#it feels like its tailored to me bark bark bark

[skitskatdacat63]

The length of the f1 break is getting to me, I've started looking back on old ships, and I feel like a feral dog about them again

[wannaeatramyeon]

Goo Kim x Reader: One Night

G/N. Crazy Stupid Love Emma Stone/Ryan Gosling scene but make it Lookism. Masterlists

"Are you nervous?" Goo murmurs, a smile tugs at his lips when he feels you trembling.

He peers down at you and pauses. His hand, having worked its way under your top and caressing your bare skin - stops.

Tonight, you have aimed for sexy and sensual. It worked well. Fake it until you make it, and you made it when this handsome blonde at the bar invited you back to his apartment for a night of debauchery.

But your mask slips. It's hard to keep it on, y'know. When you are both half naked, about to be even more naked, there's nowhere left to hide.

Your nervousness comes out as a snort, because duh and you think some of your previous sexy and sensual points are deducted.

"Yeah," you respond with an awkward giggle. Then your mouth runs before your single brain cell can.

"- Also, something has been digging into my back all this time," Goo waggles his eyebrows at you suggestively, "No. Definitely not. I think it's a spring or something or I don't know... crumbs? Have you been eating in bed? Either way I think this is the most uncomfortable mattress I've ever laid on. Your silk bed sheets are something else though - who even has silk bed sheets? It's like something from the 80s along with waterbeds but god they feel so fucking great on my legs."

Goo is stunned into silence momentarily before he barks out a laugh.

He rolls off you and onto the left side on the bed, full body wriggling around slightly, experiencing the silk bed sheets for himself and chuckles.

"Sweetheart, you're right. And I've always hated this mattress." He sighs, adding, "I got conned by fucking influencers."

You whip your head towards him and give him a look, "Influencers?! What. Is this those fancy brands that I've been seeing them shill all over my social media-"

Goo turns towards you, a pout on his lips and eyebrows pinched together in a pitiful expression. "Yep. I've hated it since the first night."

"Then why didn't you return it!"

He shrugs and you laugh, your previous nervousness dissipating.

"I always wondered what idiot would fall for those."

"Hey!"

A brief moment of silence then-

"Did you buy these sheets from an infomercial or something?"

"Excuse me!" Goo shuffles, angles himself so he's fully facing you. Head held up by the palm of his hand and resting his elbow on the mattress.

There's mischief, life in his face that wasn't there earlier tonight. "Sue me. I have money to spend, sometimes I can't sleep, and those sales people sell things so well."

You let out another unrefined snort, amused by this guy.

Suddenly finding there's so much personality, a touch of vulnerability revealed in that statement, behind the expensive glasses, his tailored suit and his muscled body.

"Wanna see what other crap I've bought?"

.

.

You both wander around his apartment, which turned out to be a huge fucking penthouse now that he has the light on and is giving you a guided tour, in your underwear. 

Goo, no shame and expanses of skin on show, and you follow closely behind with his silk sheets wrapped loosely around your body.

He gestures at what you assume to be a coffee machine sitting proudly on his kitchen countertop. All sleek and stainless steel with dials and buttons on every surface.

"I can't even use this thing. I've had it for 2 years."

"Look," Goo opens an overhead kitchen cupboard, gesticulating like he's going to perform a magic trick, and dramatically shows you rows and rows of trendy kitchen gadgets, no doubt also purchased during moments of insomnia. Pizza scissors, spiralizer, bread maker, air fryer, pressure cooker.

"Never used."

"This," he points at the far wall, and you squint, barely making out a framed art piece of the ugliest monkey face you have ever seen. But hey, art is subjective, right-

"-is an NFT. I bought that too."

That tips you over the edge.

You cackle and cackle, doubled over and holding onto him for balance.

.

.

There's a dusty segway sitting pitifully in the corner of an unused spare room.

You jump out from round a corner, LED mask on your face and flashing a menacing red - "Boo!"and Goo actually jumps.

A lonely treadmill, placed beneath one of those fancy sit-stand desk catches your eye.  Goo smirks, "Babe, I don't even have a desk job."

Instead of spending all night tangled in his silk bedsheets together, Goo jogs down memory lane of sleepless nights and impulse buys with you by his side.

Your laughter starts to tinge all his memories.

Your good natured ribbing and mocking.

His hyena cackle joins yours, and he wonders when was the last time he was able to laugh with someone. Has he ever spent an entire night talking to someone like this?

"Ask me something personal." He requests, both now lying on his uncomfortable bed. You in his arms, hair tickling his chin.

"What do you want from life?"

"To make money."

"Why?"

"I want to be rich."

"Why?"

"Well, who doesn't want to be rich, sweetheart."

"Yeah but why do you?"

Goo remembers running errands, doing anything to earn some money. Anything for a price. His cousin calling in his services, and he happily beat up some middle schoolers to help him (and who was it again, Tabasco?) out.

He doesn't really know where his thirst for money making has come from. Maybe there's some deep set trauma from his life pre-juvie or some shit he should pay a therapist to decipher but alas.

He tells you this, all this and more. At some point, his head is the one lying on your chest and you absentmindedly stroke through his blonde locks, humming noises of encouragement, listening to his words.

Weird, Goo thinks, when he finally drifts off to sleep with you snoring gently beside him. 

The morning sun already filters through the blinds, and the hustle and bustle of Seoul has started to pick up.

How comfortable this feels. How natural your connection with him is. How this is the spark people dream about, and somehow it has hit him when he wasn’t looking for anything more.

That someone as different to him as you are, that is only ever supposed to be company for a few hours, a night at best, could spell trouble. Raise his hackles, send his alarms blaring.

When he's usually the walking red flag.

Because you’ve got him thinking. A lot. That shrewd brain hidden behind playfulness has been whirring; wondering about what happens if you become a regular fixture.

Maybe you might doom him, in the end. Maybe this will lead to a dead end and nothing more.

But he's curious enough, the spark is shining brightly enough, to see where else you might lead him to too.

[silverseaming]

At the harbour there’s noise everywhere — hurried rushes of footsteps, snatches of conversation, the voices of street-sellers rising above the everyday din with cries of “Fresh whelks! Fresh whel—”, “Apples and pears! Fresh today!”, “Roses, sir, roses for your Mis—!”. Along the quayside cargo masters bark instructions to their men, and crates clatter earthward from the decks or are borne aloft on the shoulders of brawny dockers. Beneath it all is the sound of the shipyard, a constant beat of hammers that Kit can feel in his chest.

Kit pushes on through the crowds, buffeted along by the busy current of fellow humanity. He wishes dearly for the open fields or leafy avenues of Brindleton. There the air is sweet, not thick with the salty seaweed taste, the people don’t rush, don’t crowd together, shout, or jostle.

A journey of bumping shoulders and muttered apologies washes him up on the doorstep of The Lermond’s Cove company, as the modest brass plate beside the door proclaims. The building is smaller than the grand shipping offices, tucked on the end of the harbour frontage, but it’s smart enough, and offers welcome shelter from the bustle outside. A small bell rings above the door as Kit makes his way inside.

“Hello, sir.” The young woman greeting him sits behind a solitary desk, a large ledger arrayed in front of her. The frugality of the outside of the building is continued on the inside, with the only ornaments to the small room besides its occupant being a few framed charts and maps. The whole arrangement gives the impression of being newly established. “How can I help you?”

“I, er, have an appointment with Mr Allen,” Kit says, suddenly abashed.

After checking an entry in the ledger, the young woman gestures down the hallway.

“It’s the first door on the left, sir.”

Making his way to the indicated door, Kit hesitates a second before knocking. He can hardly turn back now, with the secretary watching in the entryway.

His knock is answered by a curt “Enter.”

The man behind the desk rises to greet Kit, extending a hand over the tabletop. He’s smartly dressed, in a well-made suit of the latest fashion. The clothes look new — too new, perhaps. The thick callouses beneath Kit’s hand betray the lifetime of hard work that the suit tries hard to erase.

“Fred Allen,” The man says, by way of introduction. Releasing Kit’s hand, he gestures to the chair on the opposite side of the desk. “You must be Calloway.”

“That’s right, sir. As I said in my letter, Mr Miller up in Brindleton heard you might have opportunities going for someone willing to sell their crop.”

“Well, he heard correctly, I guess, though I have to say I wasn’t expecting anyone round here so soon. How’s about you tell me what set up you’ve got going, and then I’ll think about it?” says Allen.

“I’ve got about two-hundred acres just outside Brindleton, wheat and potatoes mainly. Only took over two years ago, but the last two harvests have done well.” Kit picks at a loose thread at the edge of his jacket, wishing he hadn’t done his collar up so tightly.

“You got any hands, or is it a one man show?” Allen asks as he sifts through a stack of papers, running a finger down a column of figures.

“Just me at the moment, sir, but some of the local lads help out around harvest. There’s room for expansion, though, if we come to an agreement.”

“Hm.” Allen seems to be considering, rubbing a large hand across his coarse chin. The more Kit looks at him, the more he struggles to see the businessman through the farmer — or is it sailor? At any rate, Allen’s tanned skin and deep crow’s feet speak of a life that, until recently, was spent working out of doors. The tailored clothes seem almost like a costume. It’s reassuring, perhaps, to know that Allen would understand something of the toil put into producing the crop.

Eventually Allen reaches the end of his deliberations with a great sigh.

“Look, son, I won’t pretend this isn’t somewhat of a cowboy venture, and that I haven’t got as much capital to be free with as certain larger companies. But I think we understand each other, and on account of your being the first to come and see me, I’m willing to give you an offer. I’ll take half your next wheat harvest, and I’ll give you two dollars a bushel if you’re willing to shake on it now.”

“I’m more than willing, sir, thank you,” Kit says. There’s a weight that’s lifted from his shoulders with Allen’s words, the anxious knot in his stomach loosening a little. Somehow, he’s managed to grab hold of the life ring thrown to him, and for a minute the hard work of hauling to shore can be forgotten.

Arriving home that night, dusty from the road, Kit feels lighter than he has done in months. For once he looks at the farm and sees it as something beautiful, rather than a never-ending source of work. There’s a little moonlight dappling through the trees, outlining the farmhouse against the night sky behind it.

For a moment, he leans against the fence of the cow-pen, taking slow lungfuls of the cool night air. Then he turns towards the house, and the faint glow behind the front door that draws his weary feet over the threshold.

Meg’s standing at the kitchen table, placing the finishing touches on a freshly baked cake. From the untidy tendrils of hair she keeps trying to blow from her face and the flour down her apron, it’s been a hard-fought battle with the sponge. The weak firelight from the stove behind her casts her in a rosy glow, and oh, it’s enough to knock the air from Kit’s chest.

“You’re up late,” he murmurs, giving into the urge to take her in his arms. Her body is warm against his, and she smells slightly of strawberry jam.

“I had to remake the sponge,” Meg sighs, finally pushing the finished cake away and leaning into his touch. “And I split the cream. It’s all a horrible mess.”

“Well hang the cake then, because I’ve got something that’ll cheer you up.” Gently Kit spins her round to face him, pulling her close.

“I take it your meeting went well?” She smiles.

“I think so. He’ll take half of next year’s wheat, and for a good price as well.”

“Oh, you wonderful man,” Meg says softly.

Kit’s reply is to lean down and kiss her. Even though he’s only been gone a day, it feels like he’s waited months for that kiss, for Meg’s hands on his shoulders and lips on his. Without thinking, he lifts her onto the table, hands finding her waist and hair.

“Christopher James Calloway, if you want to carry on with this nonsense then you will unhand me and let me clear up before we go upstairs!” Meg pulls away, trying to sound cross, but the barely concealed laughter rather ruins the effect. “I love you very much, but I will not ruin this cake for you.”

“Consider me told,” Kit laughs.

[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Thirty

Masterlist of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: Hey, y'all! Happy New Year! I am giving another big thank you to everyone who moved on to 2024 with me. I never thought I would have this much recognition for a story if I'm honest. I can't comprehend how many people like something that I put so much effort and time into. It's honestly so wild, and I can't thank y'all enough. <3

Chapter Warnings: Larys Strong AGAIN, sexual humiliation, a lot of misogyny. 

The discussion with Queen Alicent hung heavily and close to your heart, yet you held firm even when Aegon badgered you with questions about what she said, following you everywhere in the Keep like a pesky fly on a summer day. It was not right for you to divulge the information of private conversations; you wouldn't want someone to do that with yours, but as you thought on the subject in the following days and the eldest son's persistence, you let one thing slip.

"All right, Aegon, just be quiet!" you groaned with exasperation as he sat straight like a pup being scolded.

At first, you regretted telling him of Alicent's orders for you to leave King's Landing, though you realized it was more advantageous to do so. It furthered the divide between Mother and son, adding a sprinkle of animosity in your favor. After the discussion with Ma, it was necessary to ensure she still agreed to help prevent the Prince from becoming king.

Talking with her helped chisel the heavy rock lodged in your stomach since Aegon came floating into your chambers with jests of ruling the kingdom. Madam's network of spies ranged far across King's Landing but had yet to surpass that of the Master of Whispers. She assured you that even though Lord Strong had many, he did not have those that mattered.

You had to put trust in someone who was not yourself, and that was something that never ceased to cause the rock to mineralize again.

***

The crimson leaves of the Heart Tree swayed in the winter breeze, its bone-colored bark reflecting the cold temperature. You pulled your cloak together, a rather elaborate thing of golden furs and embroidered satin.

You would not have chosen it for yourself, but Aegon insisted on purchasing it while you visited the Street of Loom. And once the tailor noted two finely dressed individuals, one with silver hair, buying a matching gown was simply a must.

The merchant pitched the garment much higher than you saw his other items and fellow workers. You planned on letting the Prince use his coin any way he wanted for your trip, but that was something you could not let him do.

The Loom merchant resisted your haggling, his expression one of offense for thinking he would ever overcharge a crowned Prince, but you knew better. As a girl, it was your job to purchase supplies and food for the working women, and with golden dragons far and few, you managed to afford enough to survive. Or, well... steal.

By the end, you left the swindling tailor with a new fur cloak and a dress to pair, an intricate solid gold belt with asscher cut diamonds thrown in for the trouble.

You felt proud of yourself for securing such a bargain. Your inner child who sought the approval of those you admired was fulfilled. Even though the gown matched the elaborateness of the coat, something you would not choose if, in your wardrobe, you wore it with confidence, your chin high and shoulders rolled back.

Aegon made you feel these emotions, you thought as you listened to the whispers of bloody leaves above. He helped you grow and blossom in ways your Father or Mother could never. He lifted you onto the pedestal you deserved. You were not the bastard daughter of Daemon Targaryen to him; you were everything.

You were his friend, lover, the only person who understood him, listened, comforted, and dried his tears when no one else cared. You deserved to have someone who treated you the same, gave you the acceptance and validation you craved, someone who did not see you as an extension of themselves to do their bidding. Aegon gave that to you, a perfect equal of give and receive to one another, a match made of love and not politics.

And his love was peaceful. It was calm. It kept you warmer than the coat the Prince bought you, even as the winter air swept through your neatly plaited locks.

"Princess," a masculine voice called, the sound softer than the whisper of mist surrounding you in the early morning.

It was so quiet you hadn't a clue who it was, turning with a polite smile and your arms neatly tucked behind your back. You wished you hadn't acknowledged the man as Lord Larys Strong stood before you, hunched over his finely crafted firefly cane, curly hair loose at his ears.

The sigh you released at his presence was hardly proper, squaring your shoulders as you spoke with all Courtly people. "Lord Strong... What a surprise. How may I be of assistance?"

The man snickered, bowing his head as he waited for you to take a step closer as was deemed polite. When you did not move, your amiable expression never leaving, he grinned, finally speaking again.

"Yes, Princess, a pleasure. I was hoping to speak to you on matters of the Prince," he expressed.

All the color drained from your face.

"The Queen has brought it to my attention that, perhaps, you are spending too much of your time with the Prince. She believes that it mayhaps be better spent else where."

The flame of hatred for Larys Strong was reignited with a sudden burst; your jaw clenched as your eyes became slits.

"I believe what you speak is untrue. The Queen and I have come to a..." you paused, unable to find the correct way to express the secret Alicent unwillingly divulged, "certain understanding. We've discussed her concerns and come to an agreement. You've no need to worry yourself on her behalf." You nodded with a genteel but firm finality, pulling your fur coat closer to your body as you began to exit, set to see only one person in mind. "Good day, ser."

Larys was not foiled so easily. He had spent the entirety of your stay at the Red Keep waiting patiently for the perfect opportunity to trap you in his web. He refused to let the bastard girl with dark eyes and blood on her hands get away and moved his wooden cane into your path.

Despite the Lord being hunched over due to his deformity, you still had to look up at him, his blue eyes sharp and cold like the brackish waters that clashed on the cliffs of Dragonstone. "Forgive me, Princess, but Her Grace has sent me to speak with you, and I do not intend to keep her wishes unfulfilled."

You squinted in response, taking a single pace back and rising to his eye level. "I believe we can speak plainly here, Princess. I know you find the manners of courtly talk abhorrent." When you did not halt him in his silence, he continued, slightly tilting his chin down like prey seeking to appear meek and unappetizing to its predator. "Do you recall all those years ago, when you were just a young girl, stolen from all she knew?"

The recollection of those events was something you still had difficulty allowing yourself to recall. So many life-changing and heart-shattering things happened in that short time, but you still sought to process it. Larys' lighthearted approach to it caused your chest to feel hollow. The memories of isolation, loneliness, fear, and anger all came flooding past the protective dam you created.

"I thought to extend you a helping hand in your time of need, but you turned it away. It hurt me deeply to see such a young child broken and scared enough to reject an offer from the goodness of one's heart," he expressed, blue eyes lowering to the frosted ground in mock reverence. "I am, once again, simply a man seeking to help a scared girl in a world over her head."

Fury ran hot through your veins, boiling your bones and the very blood that gave you life. Before you realized it, your hand was wrapped around the Strong Lord's throat, fingers digging into the flesh and tendons as his gaze filled with fear. It would be easy to kill him. A simple twist of the neck would be all it takes, just the way your Father taught you. You were sure he would be proud of doing so.

The thud of Larys' cane hitting a stone as it found its way to the ground caused you to realize the severity of your actions, looking around to ensure no one saw. A young servant scurried along the covered hallway separating the Godswood from the Keep, realizing he was caught.

It was most likely one of the Master of Whispers' "spiders" that he so lovingly called, keeping watch to ensure that if anything of value happened during the conversation, there would be more than one witness.

Your grip loosened for Larys' neck, his unruly stubble scratching against your palm as it slid down to the collar of his intricately sewed tunic, resting your hand on his chest. You giggled, the sound eerily contrasting the seriousness of your attempted murder, a heart-stopping grin pulling your cheeks.

"The only thing that is preventing me from putting you where you belong is justice for all the other little girls you sought to take advantage of." Your breath was hot, steam hitting his face as a dragon would. "It is not me who will execute your punishment. The Gods have a place in the Seven Hells for men like you."

You let go of your hold on his jerkin, the Lord crumbling at your feet without his cane. The sight was fitting. A man who constantly searched for ways to hurt people, to harm people, for his own game was cowering before you. It was his proper place.

"Tell the Queen that my decision remains, and that my Mother also remembers their shared youth fondly."

You spared the Strong Lord no parting glance, leaving him to reach for his walking stick with embarrassment that only a man like him deserved.

***

The force of Aegon's thrusts pushed you up his extravagant bed, mewling and moaning as you sought for purchase in the sheets. He was feral as he plowed through your walls, noises emanating from his chest that sounded like a growl.

"These fucking tits," he groaned, eyes locked onto your jolting mounds. Your head tilted back in euphoria underneath his gaze, clenching around him.

Your breasts were moving in time with his brutal thrusts, making you unable to fully catch your breath as the air was pistoned out of your lungs. Aegon's hands pawed at them, kneading the malleable flesh underneath his fingers roughly as you released a nasally sound.

The Aegon that was submissive to your touch was gone and left only a man who chased his desires inside a woman's cunt. Each push caused his cockhead to kiss your womb, moving his hips more mind-numbing than the last.

Aegon had one goal in his sights, fuck that sweet puffy cunny of yours until you forgot all worries. He grew to know the telltale signs of your distress: cuticles frayed, mouth crude, and constant fidgeting. He had noticed the rawness of your lips, skin nipped and picked until the flesh turned red and white, legs never ceasing movement at rest.

He did not believe it despite you telling him about the conversation with his Mother, and now Larys Strong did not bother you. Aegon understood that expressing your dolor was foreign, never having someone to divulge your worries to and have them validate them. He knew it would take some time for you to grow comfortable and accept that someone would give you a shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen with, but he knew one way that always helped him forget his troubles...

Getting fucked.

And if Aegon so happened to get the added benefit of his pleasure, it was not something he would refuse.

His arms hooked under your knees, spreading them apart as he continued to rut into you, droplets of sweat glistening on his chest, creating a sheen that sparkled in the candlelight.

He was such a pretty boy. It was a thought that ran through your mind every time you saw him, and it created a deep envy to be a part of the same House and yet gifted such plain features. Aegon, with his elegant silver hair, exotic purple eyes, and smooth porcelain skin that showed veins of blue and green that looked like threads weaved into the tapestry of his flesh. With your dark hair and eyes, you have simple features for what people believe to be a simple girl. The only thing that indicated your Targaryen lineage was the white in your strands of ebony and the purple hidden within your irises. 

Your hands couldn't help but run over the planes of his chest, muscles rippling from exertion. It made you grateful to have someone so close to a god panting above you as his cock rubbed against your sweet spot.

Aegon's fists grabbed your own, leaning over to place both on the pillows beneath your head. Hot arousal shot through you at the action, his face hovering above yours.

You captured Aegon's lips in a desperate kiss, whining and wanting intimacy as you swallowed each other's breaths. The hair at the base of his manhood rubbed against your pearl, causing your legs to jerk inward to your body and your hips to move on their own accord, grinding against his pelvis.

"Fucking take it," he hissed against your cheek, hips pistoning into you like an animal in a rut.

"So good," you sighed, legs wrapping around his waist.

"You fucking love this, don't you?" You nodded into another kiss, his lips trailing down to suck at an already tender spot beneath your throat. "It's so hard being the one who takes care of everything. Sacrificing your happiness for the good of the realm, being the dutiful daughter your Father wants you to be."

Your nails dragged down his shoulders, digging into the thick muscle as he bit at the vein on your throat, licking the sensitive spot to soothe it. "I don't-" you breathed, voice faltering as his fingers snaked to the throbbing bundle of nerves, circling it swiftly, "I don't want to think about that right now."

"Oh, but all you do is think," Aegon purred, balancing his weight on his unoccupied forearm. "You think, think, think about the realm, family, the future, me." He exaggerated, punctuating every word with a thrust.

Each movement of his hips and fingers hurdled you toward the edge at breakneck speed, your body unable to catch up as you felt slick leak around his cock, trickling down through your arse. The sounds coming from between your legs caused you to shy away in embarrassment, attempting to hide your flushed cheeks in the goose-down pillows.

"Oh, no, no, no," Aegon teased, pushing your head back to its place, seeing the tears that gathered in your shut eyes from his forceful thrusts. "Let me see that face, and those eyes, pretty thing. Beautiful."

You released a sob at his compliments, unable to process the intensity of his gaze, the mere centimeters away his countenance was from yours. You could see every microexpression form on his features, every pull of his brows, every pinch of his lips and clench of his jaw. The noiseless grunts in your ear were better than the finest music you had ever heard, better than anything a bard could play, sending you teetering over the edge.

"Come on. Peak for me, Princess. I know you can do it."

Aegon did not falter in his actions, continuing with the harsh snaps of his hips, jolting your breasts, causing you to grab them for purchase as his fingers rubbed your swollen nub until you finally burst.

A gush of slickness rushed from your womanhood as you released with a fierce cry, your peak crashing into you like waves in a storm at sea. It collided with your body as you arched and shook, digits digging into your breasts, eyes seeing the night sky and stars blooming in your vision.

"That's it. You're doing so well," Aegon grunted, halting his movements as you clenched brutally around his shaft, keeping him firmly in place. "Just let it happen."

Your hands tangled into his hair, gripping the roots meanly as the spasms of your cunt eased, leaving your waist and limbs trembling and twitching beneath your lover. As your heart calmed with your chest heaving, you grabbed Aegon's face, smashing your lips against his, realizing he hadn't reached completion.

"Aegon," you whispered against his mouth, beginning to question him.

He shushed you, knowing what you would ask before voicing it. He understood you would not give up so easily as he felt your hips begin to undulate, pushing past your overstimulation in search of pleasing him. The Prince pulled out before you could assist him at the expense of yourself, lifting your pliant body and positioning you on your stomach, head at the foot of the bed.

Delicate strands of ebony stuck to the back of your neck, trapping the heat and sweat into a sticky, uncomfortable mess, though you hardly cared. You lay there flat on Aegon's wrinkled sheets, your chest rising and falling as you fought to catch your breath.

Everything had been so quick and intense that you had trouble comprehending what had happened. One moment, you were sitting in the Prince's solar, fuming over Larys' words, and the next, you were rutted into at such a pace you thought the bedframe would crack. Yet, despite an underlying notion of befuddlement, you were at ease. Your limbs felt like they were melting into the mattress, a euphoric warmth wrapping your body in its comforting blanket, mind fuzzy.

Aegon gently nudged you from your head with tender touches of his digits, smoothing your hair away from your neck and above your shoulder with tender kisses. A deep, nasally moan came from you at the action, slowly rousing and returning to your body. His kisses began to travel lower, sweetly nipping and sucking places where the skin rolled.

He pecked each vertebrae of your spine, cherishing the very flesh of your bones. Aegon knew that kisses and actions of affection would never be able to display how deep his love for you went, but he would try. He would honor the very ground you walked on, worship your body as if it were the Maiden's, and pray to the sacred passages written in your veins. He knew it was sacrilegious, but he would gladly suffer the wrath of the Gods as he had a sliver of your love.

Finally, Aegon's lips reached your bottom, leaving a last kiss to your tail as he leaned upright, gazing at the ambrosial sight before him. Your curves, hips, waist, and arse were almost celestial in their beauty, the yellow candlelight illuminating your form. His hands dragged down those very features, squeezing when he reached your bottom, pushing the globes together as he dribbled a line of spit from his mouth to in between them.

You perked at the unexpected sensation, turning your head to see Aegon fisting his cock, angry and red at his procrastinated release. He pushed your skin closer together, member sliding in between the two mounds of flesh with ease.

It was strange to have him fucking the crease of your arse, skin enveloping his manhood like a glove, but it wasn't unpleasant. Any touch from Aegon was something you welcomed, especially when he was satiating his desires within your body. The mere thought excited you once more, your abused cunt arousing as he continued to seek his fulfillment.

It felt almost freeing to be used in such a way. You would allow Aegon to do as he pleased because you trusted in him. You both went through enough anguish and heartache to leave you raw and unable to hide, your soul bare for the other. For once, you had no worries, no purpose other than to lay there and let someone take care of themselves without the anxiety of wanting your help. The thought made your cunt clench with arousal.

Aegon's thrusts were sure in their intent as his fingers pinched at your cheeks, keeping the skin taught to resemble the feeling of your velvet walls. You let out a breathy sound, keeping your legs closer together as your thighs rubbed, seeking friction you knew only one thing could give you.

"Awe. Is that little cunny of yours wet again?" he patronized, voice sounding like a dove. "Do you need your brat prince to fuck you mindless again?"

You nodded, hiding your face in the crook of your elbow with a pathetic mewl that would leave your Father ashamed as Aegon slowly entered. The stretch was not as severe, your walls having grown accustomed to his girth as he began to do shallow, sturdy thrusts.

A low, almost inaudible grown released from your throat as pleasure leisurely began to mount. Aegon slowly lifted your hips, leaving your upper body prone as he used the new position for better leverage, skin molding under his fingers.

His pace was rhythmic, rooting into your cunt with a sureness of a skilled musician with their instrument. The contrast in dynamics between the Aegon who was impuissant against the denial of your presence, the Aegon who had brutalized your womanhood, and the one who now tenderly groped and massaged your flesh was stark. It sent your head spinning, retreating into your mind as your pleasure soon overpowered your senses.

"So beautiful," the Prince rasped, drunk on the pulsing sensation of your cunt, "so beautiful, my beautiful princess, my goddess."

His words were mumbled together, too far drowned into the cup of sex, spouting incoherent confessions of love and oaths that would put even the most lovelorn of poets to shame. Aegon could not shake the captivating movements of your body, enthralled with the repetitive ripples of your skin, violet eyes flicking to where his cock disappeared.

***

The halls of the Keep were bustling, being only a few hours past high noon, the sun shining over the top of the grey clouds. Ser Arryk had just left his midday meal, something you insisted he take after learning about his tendency to skip it in favor of his duty.

His path was sure as he walked between the red rock walls, armor clanking with every step. You had told Arryk you would meet him at the library in the west wing after his luncheon, but you had yet to show. He waited until the sun was in a low position before he left, conjuring excuses the entire time.

You were a princess, a woman who had duties to attend to, so it was common for you not to be punctual, but typically, you would send word by either servant or guard. It put an uneasy feeling in the knight's stomach, though he told himself not to worry. You were capable and could defend yourself if need be, yet he was still concerned.

Arryk was your protector. He swore an oath to the realm and you that he would serve and lay his blood before yours.

He knew he could be rather melodramatic at times; you told him so with a shake of your head and a bright smile. He repeatedly replayed the melodic lilt of your voice inside his head until he reached the eldest Prince's doors, his twin brother standing outside it.

He greeted Erryk with a nod, his twin staring back at him with a furrowed brown like his own.

"I am unaware of the Princess's whereabouts. She told me that we would meet in the library, but has yet to show. Have you seen her, brother?" Arryk questioned with a stiff spine.

Erryk continued to gaze at him with curious blue eyes. "Did she not tell you?" he inquired, tilting his helmeted head as he answered. "Her Grace and Prince Aegon have been within his chambers since this morning."

Arryk's heart began to race, blood rushing to his head and thumping in his ears. "In his chambers?" he echoed, voice rising. "Brother, you know this is entirely inappropriate. You are directly putting a child of the crown in danger within the hands of-"

He couldn't finish, his twin swiftly grabbing his arm and looking to ensure no one heard his treasonous confession.

"I know this, Arryk!" he shouted, a blue vein popping on his forehead. "I know the depths of his depravity better than anyone, yet I continue to do my duty without fail! What say you, brother?" He interrogated with an intense gaze, anger simmering into a steady boil. "Where is your, Princess now? In the bed of a lecherous wastrel who entertains himself with whores and drink."

"She is not," he replied hastily, like a child trying to convince a parent. "She would not debase herself."

Erryk stared at his twin, the person he shared a womb with now so distant and cold. An air of anger and disbelief he had never seen Arryk possess in his entire lifetime shook him to the bones, causing him to pause.

He had heard of the rumors of Princess Rhaenyra and her former protector, Ser Criston Cole, but never thought it was possible. The Kingsguard swore an unspoken oath of celibacy and no romantic love, yet here, his brother held a fury and sense of betrayal only a lover would feel. He needed to stop him from going down a path he could never follow.

Erryk stepped away from the door, and his brother entered without hesitation.

Arryk traveled through the Prince's entry room, dodging furniture and end tables with more skill than a stag. He heard noises from beyond the bedroom walls, and his stomach sank. He understood what they were, but his denial was too strong, guiding his limbs with a forlorn dread to the eldest son's bed chambers.

Hope did not die that he would enter into nothing. The soft grunts and moans were, for some other reason, only the Gods would know. He would even be relieved with the possibility that Aegon was taking you by force. Arryk would be able to do what he swore and protect your honor.

Anything. Anything would be better than what the knight's icy gaze saw.

There you lay on the Prince's bed, arse up and curves on display in Aegon's hands, moaning in adoration as he pounded into you from behind.

Arryk wished you were dead, oath be damned because this... this was far worse. The pair of you beat his already shattered heart bloody on the floor, crushing in time with the Prince's sure thrusts.

You did not hear Ser Arryk open the door. You were too lost in pleasure to be aware of anything. Aegon brought his appearance to your attention, blood running cold.

"We have a guest, little one," he jested, unceasing in his movements.

Your limbs went rigid, your body going into fight, flight, or freeze, your mind scrambling on what to do, where to go, and what to say. Aegon's unwavering ministrations did not help as you inhaled panicked breaths.

Pushing yourself up to hide in shame, he quickly grabbed you, hooking his arms around your waist and across your chest to your neck, putting your naked form on display.

You yelped at the sudden change in position, Aegon's cock nestling inside you impossibly deeper as he continued his ruts. You couldn't comprehend what was happening. It was all too much.

Pleasure, embarrassment, shame, and fear were at the forefront of your mind as your eyes burst with tears. It set your nerves on fire, your already overstimulated body alight with every emotion and sensation you felt. Your muscles were too weak to protest against Aegon's hold as his hand snaked down your mound of black curls in search of that bundle of nerves.

"Please," you simpered, attempting to hide your face in the Prince's damp hair, "don't look at me."

Rivers fell from your peculiar eyes at an alarming rate. You felt like that same little girl on the day Madam cast you out. The day that had set everything up into the perfect maelstrom you now lived. You were ashamed, almost fearful of Ser Arryk seeing you in such a vulnerable state, a condition you required the utmost amount of trust for you to be in.

You should be furious at the person who put you into this situation, displaying your most sacred parts for a common person to see, but you couldn't. You were only confused and terrified.

"My sweet girl," Aegon cooed into your ear. The kind words created no comfort, instead causing a guttural sob to release from your chest. "Tis all right. There is nothing for you to shed those pretty tears over."

Nothing could stop them, yet soon they turned into wet moans as his digits swiped at your nub with more purpose, a singular, humiliating, yet arousing goal in mind.

"Please... get... out," you beseeched the knight, finally bringing your watery gaze to meet his aghast one.

You could see it written plainly as the tomes you studied, Ser Arryk's betrayal. His sheer disgust for the sight before him. It made everything so much worse.

The protector's thoughts were treasonous, oath-breaking. You were a fine warrior, Visenya reincarnate, yet you let this man defile you. He wished you were another one of Aegon's victims, raped and uncared for, because then he would not have to witness this... this vulgar and repulsive display of pathetic, willing vulnerability you gifted Prince Aegon.

Arryk had worshiped you on a pedestal in silence. He compared you to that of the Mother and fantasized about a life separate from societal constraints where you could be what he dreamed.

But that was gone now, burned in the flames of those who shared the dragon's blood.

"Come now, Ser Cargyll, I am not blind to your affections toward my Princess. You should feel honored to see her in such a way," the Prince antagonized, his thrusts sure as they wound the already-formed ball in your stomach.

"Stop," you pleaded breathlessly.

That was the word Ser Arryk waited to hear, hand going to the pommel of his sword as he took a dangerous step forward.

"Oh, don't be so tense," Aegon chortled. "She may say to stop, but if I do, she'll beg me to continue. Isn't that right, little one?"

You refused to dignify his belittlement with a response, instead choosing to release a low mewl, head lulling as if the weight was too heavy.

You were growing dangerously close to your peak despite the horrendous shame that bubbled up inside, and you desperately did not want a member of the Kingsguard to see you in that defenseless state.

"You are going to bear witness to such a sight, ser. You shall be the second ever to see the glorious act of her release," Aegon continued to deride, making that feeling of self-hatred all the more prevalent. "I can feel her clenching, her cunt begging to peak, milking me for my seed." His lips moved flush against your hair, his breath moist as he uttered subdued grunts.

"Let go, my love," he pleaded, voice now noiseless and tender with scores of love and adoration. "Do this for me, please? I need you to come. Show him that you belong to me, that you desire me, love me."

You could never deny Aegon; it was one of your shared vices.

With a gentle kiss to the crown of your head and a handful of harsh ruts, your second peak arrived. It rattled your bones and overwhelmed your senses, feeling as if your mind had left this realm of existence from the sheer intensity of it.

Moans of ecstasy pierced Ser Arryk's ears like a needle to the eye, the sound causing bile to fill his mouth as he ran from the room, unable to keep watching and missing how the Prince sullied your perfect skin.

It relieved Aegon that the knight finally left. He grew increasingly guilty for the tears he had caused and continued to flow freely. Perhaps he had pushed you too far, he mused as his hot spend dripped from your stomach and onto the sheets. Anxiety crept into his chest as he felt your body finally grow limp, your hands grasping any part of him you could find to ground yourself.

You realized then that this moment was more for Aegon than you. His tears welled in his amethyst orbs as he began to apologize profusely. His actions came from a deep-seated insecurity that no reassurance could ever mend, and while it did not excuse what he did, it provided reason.

Remorse was the least he could offer after disgracing you in favor of tending to his broken ego as he kissed every piece of skin he could find. It would take time for you to forgive Aegon for the sexual humiliation he put you through, and you realize that he understood that, too, as he spouted incoherent regret.

You loved him, perhaps too much to be considered sane, but that was another item on your list of shared vices.

Masterlist of Series

You know that no one can be happy for long in this universe. That's all I'm going to say xD.

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnnn , @malfoytargaryen , @targaryencore , @justasmallbean , @omgsuperstarg , @sommornyte , @silverslive , @prettykinkysoul , @djlexi , @ynbutbetter , @legolas017 , @iiamthehybrid , @dd122004dd , @ladybug0095 , @millies0bsimp , @kalfild , @sheislonelyalways , @tempt-ress , @minttea07 , @trikigirl271 , @esposadomd , @prettywhenicry4 , @daenerysqueenofhearts , @justarandomflowerchildofthenight , @partypoison00 , @please-buckme , @pastelorangeskies , @existential-echo , @priyajoyy , @valaenatargaryensdragon , @merovingianprincess , @candy12110 , @w3ird11 , @ruhjkie , @somemydayy , @marikkjj , @zillahvathek , @sunfyresrider , @heavenly1927, @prettylittlelady, @hjgdhghoe , @im-sidney , @aurorathi , @marihoneywk

[canmom]

post-animation night 177 comments

brief thoughts on kizazi moto (more substantial tomorrow perhaps): visually that was so lush. we're really full post-Arcane/Spiderverse nonphotorealistic stylings here, with a powerful dash of Trigger/Flying Bark-esque Neo Kanada School as well. this was like a cross-section of the current big styles in animation and it kicked ass for that. I'm not entirely sure what the production pipeline looked like - the Irish film board was apparently involved somehow! and maybe some Irish studios so it wasn't a purely African production - but it was an extremely impressive showing all round.

narratively, putting it right beside Fatenah kinda highlighted the places it wasn't willing to go. though I had heard the directors had a lot of freedom, there were some very consistent themes running throughout the anthology - nearly every film involved parent-child relationships, many of them revolving around a kid hoping to prove themselves in the eyes of their society/ancestors. the uglier side of history is touched on lightly: one film shows us a flashy cyberpunk city from an alternate timeline where 'Great Zimbabwe was never colonised', complete with 'the most advanced justice system in the multiverse' (a giant robot bird that chases our protagonists), but doesn't expand on that as more than a colourful backdrop. the last film gets closest, presenting a mother-child pair of two gods who are wounded by extractivism and retreat from the world - I appreciated the understated bleak implication of its ending.

I think while the creators were probably not given too much overt creative restriction, they were surely aware this was to be broadcast in English on Disney's streaming service, and tailored their stories accordingly. so you'd probably avoid "Disney is the face of American imperialism: the movie". Disney money is a bit of a double-edged sword that way.

besides parent/child reconciliation, we had a lot of ancestors and more than a few gods. a few stories centred on coming of age rituals; other had a more or less central focus on social media fame and its corrupting effect. at times it verges into the preachy - characters who stand between two families, or between humans and aliens, and resolve to honour both sets of ancestors - but the presentation is more than engaging enough to make it a compelling watch, regardless.

there's a lot of wonderful lighting, set design and architecture throughout. Mọrémì had a very cool desaturated style with toyetic, colourful 'soul-stealing giants' that put me a little in mind of Absolver.

Stardust had a bit of a Star Wars feel, almost feeling like an extra Visions short, but the injection of Islamic architecture was very effective.

a certain Arcane/Riot influence is very overt in many of the films - not just in the widespread use of paint textures in the CG environments and the approach to light and colour, but also with plot elements like the neon-drenched surfer gang in Surf Sangoma (episode 4) - which was definitely a fantastic-looking episode with the wonderfully out-there premise of a world where you have a squid suck on your face to gain surf skills. (just say no to squids, kids! you don't need 'em! rely on your magic ghost mum instead.) but I think this is something that's true in the animation industry more generally of late - the last few years have really kicked the door open to 2D stylings in 3D (paint textures, reduced framerates etc.). no doubt having a Spiderverse director as exec producer played a role in that too!

all in all I really enjoyed this anthology, and I'm super excited to see what comes next from the studios involved.

Fatenah meanwhile was fantastic, and an absolute gut punch. the fact that the hospital seen in the film has been in the news for being emptied out at gunpoint in the last week gave it a special level of 'oof'. its style may seem disarmingly simple, but the puppet-like styling ends up bestowing a huge degree of weight to the characters. the scenes of the border checkpoint, the monotony of cages and guards, and the concrete environment resembling a Half Life 2 map, were very impactful. highly recommend taking 20 minutes to watch this film.

[orianightshade]

Promptober Day Two: Chess

Had lots of fun with this one. Again, please do not copy/repost my art. I actually have a copyright order with many of my works, as they excerpts from my books, so I can legally file a copyright claim against you (hint of underlying threat while I smile).

“I do hope that you will buy me a new suit once all of this is resolved.”

The man on my left scoffed, his meaty hands tightening around my upper arm in a slow, burning pinch. With my tongue clenched between my teeth, I took another breath.

“I can provide the name of my personal tailor if you would so like. Henry Poole & Co, number fifteen Savile Row, London. Size charts are rather cumbersome, especially with my assumption you are American, but as long as you go in and tell the assistant manager my name, he knows exactly how I prefer my-”

Solid stone greeted my cheek as both of my captors shoved me against the tunnel wall. To my dismay, I heard a soft rip coming from my collar and clucked my tongue before turning my face to the side a bit more, my blindfold pushing upward slightly. I turned my head a bit more, enough to see a sliver of my surroundings.

Ah . . . just as I counted. Eight footsteps to four people.

“Might I suggest, next time you have an important hostage, don’t take your anger out on them?” I gave a mirthless laugh. “I doubt your boss would like it if you hand him to me in two pieces, considering the great lengths you took to bring me here alive.”

Their hands gripped my shoulders roughly as they continued to pin my stinging body. Rotten breath hissed in my ear, low and wet.

“You’re quite brave for a deadman,” one of the men said, his hair as oily as his voice.

Turning my head to the side, I managed to dislodge the blindfold enough to see more clearly as I stared at the one closest to me.

Lower class hygiene. Black soot on the tips of his fingers and rubbed across his clothes. Slight woodfire smell. Calloused ankles. So chimney sweeper, looking for a bit of extra cash are you?

“Either that, or very stupid,” replied another, a series of barking laughs echoing down the corridor.

I stared at each of them in turn. There was the chimney sweep, a fishmonger, a stationmaster, and a factory worker, who judging by the state of his hands, was a metalworker. 

“Those words are rather broad, don’t you think gentlemen?” I joked with a thin smile, turning to face them. “Now, if you wanted to combine those two, you could say I’m foolhearted. I’m foolishly brave to compensate for the building anxiety and fear. Does that sound like the term you’re looking for?” I pause, then chuckle. “Then again . . . that doesn’t quite feel like the right term for what I’m feeling, but, I suppose you're the ones doing the observations.”

“Shut it,” the chimney sweep said, yanking me away from the wall by my bound wrists. Twisting my arm in a white-hot pain, he forced me forward, jerking the blindfold down back in front of my eyes as my vision was shrouded in darkness once again.

Darkness.

It is something I have been used to since I was a child. 

The concept of having light versus no light. How subtle yellows, oranges, reds, and whites can blend to create shades of color that would illuminate the darkest corners of a room. Then, as the day passed, as the wick curved and fell into its puddle of wax, those colors would melt into navy blues and blacks so dark you could feel the oppressive weight on your shoulders as you glided through the shadows.

This concept can also be found in men. 

Stone floors grew slicker under my boots as the air turned colder the further down we went. Further down where, I did not know, but judging by a smell I knew all too well, we were in the catacombs.

Hinges creaked as I was flung forward in a room, leaving most of my chin on the stone. Struggling to my knees with a hiss, I raised my neck, inhaling the grainy dust that floated around my face like snowflakes.

“Where are we?” I asked evenly as I shifted my jaw, my chin giving a little throb of pain.

“You’ll know soon enough,” said the stationmaster as he and the chimney sweeper pulled me up, walked me forward a few feet, before setting me down in a chair. All but one pair of footsteps left as the man left undid my hands. My muscles tensed, but slowly relaxed as a familiar click rang around the room. Slowly I brought my hands up to rest them on the armrests. 

“Don’t worry,” I replied to the man. “I’m not going to do anything. You can put away the gun now.”

There was no response, so I tried again. 

“May I take off the blindfold?” 

“No,” came the curt reply. “Not until the boss allows it.”

“Pray tell, who is your boss?” 

“None of your business.” 

Before I could reply, the door opened again, yet four steps instead of three entered. There was a bit of shuffling, before soft breaths sat across from me. There was a small snap of rope and a sigh of relief.

“Two hostages?” I muttered aloud.

There was a sharp intake of breath from across from me. “Holiday?” 

I paused. The voice, so full of confidence and charm, a slight Edinburgh accent with a low drawl.

“River?” I asked tentatively back, leading to an awkward pause, before he bursted out laughing, his chuckles echoing around the room.

“It can’t be. What are the odds? Wait wait wait, were you abducted as well?” 

“From my carriage, yes,” I replied with a polite laugh of my own. “It was hijacked on my way back to the manor.”

“I was dragged from my bedroom mid-case,” he replied, his tone souring a bit. “It was such a good one too . . . no doubt my client is going to be furious when I don’t show up with my findings in an hour.”

“Who is your client?”

“Scotland Yard.”

I laughed. “What was the case on?”

“Here’s the thing. It’s about Baron Degrande, the banker. You read about his suicide in the paper?”

“Naturally. It was big news.”

“Well, here’s the fun part: it wasn’t suicide.” 

The corner of my mouth twitched. “Oh?”

“Yeah! I knew something was fishy when I first read about it. The rumor that had gone around was that his wife was leaving him, but the kicker is, his wife had left him two years prior! He’d just covered it up so as to not look bad. And his finances and social life were in check. He was perfectly fine. So, why would a perfectly normal person such as Degrande kill himself out of the blue? Anyway, Edward allowed me into the mortuary and I did some examination on his body. Turns out Degrande was left-handed, yet the bullet was shot from the right side! Plus, there was no gunpowder residue on his hands!”

“Well . . . that’s certainly curious,” I replied. “Have you figured out who killed him?” 

River chuckled. “The Shadow of London.” 

My mouth twitched higher. “Really?”

“I did some digging into Degrande’s past. And I mean, deep digging. And it turns out half of the money he gets somehow disappears. He still fills out his checkbook with the full amounts, but the money is going to a secret benefactor who turns out to be deep in the human trafficking and drug business.” 

“That’s horrible. So, you believe this Shadow of London passed judgement on him through murder?”

“Yes, that’s exactly it.” River clapped his hands. “Spot on Holly.” 

“Holiday,” I corrected.

“Mr. Requiem-”

“Will you two shut up already?” One of the men smacked the gun lightly against my head.

I exhaled through my nose as I raised my head a bit. “Nearly forgotten you gentlemen were there,” I replied with venom, my patience starting to slip through my fingertips.

“Mr. Gunther, please,” came a silky voice from the left corner of the room. “They can talk. It was getting quite entertaining, having a play-by-play of how the great detective River works. In fact, why don’t you take off the blindfolds so they may see each other better? An important element of communication is eye contact.”

Lips curling into a dangerous line, my fingers entwined slightly, brushing over the fabric of my pants. Across from me, I heard a click as River gritted his teeth.  

There was a slight tug from the back of my blindfold as the fabric loosed, before slipping off my eyes. I blinked, letting my eyes adjust to the room, a few flickering candles casting shadows of the cobble walls like demon silhouettes.

Across from me was River Thurogood. His dark blue eyes cut into mine as he smiled, a trickle of blood running down the corner of his mouth from a split lip

“You look awful,” I said softly after a moment of silence. 

“You don’t look too good yourself,” River replied with a light grin. “Your chin is bleeding pretty badly.”

“I’ve been worse.” I winked, raising my fingers to my chin, wiping away a streak of blood. Examining the crimson against my pale white hand, I gave a small sigh before observing the room.

We seemed to be in a cellar or a vault of some kind. A table was spread out in front of us, a lavender cloth covering something on top of it. Two of the abductors stood behind River. I looked over my shoulder, finding the other two behind me. Then, I let my gaze drift, landing on the person standing in the corner. 

Emerald green eyes stared out from under me in a curtain of grey hair. His hands slipped out from a black and white robe as he pulled back his hood.

“Saint Germain,” I greeted with a nod of my head. 

River looked at me, then to the man in the corner. “As in the Mad Priest?” he asked softly, raising his dark brow.

“Mad Priest?” Germain laughed as he stepped forward. “Is that what young people are calling me today?”

He regarded me with a slight grin as I glared back at him.

“Might I ask why you brought both of us here?” I asked, lacing my fingers over my knee.

“Ah, yes!” Saint Germain chuckled. “Believe me, Monsieur Requiem, this will be to your liking.”

“Will it?” I tilted my head to the side. “Enlighten me Germain.”

River blinked at me. “You know him?” he asked with a jerk of his thumb at the priest.

“We’ve met before in the past,” I replied, casting a quick glance at Germain. “My mother’s funeral to be precise.”

“And what a funeral it was.” Saint Germain tapped me lightly on the shoulder as he gave me a knowing wink. “Let’s see, a five-foot five oaken coffin with a silver trim around the edges. Buried on plot number twenty six. I remember she wanted daisies.”

“Correct,” I replied as I leaned back in my chair. “She loved daisies.”

“You remember everyone you buried?” River asked, turning his attention to Germain.

Germain tapped his long finger over his temple. “Indeed mister detective. Indeed.”

“Impressive,” River replied, giving a small clap. “How long have you been working in the industry?”

“Twelve years.” Germain smiled. “Started in 1876.”  He looked at our abductors in the room. “You can put those horrible little killing machines away.” He gestures to the guns in their hands.

“But-” the fishmonger started, but Germain held up a hand. 

“I’ve got it handled,” he said with a light air, as if telling a child to put away a piece of candy. “Trust in the process. Besides, there are much more elegant ways of killing.”

With a dramatic flick of his wrist, he pulls off the cloth on the table. 

“A chess set?” River muttered, leaning forward. 

I examined the little pieces, reaching forward and picking the black king up, raising it to the light. “I’m all for a game of chess,” I whispered before looking up at Germain, “but something tells me this is no ordinary game.” 

“Perceptive little nobleman,” Germain praised as he nodded. “You are correct. Both of you please, roll up your sleeves.”

“Why?” River asked.

“Just do as e’ says,” the stationmaster snarled, smacking the back of River’s head.

For a moment, River braced himself, as if he were about to fight back, but after a moment, he relaxed and with a huff, rolled up his sleeve. 

I watched our abductors closely as I rolled up my own sleeve, tucking in the white shirt tightly over the cuff of my suit. The chimney sweep grabbed my wrist tightly, his fingers pressing into the skin beneath. My eyes crinkled a bit as he produced a small needle attached to a tube, and without any warning, shoved it deeply into my veins. I let out a small hiss of pain. Across from me, River let out a string of profanities as he glared at the man doing the same to him.

“What is this for?” I asked Germain calmly, staring up at him.

“Good question.” Germain gestures to the small scale beside the chessboard. “Have either of you played professional chess before?”

“I have once,” I replied quietly. “My friend, Professor Fox at King’s College invited me out to a club where I had the privilege to play.”

River shaked his head silently. “I don’t play competitively. I just do it for my own amusement. But I know the concept.” He looks up at Germain. “You gonna make us play chess against each other?”

Germain grinned. “Well, then let me explain the small twist I added.” He pressed against the side of the scale closest to me, making it drop the tiniest bit. “The more pieces your opponent gets, the lower your scale goes. The king is heavier than the other pieces, and therefore if you manage to checkmate your opponent, you win.” 

He flicked the tube connected to my wrist. “However, in this case, you have a little . . . incentive to win. You see, the less pieces you have, the higher your scale lifts. If it gets to a certain point, it will start pumping a not-so-pleasant liquid into you. It will be slow at first, but speed up the more pieces you lose.”

“Poison?” River asked tensely.

“Not quite. Are either of you aware of the drug Omnipent?” 

My chest clenched and it took everything I had to not vomit right there on the chessboard. Breathing became a challenge as I stared down at the tube in my wrist. On the outside though, I remained perfectly still and calm. 

River spat on the floor. “You’ve got to be kidding,” he muttered. “That stuff is practically arsenic on cyanide.”

“In-indeed,” I stuttered quietly. River glanced at me for a moment, then back at Germain. “You’re involved in the drug trade?”

“Yes,” Germain said, tilting his head to the side. “It’s a little side hustle of mine I’m afraid. And what will be pumped through you as you lose.”

“The more inside us, the more our body shuts down. So, essentially . . .” 

“ . . . we’re playing the other to their death,” I finished for River with a grim nod.

“See,” Germain smiled. “I told you there are more elegant ways of killing people.”

There was a short pause, before the detective gave a small chuckle. “Well, dear Holly,” River said as he adjusted his eyepatch. “Who would’ve thought this is how our first chess match would end up as?”

“I would have preferred it in my lounge,” I replied with a polite smile. Even though my fingers were shaking, I stared up at Germain. “When do we begin?” 

“Whenever you want.” Germain backed away from the table a bit. 

“Hold on,” River held up a hand. “There’s one answered question before we begin. Why us? What do you have against us?”

Germain gave a short pause. “You’re both too smart for your own good,” he finally said with a small shake of his head. “You, detective, have gotten closer to something big. Too big. I can’t have you discovering it. And you, little nobleman.” He reached out and lifted my chin. “You are simply leverage.”

He clapped his hands slightly as he pulled away, before squeezing River’s shoulder. “What is the great detective to do? If he lives, he can lock me up for all I care. He’ll learn more about the drug trade of Omnipotent. He gets fame and glory. But . . . he loses you. His one and only friend. So . . . he can either live and thrive, or be a sacrificial hero. I mean, there’s always the chance Holiday will play his hardest to live, so there’s also that little dilemma going on.” 

Stepping back, Germain grined. “Two masterminds against each other. I’m excited to see who will sink their teeth in first.” 

River looked at me and I looked at him. 

“Well . . . Holiday,” he started out, a twinkle in his eyes. “How do you feel about all of this?” 

“Honestly . . .” I shrugged. “It’s better than sorting books all day.”

“My thoughts exactly. How fast do we want to go?”

“I’m going to give it my all. You’re going to have to keep up.” 

“Oh? Confident today, are we?”

I grinned. “White goes first.”

River nodded and reached out, grabbing a pawn. “May the best mastermind win.”

Germain chuckled while watching our interaction. “How curious. Neither scared, nor worried. I wish there was a way to come back to this moment over and over again.”

River placed his pawn two spaces ahead. “I have often found myself in harrowing situations,” he bragged with a cheeky grin. “But this is the first time I’ve been in one with someone of equal mind as me.”

“Really?” I asked with a chuckle, moving my own pawn. “Well, this should get interesting, shouldn’t it?” 

“Everything is interesting with you around.”

“Touché.”

Our hands flashed fluidly across the board with skill and accuracy. I took his knight, he two of my pawns within the first ten seconds.

“Not bad,” he said, moving a bishop forward, only for me to snatch it instantly, placing it in my scale with a little clink.

“Not bad yourself.” 

Clink.

Clink. 

Clink.

Clink. Clink.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

One after another the chessboard emptied. Our scales were balanced, the tubes hissing with anticipation. I felt the first drops enter my body after River stole one of my knights. I clenched my molars as I immediately stole another pawn, seeing his eyes widen slightly as the liquid flowed in him. Yet, we said nothing.

It finally reached one minute within the game. I stared down at the board, and my mouth curved as my eyes darkened.

“Checkmate, dear detective.” 

River blinked, looking down. His eyes widened in surprise slightly. “So it seems,” he replied softly as I lifted the white king up, letting it hover over my scale.

Germain gave a soft breath behind me. “Well done Holiday. Do it. Claim your victory.”

I let the king fall, releasing from my fingertips. River watched it, his body tensing. 

It hit Germain right in between the eyes.

In an instant, the room erupted into chaos. River kicked the table over, scattering the pieces as he used the chair he was sitting on to smash through the canister of Omnipotent. An arc of the clear liquid hit the fishmonger in the chest, sending him sprawling.

I reached over toward the chimney sweep, grabbing his gun out of his hands, his body frozen as I hit him over the head. 

“Returning the favor,” I muttered hatefully as he went down. 

“Holiday!”

I look over my shoulder as the remaining men scramble out of the room, nearly ripping the door of its creaky hinges. River started after then, but I grabbed his shoulder. 

“No,” I commanded firmly. “Don’t.” 

“But they’re getting away,” River replied fiercely.

“I know. But Saint Germain knows the catacombs better than we. It is not uncommon for people to get lost.”

River sighed, but nodded. “I suppose you're right. I’ll get Scotland Yard on this as soon as we get out of here.”

I stepped over the scattered chessboard and peered out into the corridor. River comes up beside me, gesturing to a small line on the wall. “You see that? I used my watch here to scrap the stone, so I could find my way back.”

“Perfect.” I looked back at the room for a moment, before following him out. 

“Say, Holiday, that was a mighty fine chess game,” River said after a moment. 

“Agreed. We’ll have to do that more often.” 

“Minus the drugging, kidnapping, and life-endangerment.” 

I laughed. “Yes. Now, I’m in the mood for a bit of alcohol . . . care to join me?”

[land-of-appletun-and-anime]

Mask & Scepter, a short Pokemon crossover

An orange dog Pokemon came running up to Allister, startling him with a poke of its nose. Everyone else in the bustling city of Mesagoza had kept their distance, no doubt because of his mask, and he didn't mind the privacy. This little guy seemed to feel differently. It appeared to be friendly enough, so he squatted down and spoke softly to the fascinating Pokemon.

"You're really made of bread. That's mad." he said, getting a bark in response. "I've seen Dachsbun before but you're the first one I've met in person."

Gengar's mischievous chuckle announced its arrival before it actually solidified next to him. It presented something long and shiny.

"What's this?" he asked, examining a metallic scepter roughly a meter long with a Pokéball at its head and what looked like two simple wings protruding from just beneath the ball. Were they insect wings? Or maybe the ends of an elegantly tied handkerchief? Either way, Allister knew Gengar hadn't just found it lying around.

"Where did you-" before Allister could finish his question, a boy around his age came running toward him from the direction of the massive staircase that lead to the central feature of Mesagoza. It was clear from the boy's shoes, metal shining in warm colors from the setting sun, that the scepter belonged to him, but even without them there would've been no question. In contrast to the casual clothes of everyone else here, he wore a tailored suit colored the softest pink, with white frills framing the exposed triangle of elegant shirt beneath. It was complete with white gloves and coattails flailing behind him as he ran.  He didn't sound like a high-class little gentleman, though.

"Give that BACK! It's mi- AH! What the HECK is with that mask? It's seriously creepy!"

"I-I'm sorry. I'm really shy," Allister responded quietly,  "but if people can't see my face, I feel a lot more comfortable in public."

"You really need to speak up. Anyway, that belongs to me. I passed by earlier and your Pokemon stole it and swapped it out so I wouldn't notice."

"Gengar! Um, I'm sorry. He likes to play pranks on people."

Gengar appeared looking ashamed and took the scepter from its trainer, but instead of returning it to its owner, the Pokémon vanished again and began floating the scepter around the boy in an uneven and everchanging orbit, just out of his reach, and chuckling while doing it. The boy spun around grabbing after his scepter with increasing agitation as Dachsbun, apparently belonging to him, watched playfully with a wagging bun. The clean lines of the boy's perfectly styled pink-brown hair were quickly disappearing, leaving a disheveled mess atop the undercut below. When he'd had enough, the boy pressed his arms straight against his sides with fists curled upward in frustration. He stomped on the ground flamboyantly with one shining shoe.

"That's ENOUGH! You are the most annoying Pokemon EVER!" he fumed.

"Gengar, give it back," Allister instructed his Pokemon.

The scepter then vanished altogether and Gengar appeared before the boy. When the Pokemon opened its spacious mouth, the ends of the scepter stuck very obviously out from the center of its rolled up tongue. Gengar rolled its large tongue out like a carpet, presenting the scepter. The boy made a disgusted sound and produced a white handkerchief with which he took his possession back. Gengar chuckled again once out of sight.

"I'm wicked sorry," Allister said, more nervous now than ever.

The boy produced a Luxury Ball, black with red and gold metallic accents, and sent out another unfamiliar Pokémon. This one was mostly bright blue and rabbit-like, standing upright with tall ears over an ellipsoid body. A bright blue ball of a tail bobbed cheerfully in the evening air. The Pokémon loosed a cloud of sparkling bubbles in which the boy cleaned his scepter, holding it by the end with the handkerchief like it was something smelly and unpleasant.

"Who are you, anyway?" the boy asked while working.

" M' Allister. From Galar. I'm a Gym Leader there."

"A Gym Leader? Okaaaay. I'm Ortega. Let's have a battle. We’ll see how you measure up to a Team Star Boss!"

"Y-yeah! Let's battle!" Allister felt the cold presence of Gengar close to him again and wondered if it had just wanted the boys to be friends all along.

[twst-drabbles]

I know you asked about the favorite fic question a while ago. But we shall call this fashionably late!

I’ve always got a sweet spot for the Octavinelle bunch! I was the one who requested the wind up toy one and Azul’s first words.

My favorite pieces are Octavinelle 3 and Savanaclaw, Scarabia, and Pomefiore 1. Honestly I couldn’t tell you how much I read them over the span of a couple of months. It was like a nightly ritual. I’m not sure what it was about those but I’d give them a quick read before bed and be immensely satisfied.

And a new favorite addition is the windup toy one. I love how you described Floyd more as observant in that one. And every time you described one of em punching the frog I imagined a peacock mantis shrimp punches. I can so vividly see the sand being scuffled about.

I’d have to say you’re like the famous last bite of a meal. Or a tart pastry! You don’t over sugar your stuff and I love ya for it! In fact you’ve become the only way I’ve been reading fluff nowadays and am eager to see more constantly! Which is so weird cause I’m an angst reader/writer 100%.

I really admire your short formatting of writing. At first I’ll admit I always wanted more but then I thought to myself what else could there possibly be to add? Thus I discovered your talent for endings! As you can tell from this long message, I always write a bunch so seeing impactful short stuff “by my standards”, will help with that issue I hope.

And lastly I really like how the caretaker can either be their own character or a self insert! I’d never go on any trips with Vargas yet here I am giving a pat on the back to caretaker and telling em good luck! Or how while I’m not the most avid Silver or Kalim enjoyer sometimes I’m like ok caretaker gimme the wheel again I think I’m starting to “L word” them a little more. Also nicknaming the Octavinelle bunch “little shits” is always super homey to me and it feels so right!

This is just a long winded thank you for what you’ve written thus far! I really enjoy everything you put out. And I can’t wait to breach into your oc blog. If you love angst I’m a great supplier in requests!- Signed yours truly Frosty!~

No need to worry, there isn't a due date to any of it and I'm always welcoming to such essays spouting what your favorites might be! It cheers me up no matter how late they may be.

I certainly do love messing around with the Octavinelle group as one of my family members actually used to take care of fish. I loved feeding them and just watching them swim from one end of the tank to the other. While, by all means, they're not your standard fish, it's still fun to sneak in a little fun fact about aquatic life when I can.

Actually, back in the middle of my high school years, I used to write rather long winded myself, as a result of all the old novels I would read that would have such a writing style.

Example from one of my oooooold pieces of writing down below, regarding a Church Grim.

It didn't make any noise whatsoever. It didn't leave footprints in the soft grass, or even a lingering stench on the tree's bark to indicate it might be something of this living world. But, there was nothing to remember it by, beside those angry red eyes that would shift into sight from under its smoking plume of black. It would take a glance at you, and you would stare back into it. Then it would be gone by letting its form be embraced by the shadows created from leafy tree branches. You can see it again through the lush trees blanketed by the cloudy purple night. You watched it float through the flower garden without a purpose, much like a piece of paper in the wind, shifting from one place to another in an effortless glide.

Well, actually I can still write like this, but it's not a writing style tailored for my decaying attention span. I have to be in a certain mood to really get into it. But yeah, I preserve this style specifically for horror writing and professional novel writing.

And yes the self insert certainly has a personality that it won't match your actions word for word, as the reader insert is a character, a part of the narrative, so they must have some amount of agency to keep the story going less they become replaceable with a lampshade or camera.

So, instead of going down the route of keeping the reader insert as blank as possible, might as well give them a personality that people will remember. Every time I write about the Caretaker, I feel like a little unseen ghost looking over their shoulder, just wondering what they'll do next.

Thank you Frosty for taking the time to write all that to me. It really cheers me up while I'm laying in bed, under mountains of blankets.

[alisondentaldesign]

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Tel: 020 7511 1234

[kisumitenderly]

————-💕 With Nastka’s approval Kisumi raised his brow in jest before he let his fingers climb with exaggerated enthusiasm to unclasp the second button on his shirt. The light blue shirt slid open wider now. Kisumi’s tugged the collar apart to show off a deep v of his chest, now framed in blue. His shoulders shimmied back and forth briefly to show off his new state of undress.

“A bit slutty.” He commented looking down at his chest. A bubble of laughter erupted from him feeling much lighter now. “I still have plenty left to imagine.” Kisumi’s hand slid down to motion towards his covered arms as well as his fine tailored pants. A little glimpse of his chest was hardly anything, at least in his eyes. “If someone judges me just by this? Not worth my time.” He admitted as he caught the bartender’s eye. He lifted his empty glass, it rocked back and forth playfully in his hand. “Make this next one with a twist of lemon.” The citrus would be delicious.

One more. It would be his last. Just one more and he would call it a night.

Kisumi felt himself getting carried away a bit, Nastka’s quiet register reined him back down. His hands settled back down to rest on the countertop. Nastka didn’t need to convince him that whatever their torrent love affair wasn’t for a faint fickle heart. To be in this line of work, to find someone you wanted to hold on to.. it meant a great deal. It made them stronger and more vulnerable at the same time, a double edged sword. Would it be used to defend or would it end up piercing the holder instead?

Kisumi had revealed a truth, placing one of his cards that typically stayed closed to his breast on the table. He suddenly felt a chill, goosebumps flecked out down his arms and at the nape of his sweat covered neck. Was it due to Nastka’s icy stare or was his plunging neckline? Kisumi realized the gap between them was suddenly closing. Were they always this close? The faint scent of spiced smoke clung to Nastka, a smoker. It wasn’t surprising, but what was that Kisumi didn’t mind the smell. It wasn’t from cigarettes which he despised. Cigar? He had never smoked one himself but it definitely fit the stereotype for Nastka.

Perhaps he did throw his hand down too early with the way Nastka looked positively thrilled with his admission. Nastka was making him hang in the silence of his words. Taking his sweet type watching him dangling there without a safety net for protection. As if Nastka held the knife to cut his rope free to allow him to plummet through the air, he forged ahead.

Wake the fuck up

Kisumi winced. It wasn’t the first time he heard those words before. Yet this time it was a slap in the face. Had he been sleeping, lulled by the daydreams and ideas he found comforting rather than to act.

Certainly, 100 percent. There was no denying he loved to play through scenarios in his head and imagine what things could be like. Kisumi took comfort in being a middle man in their line of business. Not directly involved so he felt as if there was a little piece of protection guarding him. Yet Nastka’s words were cutting with harsh truth. Even if their dodgy career path wasn’t his end who was to say the next time he crossed the street wouldn’t end in tragedy.

Kisumi’s greatest challenge always came down to his mind and his heart. His thoughts were always so incredibly loud, how could he not listen to the whispers of reason and fear. To completely surrender to his heart had his dark thoughts already murmuring in the background. Yet the alcohol from his.. fourth glass allowed for a nice rumbling white noise blocking his mind from the forefront.

His own pulsing heart beat filled his ears with its steady thrum. “I’ll take your advice..” he smiled gently as he sipped the fresh sweetness of his lemon concoction. “All I need now is someone to put up with me.” He barked out a laugh as he truly couldn’t come up with a soul that was interested in that.

“Nastka.. you need to promise me something.” Kisumi placed a hand on his wrist, the size between them a little jarring. Kisumi’s wrist looked so delicate compared to the thick powerful forearm of Nastka. “Louis said he would chop off my toes if I spoke with you.” He finally confessed, the thoughts of his words had rolled around his mind all night as if Louis was in the back watching everything unfold. “Please, please, please don’t let that happen. I love my shoes too much.” He gushed knowing this was definitely the alcohol taking the drivers seat now.

Kisumi’s words, spoken with a mix of confidence and hesitation, were like a spark thrown into the air, waiting to ignite something deeper. Nastka revelled in that uncertainty, in the delicious tension that crackled between them. It was a game they were playing, and Nastka was nothing if not a master of such games, where every glance, every word, was a carefully placed move on a board only he could see in its entirety.

When Kisumi mentioned unbuttoning another button, Nastka’s smile curled at the corners, a dangerous, knowing smirk. This one was bold, perhaps too bold for his own good. “Go ahead,” Nastka murmured, his voice a soft, velvet challenge that wrapped itself around Kisumi’s thoughts like a silken noose. “But know this: sometimes, revealing too much leaves nothing for the imagination, and the mystery is what keeps others intrigued.... how much do you really want them to see?”

Nastka thrived in these moments, where power and vulnerability met in a delicate balance. He could sense Kisumi’s internal struggle, the war between the safe path and the seductive pull of the unknown. It was a dance Nastka knew well, a dance that had claimed many souls before, and perhaps, would claim Kisumi’s too by someone with their eyes open. But what Kisumi didn’t yet understand was the depth of that something—the all-consuming nature of the bond that tied him to Louis. Does he know what it’s like to be devoured by someone? To have them reach inside you and pull out everything that makes you who you are? "I suppose it is quite something, isn’t it? But understand, that what I feel for Louis… it’s not for the faint of heart. It’s a fire that burns without mercy, consuming everything in its path. And those who dare to play with it—" his voice dipped into a darker, more ominous tone, "—they either become part of that flame or get scorched by it."

Kisumi’s casual laugh, the nervous edge to it, brought Nastka back to the present. He could see the other man grappling with the intensity of their exchange, trying to make sense of emotions and thoughts that had likely never crossed his mind before. “Not many do,” Nastka acknowledged with a quiet intensity, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken truths. But there’s something in you, Kisumi, something that could be drawn out, if only you’d allow it. He almost pitied Kisumi’s innocence, that lingering naivety that hadn’t yet been fully eroded by the harsh realities of their world.

When Kisumi leaned in, letting the word "everything" fall from his lips like a whispered vow, Nastka felt a pulse of excitement, a thrill that shot through him like lightning. Everything? The word was heavy, laden with possibilities, with risks that most wouldn’t dare to take. But Nastka wasn’t most people. He lived for these moments, these junctures where lives could pivot on a single decision.

With deliberate slowness, Nastka closed the distance between them, his breath a heady mix of alcohol and the lingering smoke from an earlier cigar. He let the silence stretch out, let Kisumi feel the weight of the moment, before he finally exhaled, his words slipping through the air like a ghostly whisper. “Everything,” he repeated, the word hanging in the charged space between them, a challenge, and a warning all at once.

Nastka’s gaze locked onto Kisumi’s, the ice in his eyes sharp and unyielding. “Then, wake the fuck up... In our line of work, you might be alive one day, basking in the thrill of the game, and the next, buried six feet under. Don’t throw everything into the fire unless you’re ready to watch it all burn.”

The words echoed between them, heavy with the weight of truth, of the brutal honesty that defined their existence. Nastka’s thoughts swirled, considering the paths that could unfold from this moment, the choices that would either elevate Kisumi to something more or destroy him utterly.

Nastka leaned back slightly, his eyes finally leaving Kisumi’s. What will you do, hmmm? The cards were on the table now, and it was up to Kisumi to decide—whether to play it safe or dive headfirst into the flames, knowing full well that the fire could either forge him into something stronger or consume him completely. "Do what your heart tells you to do, without thinking about consequences..."

[hoesoflamentation]

K!nktober: That's an order. | Leviathan x GN!MC | 18+

Prompt: Uniform k!nk

Pairing: Leviathan x GN!MC

Warnings: (sort of mutual) masturbation, uniform k!nk, dom!Levi, heavy degradation (use of "bitch," "slut," "whore"), praise k!nk, fingering, hair pulling, finger sucking, mouth covering, dacryphilia, choking, bruising, slight voyeurism/dubcon (listening to someone without their permission)

A/N: holy hell, fam -- i need to go touch some fucking grass. admiral levi horny hours have hit me HARD and i may never recover. it's a long one. brace yourselves.

Laying on their side, MC shifted uncomfortably in bed, thighs rubbing together as they tried unsuccessfully to ignore their growing arousal -- and the scandalous thoughts that ran through their head.

That evening, MC had gotten home from RAD at the same time that Levi was leaving. Lucifer was busy, so Lord Diavolo had asked Levi to accompany him to a party in his place...

...and because it was a formal occasion, Levi had been wearing his naval uniform.

The brothers had often alluded to Levi's prestigious position in Hell's Navy, which Levi found mortifying. His ears flushed red with embarrassment every time someone brought it up, making him a blushy, stammering mess.

While MC was vaguely aware that Levi had obligations as an officer, he took precautions to avoid them whenever he had to put on his uniform -- so this accidental run-in was the first time MC had seen him in full regalia.

The tailored gray jacket accentuated the lean muscles Levi typically hid beneath his baggy clothes. Several medals decorated his breast, making MC wonder how he had earned them.

Dressed like this, the second-born seemed to stand a little bit straighter. However, any gravitas the uniform gave him disappeared the second he made eye contact with MC.

"M-MC!" Levi stuttered, his cheeks turning red enough to match the piping on his jacket. "You weren't supposed to see me like this!"

Unexpectedly, seeing Levi dressed like this... did something to MC. Freezing in their tracks, they instantly forgot how to use words, their tongue turning to putty in their mouth.

MC barely managed to squeak "bye Levi! Say hi to Diavolo for me!" before scurrying into the safety of the House of Lamentation. Their heart pounded wildly in their chest as they slammed the door and leaned back against it to catch their breath.

Now, laying in bed, MC couldn't help themself from replaying every detail of that moment. They had always thought that Levi was cute, but this was the first time he had made them feel so needy for something more.

Thinking about him kept them awake for what felt like hours, and it was driving them crazy.

The thing was, Levi was the first person they had truly connected with during their time in the Devildom (whatever Mammon said about being their "first," it had always been Levi for them). No matter how they felt about Levi, they couldn't just show up at their best friend's door, begging him to fulfill their fantasy of fucking an officer in uniform...

Yet they also realized that what Levi didn't know wouldn't hurt him. And in their imagination, they were free to let him do whatever he wanted.

So, their hand wandered down their chest, their stomach, to the throbbing space between their legs, teasing their most sensitive spot with their fingertips as they thought about his body on theirs...

Everything on the desk clattered to the floor as Levi reached around them and swept his hand across the tabletop in one fell swoop. The gold buttons on his uniform jacket glimmered in the dim light of the lamp, reflecting MC's desperate expression back to them.

"That's 'sir' to you," Levi barked, shoving MC into the now-empty table. "When you speak to an officer, you'll address him with respect."

Emitting a primal growl, Levi dug his claws into MC's hips, turning them to face away so their back lay flush against his throbbing cock. His arms wound around their waist, his calloused hands wandering up their torso until one found its way around their throat.

Breathlessly, MC managed to choke out the words, "Yes, sir."

They let out a tortured gasp as Levi clenched their neck, hard. Bruises in the shape of his fingertips were already beginning to form beneath his brutal grip.

"Bend over," Levi snarled. "That's an order."

Before MC could obey, Levi's hand was on their back, forcing their chest onto the desktop. They turned their head to one side, whimpering as the demon carelessly yanked a fistful of their hair.

"Mm, I love your pathetic little moans," Levi cooed, unbuckling his belt with his free hand. "You want it so badly, don't you? You fucking slut."

MC could already feel tears dampening their lashes, making their cheeks as wet as the space between their legs. "Please, Le- I mean, sir... I n-need you."

"Use your words, baby," he mocked cruelly. "What part of me do you need?"

"N-need your cock inside of me," they mumbled into the desk, their hips involuntarily grinding against his hardened length through his boxers. "W-wanna be your cumslut."

"That's my good little whore-" Levi bent to lay a series of affectionate kisses on their neck, sending shivers down their spine. "-showing your master the respect he deserves."

A high-pitched whine slipped from MC's lips as Levi roughly yanked their bottoms down.

"Suck," he ordered, reaching around to hook two fingers into their mouth.

Obediently, MC wrapped their lips around them, slobbering over them with their tongue to prep them for entry. But before drawing his fingers from their mouth, Levi first shoved them deeper into their throat, pushing past their tonsils until he felt the protest of their gag reflex.

The tears they had been trying to hold in immediately streamed down their cheeks. MC couldn't help but moan as they choked around his hand. Combined with the sight of them crying desperately, the noise made Levi smirk in satisfaction.

"That's it, baby," he praised, reaching around to slip his two lubed fingers into their hole. "You're doing so well."

They let out a tortured sob, bracing themself by gripping the edge of the desk as Levi pumped in and out.

"Aw, look how badly you want me," Levi teased mercilessly. "You're so desperate. I'm not even inside you yet."

Though his movements were aggressive, he still managed to glide his fingertips across every sensitive spot in their hole with each thrust of his hand.

Already, MC could feel the heat gathering in their core -- and Levi could tell.

"Mm, you're such a little whore. You just can't help yourself around me, can you?"

MC shrieked in surprise as Levi began to fuck them faster and harder with his fingers. He yanked them closer by their hair, eventually releasing his grip on it so he could cover their mouth with his hand.

"Shut up and cum for me, bitch," Levi growled. "Let's see how well you can keep quiet."

The feeling of being completely under his control, physically and emotionally, sent another gush of arousal straight to their pleasure spot. Something about fucking him in his uniform, and hearing him treat them with such irreverence, made them feral with lust.

They barely managed to whimper, "Y-yes, sir," as their walls clenched around Levi's fingers, his pace unrelenting even as it started to make them feel painfully sensitive.

"Fuck, Levi! You make me feel so good."

MC's thighs shook as they milked an intense orgasm from between their legs, writhing beneath their sheets. The fantasy was so vivid, so realistic, that they could practically feel Levi's hand covering their mouth, his breath warm and inviting against the nape of their neck.

But as the wave of pleasure dwindled, MC's cheeks grew instantly hot as they realized they had cried Levi's name aloud. Panicking, they yanked their pajama pants back on and dashed to the door, peering carefully into the hallway through a small crack.

They sighed in relief as they recognized that all the lights were off in the hallway, meaning the demon brothers were probably fast asleep (with the exception of Lucifer, who rarely slept -- but whose office was far enough from MC's room that he likely hadn't heard them, either).

With their little problem taken care of, MC was finally able to relax. They collapsed into bed and turned off the lamp on their nightstand, ready to drift into a peaceful sleep, when they were startled by a deep groan from beyond the wall:

"Yes, MC! That's it. Cum for me, baby..."

In the room next door, Levi had heard everything -- and when he realized they were fantasizing about him, he simply couldn't stop himself from stroking himself off to the sound of MC's pathetic cries.

Spurts of his seed streamed onto his bare stomach as his cheeks burned with embarrassment at the realization that he had said their name aloud.

Levi was absolutely mortified at the fact he was doing this at all, let alone the idea that his best friend might have heard him moaning their name...

Until he heard MC knock on his door, ready to make their shared fantasy into a reality.

taglist: @everyday-girl9041-blog @bunna-does-stuff @obey-me-tho

(dm me if you would like to be added!)

[as-i-watch]

Oooh so what would be your ideal strawhat outfit? You have some preferences like blue for Sanji, more fun for Nami and robin but I don’t think you’ve been asked what your ideal outfit you think they’d rock 25/8?

For me Nami needs to be in something flowy but strapless so it’s still flirty. I really liked her one look in the filler arc with Z with the white strapless dress?

And ofc a cowgirl hat for robin (but I’d keep the sunglasses). I agree with getting rid of the skirt too

I stil stand by the top 1 in the Top 5 Outfits i made, i would modify stuff in the middle but n°1 undefeated

For Luffy i wouldnt mind something a bit more different like in Strong World.

Zoro either in the Film Z suit or the Blue Tank top just slaps. Whatever he preffers but both of them have to go with their respective googles/sungalsses accesories.

Nami i still like the island of strange animal's movie one. Its flowy but not an impractical gown, its sexy, its badass, you can see where she carries her staff. If im free to imagine, i would die to see Nami in a suit, like long tailor jacket and all.

Usopp is the one of the best dressed on on the crew and i have stated that he chooses practically over style most of the time. Still he has great vibes and any laid back / urban chill outfit he pulls is a win for me

Chopper, i liked the Enies Loby outfit, they gave him a cool tiny leather jacket and thats enough for me. I dont really care fot the costumes he wears on the movies.

Sanji, call me a slut but Sanji in his usual suit, any shirt, but hear me out...without the jacket. Even more, let him loose his tie and we are game. Its all i want for him

Robin i do miss her purple looks with the hat and even tho Thriller Bark dress and Enies Loby dress are still on the very top, i just want for her to wear a lot of different things and dont have a 'regular' look. Like wear trousers, mini skirts, hoddies, shorts, what ever. Just let her have fun with it like in the movies

Franky easy. Idk why but i feel at some point he should wear a cowboy outfit or doble denim. Idk, i just have this vibe

For Brook i want more wacky patterned trousers and more head accesories. Like, give him more bandannas pls

I dont remember where we got this brook but more of it 25/8

[kingsmanne]

“Well, as I said, I don’t want to kill you. Not worth the fucking hassle.” Anne didn’t do threats; Anne made promises. If her opponent knew what she was planning anyway, it wouldn’t fare well for her, and she just could slit her own throat instead. Dogs that bark don’t bite, probably. 

“Oh, I just want wouldn’t want another wanker suddenly popping out from somewhere.” Probably what your mother said, too. She managed to grin at her own joke. As the adrenalin ebbed, she could feel the pain seeping through her entire body, and while she hated to admit it; he got her good. “So, is he your baby brother? You seem like an elder sibling.”

“I’ve had worse. Got enough anger to keep me awake.” She seemed sunken for but a moment, but the groan as she sat up told worse; that she clicked her heels was probably a coincidence, like the sound that almost seemed like she unsheathed a sword, too. And as sudden as it was, she leaned back in the seat again, crossing her legs, and the side of her Oxford pushed against his calf too casually, up and down, and what could be understood as flirting, was probably hindered by the coated blade peering out of the tip of her shoe.

“So, decisions. The only thing I want from you then... is to stay out of my fucking way. I don’t know what the fuck is going on here, but this... is more than my job description anyway. Yours probably too. Fucking misunderstanding, right?” Another grin that came from smeared lips, apparently that lipstick wasn’t holding up its promises either.

“By the way. What tailor do you go to?”

" Consider my pants proper pissed. " He rolls his eyes in irritation. He'd heard much worse, and was quite frankly sick of the threats. At least she could come up with something creative.

" It's a St. Christopher. Patron saint of mind your own fuckin' business. " He replies to her inquiry. " Which, is where my brother happens to be. As if I'd tell you anything about that. " He reaches into his inner jacket pocket and pulls out a cigarette, sticking it in his mouth and lighting it.

" Seems to me that you're more hurt than you're letting on, love. " Tangerine takes a puff, blowing the smoke away. " Musta broken a couple a' ribs, hm? Don't think you're in the right proper shape to kill m e like you threatened me a bit ago. " He sees it in the way she's restraining her breath, the rapid blinking. The man knows what broken ribs feel like. " You sure you wanna keep talking, cause, y'know, if that pain gets too bad, you might pass out. Happened to me once. "

[thetriggeredhappy]

can I request sniper and scout planning a little secret symbolic wedding for themselves? its just self indulgent, since they wanna have this connection so they do a tiny intimate thing for the two of them but then all the two teams show up, ms pauling, sniper's parents and scout's family to celebrate too, and they all have a happy day

i dunno if this one will be coherent or and i dont have a joke for ya so thats where we’re at today

(no warnings)

-

He notices Scout looking at things just a little longer. Scout was a man of motion, of emotion, of elation, so seeing him pause, ever, for any length of time, was enough to pique Sniper’s interest. It had to be a big deal, of Scout was looking at it, and he prided himself on being observant.

So seeing the things he paused in front of—jewelry stores, boutiques, flower shops, at first it confused him, but then he saw what Scout was looking at in them. The flower shops had pretty arrangements right in front, labeled vaguely in some with phrases like ‘arrangements for your special day!’ and less vaguely in others as ‘wedding arrangements available’. The boutiques often with white dresses towards the front, and pictures of smiling couples nearby.

Little cards in the display of the jewelry store window proclaiming ‘engagement rings’.

It didn’t take long to piece together.

A number of issues were present. The concept of legal marriage alone was a big one. First because they were two men, one of whom was shaky in terms of immigration and two of whom were shaky in terms of being legally defined as criminals of the highest degree, potentially legally dead in some ways, and certainly smart enough to not walk into a courthouse. Besides that, the paperwork involved, the idea of getting either of their families around when Scout’s family was constantly on the wind in at least one corner and his own hardly on speaking terms with him, the heartbreak—

But Scout paused when he looked at the engagement rings.

Sniper was increasingly exasperated and helpless against the little voice in his head that seemed to watch out for Scout’s well-being, that said, well, couldn’t he at least try and figure something else out?

So it took some thinking. Some rehearsing his words in his own head. Some justifications being made, torn down, analyzed and readdressed with a clearer mind. And he came to a decision.

And when he next got the chance, he called his mum and had a talk with her about a lot of things, so many of them at least a decade and a half in the making. And she didn’t understand, not at all, not on that first phone call, not on the second. But on the third she took care to assure him that she would try, she really would, she really would, and finally gave him permission to use the old family heirloom engagement ring.

And it was subtle and sudden when Sniper proposed. Scout was sat on the steps of the camper, using Sniper’s pocket knife to pick mud out of the soles of his shoes, and Sniper took a seat next to him, plonked a pair of bottles between them. Scout leaned over to bump their shoulders together, grinning at him, and Sniper smiled too, started drinking his own.

Out clear on the horizon line, most of the clouds hadn’t quite blown far enough to obscure the sun. It would be setting soon, and then Scout would be off to eat with the rest of the team and Sniper would get to his own routine. It was a nice night, though.

Finally Scout flicked the knife closed, tucked it into his pocket best he could, reached for the bottle still sitting next to him, popped it and started drinking before it could foam over (he didn’t know how it always did that, he just had awful luck, apparently).

Sniper finished his own drink before Scout could get very far into his own. Stared out across the desert.

“You good?” Scout finally asked, picking idly at the label. “You seem, uh... I dunno. Sad, maybe. One’a those?”

“No, er... just...” Sniper tried, cleared his throat. Now Scout’s eyebrows were raised. “Nervous, is all.”

“Oh, one’a those,” Scout said, and frowned when Sniper shook his head again, drawing a hand down his face, taking a deep breath. “Is... is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Sniper nodded, took another deep breath. “Yeah. Just...”

He paused for a long few moments. Reached to fish through the pocket of his vest, held his closed fist out to Scout. Scout freed up a hand to hold a hand out, palm-up, still frowning, and pulled it back to look at the item Sniper had dropped in his palm.

Blinked. Blinked. Sniper gulped, wishing he had a drink still, something to help with how dry his mouth had gone all of a sudden, watching Scout’s expression carefully.

“Oh,” Scout whispered. Barked a laugh, like shock more than humor, the volume abrupt. “Oh.”

Sniper gulped hard again, looked away, looked back. Scout’s expression didn’t change in the time he wasn’t watching it. “You seem, er... surprised,” Sniper said carefully.

“Well, yeah, duh, yeah, I didn’t—“ Scout said all in a stumbling rush, and took a breath, and seemed to hold it. His eyes hadn’t moved from the ring since he first saw it. He blinked a few times, barked that laugh again. “I didn’t think you’d want...”

“I do,” Sniper said, voice tight, and Scout looked up at him for the first time in a while, and his eyes widened in even more surprise.

“Oh, shit,” he said quickly, seeming to finally register the nervousness, the fear, the worry, and he surged forward, hands on Sniper’s shoulders, one wrapped in half a fist around the ring. “I, yeah, yes, I, yes to the—yes! I’m—“

And then he kissed Sniper, hard, almost bruising, and it didn’t get particularly far before it was broken by another huff of air against Sniper’s lips, and when he pulled back Scout’s grin was a little weak.

“Just never thought you’d ask me, not in a million years,” he admitted.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to cry,” Sniper teased, entire body awash with a sense of relief.

“Oh, fuck off, you’re the one with the watery eyes here,” Scout scoffed, and kissed him again.

And they both made sure to note that they knew there were more conversations to be had, but those could wait until both of them had a clearer head again, which took damn near a week and a half, both so much more giddy than they’d expected to be, then another week when Sniper next saw the ring, hung on a little chain usually tucked beneath Scout’s shirt, worn around his neck apparently since the day he got it.

He liked the word fiancée more than he’d expected to, and he’d expected to like it a lot, and even then, Scout seemed to like it even more.

And Scout admitted half his surprise up front had been because he himself had no real idea how this was going to work, it was just that the idea of being married made him really really happy. He liked weddings, loved weddings, loved the idea of... of settling into something. That really, marriage was the only kind of settling down that he’d ever liked the idea of. And even if it was just... just something quiet, just the two of them, that was fine by him.

And Sniper had nodded, and there had been a pause, but then suddenly Scout spoke up again with a ‘but, I mean, my Ma is always going on about wanting to see me get married, so I kinda have to invite her to whatever we do’.

That was a good start for the plans they had. No particular pressure on it, really, considering they decided not to tell anyone at first. Sniper started trying to figure out where might be a good place to hold... something, maybe not a whole ceremony, but something. Scout started trying to figure out where to get a suit, and where Sniper could get his own tailored, but they weren’t in a rush, and a few months passed without making much progress at all, nothing even feeling like it had changed except that now Sniper would catch Scout fidgeting with the chain he kept the ring on and grinning.

The first real change came when someone else noticed too.

Pyro, stood in-between matches and pointing at the chain around Scout’s neck as he switched into a less charred shirt and mumbling a question, made Scout stammer. Scout stammering made most of the team turn to look. Then more of them saw the chain there, saw the ring there, and some of the more perceptive ones pieced together a few things rather quickly. It was Demo who first said something, outright asking ‘is that an engagement ring?’.

A beat of silence where all were frozen, then the voice over the intercom rang out telling them they had ten seconds until battle, and Scout was off like a shot towards the gate.

In his absence, eyes turned to Sniper instead, who proved to be even less helpful in that he stuttered his way through all ten of those seconds and the team had no choice but to follow Scout’s lead and leave it for later.

Sniper was hoping that he’d be able to escape the team’s questions after battle if he could make it through the Resupply room before everyone else did. But he realized very quickly that would also mean throwing Scout to the proverbial wolves, and besides that, he couldn’t run from this forever. So instead he kicked around the Resupply for a few minutes waiting for the team to come back from chasing down the other team in the humiliation round, and wasn’t entirely surprised when Scout was one of the first back, expression tight with nerves up until the exact moment that Demo and Soldier came wandering in, elbowing at each other and chatting at well above speaking volume.

Neither of them, apparently, had much to say, besides Demo clapping Sniper hard on the shoulder and proclaiming that it took them long enough, and Soldier brushing off their ‘fraternizing nonsense’ in favor of continuing his argument with Demo. Pyro was in the room next, talking and gesturing enthusiastically, and while Scout was trying to translate to Sniper the Engineer came in and shoo’d Pyro along, telling them to mind their business, albiet with what Sniper would almost refer to as a proud smile aimed in Scout’s direction. Medic and Heavy were in the room next, and all that Heavy seemed to be confused about was the legality surrounding marriage between anyone besides a man and a woman in the United States, with Medic attempting to explain but also largely clueless to the actual logistics of the thing. Spy only stuck around long enough to quip that it was a little ridiculous for any of them to worry about legality of all things, which Sniper wasn’t entirely sure how to interpret.

Demo, across the room, in the middle of trying to unstick his jacket from himself with all the mud coating one side of it, quipped that he’d better be invited, and asked what he had to do to get the best man position. From there, a series of what Sniper interpreted as mostly jokes followed, the team chiming in about their attendance, including a number of them laughing that they weren’t exactly allowed in any churches and Pyro insisting that they wanted to be the one throwing the flowers (and no they would not in fact set any on fire) and Heavy saying that if they couldn’t find a good glass to stomp on then Medic had plenty of spare beakers that he wasn’t using for anything, much to the doctor’s protest.

This became the team running joke for a while, was everyone constantly bringing up the wedding. When Spy stomped into the room fuming because of another perfectly good shirt ruined by the base’s washing machine, the Engineer quipped that oh no, what would he wear to the wedding now? When Soldier got into an argument with Pyro, Demo referred to it as a spat between groomsmen. When Sniper was acting particularly cranky one day (not his fault, the base’s coffee machine was awful and they really needed to replace it one of these days), Spy muttered into his tea that it was a shame Scout had to put up with such a bridezilla, a joke Medic chortled about well into the afternoon.

It might have gotten out of hand around the time that poor Pauling had to hear about it, just trying her best to oversee delivering a set of brand new weapons and explaining their assorted bells and whistles, accosted through her entire explanation by jokes that this was a bit extravagant for a wedding gift, that hopefully she’d at least get time off to attend the reception, that competition for maid of honor wasn’t exactly steep but she’d probably be winning anyways, until finally she snapped that if Sniper and Scout were actually going to get married then they needed to note that on their upcoming contract renewals but to otherwise stop talking to her about it so damn much.

This, Scout said, is when he started feeling bad for not talking to his Ma about it yet. Miss Pauling knowing he was getting married before his own mother felt wrong, he said, and so he spent the afternoon steeling himself to make the phone call.

From the combination of relief and vague dismay on Scout’s face when he came back, Sniper could tell something was up, and it was with a number of pauses in the middle of speaking that Scout explained that he’d barely gotten through the news before Ma had started calling over various brothers to tell them the news too, each taking a turn on the phone to get halfway through some kind of third degree that they needed to pass along to Sniper before actually congratulating him, each asking when they’d need to get down there for the wedding in turn. Apparently he’d accidentally called when some of his brothers were over for dinner, and so he explained to Sniper that word was as good as out, because as much as he loved his brothers, not a single one of them could keep their mouths shut to each other.

And so they both sat down with a calendar and had to pick an actual date for a wedding.

Altogether, the date they picked was a little over a year since Sniper proposed, which felt appropriate, and only a few months from then, just long enough for Scout’s brothers to get time off of work. They decided against a whole entire proper ceremony with a priest and vows and all, mostly because legality being an issue, they didn’t have much a reason to stick to tradition. A few things would end up sticking, though. They’d have seating, because Sniper’s mum wasn’t up for standing around for long periods of time anymore and one of Scout’s brothers had that bad leg and cane from his time in the army. They’d dress up for it, because Scout was truly looking forward to that part, to looking nice on the actual day. Vows weren’t necessarily going to be on-script, but they’d both take a moment to say something to each other, and there would be a kiss, and then they’d have a bit of time set aside for if either of their families brought up any traditions they truly wanted to do. And, of course, there’d be some kind of party afterwards, because they both knew that the team would make there be a party afterwards either way.

What they didn’t expect was how quickly the team jumped to help as soon as they mentioned they’d set an actual date in stone to some degree. The Engineer was quick to offer to help with setting up chairs and tables, carting things around if they needed it, having a truck and all. Soldier was happy to offer suggestions for if they wanted catering, having eaten at and subsequently been banned from every eatery in the county, and Pyro started baking at an until then unprecedented clip as they tried to find the exact right recipe for a good wedding cake because they had to have a wedding cake and it had to be perfect. Heavy, to his credit, pointed out a few logistical issues with having the wedding, namely that it couldn’t be anywhere on the base and that they weren’t allowed in the town of Teufort, and Demo was so kind as to offer up his own house and property, given that it had so much space and he knew his mother wouldn’t mind it and besides that, it was a very pretty place.

And then Spy found in the mail the magazines Sniper was looking through when trying to pick out something suit-adjacent, and he could tell Spy was gearing up to really lay into him about it before Sniper pointed out that Spy should really just stop snooping through other people’s mail, and by the next day he found a pair of order forms in his camper on the table, almost entirely filled out except for a few of the fields regarding things like the color of the suits and payment information.

And then he and Scout were trying on suits, and figuring out which hotels were close enough for Scout and Sniper’s families to stay in, and looking at flowers, and figuring out how many days they should schedule off of work and whether the team would be doing the same—

—and then it was the week before, and one night Sniper found himself standing in the camper with Scout, late at night, half-exhausted and stressed out and more terrified than he’d expected to be, arms tight around Scout’s waist. And Scout held on just as tight, and inhaled, and exhaled, shifting with that breath in Sniper’s grip. And Sniper found himself breathing out apologies, so quiet they didn’t quite catch against the grit in his voice, for causing such a fuss about all this, for things getting so out of hand. And Scout had laughed, had squeezed him tight in arms usually used for hurting people to instead give him so much comfort in that moment, and said that he wouldn’t want it any other way. Anything else and it wouldn’t exactly feel like them.

And the two days before the wedding stretched out infinitely, a mix of terror and impatience lacing his every move, and then the day of the wedding itself felt like it took no time at all.

The sun didn’t quite beat down upon them, a blessing even with them wearing simple vests as opposed to full suits, a scattering of cloud cover making the heat bearable and throwing the sunshine out away from them. And the grass around the DeGroot residence was slippery in the morning, slick under their shoes, and Sniper watched nervously across towards his mum and dad as his dad squinted suspiciously around at things and his mum patted him consolingly about only god knew what. And one of Scout’s brothers had brought a camera and was dashing around taking pictures, and most of the team had managed to dig up assorted formal wear, and the Engineer bustled trying to make sure everything was set up just right as Soldier helped Pyro with carrying the frankly ludicrous cake towards the table somewhere. And on one side was Scout’s family, all rowdy, and on the other was the team, even rowdier, his parents squashed between and being vaguely protected from the team by the more generally responsible ones (namely Heavy, who Sniper’s father clearly approved of in some way for being so imposing, and Spy, who Sniper’s mother approved of on the basis of him being entirely polite). And Miss Pauling was there much to Sniper’s surprise, claiming that she was meant to oversee off-base activities (although he suspected she just wanted the time off and was glad to watch the final nail go into the coffin of Scout’s long-gone infatuation with her). And Medic was so kind as to let Sniper know the other team had left a present at the base for them that morning—assuring him, at his alarmed look, that it was merely a prank dummy bomb set to tick as loudly as possible within the packaging, and a note thanking them for the free time off. That was as much a relief as the cloud cover.

And then the ceremony itself happened, so long before Sniper was ready, as if he could ever truly be ready. And he’d seen Scout’s vest already, but not worn, not standing across from him with a glitter in his eyes and a watery smile and hands fidgeting nervously with grip tape that wasn’t there, face red. And Sniper’s hands were sweaty and clammy, and his voice cracked from the very first word of what he had been rehearsing in his head over and over since he proposed, but the way Scout’s expression shone with pride and love had made so much of that nervousness disappear, and he couldn’t find it in him to be nervous, to worry about the team.

He didn’t have it written down, felt that note cards would make this feel stiff, and he wasn’t all that good at writing down his thoughts regardless. But Scout was sniffling by the end of it, and his own voice had gone rough as he just barely kept it together, so he at least knew he was doing something right. 
And Scout didn’t have anything written down either, and when his turn to speak came, there were a few long moments where Sniper worried he’d blanked, forgotten what he wanted to say. But Scout got there, voice surprisingly steady, surprisingly level. And he didn’t remember all of it, but he remembered some in the middle.

“I still can’t believe you love me, that you wanna stay with me for as long as we can, that you trust me and care about me,” Scout said, “but I’m gonna try, I’m gonna try so hard, and I’m gonna do whatever I gotta do to make sure you know I love you too, every single day, and to earn it. I promise. That’s what this is, is me promising. I promise.” 
And that’s when Sniper broke, the first tears falling, needing to wipe at his face gingerly with his sleeve and accompanied by a general ‘aww’ and chuckles from the crowd of loved ones gathered there, and Scout smiled all the wider.

And Sniper did end up stomping on a glass (not one of Medic’s beakers), and both of them were all but showered in assorted confetti by the family they’d somehow gathered over the years, and there was eating, and dancing, and drinking, and dancing, and by the time the sun started to set down beyond the horizon line he found himself stood there with Scout in the middle of it all, kissing him over, and over, and over again, each and every one a promise that he very much intended to keep, come what may.

“I love you,” he said, again, again, and Scout never once stopped smiling.

[levixreader]

Levi x K-Pop Reader - It's not what it looks like - Chapter III

Summary: A dinner turned into a friendship. Friends could hold hands, right? Friends also disliked gameshow contestants who couldn’t keep their hands off you, right? Yeah, just friends.

Request by anonymous

Previous Chapter | Master List | Requests | Next Chapter | Chapter I

It's not what it looks like

《 Chapter III 》

He had picked a very nice restaurant; The rose on the wall. It was a very private, exclusive restaurant that, despite its minimal marketing, had a waiting list of at least a month. You had been a couple of times at the restaurant, their menu changed monthly. It was one of your favourites. “Guess being CFO does have its perks”, you thought following the host, Levi walked in front of you. His suit was well-tailored, you could see his shoulders, they were broader than what you had remembered, then again, you had been basically straddling him when you had looked at them. A small shy blush coloured the tip of your nose.

“Is the usual table alright Mr Ackerman?”, the host asked. Levi looked back at you for a second and smiled, “Yes, thank you Loui”, Levi responded returning his eyes to the front. Your cheeks coloured. “The usual”, you echoed. So, he was here often. Well, at least he had taste. Levi stopped, the host opening what had previously looked like part of the wall. You stopped almost tripping against Levi’s back. There was no chance of you repeating the embarrassing moment again, ever. Levi nodded at the host and stepping inside the private room with you trailing closely behind. There was a waiter already inside pulling out a chair for you to sit on. You paused. In front of you was a wall of windows, a view of the city greeting you. It was beautiful. You could see the small lights from the buildings glimmering like stars, small red lights sprinkled around. The roads lit by the moving cars. The sky was dark, a dark blue background. Your eyes widened. It was like a painting had come to life.

“Is this nice enough for an apology?”, Levi’s deep husky voice called your attention. You turned to look at him, awe written all over your face, he was smirking. As quickly as you could you sat on the offered chair. Once sited, you cleared your throat, “If we order wine, then perhaps”, you said playfully. He propped his head against the palm of his hand, his smirk widening. He called the waiter behind you with his free hand. “Is red okay?”, he asked, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. You met his silver gaze, “You’re the expert”, you answered as casually as you could. He smirked again “Submissive”, he mused, “A bottle of the usual”, he ordered, his eyes never leaving yours. You swallowed a little nervously.

* * *

He frowned; his eyes glued to the tv above him.

He didn’t like it.

“That was incredible!”, Hange called out, louder than need be, from the seat next to him. He could feel unwanted eyes on their table. “Stupid shitty glasses”, he thought inhaling the double whiskey he had been holding the entire time.

It hadn’t been incredible.

She twisted to look at him, he knew what was going to happen next. He closed his eyes bracing himself for the impact. “Do you think you can ask her for concert tickets?!”, she asked excitement bouncing from her every word. Her chair wiggled, as she restlessly waited for an answer. “No”, he said firmly. There was no way he would ask you for tickets for stupid Hange, it would mean he would also need to go. After what had happened six months ago, there was no way he was going. “Please?, shouted Hange, earning them more looks, she looked at him pouting and her eyes opened as wide as she could. “What the fuck kind of stupid face are you making”, Levi called out signalling for a waiter. “Oh common, when she does it, it works!”, Hange complained, pointing at the TV raised so that people around the bar could see.

Sure enough, Levi’s eyes returned to the TV, his frown back in place.

You were still on the screen, the boy next to you still holding your shoulder. His eyes willed his finger to break in half. You looked happy, holding some sort of award. It was a game show and your team had evidently won whatever stupidity they had you doing. “No, it doesn’t”, Levi said calmly, nodding at the waiter he had called bringing him another whiskey. “It’s okay to admit you love her”, Hange said nonchalantly. He could have choked on his drink. His eyes widened and his face swinging abruptly to look at his ‘friend’. “I am not in love with her”, he barked, more panicked than angry. He wasn’t in love with someone who had her face plastered in shaving cream and smiled. You were a million years too early for that. “Sure~”, dismissed Hange with a hand as she finished her beer and stared at the TV. His attention returned to the TV; his eyes narrowed.

You were hugging the boy.

His eyes trailed as you exited the stage.

He groaned, gulping the rest of his whiskey.

He was going to need another one if he was going to convince anyone that he wasn’t at least jealous. His phone lit up. His eyes lazily turn to observe the thing.

Did you watch it?

It was a text. He groaned again, signalling the same waiter again. He wasn’t in the mood to answer but, he knew you had been very excited for him to watch you on TV. He picked up his phone reluctantly answering.

Yes.

Simple and short.

“Is that her?”, Hange asked with renewed enthusiasm. Levi grunted in response.

Did you like it?

Pinged his phone. “Is it?”, Hange insisted shuffling her chair closer to his. No, he hadn’t like it.

You looked stupid.

He answered curtly. “Let me see!”, came Hange’s whine. He moved his body, shielding his screen from her prying eyes. You send him a pouting emoji. He pictured you pouting, the corner of his mouth lifted up. “WHY ARE YOU SMILING???”, Hange squirmed desperately trying to look at his phone.

Where are you?

Another text.

Rose Bar

He answered. “Tell her to come!”, Hange managed to say, Levi’s hand firmly on her cheek keeping her as far away from him as possible.

See you in 20

His screen lit up again, his earlier anger melting right off. “Yeah, she’s coming”, he said calmly. “Really???”, came Hange, “yes, now get off”, he said giving her a harsh shove. “I still can’t believe you’re dating a k-star”, she said her hands on the table trying to stabilize herself. “We’re not dating”, Levi corrected.

Truthfully, he didn’t know what you were.

“I’ll tell her you said that”, she screamed making Levi roll his eyes in contempt. “Mind your own business shitty glasses”, Levi warned, the waiter bringing him his third double whiskey.

True to your word, you appeared at Rose Bar twenty minutes later.

“Look”, whispered Hange pulling on Levi’s dress shirt. He turned per her request; his eyes landed on you. You were in ‘disguise’ today. He could still see a lot of men in the bar staring at you. You looked a bit out of place. The Rose was bar mostly frequented by high position office workers, and you, well, with your black shorts, thigh-high boots and thick sunglasses, obviously didn’t belong there. He groaned, his eyes lingering a little too long on the hem of your boots.

“Oi!”, screamed Hange, catching your attention. You smiled and trotted towards them, sitting next to Levi. “Hey!”, you greeted, smile still in place. Hange’s eyes twinkled, “That was awesome!”, she cheered making you smile even wider. His eyebrows knitted together. “I can’t believe you won too!”, Hange continued. “I know! It was Mingyu, really… I did nothing”, you explained, stretching your legs from beneath the table.

Mingyu

So that was the boy who was touching you so much’s name. His frown deepened.

“You looked stupid”, he said repeating his earlier comment. You rolled your eyes already used to his brashness, “Yeah but I won!”, you argued. He sipped his fourth whiskey, you stared at him waiting for any kind of reaction. He could feel both yours and Hange’s eyes drilling holes into him. He sighed, “Congratulations”, he finally said caving in. You smiled triumphantly, “Thank you”. You turned to rummage through your purse, now Levi’s turn to patiently watch as you scrambled around the small thing.

“Here!”, you said pulling out two neon tickets. Hange’s eyes widen, Levi’s closed. “Are those-”, Hange said her hands inching towards your raised one. “Yes!”, you said eagerly. “No way!”, Hange said finally reaching your fingers. You grinned letting her take the tickets. “Levi look!”, Hange cried, shaking Levi. He sighed opening his eyes and regarding the overly large tickets on her hands. “Your not girlfriend got us tickets to the Laker's basketball game!!”, Hange mused still in disbelief.

“Girlfriend?”, you asked your head coking sideways. Levi turned to look at you taking advantage of Hange’s dace. “When is it?”, he asked making you smile. “In a week”, you answered proudly, “You’re coming, right?”, he could see the hope in your eyes. How could he say no? He sighed, “Sure”. Before he knew it you had thrown yourself, looping your hands around his neck, squeezing him as hard as you could. This was a rare sight of public intimacy.

Carefully you let go of his neck and settled back into your seat. Levi was careful not to touch you intimately in public, opting for lingering stares and grabbing your hand under tables, like he was going to do now. You felt his rough fingers on your thigh, it made you jolt. You could never get quite used to the roughness of his fingertips. “You don’t mind then?”, you asked, your own fingers finding his hand. His silver eyes stared at you, “mind what?”, he asked absentmindedly, enjoying how soft your hands felt. “Because it’s so public”, you clarify lacing your fingers with his. He hummed in response practically feeling you pout. You wanted a more verbal answer. “Hange is coming too”, he added caving, once again, to your whims. His other hand raising the short glass of whiskey to his lips. “I suppose”, you answered squeezing lightly his hand.

He didn’t know how this happened and to be fair, you didn’t either. One dinner turned into an exploration of the city and a concerto invitation. One outing turned to five and the next thing he knew he was calling you to talk about his day. Of course, you had given a joint press interview explaining the situation. The stories hadn’t stopped but at least the narrative did, instead of secret rendezvous and romantic conspiracies, the internet became obsessed with the unlikely friendship that had budded from the whole ordeal.

But, one night, when he was headed towards your apartment to drop you off, you had been staring out the window, the soft white light from the moon showering your features, his eyes had lingered and he knew. He liked you. He could see your hand laying on the middle section, manicured white nails relaxed. It was an impulse really. He inched his hand towards you, you didn’t flinch, so he grabbed it. His own face impassively looking out his own window now. You gripped his hand back, opening your fingers to allow his between yours.

That’s all it took. You never spoke about it. But every time you met up with him, you looked for his hand, for his callous fingers to touch you, to heat up your skin in a way that only he knew how to do.

“This is awesome!”, squealed Hange finally coming out of her daze. You breathed out, grey eyes still on you, “Yeah, awesome”, you echoed not really paying attention to her anymore.

[theleftovertaco]

April Fools

I’ve always wondered if April Fools existed in the wizarding world. I’ve come to the conclusion for this fic that it doesnt so the reader can introduce the Weasley twins to it. Chaos ensues. This takes place in harrys 3rd year and the twins 5th year. Technically you would be in 5th year as well, but your gender nor house are specified.

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You were writing your potions essay in the quidditch stands when an identical set of loud voices brought you out of your trance.

“Hey, short stack.” Fred and George flew up to your section.

“Oh look, it’s the demonic duo.”

George smirked, “Because we’re so devilishly handsome?”

“No, because your both so ugly that even Jesus couldnt save your face so satan had to take you.” You heard two squawks of indignation but continued on.

“Also, I’m not that short. Y/H is average.”

“Ah,” Fred sat down to your right, “but your shorter than us, so your short.”

“Everyone’s shorter than you two beanstalks.”

“You’re still short.” You stuck your tongue out at George and he mirrored you.

“What do you two want?”

“I’m hurt... always assuming we want something..” Fred trailed off.

“Yeah, we can’t have a conversation with our best friend?”

“I feel betrayed.”

“Depressed.”

“Cheated!”

“Is our friendship a lie?”

“Enough!” You giggled out.

“You don’t have to need something, but you stopped in the middle of practice for a reason.”

“Well... Gryffindor team likes to listen to music when we practice right?” Fred leaned in and put his chin on your shoulder.

“Ok and?”

“Well, all we have is Celestina Warbeck music and your muggle music just is much better than ‘a cauldron full of strong, hot love’”, George sung that last bit.

“So we wanna know if we can borrow your CDs and player?”

“Flawless impression. Yes you can use them, I’ll bring them out next practice. Though honestly, I really ought to get you one of your own so you don’t have to keep asking every time u want to listen to music.”

George hummed in agreement next to you.

“Maybe that’ll be your birthday gift. When is it anyways... I’ve known you two for almost a year and you never told me.”

“It’s in about a month. April 1st.” George confirmed.

You let out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, that checks out.”

You got a rare pause of silence.

“What do you mean ‘that checks out’?” Fred looked honestly confused, and so did George.

“Are you both messing with me? You have to know what holiday is on April 1st right?” They shook their heads no.

“Really? Hold on a second let me ask Hermione if she knows anything. ‘Mione!” You got her attention from a few stands over and she jogged over to the three of you.

“Yeah, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, can you answer a question?” She nodded and you continued, “ without saying it out loud, you know what holiday is on April 1st, right?” She nodded again.

“Yea, why is that relevant?”

“Because they don’t!” You motioned frantically to the twins behind you and Hermione shook her head.

“Do not tell them they don’t need another reason to go around causing more chaos.”

“Oooh,” Fred lifted up his head in interest, “this sounds interesting. What holiday is on April 1st that we don’t know about?”

Hermione shook her head as Harry flew over and dismounted. “What’s going on, practice is over, why aren’t you lot leaving?”

You turned to him quickly, “Harry, without saying it, you know what holiday is on, April 1st, right?” He nodded before realizing what was going on and started laughing.

“Don’t encourage them Harry!” Hermione pushed him slightly.

“Why not? It would be funny to see what they do with that.”

Fred and George were getting frustrated, “With what?”

“Don’t tell them, Y/N!”

“Tell them, Y/N!” “Tell us, Y/N!”

“Ok ok I’ll tell you!” You conceded and Hermione threw her hands up in exasperation and left to collect her bag.

“On two conditions!”

Fred and George whispered to each other for a second before turnin to you and nodding.

“Of course.” Said George with a sly grin.

“What are these conditions?” Fred finished for him.

“Number 1. When I tell you the holiday, I get full immunity from the days effects.”

“But of course.” They spoke in unison

“Number 2. Anyone asks, I had nothing to do with this.”

Fred shrugged, “That’s fair. So, what holiday is on April 1st?”

You grinned before replying, “April Fool’s!”

“What is April Fool’s?” George’s eyes went wide.

“A holiday dedicated to playing pranks on people. Muggles prank their friends, family, teachers, principal. In my primary school one of my friends put a bunch of live chickens in a teachers car.”

They looked at you with pure glee.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!” Fred and George each planted a kiss on you cheek and ran off.

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Fred and George dropped into the library chairs in front of you two weeks later.

“So we were thinking.” Fred grinned from the chair closest to you.

“And since you were the one to tell us about this glorious holiday, you should be part of the celebration.”

“No.”

“Why nooooot?” George whined, setting his chin on the table and looking at you with his best puppy eyes.

“I’m not going to get in trouble for a holiday and besides, its your holiday. You don’t need me interfering.”

“But we want you there so you should do it, right? And you wouldn’t be interfering. Please?” Fred joined his brother in puppy eyeing you.

You sighed and nodded in agreement.

“Yay! So we were thinking that maybe we could pull something minor on each of the teachers and then something major on the whole school. What do you think?”

“It could work, but you would have to tailor it to each teacher. Snape can’t stand background noise and high pitches, McGonagall hates being even remotely interrupted, Flitwick can’t stand his bookstack being messed with, and Lupin, for whatever reason, doesn’t like fish.”

“Fish?” George tilted his head like a confused puppy.

“Yeah, he thinks they’re gross or something.”

They both nodded before Fred spoke up, “Ok, so what are you suggesting?”

You thought for a moment before responding, “For snape, I have this little old transportable music player. We could charm it to follow him around and play a bunch of kazoo noises in the background. The more he tries to get rid of it the higher pitch and louder it gets.”

“Ooh, I like that. What else?” George nodded for you to continue.

“We could find a spell where every time McGonagall tries to speak, she gets interrupted by, I don’t know, a horn or something? Flitwick I don’t really have anything.”

“I like the way you think.” Fred grinned and added in, “ . We could turn Lupin’s class into a tiny lake and fill it with fish while he’s up in his office?”

George nodded, “And we could make Flitwick's stack fly around the room while he’s on it?”

“You’re both evil. It’s fantastic.” You high fived them and the three of you left to enact your plans.

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The next two weeks were a never-ending whirlwind of prank planning and late night kitchen runs, but finally the three of you were done. The plans were set up and now all there was to do was wait.

First class of the day was McGonagall’s and the three of you walked in trying to wipe the grins off your face.

“Good morning class, please turn to-” *HONK* Your professor whipped her head around to see where the sound was coming from to no avail. She shook her head and continued on.

“As I was-” *HONK HONK* “Where is that noise coming from?”

The class stifled laughter as she ran around looking for the origin of the honking.

For twenty minutes.

“I swear to” *HONK*

“Oh for the love of” *HOOOOONK*

Eventually McGonagall grew tired and dismissed the class half an hour early.

Snape was next on the hit list.

Your professor strode into the classroom, looking obviously annoyed. A tiny radio followed after him playing a nonsense tune with kazoos. The class  burst into laughter but was promptly shut up by a particularly harsh glare.

The next hour was trademarked by Snape repeatedly trying to destroy the radio physically or through magic while he had the class make a healing potion. The noise just got louder and louder and when the bell rang for the last class before lunch Snape barked at everyone to “GET OUT NOW”.

At lunch, you, Fred, and George each grabbed a sandwich and an apple and were about to rush out to have time to set up Lupin’s prank when Harry, Ron, and Hermione stopped you.

“The radio in Snape’s class, who’s bloody idea was that?” Fred and George pointed to you and Ron responded with a high five.

As you three left you could hear Hermione reprimanding Ron for encouraging you.

Lupin’s class took time to set up, but he always took lunch in his office and rarely opened the door.

The three of you placed a tiny device in the center of the floor, rushed out of the classroom, and waited.

You heard a loud BANG and then a stream of curses before running off to hide.

By the time you three returned for class, a student had opened the door to find Lupin taking refuge at the staircase and yelling that class was cancelled for the day and to read Chapter 17!

This brings us to Flitwick’s class.

The plan for his had already been enacted. Since when the three of you stepped into his class, he was clutching onto  Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 and yelling out instructions while also asking that someone help him down.

You three took pity halfway through class and found a ladder for him to use.

The four pranks had gone off without a hitch, now you just needed to pull of dinner and everything would be perfect.

Fred and George snuck into the kitchens and as food was being prepared to go out, they placed a few drops of a specialized potion on about half of the platters.

So they reconvened with you at dinner.

You each sat there, and then you waited as people dug into their food.

After about thirty seconds the chaos you had been waiting for occurred. Half the Great Hall turned into various zoo creatures, all frantically running around the tables and crashing into people. The human half of the hall was torn between laughing and running.

They ultimately settled on running.

As everyone cleared out of the hall, the students were ushered back to their respective dorms, and the three of you escaped to the kitchens.

As soon as the portrait entrance was closed, the three of you looked at each other before bursting into laughter.

“AHAHAHAHA- OH that was BRILLIANT!” You half screamed.

“Did you see the look on Sprouts face when Snape turned into a peacock? A PEACOCK!” Fred screeched, nearly on the floor.

“I don’t know if we could ever outdo that!” George replied, who was on the floor.

Eventually the three of you calmed down and you caught your breath to reply.

“Knowing you two, you could. Before we leave, come on. I got you something.”

You brought them over to a table in the middle of the kitchens where two cupcakes and a CD player was set up, along with around 10 CDs next to it.

“I completely forgot about that!” Fred exclaimed.

“Thank you so much!” George and Fred leaned down a little to hug you at the same time.

“Uh, guys, getting a little crushed here.”

“Right, sorry.” George detangled himself from the hug.

“I’m not, gonna keep crushing you.” Fred squeezed tighter.

You laughed and hugged him back.

“Happy Birthday.”