vogue. specifically the back of the red velvet dress (idk who the model is, i've been searching for hours & can't find her name). anyway yippee for me FINALLY getting this goddamn chapter out. i feel like i just fought goliath (he definitely won).

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 perm. taglist @luvsturniolo. @ilovewomenfr. @zzombiegirl. @elliessweetheart. @shawangel. @defnoteleonor. @fatbootymuncher. @autisticintr0vert.

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 series taglist @kirammanss. @dsybouquet. @serraphinm. @smellovie. @sakiigami. @opt1mistic. @spacecinnamonbuns. @clouded-whispers. @sappicarribean. @corpsebridenightmare. @jaliyah-s. @pixiec4t. @chappellroankisser. @mxquelo. @vahnilla. @moshuka. @cupidluvzz. @elliewilliamssrealgf. @h4-rt3s. @tmbpyv. @prwttiestbunnies. @jinxtheplanet.

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muiitoloko · 6 months ago

Text

Unscripted Love

Summary: At a wedding, actors Alan and You pretend to be a couple, but a heartfelt confession transforms their charade into true love. In a moment of unscripted passion, they discover their feelings have always been real, leading to a new beginning.

Pairing: Alan Rickman × Fem! Reader

Warnings: None.

Author's Notes: I absolutely loved this idea and had so much fun writing about it! Thank you for the inspiration. I hope everyone enjoys the story as much as I did! 😊

Request from @eccentricchick here.

First, Second and Third part here.

Also read on Ao3

Alan drummed his fingers on his thigh as he sat in the backseat of the car, his gaze drifting between the entrance of the film set and the conversation with his driver. He spoke softly, exchanging pleasantries and casual remarks, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. He always felt this way when he was about to see you—his heart seemed to beat a little faster, a warmth spreading through his chest.

"She's taking her time today," Alan mused, a hint of amusement in his baritone voice.

The driver, a seasoned professional who had driven Alan for years, chuckled softly. "Must be an important conversation, sir."

Alan nodded, his thoughts wandering back to you. He'd never told you how he felt, never confessed that he was in love with you. The fear of losing your friendship, the worry that you might not feel the same way, kept him silent. So, he settled for the role of "Best Friend," cherishing every moment he could spend with you, even if it meant hiding his true feelings.

Finally, you emerged from the set, your expression a mix of relief and mild frustration. Alan watched as you approached the car, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Just seeing you had this effect on him, making everything seem a little brighter.

You opened the car door and slipped inside, an apologetic smile on your face. "I'm so sorry for the delay, Alan. The director just wouldn't stop talking."

Alan shook his head, a reassuring smile on his face. "No need to apologize. Directors do tend to get carried away, don't they?"

You laughed softly, your tension easing as you greeted Alan's driver. "Hello, Tom. How have you been?"

Tom nodded politely, his eyes crinkling with a smile. "Very well, miss. Thank you. Ready to head off?"

You nodded, settling back into the seat. "Yes, please. Let's get out of here."

As the car pulled away from the set, you turned to Alan, a grateful smile on your face. "Thanks for waiting. I know it must have been boring just sitting here."

Alan shrugged, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. "Not at all. Tom and I were having a riveting discussion about the best places to get a proper cup of tea."

You chuckled, rolling your eyes playfully. "I'm sure you were."

The conversation flowed easily between you as the car made its way through the city. You shared stories from your day, the ups and downs of filming, and Alan listened with rapt attention, interjecting with his clever and slightly sarcastic remarks that never failed to make you laugh.

"So, how's 'A Little Chaos' coming along?" you asked, your curiosity piqued.

Alan sighed, a mock-exasperated expression on his face. "Oh, you know, the usual chaos. I swear, directing is like herding cats sometimes. But it's coming together. I'm quite proud of it."

You smiled, your eyes shining with admiration. "I can't wait to see it. I'm sure it's going to be amazing."

Alan's heart swelled at your praise, though he kept his tone light. "Well, if it's terrible, you can always blame it on my questionable taste in scripts."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Somehow, I doubt that will be necessary."

The car ride continued, filled with easy conversation and shared laughter. Despite the chaos of your respective film sets, being in each other's company brought a sense of calm and comfort. Alan cherished these moments, even if he couldn't express how much you truly meant to him.

As the car continued its journey, your cell phone rang with a message notification. You picked it up absently, your attention shifting from the conversation with Alan to the screen. Alan glanced at your phone and casually remarked, "You know, I still haven't figured out how to use these new technologies at all. I'm convinced they're designed to make me feel old."

You smiled softly at his comment, but as your eyes scanned the message, your expression changed. Alan noticed the shift, his own smile faltering as concern crept into his eyes. "Is everything alright?" he asked gently.

Forcing a smile, you nodded. "Yes, it's fine." you replied, quickly putting your phone back in your bag.

Alan nodded, accepting your answer, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. You grew unusually quiet for the rest of the trip, your responses reduced to short, polite phrases. Alan refrained from pressing you, giving you the space you seemed to need.

A few minutes later, the car came to a stop in front of the restaurant. You both stepped out, and Alan led the way inside to the table he had reserved. As you settled into your seats, Alan began to fill the silence with stories from the set of "A Little Chaos."

"The garden scenes are coming along beautifully," he said, his voice warm with enthusiasm. "We had to deal with some unexpected rain, but I think it actually added to the authenticity. Nature's little gift, I suppose."

You nodded, your smile faint but polite. "That sounds wonderful, Alan. I can't wait to see it."

Alan continued, trying to engage you with his usual charm and wit. "You should have seen Stanley Tucci trying to keep his wig on in the wind. It was like watching a man wrestle with a particularly determined squirrel."

You chuckled softly, but the laughter didn't quite reach your eyes. Alan's concern deepened, though he kept his tone light. "I swear, the wig nearly took off and started a new life somewhere in the countryside. Stanley was ready to let it go."

You nodded again, your responses polite but lacking the usual spark. Alan could see that your mind was elsewhere, but he respected your need for space and continued to share anecdotes from the set, hoping to lift your spirits.

As the waiter came to take your order, Alan glanced at you, his eyes filled with quiet concern. "What do you feel like having tonight? Maybe something indulgent to cheer you up?"

You offered a small smile, your voice soft as you placed your order. "I think I'll just have the grilled salmon, please."

Alan nodded and placed his own order, then turned his attention back to you. "So, any exciting projects coming up?" he asked, trying to draw you out of your quietness.

You hesitated for a moment before replying, "Nothing too exciting. Just a few scripts I'm looking at. It's been a bit slow lately."

Alan nodded thoughtfully, sensing there was more to your mood than you were letting on. "Well, sometimes a bit of downtime is just what we need. Gives us a chance to recharge."

You nodded, appreciating his understanding but still unable to fully shake the weight that had settled over you since reading the message. The rest of the dinner passed in a similar fashion, with Alan sharing stories and making light-hearted jokes, while you did your best to engage, though your heart wasn't fully in it.

As dessert arrived, Alan reached across the table, his hand gently covering yours. "You know, I'm always here if you need to talk. About anything."

You looked up, meeting his eyes, and saw the genuine concern and care there. For a moment, you felt the urge to confide in him, to share the burden that was weighing you down. But you held back, not wanting to ruin the evening.

"Thank you, Alan," you said softly, squeezing his hand. "I appreciate it. Really."

Alan smiled warmly, his touch reassuring. "Anytime, love. Anytime."

The two of you continued eating your dessert in relative silence. Alan, sensing the need for a bit of mischief to lighten the mood, reached over and stole a piece of your dessert, a playful grin on his face. Normally, this would elicit a laugh or a playful smack on his hand, but tonight, you didn't react at all. Instead, you continued to poke at your dessert absentmindedly.

Alan's concern deepened. He set his own dessert aside, leaning forward with a serious expression. "Alright, love, enough of this. What's really going on? This isn't like you."

You sighed, still poking at your dessert, before replying softly, "It's nothing, Alan. Really."

But Alan wasn't having it. He reached out, gently placing a hand over yours. "Please, [Your Name]. Talk to me. Whatever it is, you don't have to carry it alone."

Your resolve crumbled under his earnest gaze, and you finally relented. "It's... it's Michael."

Alan's expression darkened at the mention of your ex-boyfriend's name. He'd never liked Michael, especially after discovering how the man had cheated on you. Alan had tolerated him for your sake, but his dislike was palpable. "What did he do now?" Alan asked, his voice laced with anger and concern.

You took a deep breath, pulling out your cell phone and showing him the message. "He texted me. He's getting married and... he's inviting me to the wedding."

Alan's eyes scanned the message, his jaw tightening with each word. "How does this idiot have the courage to do that?" he muttered, barely containing his anger.

"That's not the worst part," you said, your voice trembling. "The woman he's marrying... it's the same woman he cheated on me with."

Alan's grip on your hand tightened, his anger bubbling just beneath the surface. "That bastard," he growled. "He doesn't deserve a moment of your time or thought. How dare he?"

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes. "I know. But it still hurts. I thought I was over it, but this... it just brought everything back."

Alan moved his chair closer to yours, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into a comforting embrace. "Listen to me, [Your Name]," he said softly, his voice filled with warmth and reassurance. "You don't owe him anything. You deserve so much better than him and his pathetic attempts at validation."

You leaned into his embrace, feeling the warmth and comfort of his presence. "I know you're right, Alan. It's just... hard to see it that way right now."

Alan kissed the top of your head, his touch gentle and soothing. "Take your time, love. But remember, you have people who care about you, who want to see you happy. And I'm one of them."

You smiled through your tears, grateful for his unwavering support. "Thank you, Alan. I don't know what I'd do without you."

He pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes with a serious yet gentle expression. "You'll never have to find out. I'm here for you, always."

As the waiter came to clear the table, Alan gave him a polite nod before turning his attention back to you. "Let's get out of here," he suggested. "How about we take a walk? Clear our heads a bit."

You nodded, appreciating the suggestion. "That sounds nice."

Alan settled the bill, and the two of you stepped out into the cool evening air. As you walked side by side, Alan kept a protective arm around you, his presence a comforting anchor in the midst of your emotional turmoil.

The city lights twinkled around you, the sounds of the bustling streets providing a soothing backdrop as you walked in silence for a while. Finally, Alan broke the silence, his tone lighter, trying to lift your spirits. "You know, if I ever meet this Michael fellow again, I might just have to give him a piece of my mind. Or perhaps a piece of my fist."

You chuckled softly, the image of Alan confronting Michael oddly comforting. "I wouldn't want you to get into trouble on my account."

Alan smirked, a playful glint in his eye. "Oh, I wouldn't get into trouble. I'd just give him a very stern talking-to. Maybe with a few choice words from Shakespeare."

You laughed, feeling a bit of the weight lift from your shoulders. "I'd pay to see that."

Alan's expression softened as he looked at you, his eyes full of affection. However, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted some paparazzi lurking nearby. He quickly removed his arm from around you and put his hands in his pockets, not wanting to create any scandal in the media. You and Alan were already often mistaken for a couple, and you had previously commented on how frustrating you found it. Alan didn't want to feed the media's gossip any further.

The two of you continued walking side by side, the city lights casting a warm glow around you. The air was cool and refreshing, helping to clear your mind. After a few moments, Alan turned to you, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"You know," he began, his voice measured and calm, "I read in Michael's message that he said you could bring a date to the wedding."

You nodded, not entirely sure where he was going with this. "Yeah, he did. But I don't think I'd want to go alone anyway."

Alan's eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief as he continued, "What if you... took me as your date? We could... pretend to be a couple, like in those cheesy movies. Show Michael that you're better off without him."

His words took you by surprise, and you stopped in your tracks, turning to face him. "Alan, I don't know if that would work," you said hesitantly. "It's not as simple as it sounds."

Alan paused, considering his words carefully before speaking again. "Think about it, [Your Name]. We're both actors. We've played a couple dozens of times. Pretending to be a couple at Michael's wedding will be like... stealing sweets from children."

You chuckled at his analogy but remained uncertain. "I get that, but what if it backfires? What if people see through it?"

Alan's expression was resolute as he looked into your eyes. "We'll be convincing. We've always had great chemistry on screen. Besides, this is a chance to show Michael what he lost. And more importantly... to remind you of your worth."

You took a deep breath, weighing the pros and cons of Alan's suggestion. It was true that you and Alan had always had a natural rapport, both on and off screen. Pretending to be a couple might not be as difficult as you feared. And having Alan by your side would undoubtedly make the experience more bearable.

"Alright," you said finally, a small smile playing on your lips. "Let's do it. Let's show Michael what he's missing."

Alan's face lit up with a genuine smile, his eyes twinkling with delight. "That's the spirit," he said warmly. "We'll make it a night to remember."

As you continued your walk, the weight of Michael's message seemed to lift, replaced by a newfound sense of determination and excitement. With Alan by your side, you felt ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, including your ex's wedding.

The next few days were a whirlwind of preparation. You and Alan discussed your plan in detail, rehearsing your "couple" act to ensure it would be as convincing as possible. You coordinated your outfits, planned your arrival, and even rehearsed a few affectionate gestures and inside jokes to make your performance seamless.

On the day of the wedding, you felt a mix of nerves and excitement. Alan arrived at your apartment, looking dapper in a tailored suit that accentuated his distinguished features. He gave you an approving once-over as you stepped out in your elegant dress, his eyes filled with admiration.

"You look stunning," he said softly, his voice carrying a hint of awe.

You blushed, feeling a rush of warmth at his compliment. "Thank you, Alan. You don't look too bad yourself."

He offered you his arm, a playful glint in his eyes. "Shall we, my dear?"

You nodded, slipping your arm through his as you both headed to the car. The drive to the wedding venue was filled with light-hearted banter, helping to ease your nerves. Alan's presence was a calming influence, and you felt more confident with each passing moment.

As you arrived at the venue, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the challenge ahead. Alan squeezed your hand reassuringly, his eyes filled with unwavering support.

"Remember," he said gently, "we're in this together. Just follow my lead, and everything will be fine."

You nodded, feeling a surge of gratitude for his unwavering support. "Thank you, Alan. I couldn't do this without you."

With a shared look of determination, you both stepped out of the car and made your way to the entrance. The moment you walked in, heads turned, and whispers filled the air. You could feel the curious gazes of the guests, but with Alan by your side, you felt a newfound confidence.

As you made your way through the crowd, you spotted Michael across the room, his expression one of shock and confusion as he saw you with Alan. You took a deep breath, your resolve strengthening. This was your moment to show him that you had moved on, that you were better off without him.

Alan leaned in, his voice a soft murmur in your ear. "Ready to make a grand entrance?"

You nodded, your heart pounding with anticipation. "Let's do this."

With Alan's arm securely around your waist, you approached Michael, your smile confident and poised. "Michael," you greeted him, your voice steady. "Congratulations on your wedding."

Michael's eyes lit up with a mixture of emotions, but he quickly composed himself, a polite smile forming on his lips. "Thank you, [Your Name]," he said, his voice carefully controlled. "I appreciate it. And Alan, it's good to see you."

Alan's expression was one of polite indifference, reminiscent of one of his on-screen villain roles. His intense gaze seemed to pierce through Michael as he greeted him with a curt nod, his arm remaining firmly around your waist. "Michael," Alan acknowledged, his tone cold and measured.

You could feel the tension between them, and you leaned into Alan for support, your heart racing with a mixture of nerves and excitement. Michael seemed a bit flustered by Alan's presence, his composure slipping slightly. "If you'll excuse me," Michael said, his voice a bit strained. "I need to greet the other guests."

Suppressing a laugh, you watched as Michael hurried away, clearly rattled by the encounter. Alan's grip on you tightened slightly, a subtle gesture of reassurance. "Well, that went better than expected," Alan murmured, his voice laced with amusement.

You smiled up at him, grateful for his unwavering support. "Thank you, Alan. I couldn't have done this without you."

Before Alan could respond, a group of wedding guests approached, their eyes wide with excitement as they recognized both you and Alan. Among them were several younger women who seemed particularly starstruck by Alan.

"Oh my gosh, it's Professor Snape!" one of them exclaimed, her voice filled with awe.

Alan chuckled softly, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Yes, well, I'm afraid Professor Snape isn't quite as charming as I am in real life," he said, his tone subtly self-deprecating.

The women giggled, clearly delighted by his response. "We loved you in Harry Potter," one of them gushed. "You're such an amazing actor!"

Alan gave them a gracious smile, his baritone voice warm and inviting. "Thank you, ladies. I'm glad you enjoyed the films. They were quite a remarkable experience."

As the fans continued to gush over Alan, you couldn't help but feel a pang of admiration for him. He was so effortlessly charming and kind, making each person feel special with his attention. It was no wonder you had a little crush on him; it was hard not to be captivated by his presence.

One of the women turned to you, her eyes shining with excitement. "And you're so lucky to work with him! What's it like?"

You smiled, glancing at Alan with affection. "It's incredible. Alan is not only a brilliant actor but also a wonderful friend. I'm very fortunate to have him in my life."

Alan's eyes softened at your words, and he gave you a gentle squeeze. "The feeling is mutual, [Your Name]."

The conversation continued with more fans approaching, eager to meet both of you. Alan handled the attention with his usual grace, making everyone feel at ease with his witty remarks and genuine interest. You couldn't help but admire how effortlessly he navigated the situation, his presence a calming influence amidst the excitement.

As the night wore on, you found yourself more and more drawn to Alan, his charm and kindness only deepening your feelings for him. The way he looked out for you, the way he supported you without hesitation—it all made you realize just how special he was to you.

Finally, when the wedding ceremony began and everyone took their seats, you and Alan settled in the back, observing the proceedings. The ambiance was serene, the air filled with the soft murmur of guests and the gentle strains of classical music. You found yourself stealing glances at Michael, your thoughts a mixture of lingering pain and newfound strength.

Alan, sensing your tension, gently took your hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. His presence was a comforting anchor, and you felt a wave of gratitude wash over you. Leaning closer, Alan whispered in your ear, his breath warm against your skin, "Do you remember that movie we made together where our characters got married at the end?"

You turned to look at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I remember," you replied softly. "You were quite charming in that tuxedo. Definitely sexy."

Alan's eyes twinkled with amusement as he looked at you, but your next words came out before you could stop them. "No wonder I missed the scene on purpose just to kiss you more times."

Realizing what you had just confessed, you froze, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Alan's expression shifted from amusement to something deeper, but before he could respond, the entrance of the bride saved you from further awkwardness.

Everyone stood, including you and Alan. As the bride made her way down the aisle, Alan leaned in once more, his voice a hushed murmur in your ear. "Did you really mess up that scene on purpose just to kiss me more times?"

Your heart raced as you quietly hissed back, "Be silent, Alan. The bride is entering."

Alan obeyed, but you could feel his amused gaze on you, the heat of his presence almost tangible. The ceremony continued, and you found it increasingly difficult to focus on the proceedings with Alan's question lingering in your mind. The truth was, you had indeed missed those scenes intentionally, unable to resist the allure of his kisses, the way his touch made your pulse quicken.

As the ceremony progressed, you felt Alan's hand gently squeeze yours again, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a soothing gesture. It was a silent promise, a reminder that he was there for you, regardless of the complicated feelings now simmering between you.

As the judge performed the ceremony, his voice a solemn backdrop to the picturesque garden setting, Alan leaned in once more, his breath warm against your ear. "You didn't answer my question, [Your Name]."

You ignored him, your gaze sweeping across the beautiful garden where the wedding was taking place. The fragrant blooms and lush greenery created an almost ethereal atmosphere, but your mind was too preoccupied to fully appreciate it. The ceremony continued, the judge's words blending into the background as you tried to steady your racing heart.

"Do you, Michael, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, as long as you both shall live?"

Michael's voice, firm and confident, cut through your thoughts. "I do."

Just then, you felt Alan's hand gently rest on your knee, a gesture so intimate and unexpected that you couldn't help but turn your attention to him. Your eyes met, and you were a little surprised to see how close your faces were to each other. Alan's hazel eyes, sometimes shifting from brown to green with the changing light, held you captive, their depths revealing an intensity that took your breath away.

"And do you, Jennifer, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, as long as you both shall live?"

Jennifer's soft, clear voice responded, "I do."

But you could no longer focus on Michael's wedding. You only had eyes for Alan, mesmerized by his gaze. His presence was magnetic, and you found yourself drawn to him in a way you hadn't fully acknowledged until now.

The judge continued reciting the ceremony, his words a distant murmur as Alan leaned closer, his voice a low, intimate whisper. "I've been in love with you for some time now, [Your Name]. And I would love to try something with you if you want to."

His confession caught you by surprise, and you felt your heart skip a beat. The ceremony, the guests, the entire world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in that moment. Alan's words echoed in your mind, their sincerity and vulnerability leaving you speechless.

"In the presence of these witnesses, and by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Applause erupted around you as Michael and Jennifer shared their first kiss as a married couple, but you barely registered it. Alan's eyes searched yours, his expression earnest and hopeful.

"Alan," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. "I... I didn't know you felt that way."

Alan's hand tightened on your knee, his thumb brushing over your skin in a soothing gesture. "I've wanted to tell you for so long, but I was afraid of losing what we have. But seeing you here, so beautiful and strong, I couldn't keep it to myself any longer."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you realized the depth of his feelings, feelings you had always hoped for but never dared to believe were reciprocated. "I... I feel the same way, Alan," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I've been in love with you too."

A slow, radiant smile spread across Alan's face, his eyes lighting up with a joy that mirrored your own. "Then let's not waste any more time," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Let's make this work. You and me."

Before you could respond, Alan leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a gentle, yet passionate kiss. The world around you seemed to fade away entirely, leaving only the warmth and tenderness of his embrace. His lips were soft and inviting, and you found yourself melting into the kiss, your hands coming up to rest against his chest.

The kiss deepened, filled with the promise of a new beginning, a future where you and Alan would no longer have to hide your feelings. It was a moment of pure, unfiltered emotion, and you knew that from this day forward, everything would change.

Unbeknownst to either of you, a fan in the crowd had discreetly taken out their phone and was filming the two of you, capturing the intimate moment as it unfolded. The camera caught the way Alan's hand gently cradled your face, the way your fingers tangled in his hair, and the undeniable connection between you.

As the kiss finally broke, leaving you both breathless and smiling, Alan rested his forehead against yours, his eyes filled with love and determination. "I love you, [Your Name]," he whispered, his voice a promise.

"I love you too, Alan," you replied, your heart swelling with happiness.

The fan, realizing they had captured something truly special, quickly put away their phone, eager to share the video with the world. Little did you and Alan know, your love story was about to become the talk of the town, a beautiful testament to the power of love and the magic of unexpected moments.

#alan rickman #alan rickman x reader #a little chaos

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acerathia · 2 months ago

Text

novae || Xiao

Summary:

nova: a star that ejects some of its material in the form of a cloud and becomes more luminous in the process

The souls filled with karma find relief under the touch of your skin. Yet, you've never tried to cleanse anyone, not since you've gained your freedom. Until the one you're indebted to asks you to help a certain Adeptus. And who are you to refuse?

Wordcount: 4.6k

Read on AO3

Pairing:

Xiao / Reader

Tags/CW:

reader is an adeptus, implied to be an electro user, flashbacks to the archon war, slight deception by healing xiao, slowly falling in love, giving him flowers, making him food, confessions, both love and others, indirectly though, promises to stay

Note:

I lack human contact waow,,, sorry for the repost, accidentally deleted it whoops

Everything hurt, soreness laying a thick coat over your very being. You’re barely able to feel your fingertips, only the tingling at their base assures you of their continued existence. Tongue darting you, you lick at your chapped lips, trying to ignore the dryness in the cavity of your mouth itself. But even your tongue feels barren, your attempt futile. Your skin feels like it’s going to crack the moment you dare to move, so you lay still, wishing for a mere drop of water to fall upon you, to let you relish in its spirit of life. This feeling of helplessness makes you wish you were dead. Yes, death. Something to truly free you from your suffering. Yet, your own body shackles you in your immortality; left with no choice but to let yourself rot without any perceptible changes. The rot only you can feel, the rot only you can accept and take. A blessing turned curse. Like any old fairy tale. But you doubt that you’re going to have a happy end. Not with the ravage happening outside.

At least that’s what you think it might happen outside, stuck in the darkness, a cave with no escape. A prisoner only used for your essence only to be tossed aside once your use has expired, but never freed, never let go. Being in the palm of their hands feels like the cold ground underneath you. Unwelcoming, hard, a chill to your bones, and a constant ache.

You barely remember how much time you have spent in this prison, shadows swallowing everything you could use to discern the passing of the passages of time. You barely remember the first days of your stay; filled with fights, heat, resistance. You barely remember, but your body certainly does, clamping up at the mere roughness of someone, at every instance someone raises their voice, no matter the reason.

Suddenly, some dust flutters down, freed from the ceiling far above, only to get inhaled by your lungs. A cough wracks your body, and with every contraction it feels like a piece of you is going to splinter and break away. The tiny vibrations, once not perceptible and instantly there, are shaking you to the core. And you knew what’s going to happen shortly, what they’re going to do to you once again. With every visit you are left with more pain, with more nightmares, with less life. Yet, this is the only way for you to survive, even if involuntarily. As long as you were of use to them, they weren’t likely to get into the mood to rid themselves of you. Not that they cared about your existence beyond what you could offer them. As long as you pleased them. And never do they offer you anything in return, leaving you hollowed, cracking yet filled with vitality beyond what you desire.

The trembling grows into a rumble, the ground shaking as rock scrapes against rock. They’re here. And they’re going to give you their pain, the alienations they’re suffering from, pushing them into you to get rid of all their own suffering. And you can’t help but be curious why. What is going on outside your isolated cave for them to come back on the brink of their eternal sleep?

You turn your head slightly towards the opening of the cave, even if the spraying light might blind you, might warm you, you try to take a peek outside, as you do every single time with no avail. But this time, this time you’re facing something much brighter, a different figure towering over the entrance. His eyes are glowing a bright ember. And suddenly, a feeling of safety envelops you.

*-*

Sunshine warms your skin, flooding your sight underneath your eyelids with a bright peach orange. A groan escapes you, as you try to shut your eyes even tighter, but the effort of ridding yourself of the light is simply not worth it. So, you slowly open your eyes again, only to be greeted by the almost red leaves swaying with the breeze. Some of the leaves freed themselves, slowly traveling down towards you. And you stretch out your arm to catch one, yet, despite its close proximity, you miss your chance, and the leaf continues on its journey, only to be joined by the wind.

With a silent thud, you let your arm fall back down. With your eyelids fluttering, leaving your vision blurry and unfocused, you simply watch the intricate dance of the wind, only visible by the twirls of the leaves around it. There’s no need for you to move, no reason at all. Your motivation to go around your day to day life does not exist. Even if you have responsibilities, ones which do not matter in times of peace, reducing their importance to nothing but ashes of the past. Being made an adeptus amounts to nothing after all. And you’re not someone who desires to sniff out the affairs of others, to simply have something to do. Just doing nothing is enough for you, being free to do so is enough for you. That’s your mindset; as long as you’re free, nothing truly matters.

That’s at least what you’re trying to tell yourself. But the moment a rich voice, one all-too familiar, sounds from underneath the tree you're sitting on, you immediately jolted into an upright position, your eyes scanning the table down below. Your first thought is that you might be experiencing some kind of hallucination, but then you remember that you would have noticed any influence on your mind and body. Still, you can’t believe your eyes. It’s almost like a memory came to life. Amber eyes, a brown ponytail, and the same tea he’s always sipping on.

A chuckle. “Good morning, my dear. May I inquire why you have been neglecting your responsibilities?”

Startled, you want to immediately jump down and to make sure that everything before you is real, but you feel a weird coldness on your face and you lead your fingers to your cheeks. Wetness. One sticking to the corners of your eyes, almost dry tracks running down your skin; and your eyes flicker. Have you been crying? There’s no reason for you to cry.

You furrow your eyebrows as you scrub the remnants of whatever happened in your sleep away. Glancing back down, Rex Lapis is still there, waiting for your answer with incredible patience, one that should be unaccustomed to you, his rage and short temper something you got acquainted with the moment you first met him.

Yet, you’re thankful for his patience as you finally make your way down to him, taking a seat on the other side of the table. And then you rest your head on your palm, elbows on the table, body leaning dangerously to the side.

“Good morning, Rex Lapis. Well, I’ve gotten used to not following any responsibilities, you see, not a bit of motivation in my bones. Surely you must understand that, Sir.” Your eyes flutter and stay heavy lidded, even if your heart is beating much too loud in your head.

This is Morax, Rex Lapis. The One who Strikes Deals. And you reckon you have a certain deal with him, even if he never was one to ensure your part to be fulfilled. Now he comes to collect.

A sip of tea. A moment of silence. You peeking at him from between your eyelashes. His cup returns to the small plate with a clink similar to a bell, making you shiver.

“Well, I suppose I do. Yet, a broken contract has consequences, and you are very well aware of that, yes?”

His gaze upon you is soft, a glint akin to the warm sunshine, nothing like the blazing fire that once occupied his mind. You swallow, pulling your shoulders closer to your ears. Morax doesn’t need any answer, he simply continues.

“Then, you shall go to Wangshu Inn. Once you have arrived you will know what to do.”

Immediately, you straighten up, nodding your head, only to bow before him the moment you’re back on your feet. Your heart is still beating, yet your worries ease at his soft voice, not a hint of malice to be felt. Rather, it almost seemed like Rex Lapis is plotting something and he’s only planning to watch you from afar.

But that’s okay, as long as you don’t land in another cave, darkness swallowing you whole, or be abandoned by the one who saved you, you will gladly accept anything he asks of you, anything he obeys you to do. As long as you can stay by his side, content and accepted.

With light steps you begin to jump down the mountain, following the flow of the water towards Jueyun Karst, only to continue following a path between mountain ridges, leading you over water and towards open plains. You’re thankful for the open view, as you are able to discern Wangshu Inn in the distance, keeping your feet onto the path leading up to it.

Arriving at the small island, you take a moment to simply stare, admiring the height and the life bustling around this small place. Only after a while do you continue your travel, climbing towards the inn in a couple of small jumps.

The reception is almost equally filled with noise as the ground below, yet you fail to see the actual reason Morax has sent you to this place. But you can’t return without anything. So, you continue exploring the space, peeking into the hot kitchen, the smell of freshness mixing with spice, discovering the guest rooms, until you uncover the terrasse, one empty of the crowd down below.

There are no signs forbidding entrance, and nothing to stop you from stepping closer to the railing. The soft breeze caresses your face and you breathe out.

But before you could release any tension properly, you feel a shiver down your spine and you spin towards the source. The source of the pressure you’re all-too-well acquainted with; one of hatred and pain. Your breath catches in your lungs, phantom cracks ripping through your joints.

Only to face another, not a human but an adeptus, and something more. Teal frames his soft features, making the gold in his eye pierce through your being. You swallow. An illuminated beast stands in front of you, one taking the form of a human. And this can only make him one thing: A Yaksha.

You know him, or rather, you know of him. The last of his kind, the Conqueror of Demons, and equally haunted by them. Despite his calm appearance and the small frown on his face, he is dripping with karmic debt, and you realize why Rex Lapis has sent you to this place, to the Conqueror of Demons.

And you ought to be angry, to be scared to go through everything once again, to be hurt. Of being sapped of life and filled with evilness only to get thrown away like a puppet without strings. The bitter taste sneaks down your throat, a memory now non-existent.

“You, what do you seek in this place?” his voice brings you back to your current situation.

The words are rough, guarded, yet his voice has a soft quality, akin to silk against your skin, and you blink a couple of times, imagining him calling you by your name, in another tone. You almost forget to answer, but his sheer presence and its fluidity, easy to go as it came, reminded you once again of what you had to do.

You take a step closer, a slight bow to show your respects towards the Conqueror of Demons, and you introduce yourself, sharing your name with another with a name of the same origin. You wait, but nothing happens, he doesn’t tell you to hide away. So, you continue, straightening yourself to meet him eye to eye; only to notice the sparkle in his eyes as the soft glow of the sinking sun stows itself in them.

“I’m honored to meet you, Conqueror of Demons. Rex Lapis has sent me to this place, presumably to stay by your side for some time.”

His frown deepens at your words, and his body turns away the slightest bit, as if his senses are telling him to refuse and be done with it. But his mind seems to be aware of the person standing behind you, pushing you towards him with a plan bigger than any of you. Two adepti with a debt towards the generosity personified; yet it can never be enough to pay the price of life, of freedom.

Despite his reluctance, you begin to notice how your mere presence is alleviating his burden. That means that his senses and mind might be at odds with each other, yet his body is experiencing relief with you by his side. You don’t know how to feel about it, about manipulating his burden against him, even if unintentionally.

You don’t get enough time to properly stew with the possible consequences of your actions, but at the end of this, you had no real choice, did you? Who are you to defy orders from your savior? Using your abilities on a stranger, as renowned he might be, is something you have to take upon yourself to relieve your own debt.

A huff. “Fine, if Rex Lapis has told you to accompany me, then you shall do so, but stay out of my way,” he warns you, before disappearing with the next flow of wind.

The tips of your fingers crackle as small bits of electricity jump between them. A sigh; a stretch of fingers and joints. He might have thought this move would throw you off his tracks, yet he seems to have forgotten that despite your lacking, you still are an adeptus. So, it doesn’t take long for you to discover his prints of zapping electricity, flowing with each move, each thought. A system so similar to everyone else, yet different in the way it exists, processes, responds; one you’re bound to know like you know yourself.

With his position in mind, you begin your journey towards him, your speed not up to par to his when he’s one with the wind, yet consistent enough to catch up to him eventually. The open plains make traveling easier, too.

Easier to see, as you discover plums of darkness hovering over a certain area, only to vanish as something cuts through them. Picking up your speed, you hurry towards the battleground of the lost and the grudges. Yet, despite being there, you could not act, could not help, your body not owning any techniques to fight. All you could do is wait, wait and pick up the pain and pieces.

The shadows vanish and leave only the ickiness of being haunted by the past behind, with the bitter taste of a promise to return. You step towards the only living being in between all these nightmares from another era, shoulders slumped and breath heaving.

You want to call out to him, but it doesn’t feel right to use his name or to use his title, so you just– “It’s me…”

Licking your lips, taking a breath, waiting and waiting and waiting, but he doesn’t refuse your presence, and you step closer slowly, softly, ignoring the stickiness around you, focusing on him and his unfocused gaze upon your silhouette.

Carefully, you put your arms around him, helping him walk towards another space, free from the tarnished souls seeking to taint in return. With your support he sits under the shade of a tree, back against the trunk, heavy and uneven.

You murmur a quick apology, as you settle in front of him, almost too close, to let your fingertips come into contact with his shoulders. A breath, in sync. Buzzing, in your veins, and slowly you notice the tension release in his body as the pain leaves him. A hiss, too silent to be heard, as the karmic debt, his unending burden, and pain, seep into your bones, creaking and whistling. A familiar sensation. A sensation too familiar it seems, because your body starts doing its job, breaking everything down, crumbling it into nothing, leaving you with a phantom of an ache.

After you have taken what you could, you slump to the side, laying down onto the soft grass, and the breeze reminds you of your place, and despite the tension and the spasms filling your body, you smile.

Glancing towards the Conqueror of Demons, you notice that his body has sunk in itself, muscles finally releasing the tension of suffering. And for a moment you both stay laying like this, side by side, one digesting and ridding yourself of the pain, the other relishing in the newly acquired freedom.

Maybe this is the starting point of his trust towards you, lending him a hand when needed the most, but that doesn’t matter, as another moment has a place in your heart, in his heart, too.

Since that first fight, you have been trailing behind him, staying on the sidelines as he fights the anger and hatred left behind, waiting for the end so you can patch him up, using your own abilities to heal whatever injuries he might have sustained. All while slowly cleansing him of his karmic debt with each touch, each skin to skin, with each bit of distance closed.

Sometimes you greet him with some stuff you have collected as you wandered around. Showing him glittering shells and shiny, smooth gemstones. There is even a moment, when you have collected flowers, climbing and singing to get your hands on them, to hand a bouquet to him after his fighting and healing session is over.

“This is for you, Conqueror of Demons!” you grin as you hold them towards him, excited to see his reaction to yet another present.

And your arms slack, the flowers sink, at the sight of his frown, one you hadn’t seen since your first encounter. You press your lips together, trying to think what you had done wrong this time, opposed to every other surprise.

“It’s Xiao,” he tells you, voice soft, careful, guarded in some way, yet desperate for something, something more.

And you smile. “Yes! This is for you, Xiao!”

A slight blush spreads over his cheeks, dusting him in a lovely shade of a late afternoon sun, and the Conque– no, Xiao takes them with slow movements, tips of fingers touching and tingling, mindful of the delicateness of the flowers, aware of the too-soft connection, one with no real reason but to simply, touch.

Feeling the heat spreading over your skin, you grab a single flower, pulling your fingers away in the process. You look at the flower, a Qingxin and you slowly twirl it. Glancing back at Xiao, his own eyes are focused on the small bouquet in his hands. So, you make use of the little distraction and lean forward to tuck the flower into his hair, secured by his ears.

Of course, he has noticed you move and your eyes meet, faces close, your fingertips grazing his cheeks, and you’re grateful gravity pulls you back into a sitting position the moment you feel yourself freeze. Still, you give him a smile, even with the warmth covering your skin and his intense gaze.

The moment didn’t last long, as a cold feeling rained on your senses, alarming you of yet another gathering of negativity. And Xiao isn’t one to forgo his responsibilities for mere companionship, even if his eyes linger as he makes his way towards the next fight in this unending chain. Despite that, you promise to continue to stay behind him, to support him with steadiness.

The sun sets and rises in a continuous flow, and since that day you started trailing less and accompanying more, instead of simply seeing his back, you began to look to the side towards him. The time together has forged something special, yet, there continues to be distance between your fingertips, even as you walk side by side. Distance which feels wider than the Chasm itself, as your desire to touch him, to be close to him grows with every kind gesture Xiao shows you. But, you continue to deny your own feelings, deny whatever is sparking between you and him.

Until you’re sitting in front of a fire, making food as you wait for him to return. The adepti do not need sustenance, yet you indulge yourself with delicacies, not keen on staying without for no reason. Additionally, a little whisper has reached your ears, telling you of his favorite food, one even Xiao takes delight in, and for some reason you feel the desperate need to make Almond Tofu for him, so you do.

The recipe was provided by Verr Goldet when you subtly asked her about possible foods in your last visit. Since then you have been slowly collecting the necessary ingredients to make it happen. Though the process has been a little more difficult than you had anticipated, and above what you might expect of your own abilities, you finally drizzle some syrup over the bowl as a last touch.

The meal between your hands and only the shine of the fire, you look upon your creation with pride and excitement. And soon, Xiao comes back, taking a seat by your side without hesitation. Immediately, your body reacts, putting one hand on his shoulder, looking for injuries in his own little network of electricity, while sapping another portion of his karmic debt. Luckily, this fight has left him unscathed, so there isn’t a lot for you to do.

Giddiness overtakes you, because you pull out the prepared meal and push it towards him without any words. Without hesitation, Xiao accepts what you give him, his hand covering yours, holding the bowl between you, his gloves warm against your skin; and this is the touch you have been longing for for some time.

You watch him as he realizes what the meal entails and he looks up from the Almond Tofu towards you, eyes wide and filled with surprise and something oh-so soft. Especially with the way the flames of the fire caress his features, making his eyes revering and gentle. His jaw works, and the words escape him as he continues to simply look at you, to let his eyes linger over every feature of yours.

And you realize something. Something you have denied yourself, denied him. But before you could truly voice your heart, your soul, promising him your everything, he has the right to know the truth.

So, you make sure the meal is properly in his hands before you pull yours carefully, reluctantly out of his soft grip. You open your mouth, only to close it, words escaping, your heart heavy. There’s no foreshadowing how he might react, how badly what you have done, have been doing, could affect whatever has been budding between you.

Xiao… There’s something I need to tell you…” you start, wrangling with the right words, wanting to tell him the truth, yet not hurt him more than he has been hurt already.

He simply tilts his head, waiting for you to continue your confession, an almost hopeful glint in his eyes, the meal yet untouched.

“I– I’m sorry, but, well, you see, Rex Lapis has sent me to you, you already know, but… there’s a reason. How– uhm, how do I say it… I’ve been by your side to cleanse your karmic debt, using the powers bestowed upon me… That’s– That’s why you have been feeling at peace by my side…” Your fingers writhe on your lap, your eyes avoiding direct eye contact, barely able to even look in his direction.

And all you can hear is a thunk of ceramic against rock. And all you can feel is the empty air, cold and nothing more. He has left without a word. Without telling you what his thoughts are, what he’s feeling about what you have done.

You slump into yourself, arms wrapping against your torso as you face your own knees. He’s gone because you have hurt him. You have hurt him and you have never realized that there’s another kind of pain, one squeezing the breath out of you, making your heart ache and your eyes burn; one that can be given and received at the same time.

The moon sinks and the sun greets you, and you don’t move from your spot. There’s no place for you to go. There’s no reason for you to continue following him if Xiao doesn’t even want your presence, your company anymore, and you cannot return to Mount Aocang just like that. So, you stay and wait, stay and wait. And for the first time in your time of being free, you feel restless at the lack of connection, of actions, of companionship.

During this time of waiting, you continue to stay in the same location, never straying too far from the initial fireplace, in hopes of him coming back to… to do anything, to talk, to confront you, to get angry, anything. So, you stay and wait, stay and wait.

When the sun is at its highest, you do seek some shade underneath the next tree big enough to provide you with some relief. You close your eyes, trying to plan your time, to fill it with meaninglessness to avoid any stray thoughts from getting to you. The breeze caresses your cheeks, and you open your eyes, expectations gone and yet growing.

A presence by your side. An all-too familiar pressure, much more soft, cared for than the first time. And when you tilt your head towards the source, your eyes meet illuminated golden eyes, the sun putting a halo in them, while the remnants of the wind play with teal strands of hair.

You gasp his name, breath clogging your throat and you have to swallow a couple of times, words refusing to form coherency in your mind.

Xiao lets his eyes wander over your face once again, familiarizing himself with a sight he had missed dearly during your time apart. Then, his fingers brush over yours, but instead of that being the end of the contact, he slowly begins to interlock his with yours, watching your reaction with his heightened focus. And you let him, feeling your breath growing shorter, your neck hotter at the intensity of his gaze upon you.

He murmurs your name. “During this time apart, I realized it’s too late to sever our connection… My heart– I mean, I will protect you as you protected me, as long as you stay by my side…”

His words touch something deep in you, vibrating in your chest, rattling you awake, bursting in you and overflowing your veins with warmth and comfort. A smile sneaks onto your lips.

“I will never leave your side as long as you allow me to,” you answer him, aware that there’s much more to say, much more to confess. But you’re both aware of each other's feelings, and you will take each step hand in hand.

A small smile graces his face, making him glow despite the shadows cast upon your faces. And as if it’s the usual thing to do, Xiao sinks into you, letting his head rest on your lap as the tension flows out. Your hands subconsciously start caressing his hair and you simply enjoy his presence, giving you peace.

The sun sets with your bodies and minds close, with the promise of staying together, of holding each other’s hands, of growing this love between you with each minute, with each word, with each gesture. And you promise him once again to stay by his side, as long as he stays by yours.

#xiao x reader #xiao x you #xiao x y/n #alatus x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #xreader

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rottingworship · 7 months ago

Text

Beg and Bargain

The Proxies x Fem!Reader | Chapter One

A/N: QUICK NOTE! MY BLOG IS 18+! This is just a silly idea I had, and after reading some fics here and on ao3, I wanted to post it! So, as stated this is a silly idea. While I'm writing this very seriously, it started out silly in my head. I don't know how to explain it. Also, this is my first ever creepypasta AND marble hornets fic. SO, please go easy on me. I used to be the biggest fan of both, but never wrote fics for either as I was like... 15.

Warnings: blood, reader has... a power(?), eventual smut, sorta kidnapping, the operator gets your ass, semi-brief mentions of vomit (nothing too in detail!), reader wishing for death, mentions of murder, not really proofread, me taking my own artistic liberties...

word count: 2.7k

The woods are ever expanding. You feel like you’ve been running forever. Barefoot and barely breathing. You reach a field and run towards the middle of it. Every inch of you aches and your lungs burn. Your head begins to pound. You freeze when the moonlight hits some tall silhouette standing what feels like miles away.

It’s faceless.

You want to puke. You look behind you, wondering if you could book it back out of the woods. You already saved yourself once, you do not want to need to do it again. You know you can not do it again.

As you turn to look over your shoulder you see one of the men who were chasing you earlier. A hatchet in his hand. You look to both sides of you and see a man in a mask on each side. You drop to your knees, and let out a loud scream. Maybe someone will hear you? You doubt it. Your hands go to your head and a loud whimper escapes you.

“Please,” You cry quietly. You know that thing can hear you though. “I wanna go home.”

“N–No can do.” A voice comes from behind you.

The men are closing in on you.

“You killed our target!” The masked man on your right growls out loudly.

Your eyes widen. “There is no blood on my hands!” You cry, folding into yourself. A sob racks your body.

Your brain starts to feel fuzzy. Your nails dig into your scalp and a scream rips from your throat.

Join me.

What you can only assume is the silhouette across the field is in your head. You shake violently. “No!” You scream aloud, your voice ripping through the cold, night air. You have a feeling you don’t have a choice though. You killed the target. The voice reverberates through your head. “Please!” You hope maybe one of the men will save you. Your eyes are on the dirt in front of you. A static sound is stuck in your mind.

Your hands move from your head and to the dead grass below you. You dig into the dry soil and scream again. “Stop!” You shake your head again, trying to make the noise come to an end. “Make it stop!”

There is no choice to be made. The voice booms. You yelp. You look back at the man with the hatchet and begin to plead. “Kill me…” You whisper to him. “Kill me!” You scream this time. Hoping and praying he complies. His hand twitches, and for a moment, you are sure he is listening. He stops though. He stiffens and straightens up.

“It won’t work on us.” The man on your left sounds so matter of fact. “The Operator makes sure of it.”

The Operator… That must be the thing across the field. Your eyes shoot up to him and you think about bargaining. “I won’t tell anyone about this!” You grovel. “I’ll go home and go to bed, and then wake up tomorrow like nothing happened!”

You are useful.

His only response. The sick feeling is getting worse. “Okay!” You shout at him. “Please, I’ll do it! Just… Stop! Make it stop!” You muster up all the power you can in that last sentence. Another scream rips from your throat, one sending chills down the spines of the men around you.

Most excellent.

The static grows louder momentarily, and your hands move back to your head. Your spine snaps back, your back arching and one last scream pulling from your lungs. Once the static stops, you lurch forward, vomit, and fall to your side. Your head is still pounding, and you shut your eyes. You are out almost immediately.

_-_-_-_

You wake up to rummaging around you. You do not open your eyes immediately. Your head is spinning, and you are sure any source of light will cause you pain. So, you lie there. As you begin to fully wake up, you remember everything that happened. You are most likely not in your own home.

Your eyes squint open and the movement around you gets closer. Eyes are staring back at you. His mouth is covered. You gasp and move back, a sick feeling settling in your stomach again. You are going to puke. You sit up fast, making the nausea worse. You look around the room and spot a trash can in what seems to be the kitchen. You stand up, cover your mouth, and sprint towards it. As soon as you reach it, you drop to your knees and begin to dry heave. There is nothing on your stomach.

Your eyes shut tightly and you whine. You rest your head on the side of the trash can.

“Co–come on!” A voice comes from behind you. “I’m n–not ugly!” He's frustrated.

You peek over your shoulder and realize the man is standing right behind you. “Don't look at me!” You hiss. Swatting him away to no avail, you lean back over the trash can let out another, softer whine.

“Dude!” Another man walks into the room. “Were you waiting for her to wake up, Toby?”

“Sh-shut up, Brian!”

You stand up from the trash can when you realize you aren't going to be sick, and you turn around. The look on who you only assume is Brian’s face is shocked none the less. He quickly gives you a soft smile, acting as if he did not just make a horrified expression at you. You pout at him. Your hand goes not your stomach, and you want to cry.

Then you catch it. A glimpse of your hand. It is dirty and blood is caked under your nails. Your blood. You settle in the fact you are just going to feel sick from now on. While looking down at your hands, you notice your feet are bandaged. You hear chattering in front of you but you're too focused on yourself to realize what's being said.

“Who fixed up my feet?”

“Tim.” Toby and Brian say in unison.

“I wasn't about to to–touch feet. And yours were b–bloody!” Toby announces it so matter of fact.

Tim seems to have made his way into the room, or you hope he's Tim and there are no other men hanging around. “You make it sound like you don't deal with blood regularly.”

Toby scowls. “It–it’s different!”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” He looks at you. Saying your name. Your stomach flips. You never had said your name. “Looks like you're part of the team now–”

“The team!?” Your voice is hoarse from screaming the night before. Your mind is boggled. “I was just fucking chased down… by you three I think–” you try to shout, “–had some... thing speak into my mind, and now– Now I'm part of some fucking team?” You want to explode.

“Well, yuh–yeah.” Toby says it so matter of fact. Your fists ball. They all notice. “You accepted this.”

You can easily fly off the handle. Maybe it is best you do… You rush Toby, ready to throttle him. You do not even get to touch him. You are intercepted immediately, and your arms are restrained. You struggle against strong arms as they wrap around your biceps and torso, keeping you from reaching Toby. Your legs kick out and you are quickly maneuvered backwards. Your back hits the wall and you let out a frustrated cry. Your wrists are held at your sides and Brian is almost on top of you.

“We do not want to hurt you.”

“You tried to kill me last night.” You hiss at him, your voice low and venomous. His grip on you tightens and you try to move your wrists. You struggle fruitlessly. “Let me go.”

You watch Brian's eye glaze over momentarily. His grip loosens and suddenly your head gets tingly. Before you get out of his grasp he tightens back up “Stop.” His voice… Your legs buckle, eyes widening for just a second.

You let out a steady breath. Your eyes lock with his, he doesn't look away. Thank God for unknowing men. Your eyes darken, pupils blown wide. “Let. Me. Go.” His hands fall to his sides and his eyes glaze over again. Suddenly, you don't feel so well. You fall back against the wall with a groan, and you grab your head.

“Your nose–” Tim says as you realize it's bleeding. “What the fuck?”

You slide down the wall and cover your nose. Blood is steadily dripping. What the fuck is right. You look up at the three men in fear.

“Hey! Do not look at us th–that way!”

“What way?” You snap back.

“Like you didn't just mind control Brian!” Tim looks concerned to say the least.

You look up at Brian with fear filled eyes. Maybe he will kill you for that outburst. After a moment of pure silence, you stand up to rush to the bathroom. They let you go. You eventually find the bathroom and shut the door tight, locking it. When you look in the mirror you want to scream. You understand why Brian seemed startled when he saw you.

Your face is dirt covered and tear stained. Blood, that is most definitely not yours, is splattered against your clothes. Which leads you to remembering what happened before you were being hunted in the middle of the woods. You outwardly cringe, a chill running down your spine at the memories. You decide to rinse your face with water and as you stand there, you realize how sore you are. You have time to process how much pain you are in. You want to cry again.

You finish rinsing your face and walk from the bathroom. You make your way back to the living area and the three men stop talking. Their voices were hushed anyway, but you pinpoint the exact moment they shut up. You are ready to go ballistic. You hold it together.

“You–You’re really pretty without all th–that dirt on y–your face.”

“Toby.” Your tone is a warning. You shut your eyes and inhale sharply. You hear someone hit Toby and then he groans. He apologizes. “I have questions for you guys.”

“We have questions for you.” Brian shifts.

“Okay,” You don’t want to answer their questions at all, “how about: I ask a question, you answer, then you ask a question, and I answer. That way all questions are answered.” The three look at each other and then nod. “Okay, first question, what the fuck happened last night?”

“You killed our target.” Tim shrugs, as if it’s obvious.

“What does that mean?” You want to scream.

“Not your turn,” Brian shushes you. “How did you do that to me?”

“Your ‘operator’ didn’t tell you?” You scoff at them. When they all seem unamused, you sigh. “I don’t know, I just… I can control people. Always have been able to, since I can remember. I mean,” You pause, eyes looking off, gathering your thoughts, “Not all people. Like, babies and animals I cannot control. Their brains are different. But! Most people are controllable.”

“Is th–that what happened last night?”

You scowl at Toby. “Not your turn,” You mimic Brian’s earlier tone. “Where’s my phone?”

Toby pulls it from his pocket and shakes at you. Like it’s some enrichment for you. You narrow your eyes. “My tuh–turn.” You can tell he’s smirking; he sounds smug. “H–How did you kill our target?”

You really do not want to answer that. Your stomach begins to growl. The sick feeling has subsided for now, and you haven’t eaten in… a while. You are starving. You place your hands on your stomach and sigh. “Is there anything to eat?” They all look at you with confusion. “I’m not avoiding the question, but if I don’t get to eat… I will be avoiding the question.” You smile at the three of them. Brian groans. He motions for you to follow him, and you do so, willingly. No questions asked.

They all make note of that.

“Here is the kitchen. Feel free to look around.” Brian sighs. You nod. “Now, answer the question.”

You open the cabinet and find some cereal. “Okay,” as you pour a bowl you answer the previous question. “What happened last night–” you grab the milk out. As you pour it into the bowl, the scent hits you. It is spoiled. You gag.

“You gotta stop doing that–” Tim scrunches his face up. “The gagging–”

“Who the hell let this spoil!?” You look at the date and reel back. “Well, I’m no longer hungry.” You get rid of cereal and notice the men are on the edge of their seats. Waiting for your answer. “Anyway,” You nervously rub your hands on the outside of your thighs. You do not want to recount the night. “I just, I’m on vacation, last night was the beginning of it–”

“Where are y–you from?”

“Not your turn, but I’ll be nice–” You shoot a look at Toby. “Here. I’m on vacation from work. Not everyone has the luxury to leave and go somewhere amazing. But I am– I was going to make the most of it!” You are growing anxious. “My ex–” You close your eyes.

“He’s the one you killed?”

You immediately snap. “I haven’t killed a single goddamn person! As I’ve said before, there is no blood on my hands.” You growl out. They sense you’re on edge. “He came to town; he moved away a while back. Moved onto greener pastures, or whatever–” You roll your eyes, “–but he wanted to pay me a visit…” Your stomach is turning. You shut your eyes gathering your thoughts and grip the hem of your sweater. “He decided to, uh–” You cut to the chase. “He had a gun. He did not come to just visit me. And apparently,” You let out a nervous laugh, “pastures are not always greener when you move away.”

Toby, Tim, and Brian are all listening. Very well.

“My turn!” You try to shift your mood. “Can I have my phone back?” You place your hand out at Toby and bat your eyelashes at him. “Please.” You are staring at him through your lashes.

Toby laughs at you. “S-sexy, but no.”

Your face drops. You ignore the ‘sexy’ part. “Did you forget I can mind control people?”

“Did you forget your nose just exploded with blood?” Brian scoffs. “You are not mind controlling any of us without consequences.”

He’s right. You sigh. “Scratch that last question, when can I get my phone back?”

“When we can trust you.” Tim is blunt.

Your eyes darken. “Fine.” You cross your arms. “Whatever, I don’t need that anyway. But–” You pause. “I will need, like, I don’t know– My fucking essentials?” You want to shout again. “Like face wash, deodorant,” You pause, humming, “tampons. Oh yeah, and clothes.” Because they really have you fucked up if they think you aren’t getting those things.

The three look at each other and then back at you. Tim is the first to speak up. “I’ll take you to get some stuff.” They are not about to let you leave alone. “You said you live in this town, right?”

“Well,” You look around you and out of a window, “I couldn’t tell you where I was right now, so I don’t know.”

Toby huffs. “We’re in m–my cabin.”

Oh, how dare I not know that, you think to yourself. “That gives me nothing to go off of. But, if we’re still in the same town, yes, I'm from here.” You deadpan. “If you get me out of these woods, I’m sure I could show you where my apartment is.”

“Hold on,” Brian speaks up. “Tim, Toby, come here.” He motions for them to follow them out, and they all motion for you to stay put. Once again, you listen. And once again, they all note how obedient you are.

You hear them mumbling. You can’t make out what Brian is saying, but he’s the most concerned it would seem. You wait patiently for them to get back to you. You look around the kitchen and examine everything. The place doesn’t look too lived in. The table is… not very used but definitely looks older. The sink only has your dirty dish in it, nothing else. This may be Toby’s place, but he or his friends definitely are not here often.

“Come on,” Tim walks back over to you, “we’re gonna go to your place.”

Thank God, you sigh. You want to shower more than anything. Getting away from whatever the fuck is going on is a close second though.

“Wait a minute,” You look down at your bandaged feet. “I don’t have shoes.”

#marble hornets #mh hoody #brian thomas #tim wright #mh masky #ticci toby #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #marble hornets x reader #marble hornets smut #creepypasta smut

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2cool4ghoul · 8 months ago

Text

Dream a Little Dream of Me

Part 1 <3 Part 2 of I Can Dream, Can't I?

AO3 link <3

Word count: 4,454

Summary: You get dragged along to one of your husbands business dinners with his insufferable obnoxious colleagues. But when one of the attendees can't take his eyes of you, you begin to question his intentions...

Warnings: Smut, semi-public sex, fingering, swearing, AFFAIRS I guess, an adulterer, smoking?, unprotected sex, p in v, age gap

Hiiiiiiiiiii

cannot believe that part 1 did so well, that's big fun vibes thank u for reading it and enjoying that with me ! I apologise for how long this took me however life got ahead of me.

we have a flashback episode today to provide some lore and content for you and coopers past. I had intended to include some present ghoul content in this however it got so long that I have to split it up. sorry bout that.

<3<3<3<3<3 <3<3<3<3<3 <3<3<3<3<3 <3<3<3<3<3

It had started just like any other dinner. Your husband, parading you like a trophy, in a ridiculously tight dress, for all his likeminded businessmen colleges to congratulate him on. The line rehearsed and repeated every single time. “This, gentlemen, is my gorgeous wife, you can look, but keep your hands to yourselves.” It was becoming increasingly difficult to fake the smile that had made you famous, ignoring the jeers and laughs, which had been meant as compliments.

This particular dinner, was with executives and stars from the studio he’d recently snatched up with the promise of making you a star. And whilst every night was the same, the same men, the same stares, the same pressed suits and watches, cigar smoke, martini’s…. There was one particular entity who seemed to catch your gaze from the other side of the table. He’d been watching your every move it felt like, his following your silk gloved fingers as you lit your cigarette.

You took note of his features and of his silence amongst the loud overbearing men. His eyes seemingly closed in the dimly lit restaurant, his lips wet with whiskey, no doubt as he sat back relaxed in his chair. His staring was uncomfortable, like he was trying to figure you out, looking deep behind the facade you’d been forced into, hiding any remnants of your past life on the farm. You blew smoke from your lips, the conversations around you had faded, letting your eyes gaze away from his for a moment, only to look back to confirm if he was still looking, which he was. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d of thought this was a proposition. This caused you to tense, finally addressing his forwardness.

“Didn’t your mother teach you that it was rude to stare?” You finally broke your silence, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. With your back straight, a scowl had painted your face as he released a scoff, adjusting himself in his seat. Robert, looked between the two of you as a silence had fell upon the table.

“Please, Mr Howard, excuse my wife’s forwardness, she gets a bit overexcited at times!” He apologised, waving a hand in the air before turning towards you, who’s eyes were still locked with the mans. Who you now knew to be ‘Mr Howard.’ “Hon, Thats Cooper Howard, he’s a pretty big name at the studio, don’t go causing a scene.” He warned, his voice low, spoken into your neck with a kiss. It was a threat, one that you knew would be further implemented the moment you arrived home. You pouted like a scolded child, turning your attention to your martini in front of you, taking a large sip. You glanced from behind the glass rim, Coopers attention no longer on you, but with a man beside him. You had won a small victory, your point had been made and he was no longer staring you down.

The rest of the meal seemed to carry on as usual. The waitress had come round to get the tables order, a side salad ordered for you, more martinis. Conversations of business, of the war, ill-timed political jokes and opinions. Over the past year or so, you’d managed to master the art of disassociation, your body being present at the table yet your mind was back in the fields, tending to the animals, hanging your clothes on the washing lines to dry… You could rehearse an entire daily routine so well that you could’ve sworn you could smell the morning dew on the grass, the breeze causing goosebumps to peak on your skin. Yet every now and then, a drunken obnoxious laugh would tear you from the safeness of your mind, reminding you that you were still there amongst these men. Where had it all gone wrong?

You needed air.

“Excuse me, boys,” You spoke lowly, “I’m going to go powder my nose.” The men nodded towards you, Robert lifting his head to get a better look at you. Pushing your bleached blonde curls over your shoulder, you placed a red lipped kiss on his cheek, leaving an imprint you knew would anger him. Smirking on your heel, you walked as he hastily scrambled to remove any trace of the make up left on his skin.

On your travels to the ladies room, the effect of the, god knows how many, drinks had taken their toll on you, causing a slight stumble in your step. You ended up finding a secluded garden area, lights hanging from branches of trees, twinkling. There was a chill in the nights air, but you preferred the silence, listening to the crunch and rustle of the leaves in the wind. Leaning against a brick wall, you lit a cigarette, staring up into the stars, creating your own constellations. A lonesome smile ghosted your lips, finding peace in this moment to yourself, watching the smoke dissipate into the blue darkness. You could run. Leave and never look back. But where you would go? You were sure the farm had been sold months ago, despite how much Robert denied it. The very thought of it bought a lump to your throat, your jaw clenching, biting the side of your cheek.

The door to your hiding place opened, your head rolled to the side to examine who opened it. Your admirer from the opposite end of the table. A soft hum of acknowledgement left you, rolling you head back to the stars, flicking ashes from the end of the cigarette. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Closing the door behind him, he stepped closer.

“No, not at all.” Kissing your teeth and keeping your eyes forward, you felt his presence close next to you. “You not enjoying yourself, Mr Howard?”

“No, no, its not that,” Chuckling coolly, the click and snap of a metal lighter illuminating your peripheral, “Politic’s is not really my area of expertise.”

“Right.” You nodded a sigh, finally allowing yourself to turn and meet his eye-line.

Upon closer exception you realised he was really rather handsome. A classic look to him, dark hair pushed back with noticeable grey hairs peaking through. His bone structure was distinct, chiselling and framing his face. Those eyes which had been looked on you, twinkling in the sparse lighting. Your tongue ran over your bottom lip, the taste of nicotine filling your mouth. You didn’t know his age, but he was definitely significantly older than you. “I don’t believe I got your name?” His voice was smooth, making your stomach do flips.

“I don’t believe that I said it.” You smirked, staring up at him through your lashes due to him standing much taller than you, even when he was leaning on his shoulder against the wall. He let out a laugh, raising his eyebrows, waiting for a response to his answer. “Lana.” Lying, you held out your hand for him to shake, keeping your real name close to your chest.

“Lana,” Testing the name on his lips, he blew smoke in your direction which you inhaled through your nose discreetly, “what a pretty name, for such a pretty young girl, like yourself.” The smile that he was flashing you caused you to roll your eyes, releasing a sarcastic giggle.

“I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Only the pretty ones,” He teased you, winking at you. You pretended not to notice his eyes trailing down to your chest, stealing a glance at your exposed cleavage from his height advantage.

“What about the married ones?” Raising a brow, you bit back at him, the smirk on your lips letting him know that was a sadistic joke at your own expense.

“Where you from, Lana?” His question was heavier than he knew. Something about him made you want to tell him the truth. But you couldn’t just reveal yourself to any man who made you smile.

“Why’d you wanna know?” Suppressing your southern accent had never been more important, the recognition of his own caused you to work extra hard to hide yours.

“It’s called small talk, somethin’ tells me you’re not too good at it.” He wrapped his lips around his cigarette again, your breathing heavy as you kept your gaze focussed on his mouth, inhaling the smoke.

“I grew up in New York, moved here after I met Robert 2 years ago.” The story and all of its details had been a fabricated story made up by Robert so that you could prove yourself more marketable. A socialite from New York, from a rich distinguished family.

“Is that so?” He seemed intrigued, letting his lips turn downward. “And now, your gonna be filming at the studio, huh?”

“Are you interrogating me, Mr Howard?” It came out more seductive than stern, a way of avoiding anymore questions by distracting him. “I hear you play a big time sheriff in your movies,” You stepped closer to him, the amusement evident on his face as he sized you up, “you gonna cuff me up?” You could tell he was thinking about it, his answer hesitating on his lips. You wished he would, there was something so enticing about him, his whole demeanour and charisma causing you to ache between your legs, feeling the dampness against the lace covering your heat.

“Now, what would your husband think about that?” This was a fun game for him, the way you were looking up at him, so willing and eager sending shivers down his spine.

“What he don’t know wont hurt him.” Shrugging playfully, you fluttered your lashes, watching as he licked his lips, a taunted groan leaving from his chest.

“You’re real trouble, you know that?” He waved a finger at you, you tempted wrapping your mouth around it, sucking down to the knuckle, your spit dripping around him as he filled your mouth. Instead you smacked it away lightly, remembering your place. You turned away from him in a way to release some of the attention, your mind roaming to unholy places.

“I’m a good girl, Mr Howard.” Scoffing, your cheeks ached as they tried to conceal the wild grin he was pulling from you. Maybe it was the confidence from the drinks swirling around your system, but this was the most exciting and arousing interaction you’d had. Everything with Robert felt so transactional, ticking boxes out of necessity. But this was different.

“I bet you are.” He praised and you pretended shock at his forwardness.

“I’m not that kind of girl.”

“And I’m not that kind of man.” He raised his hands in defence, yet when they lowered, one brushed against the bare skin of your arm, a quiet gasp leaving your lips, turning back round to face him, becoming aware of how alarmingly close he now was to you. His breathe was fanning over your wet lips, your cheeks flushing to an embarrassingly shade of red. You were locked in eye contact, for what felt like the millionth time that night, watching as he undressed you with his eyes.

There was silence between the two of you, all except for the heavy breathing leaving both of you, wondering who would make the next move, wondering what the next move even was. This was wrong. It was wrong because you were married, it was wrong because two hours previous to this you didn’t even know he existed, it was wrong because you were pretty sure he could’ve been the same age as your father, maybe even older. But you felt electric, like you skin was on fire and only he could put it out. You wanted him to put it out, you would’ve dropped to your knees and pleaded with him for anything. Maybe it was the adrenaline of getting caught. Maybe it was the way he was eliciting such innate desire from you, from just the tiniest of interactions. You were aching for him, and judging by the tightness and the way he was adjusting himself in his trousers, he was aching for you too.

“You love your husband?” His question took you off guard, yet you didn’t hesitate to answer.

“No.” Shaking your head quickly, your eyes were wide. Biting his lip, he allowed himself a moment to ponder the morals he was breaking.

“Goddamn, what am I going to do with you, huh?” His hand came up to brush your cheek, pushing away a few stray hairs, his fingers grazing your skin so gently, you were starved for more. You decided to pursue an earlier desire, his thumb carelessly brushing against your bottom lip for a second, leaving you free to take advantage.

You parted your lips, allowing the tip of your tongue to taste him first, before pushing your head forward, maintaining widened eye contact, taking his thumb into your mouth. You sucked around him, your tongue working around, tasting as much as you could, trying to savour the moment in case he, fairly, ripped his hand from you as punishment for taking it too far. You waited for this, yet he did not. He knitted his brows, mouth falling slightly slack before tutting at you. “Fuck this.” He muttered, taking his hand from your mouth and instead wrapping it around your neck, forcing you forward.

He forced his lips on you, taking the dominance, leaving you whimpering at the sudden feeling of his mouth hot against yours. Pushing against him, trying to feel as much of him as possible, hands finding themself tightly squeezing the wrist of his hand, still gripping your neck. His tongue licked against your lips before finding its way into your mouth, working alongside yours as the kiss deepened, your cunt squeezing around nothing, begging for something to soothe the throbbing ache that was pooling between your legs. When his hand finally left your neck, it was replaced by his lips, smudging red lipstick down your chin and neck. His hand travelled down your chest, taking a moment to squeezed your breast on the way down, frustrated by the layers of material that stopped him from getting a better look at you. By this point, he had you pinned against the rough exterior of the brick wall, his body pressed against yours, thigh between your legs. “Oh, Mr Howard.” You moaned between bitten lips, head falling back exposing more of your neck to him.

“Call me Cooper.” He muttered, “If we’re doing this, we’re at least gonna be on a first name basis, alright, sweetheart?” Your heart fluttered at the pet name.

“Mmhmm Cooper- Oh!” Whilst you nodded in agreement, his fingertips had found their way under your dress skirt, hoisting it up your legs. The cold air tingled against your wet cunt, legs squeezing against his thigh.

“Christ, look at you.” He mumbled to himself, bitting his lip, taking in the sight of the mess you’d made in your panties. “Need me that badly, huh, doll?” You could only make out an embarrassed hum in response, blushing at his southern drawl which made everything eel so much more erotic. He touched you through the lace, leaving the thin layer on to tease you even more. You needed as much friction as possible, grinding against his fingers, feeling a tension building within you, that you’d never felt before. His fingertips seemed to focus where it was most sensitive, having no issue finding your clit even through your panties. The sweat blanketing your body make your make up run slightly. Tipping you head forward, you looked down, watching him play with you, his fingers damp even with the barrier of lace keeping him out. You were biting your lip to stop moans from escaping you. You couldn’t explain the feeling taking over your body, every inch of you reacting, goosebumps covering every bit of skin, nipples hard.

“Please.” You couldn’t stand much longer, meeting his gaze again. You didn’t even know what you were begging him for or what he was willing to give you. You just knew that every part of you needed it, heart racing like it was going to jump out your chest. “Please Cooper, give it to me, I need you.” You planted kisses over his face, moving to just behind his ear, sucking and eliciting a growl from him, his hand pushing aside the soaking lace.

“Dripping for me, aren’t ya, angel, making a mess?” He use his other hand to push hair out of your face to view the pathetic ruin he’d caused. You’d open your mouth to agree with him, telling him anything you’d believe he wanted to hear, but you words were stopped and choked in your throat due to his finger fucking its way into you. He was wasting no time, the slap of his skin and the wetness of your cunt erupting into the quiet night. Your eyes squeezed shut and he released a smug chuckle, proud of himself for the reaction he was causing.

Upon adding another finger, he had to force his other hand over your mouth as you frantically tried to keep in your moans, his fingers curling inside you finding the sweet spot that was sending you over the edge. “It’s gon’ be a tight fit, princess, you best kept that pretty little mouth shut,” He pressed his lips to your ear, “can you do that for me, you gon’ be a good girl for me?” You could only silently nod and hum in response, his hand firm over your mouth. “Good girl.” He pressed a kiss to your ear.

You felt empty when he removed his fingers to unbuckle his belt, the jangle of the metal stirring excitement within you. With one finger, he tugged your panties down your thighs and you stepped out of them, shocked when he shoved them into his back pocket. “I’ll look after those.” He smirked, winking at you at your flushed cheeks, hand finally leaving your mouth. He pulled his cock free, your eyes went big seeing the size of it, hard, his fist pumping around it as he scoffed at your reaction. “Told ya, sweetheart, tight fit.” He let go of himself, hand reaching round to slap your ass, gesturing for you to jump up, your dress bunching round your waist. You did so, wrapping your legs around his waist. His forehead rested against yours as you both watched him line himself up with your throbbing entrance. “You sure you want this, sweetheart?” He kissed you lightly on the lips, his tip pressing against you, hot.

“I need you, Cooper Howard.” You pleaded against his lips, begging for the tension within you to be relieved somehow. Groaning at your response, he nodded.

His cock stretched you, squeezing around him, eyes rolling back into your head. Unable to make noise as you winced, mouth wide open. He also, silently, bit his lip, breathing through his nose through a frown. Your slick cunt pulled him in, he seemed to not end, leaving you panting by the time he’d bottomed out. You were gasping for air, going slightly lightheaded as he filled you, giving you a moment to adjust. Your hands were splayed out against his chest, his own heart beating against your palm. “Can I?” His voice almost desperate.

“Please, fuck me.” Nodding, you buckled your hips forward, forcing friction and movement from him.

When he finally moved, he tediously pulled out all the way, making sure you felt every inch of you, watching as you dripped a white sheen cast on his cock, before snapping brutally into you. You gripped at the suit jacket, knuckles turning white at this harsh movement. This was the start of a cruelly quick pace, slapping into you whilst his balls fell against your bare ass. “Oh fucking christ,” He cursed his head falling into the curve of your neck, gasps leaving your open mouth, “You’re taking me so fuckin’ well, darlin’” Cooper gripped on your hips, holding you in place whilst he relentlessly fucked into you, his cock forcing you open.

You had been trying your hardest to hold in your moans, but to no avail, so his hand had returned to your mouth. Your eyes had rolled back into your head, the white showing. Pleasure was rampaging through your body, your back arching into him, gripping onto him. Watching him disappear into you made you turn dizzy, feeling him deep inside you, brushing and pressing against your cervix. Your hands tugged at the buttons on his shirt, pushing your hands under to touch as much of him as possible, leaving one against his skin, the other lacing through his hair, pulling him closer.

Tears were running down you face, your make up well and truly ruined, smeared everywhere, read covering his face too. “Look at me, Angel” He commanded, “Feel good? Yeah?” His lips were brushing against your forehead before meeting your covered face, your curls coming loose. “My cock feel good?” He whispered against your neck, earning another delighted hum from you. “I can feel how much you love it.” He thrusted into you, pushing deep as you walls clenched around his heavy girth.

The build up had grown too much for you, you were begging to let go, to let your body rest and release. And he was coaxing it out of you too quick and too sweet, you didn’t know what was coming. The heat pooling in your lower stomach like nothing you’d felt before. You couldn’t explain it but when your body became so hot, heart beat so fast, your whole stomach clenched. “You coming for me, princess, go on, good girl, come around this cock.” He furrowed his brows at your feeling your body tremble and go rigid, your grip becoming deadly around him, eyes squeezed shut. His pace slowed slightly, so he could feel every squeeze every contraction. You had never felt this sensation before, like your whole body had just been ignited. His hand did little to cover the moans, only muffled them as you cursed vision blurry, stars filling your vision.

After giving you little time to recover, your body slightly limp, he proceeded in using your cunt to fuck himself to his climax. You’d made a creamy mess, forming at the bottom of his cock. He didn’t care, he seemed to enjoy it more, unable to keep a steady pace, growing needy of his own release. He dropped his hand, gripped at your waist again as you pulled him closer for a kiss, using that a buffer for the whines and whimpers. His lips were frantic against you, biting your lip. “I’m close.” He growled and you locked your legs around his waist, keeping him deep inside you.

“Please, give it to me, please.” You whined, his hand returning to lock around your neck, forcing you to look at him in the eyes whilst he filled you up.

Grunting, he buried himself deep into you, feeling as he emptied everything he had in you. You were warm inside, content and stuffed. He was blinking, regaining his steadiness, littering kisses over your face, sweat beading over his forehead. He gradually let your legs drop down, fulling your dress back down to somewhat of its original state. You were wobbly, clarity finally coming over your lust clouded mind. He’d rubbed his face and then stuffed himself back into his trousers, looking you up and down as you timidly stood against the wall, expecting him to tell you what a bad thing you’d done, about how you should tell no one about this ever.

“I guess you are that kind of man, Mr Howard.” You joked, breaking the silence whilst wiping your dried tears with the back of your hand. He did a double take at your before chuckling and shaking his head.

“I guess I am.” He buckled up his belt, readjusting the crumpled suit jacket. “People will be wondering where we are.” He tipped his head towards the door and you suddenly remembered where you were.

“Right, yes, of course.” You brushed your hair with your fingers, trying to create some semblance of dignity whilst his cum dripped down your inner thigh.

“I’ll see you back at the table.” He smirked, looking you up and down, turning towards the door, leaving you standing meekly. You watched him leave, the bunched up bulge of your white lace panties peeking over the top of his trouser pocket.

After a quick trip to the bathroom to wet your face and try to remove any traces of what just happened. That was dirty, you’d been a dirty, low down girl. Here you were, wiping another mans semen from your thighs whilst your husband waited for you in the other room. It made you feel slightly sick, now that you were alone and had time to think about it. But the way he’d made you feel was like any other. You still didn’t understand what had happened to your body, but you were sure he caused it. And that was something you wanted to feel over and over again. Readying yourself to face not only your husband, but also Cooper, you believed you were finally presentable to return to the table and although you’d sobered up, you still walked with a stumble due to the lack of Coopers body between your legs.

When you had returned, you were disappointed to see no Cooper at the table, his seat empty, his coat missing from the back of it. You did little to hide this disappointment, Robert turning to face your flush body. “Here she is, I was beginning to believe you’d gotten lost!” He scoffed loudly and you remained standing.

“I don’t feel very well, I would like to go home.” You spoke dead pan.

“God! There must be something in the water, Howard said the same damn thing!” He slapped his thighs, standing up and planting a wet scratchy kiss on your cheek, making you quiver.

You’d made a swift exit, waiting in the car with your legs squeezed shut, keeping quiet. Cooper’s own quick exit had made you feel like a whore. Which you supposed thats all you were. You shouldn’t have enjoyed that as much as you did. And having Robert in the car beside you, a chauffeur driving you two to your shared home, made you feel 10 times worse. He wasn’t a good husband, or a loving one or an intimate one. But you were making a fool of him. And that scared you. “I was hoping you’d get to talk to Cooper Howard, but you being sick and all…” He trailed off.

“Why?” You turned to him.

“Because I got you a role in a movie with him.”

Fuck.

#cooper howard #cooper howard smut #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul #the ghoul x reader #walton goggins #walton goggins smut #I love Cooper howard #pre war cooper howard #flashback

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laughtalelogs · 2 months ago

Text

In the Shadows of Buffalo Bay - Prologue

word count: 1.5k+

Zoro x afab!Reader x Sanji, cowgirl!reader no use of y/n, no beta reader, all my reader characters are black even if not explicitly stated. if that's not ur jam, then don’t read!

Rating: M (smut will be in future chapters, labelled as Explicit.)

Warnings: themes of alcohol, drug use, smoking, mental health issues, implications of self-harm, and violence to come.

Summary: Right after the Straw Hats leave the land of Wano; they land on Buffalo Bay, a gourmet cattle island known for its famous fairs, cowboys, and food. What they find is a dusty town, ruled by a sheriff with more secrets than she lets on. When she challenges the swordsman and seduces the cook, they both can't help but wonder: what is she hiding? And how will her past, entwined with the island's dark history, affect their crew? cross-posted to ao3 @laughtalelogs

Special thanks to @sigilsmut for giving me major inspiration with his OC, Honeko. Please check them out, they’re both pretty neat!

chapter Index- prologue (you are here!), ch.1

Prologue: Darek Red

Prrr. Prrr. Prrr. Cu-lick.

“It’s been quite a while since you’ve called, are you sure about this?”

“Quite. They made it clear it would be utterly careless not to. Expected arrival time is at sunrise. No messes, you hear?”

“Clear as day, sir. Considering the walk in the park you just gave me, should I leave the ‘Thank You’ note with them, or should I save that for when you decide to ring again?”

“Focus. Stick to the plan. And it wouldn’t hurt to remember our deal.”

Cu-lick.

“Great.”

Zoro stirred from his slumber as soon as he heard the laugh of his captain. Was it already time for Brook to take his shift? Did he sleep through breakfast? He didn’t feel the sun on him just yet. He shrugged it off. If there was danger, he’d know, no doubt. He allowed his shoulders to relax as sleep absorbed him once more.

Until suddenly, “Now, Usopp, Chopper!”

The floor shifted, he shot back, the air in his lungs suddenly slammed out of him as his head struck the glass of the crow’s nest. His eye shot open, but his vision swam, followed by a thrumming on the base of his skull. He quickly grabbed his swords that slid under the bench from the change of position, scoping his surroundings.

Of course, when his guard was down, something would happen to the ship. He ignored the way his vision blurred to turn around and scan the ship through the glass beneath him. He saw a familiar straw hat from a distance and loosened the tight grip of his blades. At least someone was out there.

What he still was trying to figure out was why in the hell was Luffy at the helm? Zoro ran to the hatch. He angled himself down the ladder and tightened his grip as he quickly realized they were soaring through the sky.

“What the fuck is happening?!” He shouted over the whipping wind, watching Luffy let go of the wheel to stand on the now horizontal mast.

He just laughed and held onto his hat, his standard goofy grin shined in the moonlight. “We’re going to the city of meat, duh!”

“You idiot!” Zoro yelled. “We were going to be there in the morning!” His warning fell on deaf ears. Luffy, who was singing and dancing about meat, was too busy to care. He hoped everyone else was safe.

He already had a bad feeling about the poster they’d found on the ghost ship yesterday. The rest of the crew, however, seemed unfazed. Nami had determined from her Log Pose that they’d reach the island by sunrise, and everyone was eager for a break after the war they’d just endured. But, of course, Luffy’s hunger had to ruin that plan.

He glanced around while his thoughts wandered for a brief and unwelcomed moment.

Where was the damn cook? His face soured, trying to force the thought down as soon as it came. He’s probably clinging onto his bed in the men’s quarters like an idiot, he thought again, but the idea of Sanji flying overboard refused to leave his mind.

“He’ll survive just in spite of me thinking that,” He humored, muttering under his breath to himself, the usual bite in his tone gone. Still, he scanned the doors for a mop of blonde hair that he wouldn’t admit he waited to appear. If he had half the brain Zoro thought he had, he’s probably helping the others.

Now, Zoro was stuck there, gripping the rope ladder as he tried to make sense of the chaos. Over Luffy’s shoulder, he caught glimpses of the dark horizon. The Sunny pitched forward sharply, teetering above the sea before nose diving toward land. Zoro was relaxed as ever—if relaxed meant cursing under his breath and bracing for impact.

“Hold o-” Zoro’s warnings were cut off as the ship slammed into hard dirt, skidding like a rock skipping across a pond. Zoro jostled against the rope ladder with each impact, gritting his teeth. The hull screeched. Luffy was laughing, because of course this was absolutely hilarious to him, as he swung on a stretched arm. A chorus of startled yelling joined the ship’s groaning protests, the crew must have been rudely woken up just like him.

Finally, they stopped. The wood wheezed underneath them, the pitch black enveloping them on all sides.

“That was awesome!” Luffy’s cackle echoed off into the dark night as he dropped from the mast back onto the grassy deck. “Did you see that Zoro?!”

He did more than see it, he thought. He drops from the rope onto the deck. He went to reply, but heard doors slamming open and shut, followed by multiple yells for the same person.

“LUFFY!”

Everyone clambered in, one after another. Jinbei carried Brook’s head, while Franky angrily dragged the other two culprits with him. Behind them, Zoro sees a shock of blonde, and he lets go of a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding. He scratched the back of his head and rolled his shoulders, as if his previous worries would fall off of them. Adrenaline is still pumped through his veins under hot skin, cooled off by the night’s air.

“Morning everyone!” Luffy said excitedly, smile stretched so wide Zoro wouldn’t be surprised if his face stayed like that. “We’re here! Good work, Usopp and Chopper!”

“I can’t believe I let him talk me into this..” Usopp groaned and whimpered under the tight grip Franky held his waist in, and Chopper gasped for air.

“Too tight, too tight!” He clawed at the large hand with his hooves to no avail.

Nami was already tearing Luffy a new one, and Franky was following suit. Even Jinbei had a look of dismay, while Brook was steadily complaining in his palm.

“You can’t believe it,” Franky says through his teeth, dropping the two to the floor. “I can’t believe all the work I’m going to have to do on the Sunny because of you 3, this is not super, bros.”

“I’m thinking we should’ve kept him in the cage,” Sanji muttered as he let go of Nami and set down robin on the deck.

“I agree with you Sanji,” Nami bellowed as she charged past Zoro, and pinched hard on Luffy’s cheek. “I don’t think he learned his lesson from the waterfall, after all,”

Luffy whined halfheartedly like a child. “Ow- I’m really sorry, Nami.. I was just hungry, ya know!”

“When you’re hungry, you wake up Sanji. You don’t crash the ship into land in the middle of the night!” She screamed, and it ringed in Zoro's ears, the sharp pain in his head roared to life. He winced and rubbed the back of his head again. It didn't surprise him when he removed his hand that he saw smudges of red on his finger tips.

“Why didn’t you stop him?” He felt a gentle kick at his shin, turning to see Sanji staring at him. He had dark circles underneath his wide, tired eyes that bore straight through Zoro. The blond hair that covered his face illuminated with the light of his lighter. The flame flickered to life as he scanned around, taking in their surroundings. “What happened to keeping watch?"

Zoro rolled his eyes, “I keep watch against threats, not our own crew. Besides, how was I supposed to know what he was going to do, curly?” He really wasn’t in the mood to fight with the bastard, especially not this early in the morning. He watches Sanjis eyes look at him, squinting like he could see through him, his eyes lingering on the hand Zoro had rubbed his head with. Zoro wipes his hand on the back of his pants, shrugging it off like he already knew what Sanji would say next. They remain silent, but everything in Sanji’s eyes looks like they’re begging a question. Zoro chest tightens as he bit back the pain in his head and heart.

“I’m fine, Cook. Nothing happened,” Is all he gives, turning away to look at the rest of the crew. "Drop it."

“I didn’t say a thing, Moss,” Is all he says in response, lighting a new cigarette as he listened to the crew begin to brainstorm a plan of action.

After a moment of arguing and tired deliberation, All adventures to the mysterious Buffalo Bay were cut off for the night. Even with Luffy’s master plan, they had no choice but to wait until sunrise with how dark it was. Even with Franky’s freak ass lights, they could only see dirt and grass for what seemed to stretch on for forever. Robin questioned if there was any land of meat at all, and the fact they were stranded settled amongst the group in a grim veil.

So much for a tourist destination, he thought. He had heard enough of the plan. He walked away from the group, settling on the edge of the grass to rest his aching head. As sleep began to overtake him as he droned out the sounds of his friends talking, he couldn’t help but to feel a pit in the bottom of his stomach. It was small, but large enough to annoy him and eat away at his steeled nerves. Something was really off about this island. As sleep washed over him, he could only think that that was just something he’d have to worry about later.

A/N: AHHH finally!! I have been planning this fic in my head with multiple drafts and outlines and brainstorming for I think 2 months at this point, and finally feel pretty good about how to started this off.

I hope you enjoyed the prequel! I have the chapter one 75% done, I just need to edit it some more but expect it some time 11/28 at night. I hope to have it up and chapter two by Sunday! The next chapter will introduce the reader, i promise! also, future chapters will switch between perspectives. This will be a slow burn so stick around if you wanna see how it plays out! Feedback, love, and criticism is much appreciated ♡

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madwomansapologist · 10 months ago

Note

Could I request a one shot where Karlach, Rolan, and Zevlor finding out that human Tav is surprisingly similar to them despite being quite different?

For Karlach, she's outgoing & boisterous while Tav is shy & quiet. But Tav told Karlach she appreciates her kindness considering what she has went through as she can understand how hard it is & to remain hopeful even during the darkest times since Tav needs to be the one leading them & stay strong for all of them. She also mentioned she has a similar problem that she's touch starved but her family isn't so she never got to hug or kiss her family so she offered to squeeze Karlach as hard as she can while hugging her.

For Rolan, he's prickly & harsh while she's polite & soft spoken. Tav told Rolan she can understand why he's so protective of his siblings because Tav lost her family when she was too young to save them from her burning home. She also understands how it feels to not be good enough so she keeps trying to help to be as useful as she can to others to compensate her flaws & weaknesses although she does want to help people.

For Zevlor, he's stern & intimidating while Tav looks harmless & approachable. She told Zevlor that she's in a similar position as she never wanted to be a leader as she never thought she's meant to be one but she admits it was her decision & it didn't help that she felt that it's best she leads because she's the only one who would make such choices & they unexpectedly listened to her despite her inexperience. Unlike him where he didn't have much of a choice due to having experience. She also understands wanting a quiet life without judgement as she was discriminated by her fellow humans but life doesn't work that way.

so different, and yet so similar

Navigation | More Tiefs4Life | AO3

synopsis: Don't matter how different you're from them, there is still little things that connect you two. Kindred spirits, even if it doesn't look like.

warnings: nothing.

note: thanks for your request, hope you like it! maybe it's because english is not my first language but i think the expression "touch starved" is so pathetic. please stop creating new nouns, focus on pronouns because y'all have such a little ammount of them 🙏🥺

Karlach

For Karlach, you where so put together. Everything was in the right place, every movement was the one you needed, every word had a purpose. You led the party with caution, always aware of the dangers lurking by.

No music would ever matter without a listener. What is dancer without a watcher? A book is just paper until someone reads it. Some people need to performe, and some people need to observe. And while Karlach burns brighter than the sun, you watch the sparks flying.

So completely different. In situations Karlach yells, you shut. While she runs, you stand still. When people talk, you are way more comfortable just listening. And still, you both are so similar.

Karlach knows how fierceless you can become to make sure your party will keep on enduring. She sees how, even when you have doubts and fears, you shut them down so you can lead. You are strong, and when you're not you pretend to.

So timid, yet so loudly brave. Karlach likes all those sides of you.

Upon learning about how cold your family was, a certain grief took over her heart. She always thought nobility had good, easy lifes. And it's mostly true. She just wished it was yours and Wyll's case too. She would rather you both acting superior than knowing how young you two were when your families discarded you like trash.

"You just wait, soldier. I gonna hug you so fucking hard your bones will turn into dust."

Rolan

You're one prone to whisper. That was the very first thing about you Rolan hated. What a mask you chose for yourself. To always pretend to be sweet, polite, caring. To always be the fucking hero.

And that made things even harder for him after Cal and Lia were captured. You chose to ignore his snark comments, try to stop him from drinking, to say you're sorry. It made Rolan look like he was wrong. Like he was the Big Bad Tiefling turning the Sweet Adventure's life into hell.

And yet, you didn't use that against him. You never did. All you wanted was for him to stop being so angry at himself. To not treat himself as if he was weak, or less deserving of being alive.

You told him about your family. About how you lost them. "That's what fault looks like," you told him. "You did nothing wrong."

You have really high standarts to think you did something wrong. To think you had to carry not only the burden of grief but of despair. You save people. Constantly. Even when they don't want you to save them. Even when it costs too much for you. If you're not good enough, who is?

It was way harder to hate you after that.

"Oh, shut up. As if you were nothing but perfect."

Zevlor

Everyday there was a moment when you were sure that was it, you were about to go crazy. Looks like you were always trying to stop someone from ending up dead. No eternal darkness for you, no suicide mission also, you can kill your enslaver but that's it, don't fall for your urges, please don't try to kill someone while they're sleeping.

For Zevlor, it was alluring. You, so sweet and caring, leading some of the most troubled people he ever meet. He wasn't sure how you got yourself into that position, but he was glad you did. You saved his kin, after all.

He wasn't expecting for you to defend him at the ilithid colony. If you knew everything he did, or what he didn't, than you were the best person to judge him. You're leading you group through darkness, all of you still alive, so why couldn't he?

Instead of judging, you accept him. You told Zevlor he did his best. That you more than anyone knew how tempting it was to stop fighting. That you more than anyone knew how tempting it was to surrender.

"You should've hate me. You should've want me dead. Another debt I never will be able to pay you for."

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

GENERAL TAGLIST: @lovelyy-moonlight

BALDUR’S GATE 3 TAGLIST: @citrusbunnies

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

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erinkeifer · 1 year ago

Text

ℕ𝕠𝕥 𝕞𝕪 𝕔𝕠𝕕𝕖

[Anakin Skywalker x Padawan!Fem Reader]

Masterlist | Wattpad | AO3 Not My Code Masterlist

Summary: For several years, you've been Anakin Skywalker's Padawan. Even though you're afraid to admit it, you've burned out. You have no intention of adhering to the Jedi code any longer, and fighting for the Republic has ceased to be your sole purpose in life. However, your knighthood is approaching soon, but before that happens, you must undergo one final training session alongside your master. Why won't you complete it?

Author Note: I wouldn't technically call it pure 'smut' but due to nudity and sexual tension, I would classify my text as suitable for readers aged 18+. I apologize for any inconvenience!

Word Count: 4,2k

This isn't the first time something inside you has started to crack before entering the training room. The closer the knighting ceremony approached, the more your thoughts turned away from the Order. Obi-Wan's lectures no longer resonated with you – though you hold him in the highest regard, you no longer see value in the moralizing lessons about what Jedi can and cannot do.

For some time now, he no longer stops you in the corridor to share his guidance repeatedly, believing that since he handed you over to Anakin, you would become more disciplined and loyal to the Order.

Well... it's quite the opposite.

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

Today's training was a torment - not because Anakin demanded too much, and not because you were resistant to the activities. This time, Anakin's mind was completely elsewhere, and there were moments when he wasn't even paying attention to what you were doing. The lack of instructions left you unsure of what to do, and the minutes of exercises stretched out like hours.

At this time, the contours of the training room were illuminated only by the view of the nighttime Coruscant and the blue glow of your lightsaber. You practiced old, familiar combat forms while Anakin stood with his back turned to you, gazing pensively at the view beyond the mighty glass window.

For you, it was supposed to be training as usual, and you stuck to that. You wanted to impress your Master as much as possible, and despite the lack of guidance, you operated at full throttle. However, even increasing your performance didn't allow you to focus when your thoughts drifted to Anakin.

There was a cloud of tension over him, so thick that you could hardly recognize him. And even though you knew that he had experienced some rough days since his divorce from Padme, today you sensed something entirely different.

"Focus," Anakin mumbled, standing with his arms crossed behind his back, his gaze fixed on the cityscape.

In moments like these, you always cursed your ability to read each other's emotions. You chose to remain silent in response to his words and continued your improvised training as if nothing had happened. At least for a while.

"Master?" You paused, trying to get his attention.

"Master, do you even know what I'm doing right now?" You added, deactivating your lightsaber.

Anakin didn't react to your words, which filled you with even greater concern. Was it your fault? Did you mess something up? Did you disappoint him? Negative thoughts swirled in your head so intensely that you didn't even notice when you first addressed him by his name.

"Anakin? What's going on?"

Hearing his name, he almost immediately turned towards you, remaining silent for the first few moments.

"Please, go back to your training," he uttered after a brief silence, causing even more doubts within you.

"No..." You replied after a while, gathering your thoughts to justify your actions.

"So we have nothing to talk about." Anakin interrupted, turning back towards the window.

"I can't even remember the last time we had a normal conversation... Master, I'm just worried," you said, gently grabbing Anakin's arm.

"Worried? About what?" he muttered, not even looking at your anxious face.

"About you. You're... different. Lately, we can't even work together... communicate..." you replied in an emotional tone, receiving only silence in return.

"I know the past few months haven't been kind to you... the divorce from Padme was tr..."

"Don't say that name," Anakin impulsively interrupted, turning towards you and removing your hand from his arm.

His tone abruptly turned rough and commanding, and the gesture he made instinctively made you take a step back.

"I'm sorry, Master, I didn't mean to..."

"So, tell me what you meant," Anakin cut you off once again, and you felt the boundary you were trying to establish in your communication with your Master shatter.

"Whatever is happening, good or not, I want to know... I want to know if I might be the problem here by any chance. Am I making a mistake? Am I getting on your nerves?" The longer you spoke, the more anxious your tone became.

"You shouldn't care about that. Our path is coming to an end soon, and ahead of you lies a new one that you'll traverse on your own... unless your conflict dictates otherwise," Anakin replied with a serious tone, this time not averting his gaze from you.

Hearing about the conflict sent shivers down your spine. Did Obi-Wan tell him about your doubts? Or, worse, does he know about your stance towards the Order?

"Conflict? W-what do you mean?" you stammered, feeling the stress engulfing you more and more.

"Let's be serious. I didn't need anyone to convey your doubts to me... I know that this training means little to you," Anakin explained in a calmer tone.

"It's not like that... I've always been committed..."

"Believe me, you have no reason to give up. Leaving the Order at this stage is not a good choice, especially for..."

"Master, please stop," you interrupted Anakin, feeling like you had nothing left to lose. He had seen through you completely. You no longer cared whether he found out on his own or through someone else.

"I have a reason for it," you replied with a trembling voice, trying to gradually focus all of Anakin's attention on yourself.

"What reason?" he asked with a voice full of doubt.

"It's about you, Master," you continued, not believing you had spoken those words.

"I'm sorry, but..." You felt yourself slowly falling apart. Anakin stood before you in complete confusion, and you seized the moment. You stood on tiptoe to reach his face, and your lips collided. The kiss you gave him was so intense that it would have sufficed if it were never to happen again. At least that was the intention, because the reality was entirely different - no longer, deeper, more intense kiss would satisfy you enough to leave this room fulfilled.

Anakin broke the kiss, not believing what had just happened. As soon as your gazes returned to each other – his, full of confusion, and yours, filled with guilt and shame – Anakin distanced himself and had no idea what to do with himself. He nervously glanced around the room.

"Go back to your quarters. Training is over," he replied in a cold, trembling tone, and you did as he commanded.

Tears welled up in your eyes even before leaving the training room. It felt like your end – the official end with the Jedi and the end of a certain chapter in your life, which, despite everything, had seemed to be the most beautiful.

The doors slammed shut behind you with a bang, and as soon as you found yourself in the corridor, you began to run. You sobbed, knowing that at this time, no one should be wandering down this path, even though you knew it was not a place where you could afford to release your emotions.

Without the strength to use the Force, you opened the door to your room with a code and impulsively slammed it shut behind you. As soon as you removed the belt with your lightsaber and tossed it aside, you threw yourself onto your bed, burying your head in the pillow, trying to scream and cry out all your emotions and the indescribable pain inside you.

It was a moment when you felt as if you were awaiting execution rather than preparing for sleep. The pain consumed you from within to the point that you might have understood for the first time why Jedi couldn't have attachments.

A dead silence filled the room, against which your sobbing became even more piercing. You wished you could escape from the temple – you just wanted to run away and leave Coruscant without a trace, but you knew it was impossible.

At that moment, you felt someone's presence. The door to your room slowly opened, even though you had made sure to lock it.

Anakin.

You felt as if your heart had stopped, and only the darkest thoughts filled your mind. You were certain he had come to reprimand you, perhaps take away your lightsaber, or even expel you from the temple. Drenched in tears, turned away from your master, you waited as if for a judgment.

"Master, I... I'm so sorry... I swear, I..." you stammered with a trembling voice, feeling Anakin's gaze on your back as he stood in the doorway.

"Never do this again," Anakin interrupted in a stern voice. As he spoke those words, you sat on the bed motionless, lacking the courage to turn and look at him.

Soon, you shuddered at the sound of the door closing. Although at first, you were certain your master had left the room, you realized that what you had heard was the sound of the lock being turned from the inside.

"Not where the surveillance can see us," he added after a moment, slowly making his way toward you.

It was a moment when you froze. Not knowing what to do, you nervously got off the bed, still avoiding eye contact with Anakin.

"Don't," Anakin said, noticing that you were about to turn toward him.

You stood there, trembling, your back still turned to your master, not knowing what he meant. You felt vulnerable, and though the fear still lingered within you, this time you sensed that the kind of tension that had built up around Anakin was entirely different from what you had experienced before.

He sensed you better than you sensed him. He felt every flicker of your fear, felt your sadness, and the tension you had laid out before him like a platter. His steps sent shivers down your spine, but you no longer heard them. He stood right behind you, mere millimeters from your back.

His right mechanical hand, clad in a black leather glove, landed on your waist. Your cutout white jumpsuit exposed your bare skin there, so you instantly felt the chill of his touch.

"Don't be afraid of me," he whispered into your ear after a moment, causing you to feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek.

Your body was completely paralyzed under his touch – you stood still, nervously swallowing saliva as you looked at your reflections in the glass tiles on the wall in front of where you both stood.

"I- I'm not." you whispered so softly that as soon as Anakin realized you were trying to speak, he leaned down lower to understand what you meant.

"I feel something else." Anakin replied, bringing his face close to yours to the point where you could feel the touch of his heated cheek. You had never been this close to him, and his scent, which reminded you of a combination of leather and saffron, was intoxicating.

You closed your eyes, and soon you felt his lips on your neck – it was a moment when you felt as if an electric current had passed through you, so intense that you didn't even notice when his left, uncovered hand landed on the other side of your waist.

This time, the touch of his hand felt much more passionate to you – and it was hardly surprising because at this moment, he felt your body with his own skin, not touch sensors.

You shivered slightly when you suddenly felt him bite the soft skin on your neck, and you instinctively entwined your fingers in his messy, wavy hair, gently massaging it at the roots. As he felt the touch of your hand, he sucked on your skin even harder than before, leaving purple bruises one after another.

You had the feeling that it was a dream. You couldn't believe what was happening, but second by second, it was sinking in that every movement was happening here and now. It wasn't a dream, and everything you felt was real and intense – you also knew that you wanted to give the same to Anakin.

You wanted to give him pleasure, and in some way... you had known it for a long time.

Gently, you raised his left hand to your face, which had been attached to your body until now, and started kissing it – the longer you did it, the more passion you put into it. Anakin lifted his lips from your neck to watch your movements through your arm.

You tried to satisfy his gaze to the point that you didn't even notice when his fingers traveled to your mouth. At this moment, the tension that buzzed within him was gradually approaching a very dangerous limit - you felt it as intensely as never before.

You finally wanted to look into his eyes and see something more than just the corner of his face, so you gently lowered his hand, moist from your kisses, to turn around and face your Master. Anakin realized your intention faster than you expected - without saying anything, he grabbed you by your waist with such force that you instinctively clenched your teeth - he didn't allow you to change your position.

"Master, I just..." you began nervously, but quickly stopped when you felt Anakin's hand on your face.

"Shhh... I know." he whispered, his face very close to yours, and expecting your obedience, he removed his hand from your face.

You stood still for a moment, only to suddenly feel Anakin tearing apart the upper part of your jumpsuit with both of his hands. The material was elastic and snug against your body, but thin enough that he ripped it into pieces with surprising ease.

At that moment, Anakin spun you around to have you face him. You felt like your legs were giving way beneath you at the sight of his heated expression. You could swear there was something wild in his demeanor—his eyes seemed darker than usual, and his pupils pulsed, scanning every detail of your face.

"Now, say what you wanted to say," Anakin whispered, gazing into your eyes, which were still swollen from your earlier tears.

You didn't intend to cry anymore, at least not out of despair... Only out of pleasure.

"Nothing. Just... continue," you murmured timidly, glancing with flushed cheeks at the torn neckline of your outfit as it hung down.

"Good girl," he whispered under his breath, slowly bringing his face closer to yours.

You closed your eyes as Anakin began to kiss the spots on your cheeks where the traces of your earlier tears had run. Although you could feel the tension simmering within him, he did it incredibly gently, tracing sweet kisses along a smooth path until he reached your lips.

You expected this to be the point where the gentleness would end – and you were absolutely right. You let him take the lead in this situation – your lips were practically motionless, and your mouth slightly parted as he passionately and slowly sucked on them. After a moment, you took action yourself, exploring his firm lips enough to taste them and never forget their flavor.

Your kisses became messy and aggressive, and through half-closed eyelids, you watched as his lips and cheeks reddened. Soon, you felt him grab your torn jumpsuit's jagged collar with his hands, and with a determined motion, he slid it down. You sensed his deep breath on your breasts when he realized you weren't wearing any underwear, and his pupils dilated, exploring your bare chest amidst the shreds of white fabric.

After a moment of scanning your body with his gaze, his exposed hand found its way to your chest. Immersing yourself in his passionate touch, you intertwined your fingers with his hand anchored to your body, feeling the smooth skin beneath your fingertips and your own exposed form.

"What do you feel?" Anakin whispered, but you didn't hear his words when he kept his lips at your collarbone.

"Hm?" you murmured, inquiringly, making eye contact with him.

"Tell me. What do you feel?" You had always loved his voice, but hearing it in this situation, when his tone was strong and hungry, made your heart race steadily.

"I don't know how to... Uh... It's just..." you mumbled, hesitating to confess how strong the desire you were feeling was. Instead, you pressed his hands against your bare chest and closed your eyes, allowing him to sense your emotions through the Force.

"No," Anakin said firmly, sliding his hands down to your waist.

"I can feel you perfectly. I feel everything, but I want to hear it," he added, gazing deeply into your eyes.

You were a transparent mirror of your emotions for him, and nothing could hide from him. He knew it, and you knew it, and you had never felt more exposed to anyone.

"I... I feel... Anakin... I want you," you forced out, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

After your words, the tension in him increased, and his hands tightened on your skin.

"Prove it," he whispered after a moment, releasing his hands from your body, as if giving you free rein.

Even though you were determined to prove it to him at all costs, you didn't know where to start.

Anakin stood before you in his black robes, which you were eager to start removing, but you had no idea how to proceed. Without further calculation, you entwined your hands in his hair and began kissing his neck – initially gently and sensually, but soon you did it greedily, in sync with his accelerating heartbeat.

You nibbled and sucked on his skin, and his accelerated breaths urged you to continue. Your tongue traced along the line of his jaw, and one of your hands clenched on his robed chest.

You felt shivers hearing the soft, intermittent moans he emitted as you caressed his skin, and your inhibition gradually faded, so you wondered what your next move would be.

"Enough," he uttered in a stern and gruff tone.

You were shocked by what he said, but he didn't allow you to dwell on it any longer. He grabbed you with both strong hands and pushed you back, causing you to land on your bed. You lay on your back and observed his movements as he took a few steps to stand over you, wearing the most arrogant of smirks.

You froze as you noticed Anakin beginning to unbuckle his belt, all the while not breaking eye contact with you. Biting your lip, you observed his every move, and as he discarded the first layer of his robes, you began to slide down the lower part of your jumpsuit.

"Let me..." Anakin interrupted your actions as he saw what you were getting at and raised his mechanical hand towards your waist.

With a single, confident motion, Anakin slid the lower part of your jumpsuit down and removed the tall boots fastened to them, leaving you in just your panties. You felt excitement coursing through him as he watched you in such a state, and as you suspected, he couldn't wait any longer.

He lunged towards you, eager to be on top, and you both immediately engaged in a fervent kiss, touching each other's bodies as if time were running out.

In the midst of your passionate touches, you felt your hips collide, and instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Your mind raced as you felt Anakin's pulsating rhythm as he rubbed his hips against the most sensitive parts of your body, gradually picking up the pace, knowing he was pushing you to the edge of endurance.

"Anakin... Please." you whispered straight into his moist lips, after which his face lifted to look you directly in the eyes.

"Please what?" he replied with a hungry tone, expecting you to elaborate.

"I... I want..." you began to mumble.

"Words. I need your words." he whispered, maneuvering his hand around your lower abdomen.

"Fuck." you muttered under your breath, feeling how his touch electrified your entire body.

"Do you want this? Do you want me to fuck you?" he continued in a hoarse, desire-filled voice.

"Yes... Yes, please," you squeezed out, impulsively reaching for his belt, which, though unfastened, was still in place.

"Say it. Tell me what you want me to do to you." he commanded, holding your hand against his belt.

"I want you to fuck me," you responded with a breathless voice and, finally, a hint of self-assurance.

"That's what I meant," he whispered with a slight, teasing smirk, then quickly pushed the belt aside to pull his clothes down from the waist up.

With butterflies in your stomach, you admired his impressive, naturally sculpted chest as he knelt on the bed between your legs, which you soon spread a bit wider to make more room for him. Anakin knelt, scanning every inch of your body with his eyes, but he knew that one more element was missing to complete the picture.

His hand smoothly moved up your thigh and landed on your panties, where it lingered for a while. You moaned when his fingers began to massage you through the thin fabric, but for some reason, you held back from making louder sounds, which Anakin noticed.

"The walls are soundproofed. You can scream as loud as you need to... The louder, the better," he reassured you, seeing how nervously you glanced around the room, and you nodded.

After a moment of teasing you through your clothes, Anakin reached for his pants, but after some consideration, he postponed that task and took hold of your hands.

"Do it," he said, and you pulled yourself into a half-sitting position, allowing yourself to be carried away by your intrusive thoughts.

You started by kissing his chest, gradually moving down from his collarbones. Repaying him for the purple bruises on your neck, you left a few of your own on his body as you sucked on his skin, making your way down to his abdomen.

You paused when your hands began to unbutton his pants, during which Anakin helped you by pushing his pants down the sides.

Without waiting any longer, you slipped your hand beneath his underwear, and upon feeling him, you had to admit that you were a bit concerned about whether you could handle it. Well... It's more than impressive.

With your free hand, you pushed his clothing down a bit further and began to massage him with considerable force, so much so that Anakin immediately groaned and, overwhelmed by the feeling, tilted his head backward.

"Keep.... Uh... Keep it this way." Anakin murmured, propping himself up on his arms on the bed.

You nodded, biting your lip, and continued, carefully observing the pleasure on his face. Both of you knew, however, that you wouldn't finish this way, so you began to slide off the last piece of your clothing with your free hand. But you flinched when you heard an unfamiliar sound.

"What's that? Did you hear that?" Anakin immediately turned his face toward you when he heard your words and waited for a moment to catch the presumed sound.

"General Skywalker, can you hear us?"

"Fuck," Anakin cursed, completely shocked, as he realized someone was trying to contact him through the communicator embedded in his belt.

Your disappointment was equally profound. The only thing you could do at this point was to grab your head and collapse on the bed right next to him.

"Will you answer?" you whispered, feeling Anakin's growing anger.

"I'm afraid I have no choice." he replied through gritted teeth, then rolled onto the bed enough to reach for the communicator.

"I hear you. What's the problem?" he relayed, masking his frustration as best as he could.

"General, it's better if you get here as soon as possible. We had an explosion near the temple, and there are injuries among our people. I'm sending the coordinates."

Anakin clenched his hand on the communicator and nervously swallowed, realizing that his plans for the night had just taken a 180-degree turn.

"You'd better check what's going on there," you whispered, gently stroking his shoulder.

Both of you knew it was inevitable. So, without saying anything more, Anakin left one last passionate kiss on your lips and began to put his clothes back on. Meanwhile, you pulled out some lighter nightwear from one of the drawers and threw it on temporarily, knowing that you would need to shower and change properly in the bathroom once Anakin left.

"I'm sorry about this," he said to you with a disappointed tone.

"No... You shouldn't be. I understand... Go and make sure everyone is safe."

Anakin just nodded and grabbed the doorknob, but he stopped for a moment as he was about to leave.

"Same time tomorrow?" he asked again, making eye contact with you.

"Tomorrow. Same time, Master." you replied, running your fingers through your hair. This time, both of you exchanged a mischievous smirk, but Anakin's gaze on you was like never before. He looked at you as if he had just discovered something, as if he had unearthed a treasure he desired and wanted to dig up even more.

"Get some rest." he managed to say before finally closing the door to your room.

That was the moment when you felt drained. You felt disappointment, but also an incredible, surreal ecstasy. You fell onto the bed and didn't know what to do next, other than to gaze up at the ceiling.

Well... whatever you do, one thing is for sure—you won't be sleeping tonight.

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