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[cuirelixir]

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[harryspet]

well kept [2] r. cameron

[warnings] dark!ceo!rafe x reader, size difference, billionaire!older!rafe, shy!reader with low self-esteem, reader is a person who stutters, boss x personal assistant, heavy abuse of power, emotional/mental manipulation, NONCON, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: Pls reblog and let me know what you think!

word count: 4.5k

In which you officially enter into a world of high stakes and intense demands.

well kept masterlist

Your fingers traced the smooth edge of the new work bag that sat on your desk, a pristine luxury item whose brand you didn’t immediately recognize. It was medium-sized, big enough to fit your brand-new laptop, and an off-white color with pebble-textured leather. 

“Wow, you clean up nice,” came a voice from behind you. You turned to find Eleanor approaching, coffee in hand.

Instinctively, you pulled down your skirt as she looked you over. You were effortlessly polished, for sure. You usually only get your hair professionally done for special occasions, opting for simple protective styles you could do yourself. However, you had to admit you felt pretty with your hair in a neat, braided rose that reached down to your lower back. 

The clothes only amplified this unfamiliar sensation. After trying on eight outfits the previous night, you had settled on a cherry-red cropped blazer and a matching pleated skirt. You’d chosen the shortest heels Rafe had sent—a pair of white kitten heels adorned with gold bows. Your makeup, subtly applied, complemented the overall look.

Eleanor set her things down, straightened, and placed a hand on her slender hips. “Take your bag,” she said. “I’ll show you where Rafe expects you to work.”

“I thought that was my desk.”

“He’ll tell you where you need to be and when you need to be there.”

Her answer was simple enough. 

You entered the luxurious space that Rafe called an office once again. Even when he wasn’t in the room, you were intimidated by it, “He had this brought in for you,” Facing the wall on the side of the room that held Rafe’s desk, in the corner, was a simple mahogany desk. The miniature version of Rafe’s desk. A cushioned stool was placed underneath and on top were a notebook, a cup of pens, and a small lamp, “This is where he’ll expect you most mornings. You’re to review his calendar before he arrives, memorize it, and you’ll brief him on the day when he walks in.”

“I’m ssss-supposed to be in here with him …all day? What if I, you know, need you?”

“I’m right down the hallway, or you can email me.”

Eleanor spent the next thirty minutes showing you their emailing system and how to access Rafe’s calendar. She even shared a large cheat sheet she’d made with all of Rafe’s preferred restaurants, coffee shops, hotels, and the names and numbers of his home staff.

When she left you alone, you looked around the room. The view of the office from your corner was daunting. However, your heart had been beating too fast ever since you met Rafe. 

You turned your attention back to the calendar system. It was sleek and well-organized, and luckily, it was straightforward enough to navigate. You took note of his key meetings for the day and repeated them over in your head. You wrote down some notes in case your mind drew a blank. It was your first day, and he’d give you some grace, right? 

You needed to be able to anticipate these needs, but all you knew about Rafe Cameron was that he was complex and demanding. 

The sound of footsteps in the corridor drew your attention, and hurriedly, you glanced down at your note sheet again. Standing from your seat, you smoothed out your skirt, and with your notes in hand, you folded your palms in front of you. 

Unconsciously, as he pushed open the doors, you sucked air into your lungs. You held your breath until his eyes met with yours. In comparison to when you first met him, he was dressed down. He wore a short-sleeve black polo black dress pants, black leather penny loafers on his feet and a briefcase in hand. His face was stoic as he looked you over and let the doors close behind him. As big as they were, they were practically silent went they closed, adding to the ominous feeling in the room. 

You smiled, or tried to, “Good morning, Mr. Cameron, I’m–”

“I want you right here,” He interrupted, pointing down at the floor a foot before him. You stepped forward, hoping you wouldn’t trip like you had while practicing walking in them. Despite how he towered over you when you were this close, you made yourself comfortable there, “You’ll be right there every day when I walk in. Try again.”

“Good morning, Mr. Cameron-”

“I prefer Sir.”

Try again. Unfortunately, you were pretty used to being interrupted and forced to stop and start your sentences. “Good morning, Sir.” You were smiling as much as you could, but your throat hurt like your body wanted to cry. “Today, you’ll sss-start with three sss-separate online conferences with potential investors: Mr. Daniel, Mrs. Hunt, and Mr. Rivera. After lunch, you’ll have your weekly group meetings with department heads. You’ll start with Finance at one o’clock, Legal at two, and Design and Architecture at three. Your meeting with Property Management at four o’clock was canceled but rescheduled for Wednesday. For the rest of the day, you will be free to catch up with emails and ssss-submit the …. sss-ssss-strategic plan report you’ve been working on.”

He nodded once throughout your briefing, his face remaining impassive. You thought he might cringe at your mistakes, but he didn’t. You couldn’t help but feel like a strange choice for this job. Why would someone like him want to listen to you? 

“Good,” he confirmed, and you were relieved only for a moment. You were okay until he started to look you over, “Turn around.”

You weren’t sure why you looked in his eyes to see if he was being serious. Of course, he was being serious. Awkwardly, you face away from him until he adds, “In a circle, please.”

You felt your cheeks heat up from embarrassment before you faced him again. 

“I have a question,” You said.

“Yeah?”

“About the clothes. I …I didn’t know if it w-would be okay to return ssss-ssss-some of them. I just, there’s sss-so many.”

“And?” Rafe pressed, his brow furrowed. 

“I-I don’t have that much room for them.”

“Hmm,” He thought briefly, “How’s this? You take a picture of yourself in each outfit and then email them to me, and I’ll decide which ones I want you to wear. But everything red can stay. I like the red.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he brushed past you and returned to his desk. Unsure whether you were supposed to move or stay put, you waited in place. 

“I’ll take a coffee. Black. Thanks.”

Eager to escape the room and not feel the weight of his gaze, you hurried out of the doors. Panicked, you approached Eleanor’s desk, waving your hands to get her attention. She was on the phone, but you mouthed “Coffee.” Acting as your life vest, she pointed you toward one of the many doors that lined the wall across from the reception area. 

Inside, you expected to find a normal breakroom, but the room’s decoration reminded you more of a lounge. Black coffee should be easy enough, but your hands shook slightly as you worked the modern, sleek coffee maker. After you prepared the coffee, you took a breath, and made your way back to his office. You kept yourself as composed as possible, and he glanced up at you briefly as you entered. You set it carefully on the coaster near his computer. 

He didn’t directly look at you or the coffee; you took that as your sign to retreat to your desk. 

You sat quietly as he attended all three of his virtual meetings. Inevitably, you started to listen. Sometimes, you’d tune in, wanting to learn something, but you gave up a few times after realizing how complex things were. 

When he finished all his meetings, he spoke up, “What are the arrangements for lunch?” 

“Lunch …” You echoed, thinking about the calendar you recognize, “Is there sss-something sss-specific you’re in the mood for, sir?”

“On Mondays, I have lunch with my COO and CFO. We have standing reservations at several restaurants. You’ll need to pick one, call, and make sure everyone knows the plans.” 

“Okay,” You nodded, “Yes, sir.”

Was that on the cheat sheet? Had you missed that? After scrolling a few times, you will find the list of restaurants and senior team members. 

You called The Prime, an upscale steakhouse, for Rafe and his senior team, ensuring every detail was perfectly arranged. When it was time to leave, you stood to bid Rafe goodbye, only to be told you were expected to join him. Quickly gathering your things, you followed him down the elevator to the parking garage. Eleanor gave you an encouraging thumbs up and smile as you passed her.

You must’ve looked frightened. 

Rafe’s choice of vehicle, a massive black truck with gleaming rims and immaculate leather seat, wasn’t a surprise, but his courteous gesture was. He opened the door for you and gently placed a hand on your hip to steady you as you navigated the high step into the truck.

“Th-Thank you,” You spoke, your voice small before he closed the door. 

As you sat during the ride, you felt your thighs were too exposed. You crossed your legs, trying to alleviate that feeling, but it proved useless, “You’ll get used to it,” Rafe’s voice snapped you out of being consumed by your thoughts. You hadn’t realized he was even paying attention to you. 

Hesitantly, your eyes roamed over him. His shirt's short sleeves did little to conceal the strength in his arms and the defined lines of his chest. 

“You have a boyfriend?” He asked, his tone relaxed. He wasn’t allowed to ask that, but you recalled the words he had used with you the week prior. Would you fuck him? He’d already crossed a line. You needed to get used to his brashness, “A girlfriend?” He continued. 

“I-I-I,” Breathe in, slowly release, “I don’t.”

“Have you ever had one?”

The underlying implication of his words made you defensive, and you crossed your arms, “Have you, Sir?”

He let our a short laugh, “You just seem a little uptight,” Your lips parted and eyes widened.

“What-”

“I haven’t dated anyone seriously in a while. But you don’t need to date someone seriously to get what you need from them. I guess I’m just wondering if you have someone who . . . relieves your stress.”

“I really, really don’t want to answer that,” You spoke slowly. 

“Relax, we’re just talking. Is this going to be a problem? I’m just trying to get to know my newest employee.”

It felt like a mind game. He wasn’t like anyone you’d ever met before—every word, every glance from him seemed designed to put you on edge, to make you second-guess yourself. 

“No, sir,” You replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Are you a virgin, Y/N?” He asked suddenly as if he’d had some brilliant revelation.

“N-No,” You stuttered, lying through your teeth, “I’m not.”

He made a “hmm” sound as he glanced at you, “Of course you’re not. Forgive me; I shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

You understood quickly he wasn’t actually looking for your forgiveness. He was testing you, pushing boundaries just to see how you’d react. 

When you arrived, Rafe pulled up to the valet stand, and a nicely dressed attendant quickly came over to open your door. You managed to step out with as much grace as you could muster, feeling the weight of Rafe’s eyes on you as you did. He was out of the truck in a heartbeat, striding around to join you, his hand again guiding you with that firm touch on your lower back. It was possessive, a silent declaration that you belonged to him, at least for the duration of this lunch.

The restaurant's setting was sophisticated and private, and you reached the table reserved for your group. The two of you were last to arrive, which meant all eyes fell on you as Rafe pulled out a chair for you right next to his seat. Two men were at the table, and you were taken aback by the fact that they were as young as Rafe. 

“Guys, this is Y/N,” Rafe gestured to you, making himself comfortable, “Y/N, meet Topper Thornton and Kelce Adams.”

You managed to speak to them, though your words stumbled slightly. They eyed you the same way Rafe often did, like prey. You could almost imagine your name listed on the menu in front of them. But Rafe, with a swift shift in conversation, cut off their questions, his tone a clear warning. When you took a bit too long to decide on your meal, Rafe didn’t hesitate. He ordered for you the moment the waiter arrived, a subtle reminder of the control he held over every aspect of your life, even what you ate.

You couldn’t help but notice that Topper shared Eleanor’s last name. Were they married? Siblings? The thought lingered as you made a mental note to ask her later. Without another word, you pulled out your notebook, ready to take notes for the meeting.

Something in his last meeting had angered him. When he returned to his office, you watched him cross the room; your mouth wanted to form the words to ask, “What’s wrong?” but your lips pressed into a thin line instead. 

As he settled in his desk, you pretended to be engrossed in your notes, hoping to avoid his attention. Ignoring the cold air in the room and the dark cloud hovering above him grew impossible. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers and tapped at the surface of his desk. Was it anxiety he was feeling? 

“Come here, Y/N?”

Startled, you dropped your pen on the floor, the sound making him fully turn his head towards you. Awkwardly, you picked it up and set it down on your desk. You fixed your skirt as you crossed the distance between his desk and yours to keep it from riding up. 

“Yes, sss-sir?” 

His eyes were dark as he spun his chair to face you, “Tell me,” He began, “What do you think you did wrong today?”

Your mind raced. Did you do something wrong that you hadn’t realized? There were plenty of mistakes, but it was only your first day and you’d been completely thrown out of your comfort zone. 

“I’m not ssss-sssure, sss-sir,” Your voice was barely above a whisper, a grimace on your face as you tried to force out the words. 

“Not sure?” He echoed. 

“I should’ve know t-t-to …” You pushed through that “stuck” feeling, “Make your lunch reservations.”

“That’s one.”

“Uhm,” Your voice trailed off as your bottom lip shook. You felt like a child being scolded. Why did you keep freezing? Why did you let him speak to you that way? “I-I-I-I-I…”

“Does it hurt, you know, when it gets that bad?” Rafe leaned back in his chair, his arms folded against his chest, now looking at you with curiosity and frustration.

You shook your head because it was all you could manage.

“You can’t think of anything else, huh?”

“I’m sss-sss-sorry,” As a tear fell from your eye, he stood from his chair. 

He shushed you, grabbing ahold of the top of your arms, “You know I could have chose anyone for this job?”

You nodded. 

“But I chose you,” You nodded again, “I do love to see you apologize, sweetheart, but you have to know what you’re apologizing for.”

“I’m sss-sssory,” You couldn’t help the apology that tumbled out again, “Fff-for not knowing.”

“There you go, yeah, that’s better,” He pulled you closer, and you felt his hand brush the strands of your hair over your shoulder, keeping it from your face, “I told you this would be a mutually beneficial relationship. You need money, someone to care take care of you… I need ... I need you. When you’re with me, you’re mine to do with as I please. Do you understand?”

You nodded, feeling like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. He dominated the space, his presence suffocating, and the fear of displeasing him made your breath catch in your throat. The boundaries between you blurred even further, leaving you more trapped than ever.

“Good girl,” one of his hands wrapped around the side of your neck. His gaze pierced into yours, his mind racing behind them, and he sighed as he mentally concluded, “I can’t punish you just yet.”

“Punish?” You asked in a whisper, his face moving in closer. 

“You gotta learn somehow, right?”

Your eyes darted from his eyes to his lips, panicked. Nothing could have prepared you for him smashing his lips against yours. One hand was on your neck, and the other wrapped behind you, pulling you into him. Even as his kiss overwhelmed you, your mind couldn’t let go of the word he had just used—punish.

“I have to fuck you. I have to,” He growled between kisses. 

Your hands pushed at his chest, but it was like trying to move a brick wall, “Please, Rafe,” You tried to say. Part of you thought using his real name would snap him from his trance, but he groaned into your mouth. 

You’d never been kissed like this; no one had ever explored you with their tongue, and part of your mind seemed to rejoice. The other part, the rational one, told you to escape. You started to use your strength to pull from him as you stepped backward, but that only made him grip you harder. 

You yelped, and when Rafe opened his eyes again, he smiled. Whatever weighed heavy on his mind before had clearly been relieved by the game he was trying to play. You stumbled back when he let you go, almost falling on your behind, “Go on,” He said with a smirk, “Just makes it more fun for me.”

Of all the games, you liked this one the least. You turned to flee, but before you could reach the door, he lifted you off the ground. You screamed, and the next thing you knew, you were being thrown onto the couch. Rafe pinned you down easily, his weight crushing you as he reached for your legs. You shut your thighs tightly, and his glare felt like a knife in your side.

“Do not!” He exploded, and you whimpered, “Hey, hey, sweetheart, I don’t want you to ever close your legs to me.” 

“Rafe, please … please d-don’t,” Someone would hear. Eleanor would hear, wouldn’t she? She’d stop him before he went too far. 

“God, I’d beat your fucking ass if I didn’t need to be inside of you right now,” He growled, prying your legs apart and tearing away your underwear as soon as he could feel it. He wrapped one hand around your throat, squeezing just enough to keep you pinned down, while the other undid his belt. “You don’t make demands anymore, do you understand?”

“I’ve-I’ve nnn-never…”

Understanding flashed in his eyes. 

“You're a fucking virgin?” You nodded, feeling a small piece of hope, “We can add lying to that list of things you’ve done wrong, huh?”

He seemed to pause which you felt grateful for. His belt was already undone, his hips sinking into yours, “No one’s ever tasted you?” You shook your head, “You’ve never had a cock in your mouth either?”

You looked away, embarrassed. 

“Fuck,” He breathed out, “You’re gonna be all mine.” 

“Please-” You tried again, but he silenced you, pressing his lips to yours again. 

This time, he was more deliberate with his movements. His hands traveled higher, and he reached into your shirt to gently knead at your breasts. He moved slower like he was savoring the moment. At the same time, you felt even more tortured. Your body betrayed you, responding to his caresses as if they were safe, as if he were someone you trusted. He was making all the right moves and your mind felt even more confused then your body. 

Fingers pinched gently at your nipples and your lips parted into a moan. He used it as an opportunity to explore your mouth further. Next, he moved down your jaw and then he nuzzled his face into your neck. There was a place on your collarbone he’d found, one that made you yelp in pleasure, a spot you didn’t know existed. That’s what he wanted. To conquer you. 

You felt warm between your legs and a slickness as you tried to move your legs. Rafe was still taking his time. He’d lifted your shirt, pulled down your bra, and placed your left breast into his mouth. You cried out, your back arching in an automatic response. If he kept going, you knew you could finish just from this alone, and the thought filled you with a mix of shame and despair.

Slowly, methodically, he dismantled your guard. 

When he sensed you were ready, that he’d successfully turned your body on, he pulled down his briefs. You couldn’t bring yourself to look down. It was gonna hurt, either way, why dwell on the size? “Tell me,” He kissed your jaw, leaning down to your ear, “Ask me to take your virginity.”

You tensed, “I-I d-don’t.”

“I can make it hurt, Y/N,” He warned, “I promise, you want me to be gentle”

He pressed his tip against your entrance, and you were already cringing, “Fucking ask me, or I’ll push it all inside.”

“Will you …t-take my virginity?”

“Please,” he corrected, a dark satisfaction in his tone.“Where’s your manners?”

“Please, take mmm-my vvvv-vvvv-virginity,” He slowly started to enter you, and you pressed your hands against his chest. 

You started to breathe heavily, “T-T-Too mmm-mmm-much.”

He pushed in more, “That’s just half, sweetheart. Take a deeper breath for me."

You listened even though he was hurting you. Even now, you believed him to be better than you. Looking up at him, you slowly breathed in and out. As you controlled your breathing, he started to move in and out of you. He cursed and grunted into your ear, soon falling into a rhythm. 

Pain began to blur with something else, something you didn’t want to acknowledge. 

It was a foreign feeling, being full of him, reaching to parts of you that had never been discovered. The only thing that felt wrong to you was how it was happening. Is this how it always felt? So completely all consuming? You were warm everywhere, a pressure building at your core, and you struggled to make a sound other than a moan. 

With each thrust you let out a yip, not realizing that you’d stopped pushing at his chest and started pawing at it. That only encouraged him further. He reached underneath you, lifting your left leg to your chest, as he grabbed a handful of your ass. He pried you open further in this position and he looked down at you …almost grateful. He was savoring you and every moment that he was touching you, infiltrating your body. You’d never had someone want you like this. 

Before you were even really aware of it, the pressure inside of you had built to a crescendo, and you’d cried out against Rafe’s lips. 

He smiled against yours, “Good girl, sweetheart,” Tears escaped your eyes again, this time because of how confused your hormones were. It felt like an uncontrolled explosion of emotion. 

Now, the sensation actually felt like something you couldn’t physically handle, “Oh my god, o-oh my god, ” You spoke over and over as you went back to pushing at his chest. 

“Stay,” he commanded, his body pressing you down further as he slowed his movements, his rhythm faltering. “I’m almost done,” he added, a hint of amusement in his voice. “You’re squeezing so tight.”

“Please,” you begged, your legs starting to shake. “Please, Rafe.”

Your words seemed to bring his climax. Your second orgasm came painfully, and you scrambled to free yourself from under his weight after he finished sinking into you. Your legs didn’t stop shaking, but at least you could catch your breath. 

Your bare bottom hit the plush carpet of his seating area, listening as Rafe’s heavy breathing slowed. You fixed your bra and top before you started to search for your underwear. To your dismay, they were completely torn. 

“I’ll get you some new ones, some nicer ones, yeah?”

You nodded, though you weren’t sure why. Feeling his gaze, you pushed your skirt down next. Looking down, you realize his remnants were sliding down your thighs. You just shut your legs tighter. A hand on your back made you glance up at him. His eyes were still dark, but there was more satisfaction than before. 

“We’re done for today, but before you leave, uh, Eleanor needs to see you.” 

He stood, and you looked away as he started to zip up his pants and fasten his belt again. 

“Th-That’s it?”

“Until tomorrow,” He said, his tone returned to business, as if the last few minutes were merely part of the workday.

You thought he was returning to his desk, but Rafe walked to your desk and collected your purse and computer. As you stood, your body ached, and you realized how disheveled you must look. Was your makeup smudged across your face? Did he bruise the back of your thighs? 

Rafe brought you your things, his hands finding your lower back, “Go home. Get some rest. And don’t forget about those pictures, yeah?”

You nodded although your mind was elsewhere. The next thing you knew, you were standing on the other side of the door, clutching your bag tightly to your chest. Your mind started to wonder what exactly had caused all this. Was he mad at you, or was that I an excuse to …ruin you. 

When you made it to Eleanor’s desk she asked you, “How was your first day?”

You nodded, trying to shake your expression into a smile, “I-It was … o-okay.”

There was no way she could have missed it in your eyes or in your appearance, but she continued, “I just need you to sign that NDA before you go. It’s completely standard procedure. It just assures that everything you see and hear is confidential. Protects the business.”

You took the papers from her and you tried to keep from shaking, “I can explain anything you need-”

“That’s okay,” You shook your head, knowing you just wanted to go home and hug your stuffed frog, “Thank you.”

You flipped through it quickly and signed your name where she indicated, “There’s one more thing. Are you on birth control?”

You stared, knowing the implication of the words. Why didn’t she warn you before you agreed to this?

You shook your head.

“You’ll need a Plan B. Should I pick it up for you, or would you prefer to do it yourself?”

Of course, you’d had friends who’d bought it before but the idea of going by yourself right now made you want to be sick. And you couldn’t tell your friends … at least not yet, “Could you … g-get it?”

“Of course, I’ll have it tomorrow,” She nodded and offered you a polite smile, “Do you need any help getting to the parking deck?”

You shook your head quickly, “I www-walked, thank you.”

As you made your way to the elevator, you wondered how your day spiraled so entirely out of your control.

Please reblog WITH your thoughts on the chapter to be added to the taglist for the story :) Also pls feel free to send me anons about your predictions/what you'd like to see in the story!

[peterparkerr06]

The Montblanc Case Study delves deep into the analysis of one of the most prestigious luxury brands in the world, Montblanc. Renowned for its exceptional craftsmanship, timeless elegance, and iconic writing instruments, Montblanc has carved a niche for itself in the highly competitive luxury market. This case study employs the SWOT (Strengths, Weaknesses, Opportunities, Threats) and PESTLE (Political, Economic, Social, Technological, Legal, Environmental) frameworks to gain a comprehensive understanding of Montblanc's internal dynamics and external factors that shape its strategic decisions.

To gain a deeper understanding of Montblanc's journey and strategic outlook, watch the accompanying video, which offers valuable insights and analysis.

[nosferatuv]

_ FREEUSEMADDIE

no reader!! domcaitlyn switchvi submaddie. body hair. power dynamic. size kink. anal if u squint. tribbing. fingering. caitvi bickering hehe

caitlyn needed a fucking break. she clicked her pen in thought before pushing herself up and storming out of her office into the deputy break room.

maddie sat, meek as ever, on one of the couches sipping on her drink. it was almost comical how quickly she stood up at the sight of caitlyn's tall figure in the doorway.

she knows the drill; scrambling behind the sheriff as she strides back down the hallway to her office. maddie's akin to a needy puppy, willing to do anything for attention. she knows her place well by now, knows what her purpose is to both caitlyn and vi.

she stands, smoothing out her uniform as caitlyn sits down in her desk chair with a sigh. her bright eyes scan over maddie as she waits patiently for her orders

caitlyn shifts on her chair, her thighs widening and her fingers tapping against her leg.

the ginger scrambles to her knees, crawling over to her boss and taking up the space between her boots. if she had a tail, it would be for sure wagging behind her just for being silently demanded around like a dog.

"stop dawdling, i didn't bring you in here to stare at me."

meanwhile, vi was storming along the streets of topside. she's still not very... accustomed to the life here, the luxury and riches weren't changing her tune, that's for sure. not that she, nor caitlyn, expected that to be the case.

she still got looked at as she passed, kids staring in bewilderment at her tattoos and piercings, prissy adults giving disapproving looks— she dressed a little nicer now, but you can never take the undercity out of the girl.

you also, it turns out, couldn't leave her alone for too long. with both caitlyn and maddie working at the station, they had free rein throughout the day. vi had to take a trip to get off, her hand just wasn't enough, not even the various toys caitlyn had collected did the job.

so, she proceeded to shove open the door to the piltover police station, various deputies looking up from their work at the zaunite storming the place like an bull, and then returning to their papers. she straightens herself up at the sudden awareness the silence and lack of reaction brings, reverting her thudding feet to a brisk walk in the direction of caitlyn's office.

she doesn't knock, of course, but nor caitlyn or maddie are startled. cait's always cool and collected, she knows damn well her officers will knock. and maddie's too focused trying to please her boss, her face buried between her legs and lapping desperately at caitlyn's cunt.

vi feels the throb in her brief's notch up, slamming her hand on the door to close it and taking a few steps closer to the scene.

caitlyn looks up at the basically seething firecracker with a raised eyebrow, her hand tugging maddie's hair to guide her to and from her clit and slit.

"can i help you?"

vi snarls and pulls maddie up from the floor, her burly arms around her waist. the girl was small and light enough to be ragged around, just how all three of them liked it. she was so easy to just... use.

caitlyn shakes her head, watching in both amusement and irritation as vi bends maddie (who's already stripped out of her uniform) over her desk, sending pens skittering across the wooden surface. "careful."

the pink haired girl would of either obeyed or made a snappy comment if she wasn't so focused on unbuckling her belt, shoving her pants down her legs and pulling maddie's hips closer.

"you know, if you had taken the badge when i offered it..."

"shut up," vi grumbles, tugging down the waistband of maddie's panties, sliding her rough hands up the backs of her thighs to the globes of her ass, spreading her open to admire the sticky mess caitlyn had melted her into.

caitlyn huffs, her legs still parted and the patch of dark blue hair on her mound glistening with maddie's slobber and her own arousal. "are you jealous?"

vi grits her teeth, shedding of her briefs and placing a large hand on the back of maddie's head, pressing the side of her flushed, freckled face into the desk as she whimpers. "i'm fucking mad,"

maddie draws in a breath as her legs are kicked apart, spread wide and vi's aching clit pushing between her folds. "that you," vi points a shaky finger at caitlyn before her hand comes down on maddie's asscheek to keep her spread open, starting to rut against her. "get her more than me."

caitlyn rolls her eyes, though the lewd acts being performed in front of her are a definite turn on, she was skilled at keeping her stone demeanour. "she works for me."

vi pants, her eyes glued to how maddie's hole leaks with arousal, clenching when their clits brush together occasionally. "yeah— yeah, i know.."

maddie whimpers and moans, taking what she's given and not asking for any more or any less, finding out the hard way that it was better to just enjoy what they were so generously giving her. her punishments were always so cruel, especially by caitlyn's hands— violet just ended up too horny.

caitlyn stands up, pulling her panties back up and cringing internally at the now cold arousal on the fabric sticking to her. of course, she would like to continue getting off, but she could never turn down voyeurism. she pushes herself up to sit on the desk, swatting vi's hand off maddie's head to replace it with her own.

vi, now having both hands free, continues to grind and rub against maddie's pussy, her fingers digging into her pale skin as she chases her pleasure.

"you really are desperate, violet. you're almost as bad as her," caitlyn chuckles, patting maddie's cheek as she whines and murmurs incoherently against the wood. "which is quite impressive."

vi glares at her girlfriend, slowly pulling her hips back and watching the strings of mixed arousal keeping her connected to maddie stretch and break, splatting onto her inner thighs. "you're getting too big for your boots, cupcake."

"you would too in my position." caitlyn hums, running her hand down maddie's back and between her thighs, gathering up the mixed juices and pushing her ring and middle fingers into her cunt, slowly fucking vi's arousal into her.

"cocky," vi scowls, her eyes drawn to how maddie clenches around caitlyn's fingers, desperately trying to keep them in and get her release. she can't tell who she wants to be, but either way, her own hand reaches down to brush her thumb over the youngest girl's clit, circling it slowly.

maddie cries out from under both of them, drooling around caitlyn's fingers and resisting the urge to start begging. she knows that doesn't get her anywhere far.

"good girl." caitlyn purrs, the palm of her hand grinding against the poor girl's asshole, stimulating her from all angles.

that's her breaking point, and she starts to rut back on their hands, desperate for her orgasm.

"you jinxed it." vi murmurs, her free hand lifting and smacking down on maddie's ass who whimpers and flinches in response.

caitlyn shakes her head, spreading her fingers inside of maddie as she slowly pulls them out, stretching her pussy just a little for both her and vi's entertainment. "she never learns."

╋━ taglist.

@danfelog @ocharavitys @trizxyp @aelizreal @luxmith @imlovewithpixels @halle5s @soniiyi @uhh-lana @pearlcigs @abbyspup @sunrxxyz @evabby @graciedollie @starrrcane @lilyyx0 @444fernz @abbysbae @tqlepatia @nvr4getme @lesbodietcoke @starting6over @2012wannabe @sapphicloverwlw @lesbpup @jaywritessometimes @jinxedbambi

[i-want-men-i-cant-have]

˗ˏˋ꒰ Say ‘I Love You’ ꒱ .

HOW THE FROSTHEIM BOYS WOULD ACT IF THEY HAD A CRUSH ON YOU. ft. jin kamurai, tohma ishibashi, lucas errant, & kaito fuji

wc : 2.5k

warnings : sfw, gender-neutral reader but implied afab for tohma's part

JIN is the definition of a cocky bastard. he acts high and mighty, always getting you to do the most insignificant tasks he can think of, all the while being a completely different person when it's just the two of you.

you have a test you need to study for? forget that. now you have to visit jabberwock to hand milk some beast king seal for his daily cup of tea.

if you're lucky and don't ask too many questions or take too long, you might get a sip. if he's in a good enough mood, he might even pour you a cup to commemorate a job well done. of course, this is rare when he prefers to share an indirect kiss without your knowing.

take a sip and position your lips wherever you want on the cup. he’s always going to put his own directly where yours were.

if he can’t sleep, he’s the type to wake you up at 3 am by phone call solely to have you look out the window to see the moon. he could fall asleep in the known presence of you, so calm and stable. just don't ask him if he’s going sentimental on you or he’ll hang up immediately without even wishing you a word.

don't let these small sweet moments fool you. the second you think he might be catching feelings, you see him out in public, and you’re nothing more than a fly on the wall that needs to be swatted (with utmost care).

even with his on-and-off attitude, he makes sure to become the lifeline you deserve. he can see that the second years don't exactly have the… disposition to take care of you as he could. lucas and the other one can try and protect you all they want, but he’ll be the only one to actually do something. he is the captain of frostheim for a reason.

the second you tell him about someone from his house even raising their voice at you, the best-case scenario is that they get shipped off to dig ditches in the desert for some mission and are gone for so long they have to retake the year.

of course, if you questioned the students' absence, he would wave you off, saying their families were too poor and needed their kids back home to help pay rent.

just remember, no matter how docile he may come off with you, the second someone else enters the room, those walls come shooting back up, acting as if he never caressed your hand, showing you how you could have easily checkmated him before he took out your queen and king all within four moves.

just pray it’s not tohma, or else jin would be taking jab after jab while trying to make him leave his room by any means necessary. all the while the vice-captain filled up your tea, sweet-talking you, and wondering why the door was locked while the two of you were alone all night; something you hadn't even noticed when coming in midday.

just hurry up and confess to jin already so tohma can stop his prying. he's not patient enough to deal with your mixed signals and dilly-dallying.

TOHMA wouldn't even try to cover how bad his excuses for everything were. it’s always going to be 50/50 on how realistic they sound. go fetch this work. go do this and that. he needs to help you study for an upcoming quiz. you need to try out this imported tea. blah, blah, blah.

there had been some minuscule to nonexistent complaints about the formal uniform at the dances and how it should be more elegant. buckle up because this man has ordered the most embarrassing things for you to try on.

the next week, there was a package filled to the brim with luxury clothes on your doorstep. the finest silk materials all adorned your body while he watched, camera and notes in hand. please excuse the quill in his hand writing everything everyone says; that’s just to track your true feelings. oh, the camera? it was for your candid reaction to pair with the pen. you really must work on masking your emotions more; maybe he could help you later.

starting off with a dress for someone your age was a nice start. nothing too sexy or childlike, being more on the modest side. the only skin showing were some ankles, chest, and all of your arms. the next few would be similar, only to ease you into a false sense of security.

somewhere sandwiched in the middle of the modeling session would be dresses tighter and smaller. you felt like your whole body was on display with him, the push-ups on your chest only contributing to your stress. when you asked tohma, he said he had no idea about when he ordered—as if he hadn't done research prior and took quick photos as you came out, pretending to act shocked when he saw the revealing clothing.

oh, the dress has a bit too much skin? well, that’s all the rage from what the female poll said they wanted for their dress uniforms. they did pay for their bodies; they should show them off.

to him, this was your way of opening up to him. if he's already gotten a sneak peek of what you have to offer, then what’s stopping him from seeing the rest? after all, you and he would complement each other so well.

not to mention he would work tooth and nail out of all his free time, dedicating it to figuring out how to get you to confess to him. he would never put his feelings on the line and somehow get rejected by someone like you.

you had to go to a random anomaly library to search for an anomaly book? that’s not too hard.

wrong.

two hours after being stuck in the never-ending location, and a mental breakdown later, tohma already secured the book without your knowledge. now he’s just waiting and making small talk, trying to rip out any piece of information he could use to make you sink your teeth into his hold on you.

both figuratively and literally, you were being brought together. the deeper you went into the library, the closer the shelves seemed to be.

when he had the chance to put the book on the highest shelf, watching the way your face lit up, he almost felt guilty putting this much effort into his plans. but you had to realize your feelings for him, not the other way around.

when you went to grab the anomaly book—along with the massive stack of books it was placed upon—it came avalanching down. instead of being swallowed alive by pages, you were pressed tight against the vice-captain, his shoulder saving you from your doom.

what you didn’t know was how tohma plastered your scent in his mind so he could hopefully find whatever perfume, shampoo, or just your smell somewhere.

LUCA would be the sweetest thing if he liked you. he would, of course, deny these feelings, thinking, or understanding them as platonic.

he would make you feel like you were in a classic, unproblematic, 90s shoujo manga. you could practically see the rose petals following him around whenever he’s with you.

it wouldn’t matter whether he recognizes his feelings or not or if he acts on them; no matter what, you’re going to feel special and wanted.

often, he would find you perusing the halls and randomly start a conversation. he would tell you about the differences between darwick and the uk campus, trying to find a reason to talk just so you wouldn’t leave. sometimes he finds himself purposely getting lost to spend just a couple of extra minutes with you.

he probably has some phone tracking app on you just in case something bad happens. of course, he would manipulate it in his favor—nothing bad, truly just misguided—so he could “accidentally” bump into you.

he’d probably subconsciously check his phone every few minutes hoping you texted him or anything. if you hadn’t seen him in a while due to being stuck at other houses for missions, he would use his favorite app at the moment to send a ‘stay safe!’ message for you to respond to and tell him how it’s going.

when you meet up, whether it be after a class or a whole week, he would, of course, grab your bags and make sure you're feeling alright. your feet hurt? here, get on his back. you have a migraine? here, have some medicine and a nice head massage.

what kind of gentleman would he be if he didn’t give his friends the courtesy of being comfortable?

he would take you to sho’s food truck, ren’s job, the cafeteria, or anywhere to have an excuse to spend more time with you (same goes for subaru).

100% a gentleman and doesn’t believe in splitting the tab 50/50. he invited you and you took the time out of your busy schedule to meet up with him.

yeah, there’s no way you're pitching in even a cent. he has money and he isn’t afraid to spend it on you.

he will open the doors for you and wait with bated breath as you walk by, thanking him each and every time.

he will treat you how you should be treated. he believes in the golden rule of treating others how you would like to be treated or how they would treat you, and you’ve shown him nothing but kindness. all he can do now is return the favor of being his first friend at this new school.

at one point, when his feelings were developing, he took them to yuri. instead of realizing any feelings, he thought your curse might cause him heartburn, only to be met with the doctor shoving him out and telling him to figure out his feelings before wasting his time on sappy romance.

it's safe to say everyone but luca knows about his feelings for you.

when he did realize his feelings were more than platonic, he cranked up that gentleman's act by one thousand.

you know those classic suave princely characters? that’s him to a t. patient and caring all without acting like a father and instead a friend.

if you did date him, it could only work out. it would be like dating your best friend, but not in an incestuous friendship-type way. an actual budding romance, no strings attached, but true undeterred love.

he would wait until he had completely understood his feelings until trying to make “moves” on you. think of things he’s heard kaito say to girls he’s trying to flirt with. suffice to say it only made you laugh.

instead of forcing you to confess to him like the rest, he’d much rather stake his emotions on the line than yours. he just wants you to be happy, even if it comes in the form of rejection or love. as long as you’re happy, he’s happy, whether that be as friends or something more.

be prepared to just enjoy time with him. if you do or don’t romantically like him back, it doesn’t matter. no matter what, you’re just going to be genuinely happy.

even if he’s not the best at picking up signs or reading people, he’s still going to be making sure you’re enjoying yourself.

his brother has already disappeared; he needs to cherish every moment with you, even if it’s one-sided, as friends, or as lovers.

KAITO'S unofficial love language is making you watch movies to make you fall in love with him.

scary movies? you can cling onto him, squealing into his big, strong, herculean muscles. romcom? maybe that can get you in the mood to stare at his plump lips and share your very first kiss. action? maybe you two can try and replicate a scene and accidentally fall on top of him, staring into his deep cerulean orbs, realizing he was always the one for you, not luca.

he is the most unorganized and delusional of the frostheim boys.

he will probably plan a few minutes in advance and, if not, he will get in his head and forget how to talk to you.

the most he’ll plan ahead of time is explaining how you two need to sleep in a bed together because he can't sleep in a pew of the church.

see, once you two finish binging a movie series, he can sleep and spend the night at your place. walking back is just too hard and dangerous at night, you know? besides, just one night in your small bed wouldn’t hurt. it would just end up with you two waking up in each other's loving embrace, confessing your undying love for each other.

in reality, he was scared he would accidentally fart or kick you as you slept and was too afraid to even move. he slept on the corner of the bed while hiding under the covers, trying to ignore the creepy shadow-like monsters of your room.

he has tried and failed to change his personality to match every single one of your interests, only to fail miserably. trust me, if you post a lot, he will stalk you back to your first-ever post by accident and have a mental breakdown after liking the post.

he wouldn't speak to you for a week after the incident until you liked his first-ever post to somewhat ease the burn.

the same goes for if you see him zoning out on you. do not try and provoke him in the wild as he watches you walk from class to class. if you even make eye contact, he's shriveling up to a prune.

unfortunately, everyone in the area sees him making an effort to stalk you and endlessly teases him for it.

even if he doesn’t necessarily look it, he will protect you. if you even seem somewhat stressed with a mission, he will be running across campus to help you out, no matter what the other house says.

he wouldn’t be a lap dog for you, more so an eager friend. not in a hundred years will he let you be stalked or threatened if someone took an interest in you. not on a yandere level, just a worried friend who would steamroll someone if need be, even if he had to fight. he will suck it up for you.

hopefully, you are genuinely interested in ranting or are a master at tuning things or people out because this man is insane. he will tell you all about his day while saying nothing at the same time.

he will send you his entire for you page and count down the seconds from when he posted to when you liked it. god forbid you take a day or week because you’re busy. if a form of snapchat exists in darwick, your streak will be insane. literally, how you track the number of days you started at the school.

“you forgot to open one.”

[sylussys]

KINGS GAMBIT.

AVENTURINE x fem reader. nsfw, mdni. porn with plot(?). putting a slight ooc warning in case those aventurine fans come at me. wc: 3.3k

SUMMARY. perhaps life is a gamble in itself—choices must be made in order to survive this world rife with opportunity and its pitfalls. but how far will you go? what will you put on the line? in his words, it’s all or nothing.

You find him at the casino. 

Your casino, if you could still call it that. Or what it had been, with its endless rewards to sow from patrons that poured their wealth into machines that lined your own pockets day by day. You were the one who had built this establishment from the ground up, pulled together an existence amongst this bleak world. 

So how had it all fallen into his hands? 

Your fingers twitch, threatening to crumple the document in your hands. A debt settlement—you had wanted to scoff at the incredulity of it all, as you scan the brightly lit room for the man who had penned such a statement. 

It’s not hard to locate him, sitting in the middle of it all, engrossed within a game of poker, chips piled high by his side. He sticks out like a peacock, extravagant and bold even amongst the finest luxury this world offers. 

“Aventurine.” You utter, quietly at first, trying to hide the slight tremor in your voice—you’re still unsure of this whole affair, as you approach him. Your pride didn’t want to allow it. 

Even his name feels embellished. But rolling off your tongue it’s heavy, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. 

“Aventurine.” You repeat again, louder. 

The game pauses.

Aventurine lifts his head, glancing up at you. His lips pull up into a smile a moment later, eyes gleaming behind those rose tinted glasses. In this light, he looks smug almost. 

“Ah Miss Y/N, we meet again.” He starts, as if greeting an old friend. 

Your first meeting had not been so amicable, if you could call it that. His appearance had brought enough trouble to this world—you are not so blind to not notice the market shrinking, businesses run to the ground. Soon enough, it too had arrived upon your doorstep, to run up on old debts long forgotten by time. 

For that was the price for existing, to flourish. You had only shone bright enough to draw their hungry gaze. These visitors from beyond the sky, they’ll soon drain this world dry and move on to things with greater promise. Everything would disappear, just as how quickly golden coins are exchanged between hands and cash is pocketed.

Thirteen days, he had given you. To either sign off your entire fortune and its shares to the IPC—or to convince him otherwise.

“I‘ve made my choice.” You say stiffly. 

“Leave us.” You snap at the rest of the patrons around the table, who scatter immediately, scooping up their chips and disappearing out the door. 

He watches as the last of them disappears from view, fingers drumming on the tabletop, before he turns to you, amusement written across his features. “And what will that be?” 

“I will have you know, I do consider myself rather merciful, compared to my other colleagues.” He drawls, leaning back in his chair.  

“I don’t need your pity.” You hiss. 

You had spent twelve of the days grappling between what was your pride and bare necessity. To throw it all away, could you even do that? Or would you be so pathetic enough to plead for mercy? If such a concept existed to those who looked down from the head of their high tables. 

Even from here, the gold of his watch glistens brighter than any gold you’ve ever seen, the rhinestones on his jacket cut from a gem whose properties are beyond you. Your luxuries are lost on him, your world but a speck of dust in the vast universe the IPC encompassed.

It’s easy to hate him. You can think of a hundred different names to call him—an asshole, a loan shark, just to name a few. You wonder if he has ever known struggle, or has life always just been a game to him? One where he holds all the winning cards. 

You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction. “I’ll get the money. All of it.” 

It falls silent. 

He stares at you, perhaps almost incredulously. 

Then he tips his head back and laughs.

“You’re aware that is half a billion credits right?” 

You both know it would be easier to sign off your business, get the IPC off your back—him included. But you refuse to give up so easily, not after all you had done to bring this from the ground up. You weren’t going to become a pawn in their game. 

“I’ll find a way. Just give me some more time.” 

“How bold of you.” He muses. “You know Y/N, I must admire your tenacity.” 

You’re not like the other women who have sought him out in desperation, ones with no true grasp on any business, this the first time in their lives where they’ve struggled, despaired even, at the uncertainties of the future which had once been promised to them. They plead for mercy, for themselves and their families. 

You on the other hand have known struggle. Nothing in this world had been handed to you upon a silver platter. You’ve fought tooth and nail, clawing your way up to the top by any means possible—to survive. This business of yours had been nothing, but you had made it something. And you would not let go of something so precious in a world of beggars and thieves. 

Aventurine clicks his tongue. “But time is money. None of which you have right now at your disposal, and the IPC does not take empty promises for one.” 

“You’re setting yourself an impossible task. Why not take the easy way out?” He waves your discarded document in front of your face almost tauntingly, watching as your eyes narrow. 

He knows you won’t. An animal caught in a trap will gnaw off its own leg to escape. Others unlike you would balk at the idea, accepting their fate. 

“You and I both know that is not the case.” You hiss through gritted teeth, turning away, eyes flickering over to the unfinished game of poker on the table. Your fingers rest atop a particularly high pile of chips, watching as it topples beneath your touch. All this wealth, you think, brought crashing down so easily. 

“Everything has a price. It won’t end here.” 

A drowning person will grab onto anything, forgoing the consequences for a shot at survival. 

You are no stranger to that nature of desperation, it forever having existed in the underbellies of this city and its helpless souls. Risking arm and limb for a bag of gold to feed their hunger, or to tarnish their own hands at a price—you’ve seen it all. You too had been amongst them once, staking your survival to dig yourself out from the dirt. 

But you’ve learnt to be better, being the only way you have risen to the top. You would not subject yourself to the IPC’s whims so easily, to be forever indebted to them, with your last bargaining chip gone. 

Behind you, you hear the scrape of a chair against the floor, footsteps stopping behind you. A gloved hand reaches out, restacking the chips you had knocked over. “I suppose I underestimated you, Y/N.” 

You scoff. 

“Perhaps we are kindred spirits, in that we will do anything to survive on our own terms in this world.” He huffs a laugh, warm breath tickling the back of your neck. “Let me make you an offer, one from myself and not the IPC. One you can’t possibly refuse.” 

You pause, hesitating. “And what is your price?” 

You don’t trust him. No one in their right mind should. But oddly enough, he sounds sincere. It could be a chance to escape the IPC’s grasp. Yet could you allow yourself to be indebted to him instead? The devil takes on many forms, with its most beautiful ones the most treacherous. 

Aventurine hums appreciably. “Humour me, how much are you willing to put on the line? Could you wager your life—”

“—or something else perhaps?” His voice drops to a whisper. 

Too late, you think. He’s already gotten you backed into a corner. 

He has everything to gain. You have everything to lose, and already you’ve been left with nothing but your wits and the meagre sum left to your name. There’s nothing but a false plea for more time that you cling to now, hoping he would take your bluff. And perhaps he could see through that act of yours too. 

Your breath hitches as you feel his hand grasp your chin. The leather of his gloves are bitingly cold, like pinpricks of ice against your skin, digging into you. 

He turns your head to meet his eyes, hues of cyan and pink gleaming in the light—maddened almost. He’s suddenly way too close you realise, hot breath fanning against your face as he chuckles. 

“Beg me.” He whispers. “Beg for my help.” 

Your nails dig further into the table at his words. You don’t even notice the angry tears that have begun to prick at the corner of your eyes until he wipes them away. He’s practically pressed against you now—you have nowhere to run, wedged between him and the table. 

You swallow back the lump in your throat, chest heaving. It’s suddenly stiflingly hot—between his closeness and the part of you that is seething internally, heart thumping loudly in the silence. 

“You are infuriating.” You get out a moment later, scooting back on the table to swipe your foot at him. 

He catches your leg halfway, amused. “So I’ve been told.” 

“It must be difficult.” He steps in between your legs, leaning down as he continues. “Alone with the world crashing down around you… I suppose I could understand how you feel. That the mighty should be humbled.” 

“Truly it would be a shame for it to end like this.” He murmurs, fingers moving to curl around the back of your neck, pulling you ever so slightly closer to him so that his breath fans across your cheeks as his eyes fall to your lips. “Take my offer. Let me help you.” 

You could almost believe him, the way he grazes your cheekbone with his fingertips before tracing the outline of your jaw with an uncanny gentleness. That he pities you—your desperation. It is a desperation that burns like no other, hollowing and empty, yet ravaging to consume, lying beneath the last extant shreds of what remains a tether to this world that has not yet blurred beyond reason. 

“I only wonder…” The hunger in his eyes is unmistakable as the corner of his mouth twitches up into a half smirk. “How much more can you take until you crack?” 

The shallow breath you draw into your lungs is like music to his ears, and you feel his hand stiffen against the nape of your neck as he awaits your response. 

Your skin is as smooth as porcelain and just as devastatingly fragile, beneath his digits encrusted with the weight of gold—as if made to crumble by his touch, the gravity of it all, that delicate figure that has teetered precariously on the lines of control. 

And he cracks that shell, leaves all there is to break, to consume. Your response is airy, hardly more than a whisper, but a bite to the last of your challenge, rekindled fire burning to meet his hungry gaze. “How much will you give to find out?” 

“Everything.” 

Those few words come out roughly, but you hardly get the chance to dwell on it. His lips are on your neck in the next second, stealing your breath and igniting a fire in your veins that threatens to burn you from the inside out.

His fingers trail down the length of your figure, bunching the fabric of your dress in his hands as he pushes you further over the table. A stack of chips topple over at the force, scattering all over the tabletop, splayed around your frame. 

You shiver as his free hand pulls down the zipper of your dress—revealing the full flush of your figure, his mouth trailing past your collarbone, down to your exposed breasts, his tongue flicking out as if to savour the feeling of your bare skin, a low moan of satisfaction escaping him. You smell sweet, like the scent of freshly blossoming flowers. 

Perhaps you could grant his starving soul satiation, two sides of the same coin, halves to a whole. 

It’s no secret he has been captivated by you. He’s heard acclaim of your name in the first moments of stepping onto this world, a woman who had come from no background having risen so high, forged your own path. And perhaps he had gotten more than what he had gambled for. 

Truly he does think you’re pretty, from your first meeting where you had stood as an elegant figure of ethereal grace—an unattainable treasure, cutting a flawless figure in the sweep of your dress. But you’ve shed some of that light, revealing all that lay beneath. And now, he sees you laid out before him, face flushed, lipstick stained in a hot mess. 

Slowly, his kisses move further down. Before you could even make out his motions, he’s licking a hot stripe down your cunt, pulling a choked gasp from your throat, eyes fluttering shut as you try not to lose all control. His tongue prods at the entrance of your hole, and you can feel his groan reverberate against you, drinking up your arousal. 

Good gods. You think you’re beginning to see stars already. 

A shudder escapes you when Aventurine cuts you off with another hot moan against your dripping cunt, pressing his lips against your clit. You have to clap your hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds that push past your own lips. 

“Embarrassed?” He purrs, lifting his head, fingers pulling away your hand. 

You forget how infuriating he can be when his mouth isn’t occupied. You grit your teeth, shoving him back, rolling your hips against his tongue just to shut him up. You earn a quiet huff from him before he’s dipping back into your cunt with renewed vigour, lapping up the arousal. 

He doesn’t let up, enraptured with the taste of you, the sounds of him sloppily sucking on your clit and your soft moans filling the room. You’re momentarily glad that you had emptied the room and the rest of the casino earlier. 

Soon you can’t take it anymore, chest heaving as he coaxes another moan from you. Tears begin to prick at your eyes again as his tongue drags another languid lick up against your folds, eating you out like a man starved. It’s awfully vulgar and lewd, so perfectly mind numbing—you’re practically keening, fingers entangling themselves in his blonde locks as your back arches against the table. 

Your orgasm builds quickly, much to your further embarrassment, his name coming out in broken gasps. It crashes through your veins in a wave of white-hot pleasure that has your eyes rolling back, your body trembling as you cum on his lips. 

“Oh my god.” You choke out, chest heaving loudly, your heart thrumming in your ears. 

You’re spread out the table with an utterly fucked out expression across your face, cunt dripping as Aventurine slowly pulls away, eyes roving over you. His finger flicks out to wipe away a stray tear that falls down your cheek. 

He’s then climbing on top of you, shedding the outer layers of his coat—and it’s not long until he’s pulling you into a heated kiss, chasing your lips. You can taste the remnants of your sweet release on his tongue, forcing its way between your teeth and licking at your mouth. 

It’s hot, too hot. 

“… fuck, don’t look at me like that.” He mutters between breaths as he takes a moment to truly take you in. “Please, gods, let me fuck you.” 

It’s inviting. He thinks maybe you look prettier when you cry, his name pushing past your lips. You wanted more—you were too far gone to act as though you weren't eager to experience everything he had to offer, your own desires having overcome you. 

He unbuckles his belt, letting it slip to the floor with a clink. He would’ve made you beg for it, but how could he deny himself when you were right here in front of him like that? 

His hands move over your body, smoothing up the skin of your thighs, pulling them farther apart. Your eyes flutter shut as you swallow back a gulp, your breaths shaky and haggard as he pushes himself into you. You bury your face in the crook of your neck as if to stifle your cry, a groan rumbling in his own chest. 

“Look at me baby.” He gasps, pulling you from his chest, fingers tangling themselves in your hair, violet irises dancing, as he rolls his hips against yours and you moan. He didn’t think you could make such a beautiful noise, lips crashing against yours as if poised to devour the essence of your being completely. 

He could think himself truly enamoured by you in the height of his pleasures. You’re dancing in the palm of his hands, tits bouncing up and down as he thrusts into you, letting that sweet, sweet melody of your pleasure fill his ears, pushing any coherent thoughts from Aventurine’s mind. 

Your own mind is equally blank, you’re numb, shaking all over as he continues to slam his cock into you, gasping as his fingers dig into your thighs. A cry escapes you, your legs trembling, as the knot in your stomach seems to tighten with each movement of his. He’s grown rougher, faster. 

“Mm you’re beautiful.” He kisses along your neck, as you wrap your arms around him, nails digging into his back amid a muffled sob as he continues, settling into a steady pace. 

At this point you’ve begun to lose count of the times he’s abused your cunt, your vision blurring as a sudden orgasm crashes through you, the knot in your stomach growing taut—then snapping, without so much of a warning, as his cock hits that sweet spot of yours, one that has you seeing stars. 

It’s so much all at once. Pleasure rips through you like a tidal wave, painting your mind in a foggy haze. It’s shamefully fulfilling as you ride out your high.

He fucks you through your release, your first, and then every other one that follows, in chase of his own, your walls growing tighter and more desperate. Your cries become higher and higher in pitch—you’re practically keening with your head thrown back, eyes rolling to the back into your head. 

His pace grows sloppy, his words coming out between gasps against your ear. His eyes are equally unfocused, strands of blonde hair sticking to the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, as he loses himself in the pleasure of your soft cunt. His breathing is ragged, chest heaving as his hips stutter. 

With one final thrust, he spills into you with a sigh. You feel him twitch inside, warm liquid painting your walls and dripping down the inside of your thighs. His head drops down, slumping over. 

You have little to no idea how long you two lie there for, catching your breath as the rush of the moment dissipates, both of you equally spent. Your mind is in no better state, a good deal of time passing before you can even think clearly enough to be stirred to action. 

Eventually, he lifts a hand to guide your legs off him, settling your trembling limbs back down on the table, almost like dead weights. 

He gets up quickly, pulling up his pants, the clink of a belt being refastened as he fixes up his clothes. He pats his pockets, looking for something, as you watch bleary eyed from your position. 

“Here.” Aventurine slides a black card across the tabletop a moment later. 

You blink dazedly, confused. 

He smirks. 

“I don’t make deals that don’t pay off.” 

[azen13]

CW: Yandere Themes Thinking abt Yandere!Neuvillette with a Sovereign!S/O who seeks asylum in Fontaine after years of hiding in Teyvat from the Fatui, Celestia, etc...

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

The moment you enter the Palais Mermonia, Neuvillette feels your presence; like when the sun peaks through a blanket of clouds on an overcast day, something heavy falls off from his soul, like a curtain opening. His office doors open and you find yourself face-to-face with the only being like you in this land.

Of course Neuvillette can't just drop any of his appointments or cases, so he asks you empathetically to wait out in the lobby until his lunch break. Before he returns to his office, he asks one of the Melusines working to keep an eye on you and to make sure you don't get hurt or run off. His fingers twitch as he takes one last look at you, his eyes searching deep into your soul.

When he's finally finished with all his paperwork and met with several people, he ushers you in his office, his face imperceptible. Beneath his human facade, there are currents of emotions pushing against one another like boiling water: protectiveness, anxiety, fear, jubilance, relief. Neuvillette asks you if you want something to eat. Some water from Monstadt to go along with it, maybe?

He lets you tell your story and listens patiently. His expression, perfected over the course of hundreds of thousands of trials, stays perfectly intact, but the tides of his heart lurch as you tell him about all the atrocities committed to you.

The waters roar, and the dragon stirs.

When you ask for asylum and protection he is quick to agree. Very quick. Almost immediately he promises to set you up with a comfortable apartment, a simple job at the Palais organizing papers, some Mora to help you buy clothes, and whatever else you might need. He has to return to work, unfortunately. But he asks again if you can stay in the Palais Mermonia until he is done with work—or at least his official work—for the night.

Your agreement is the most beautiful sound he has ever heard.

The rest of the day, Neuvillette cannot think. There is an permanent indentation in his mind now from that first feeling of sensing your presence. The feelings duplicate themselves in his mind until he can hardly grasp his pen. Words on pages turn into soupy mush.

For the first time in centuries, Neuvillette does not stay late to continue working. When the clock strikes seven, he has already neatly organized the work he has to get done on his desk to pick up later. Briefly, his expression eases, thaws in a way, the corners of his lips slightly upturned, a hint of fondness finding its way into his iridescent eyes.

Unfortunately, he says, he can't organize all of the papers and contact all of the people needed right now to get you what he promised. However, he can offer you a guest room in his home. Your agreeance is so beautiful, your smile radiant like the sun and eyes shining like stars. He wants to see you smile. He likes it. Loves it, even.

As the two of you walk through the streets of Fontaine, the energy of the city begins winding down; there are still people clustered at cafes and musicians spouting tunes off into the evening summer air, but already, stars have begun to appear in the dazzling dusk sky.

You say you love the stars. Neuvillette listens with rapt attention, as though he is studying for the most important test of his life. He is an Akademiya scholar, and his Darshan is the study of you.

You are his star.

After the walk home, Neuvillette finds himself blessed by your expression when you gaze into the foyer of his house. It's nothing extraordinary like the opulence of the nobility, but it is upper-class; a quiet luxury permeates through every part of the home, from the banister carved with patterns of the sea to the walls painted a rich, deep blue.

He holds in a laugh when you see a potted plant and gaze at it like it is a miracle of life. Perhaps it is, with its delicate petals and fragrant scent. How—he wonders as he guides you to the guest room, nearly reaching to put his hand on the small of your back before deciding against it—could it survive this long? How did it not get ripped apart or trampled on by beasts and humans alike? The thought lingers in the back of his mind like the last traces of sunlight beaming in through the windows.

Neuvillette files it away.

When he goes to bed, he cannot sleep. Part of him is worried that there is something genuinely wrong with him, that he should seek medical attention. But that's impossible. And he knows it. It is an easy, dismissive lie; thin like ice in late winter. Once he smashes through it, he plunges into something lethal.

Is it wrong, Neuvillette thinks, that he wishes to protect you?

He should rephrase that. It is wrong that he wishes to keep you tucked away somewhere where those beasts will never hurt you again?

He holds a court case in his mind, you versus him. He cards through the evidence. The laws. He goes on a hunt in his archives for a tome on the law when he needs clarification.

When he composes a mental opinion to this rhetorical case, it is after several hours of back-and-forths in his head. But he knows now.

You are a special case, Neuvillette thinks. Cursed by Celestia even, he would say, with how much you have gone through, escaping the clutches of the Fatui and their Harbingers, and countless other evils. He can trace the scars on your hands knowing there are thousands of tragedies written in invisible ink over them. Could he be what decodes those messages? He can. He will.

To put it more plainly, you don't fall under the standard limits of jurisdiction of Fontaine's law. You are a Sovereign, not a citizen of Fontaine, and in addition, you fall under the qualifications of a person in extreme danger. Your very existence is endangered, the elusive essence of your being alluring to the foulest forces in Teyvat. And since the Archon of your element has not rescinded their powers, you are so very vulnerable.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Time passes strangely after that night. The god of time has always been a strange, fickle thing in an immortal being like Neuvillette's eyes, but after meeting you, it has only become more warped.

You go out to cafes together. Neuvillette buys you a croissant. You ask him what lavender tastes like. He describes it the best he can, and you buy a lavender latte. You and him share easy, pleasant conversation on a small streetside patio. That is just one morning. There will be an infinite number of mornings like that, but they will all carry that insurmountable significance to Neuvillette. Just like your smile. Your face. Your eyes. Hair. Nose. Everything. Anything. All of it.

This is love. It must be.

Days float on by like meandering clouds, the guest room slowly transforms into your room, and the thought of an apartment is abandoned. Neuvillette asks you to start helping him organize papers in his office, find the right tome he needs on Fontaine's laws from his expansive shelves. He buys you clothes in shades of blue, gray, and white, your outfit's color palette harmonizing perfectly with his. Your days are spent constantly together, going from home to the Palais Mermonia, back home, maybe going out for dinner or some other excursion like an opera or show, and Neuvillette is pleased.

Pleased because you have not tried to fight against this. Pleased that you are just as affected as he is. Pleased that he wakes every day knowing you are safe in your home. Pleased that you are his.

His grasp slowly tightens around you like a gardener lining his pruners up against a flower. His hands clasp yours. They draw around your back. Cup your cheek. Brush your lip. When a stranger finds themselves talking to you, Neuvillette's gravity draws you back in, like the earth and the moon. The stranger is simply a speck of dust in this cosmos, never to fall into your shared orbit again.

When you finally kiss after months of this slow pull, Neuvillette knows it is over. You are his. Your room is now his room. Your bed now his bed. Your love is now his love. Your life is now his life. And you know it. And he knows it. And you both know it's for the best.

He will protect you. His rose.

His star.

His love.

Forever.

[ellswritings]

Undercover Heat

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

TW: Regular Criminal Minds violence, mentions of blood, death, and gore, suggestive content at the end (no smut), a bit of foul language, enemies to lovers, Hotch is kind of a meanie.

»»————-　➴　————-««

Sitting in the Los Angeles police station for the third day in a row has the entire team from the B.A.U stretched thin and exhausted. They’ve been dealing with a serial killer who targets couples with large age gaps in upscale, luxury clubs. He’s taken out three couples in the past three weeks. Tension was thick in the air, the exhaustion from long hours spent hunting a brutal unsub weighing on each of them.

Y/N runs a hand over her face in irritation as she leans on Morgan’s shoulder. They’ve been driving themselves crazy trying to figure out who this killer is. They’ve gone to multiple different clubs asking if anyone has seen a man between ages 35-50 who tends to sit at the bar people watching rather than engaging in the night’s festivities. But the regulars and employees said they hadn’t seen anything. Their unsub has been strangling his victims in the luxury clubs before dumping their bodies exactly two miles away in very particular positions. They’ve all been found in public spaces. But so far, they were missing something.

Hotch stood at the front of the room, flipping through the latest crime scene photos as Rossi and Morgan finished pinning the map with the last locations of the attacks. Y/N sat across from Reid, skimming through her notes as she analyzed the patterns. With an IQ of 179, a doctorate in criminology and psychology, two master’s degrees in chemistry and law, and a B.A. in history and human resources, her mind rarely rested. She could also fluently converse in four languages—French, Russian, German, and Spanish—which had come in handy countless times in the field. Despite her vast knowledge and sharp instincts, this case had left her unsettled. Something was off, and they hadn’t cracked it yet.

Rossi broke the silence. “We’ve been over this already. The unsub is hitting clubs that cater to the upper class, targeting couples with large age gaps. But there’s still a piece we’re missing. Why these clubs? Why these victims?”

Morgan crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. “This guy knows how to pick his victims, that’s for sure. But he’s not choosing randomly—there’s gotta be something more connecting these places.”

Y/N frowned, glancing between the case files and the map. “It’s not just about wealth. These clubs aren’t the most high-profile ones in the city, and they’re spread out across the area.”

Reid tapped his pen against the table. “It’s true. They’re not clustered in one neighborhood, and they don’t have a shared ownership group or any overt connections that we’ve found.”

Emily Prentiss nodded from her spot at the edge of the table, deep in thought. “What about the victims? They’re all couples with significant age differences. That’s part of his ritual, but it doesn’t explain why he’s picking these clubs.”

Y/N was staring at the list of clubs they’d canvassed earlier: Ascend, Bourbon Room, Cielo. She narrowed her eyes, something beginning to click in her mind. “Hold on…”

“What is it?” Hotch asked, noticing her shift in focus.

Y/N sat up straighter, her voice thoughtful. “The clubs… they’re in alphabetical order. Look—Ascend, Bourbon Room, Cielo. He’s not just picking random spots. He’s following a sequence.”

Reid’s eyes lit up in realization. “You’re right. It’s subtle, but it makes sense. This kind of obsessive order suggests a particular form of OCD—a need to control every element of his actions. It’s not about the clubs themselves; it’s about the order they fall into.”

Morgan rubbed the back of his neck, impressed. “Damn. This guy’s not just a killer—he’s a full-on control freak.”

Hotch nodded, his expression serious. “If he’s following an alphabetical pattern, we can anticipate his next move. What’s the next club in line?”

Y/N flipped through the files, pulling out the next likely target. “‘DeVane.’ It’s upscale, fits the profile of where he’s been targeting couples. If he’s keeping to this pattern, that’s where he’ll strike next.”

JJ stepped forward, pointing at the map. “Alright. So we’ve got the next location. Now we just need to draw him out.”

Rossi’s eyes light up with an idea as he looked between Y/N and Hotch, “Well, we know the unsub’s got a thing for couples with big age gaps. Looks like we need a decoy.”

Before anyone could react, Morgan’s gaze landed squarely on Y/N, mischief dancing behind his eyes, “And we’ve got the perfect couple right here.”

Y/N blinked, momentarily stunned. “Wait, hold on, what?”

Emily, catching onto Morgan and Rossi’s plan, chuckled. “He’s right, you know. You and Hotch fit the profile. It’d be perfect.”

Y/N stared, incredulous, before glancing toward Hotch. The man was stone-faced, as usual, but she could feel the tension rise between them. “You want me to pretend to be in a relationship with him?”

Morgan shrugged, his smile widening. “Well, you’re 23, Hotch is… not 23. The age gap fits perfectly.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, frustration building. “You’re seriously suggesting that Hotch and I—two people who can barely tolerate each other—pretend to be a couple?”

Hotch didn’t even look up from his files. “We’re professionals. We can set aside our differences for this.”

Y/N let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Set aside our differences? Hotch, we can’t even get through a team meeting without arguing over strategy. How do you expect us to pull off a believable relationship?”

Prentiss leaned in, smirking. “You two do argue like an old married couple already.”

Y/N threw her a sharp look. “That’s not funny.”

JJ chimed in, trying to defuse the tension. “Look, I know this is uncomfortable, but we need to catch this guy before he kills again. You two are the best option we have.”

Y/N shook her head, frustration bubbling over. “This isn’t just about being uncomfortable. We have to convince the unsub that we’re a legitimate couple—he’s going to notice every detail. And we’re not exactly… compatible.”

Hotch finally spoke up, his tone calm but firm. “We don’t have to like each other to do our jobs, L/N. We just have to be convincing enough to lure the unsub in.”

Y/N stared at him, arms crossed tightly. “Convincing? You and I can barely stand to be in the same room. How do you expect us to sell a romantic relationship?”

Morgan chuckled from the side. “Come on, L/N, you’re one of the smartest people I know. With that IQ and all those degrees, you can figure this out.”

Y/N shot him a glare. “I have a doctorate in criminology and psychology, a master’s in law and chemistry, and a B.A. in history and human resources. None of those degrees cover ‘pretending to like your boss who you can’t stand.’”

Rossi stepped in, his tone more diplomatic. “Look, we wouldn’t ask you to do this if we didn’t think you could handle it. This guy’s escalating, and we need to act fast. You and Hotch are the best team for this.”

Y/N sighed, clearly frustrated but recognizing the urgency. She looked over at Hotch, who met her gaze with that same impassive expression. “Fine,” she muttered. “But for the record, I still think this is a terrible idea.”

Hotch gave a curt nod. “Noted.”

»»————-　➴　————-««

Y/N stood in front of the mirror, eyeing the skimpy red dress that Emily had insisted she wear for this undercover mission. The fabric clung to her figure, accentuating every curve. The slit on the side revealed a generous portion of her thigh, leaving just enough room to conceal her gun but not much else to the imagination. The sweetheart neckline plunged dangerously low, exposing far more cleavage than she was used to. She felt exposed, vulnerable—but Emily had been insistent.

“Trust me,” Emily had said with a wicked grin. “You’ll knock them dead.”

Y/N took a deep breath and adjusted the neckline again, trying to reconcile the professional part of her brain with the woman staring back at her in the mirror. She wasn’t usually the type to use her looks to her advantage, but tonight was different. Tonight, the mission came first.

She stepped out into the hallway where the rest of the team was waiting. The moment she appeared, Morgan’s eyes widened, and he let out an appreciative whistle. “Damn, Y/N, you trying to kill the unsub or us?”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “It’s not that bad.”

Morgan grinned, his gaze trailing over her in a playful, non-threatening way that only a close friend could get away with. “If this guy doesn’t fall for the bait, Lord knows I will,” he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth making Y/N slap his chest.

Emily stepped up beside Morgan, her eyes lighting up with approval. “See? I told you that dress would be perfect. You look like a total bombshell.”

Y/N glanced down at herself, smoothing the fabric over her hips. “Yeah, well, I feel like I’m about to flash someone.”

Emily shrugged, unfazed. “That’s kind of the point.”

Morgan shot her a wink. “You’re gonna break hearts tonight, sweetheart. Just make sure it’s the right one.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered toward Hotch, who had been silent since she entered the room. His gaze was locked on her, but he wasn’t saying anything. His eyes were dark, his expression unreadable, but there was something in the way he looked at her that made her stomach tighten.

He quickly glanced away when she caught him staring, clearing his throat. “We need to focus on the mission.”

“Right.” Y/N nodded, trying to ignore the flutter of nerves in her chest. She wasn’t here to impress anyone—least of all Aaron Hotchner. He was too serious, too controlled. While Y/N on the other hand tends to handle the job by hiding behind a wall of humor and sarcasm, something Hotch hates. They’d never gotten along. This was strictly business.

Still, as they walked out to the car, she couldn’t help but feel Hotch’s presence looming next to her. He hadn’t said a word about the dress, but the way his eyes had lingered on her—particularly on her cleavage—hadn’t gone unnoticed. It was like he was trying not to look, but failing miserably.

By the time they arrived at the club, Y/N’s nerves had settled somewhat. The loud thrum of music pulsed through the walls as they approached the entrance, and she straightened her spine, trying to adopt the confident persona they needed for the night.

“Okay,” she murmured as they stepped through the door. “We need to sell this. So maybe try not looking like a statue,” she grumbles lowly.

Hotch, staying ever stoic, gave a curt nod. “I know.”

But Y/N wasn’t convinced. Hotch’s body language screamed discomfort. His shoulders were rigid, his movements stiff, and he had the expression of someone being dragged to an event they wanted no part of.

She leaned in closer to him, keeping her voice low. “Hotch, you’re going to blow this if you don’t relax. We’re supposed to be a couple.”

“I’m relaxed,” Hotch said, though the tension in his jaw told a different story.

Y/N huffed in frustration. “You look like you’re about to interrogate someone, not go dancing with your girlfriend.”

Hotch shot her a look. “I’m here to catch the unsub, not dance.”

“You’re here to catch the unsub by pretending to be my boyfriend,” Y/N whispered fiercely. “Right now, you’re not doing a very good job of that.”

Hotch’s expression remained impassive, but Y/N could sense the faintest hint of annoyance in his eyes. “What do you suggest?”

“Start by putting your arm around me,” she said through gritted teeth. “Couples don’t walk into clubs two feet apart.”

Hotch hesitated, then slipped his arm around her waist. It was awkward at first, his hand hovering as if he wasn’t sure where to put it. But Y/N pressed into him slightly, encouraging him to pull her closer. After a moment, his grip tightened, and they moved deeper into the crowded club.

They found their way to the dance floor, where couples swayed and ground against each other in the dim, pulsating lights. Y/N turned to Hotch, her eyes scanning the room for any sign of their target. They had to blend in.

“Follow my lead,” she said softly.

Hotch nodded, though the tightness in his posture remained.

Y/N began to move to the music, her body swaying in time with the beat. Hotch tried to follow her movements, but he was stiff, almost robotic. She bit back a sigh and leaned into him, pressing her body against his as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“We’ve got eyes on us,” she whispered in his ear, her lips brushing against the skin just below. “Black hoodie, sitting alone at the bar. You need to make this believable. Stop acting like I have some incurable disease.”

Hotch’s hands found her hips, his grip firm but hesitant. Y/N could feel the tension radiating off him, but she kept moving, her body fluid and sensual as she ground against him. Their bodies remain close, she spins around pressing her ass against crotch, and for a moment, she felt his breath hitch.

“You’re too stiff,” she murmured, leaning her head back, her lips grazing the shell of his ear. “Relax.”

Hotch’s hands tightened on her hips as he tried to match her rhythm. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders began to ease, and he pulled her closer, his breath now becoming warm against her neck.

“That’s better,” Y/N whispered, her voice low and teasing.

Hotch’s hands moved more confidently now, gripping her hips with a possessive strength that sent a shiver down her spine. Y/N’s heart raced as she tilted her head slightly, brushing her lips against the skin of his neck. She trails kisses up and down his skin, nibbling at the soft spot that connects his shoulder to his neck. She turns back around, running her hands through his raven black hair, tugging on the strands which ends up pulling a small groan from Hotch’s lips. The music and atmosphere of the club seems to have pulled them in much deeper than they thought. It’s getting harder to breathe the closer they stay.

“We’ve got his attention,” she murmured, her lips ghosting along the curve of his jaw. She fights off every urge to leave a mark. “He hasn’t looked away for the past five minutes.”

Without warning, Y/N moves her attention from his neck and kisses him, her lips pressing against his in a way that was both soft and urgent. Hotch froze for a split second, but then his hands gripped her waist, pulling her even closer as he deepened the kiss. He’ll probably scold her for the unprofessional action later, but they need to keep this guys attention if this is going to work.

It was electric, the tension between them igniting in a way neither of them had anticipated. Hotch’s hand moves upward, gripping the back of her head. If her eyes were open, they’d be rolling into the back of her head with the way he’s dominating her. Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest as she kissed him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. For a moment, it didn’t feel like an act.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing heavily, their eyes locked. Hotch’s expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze—something Y/N couldn’t quite place.

“He’s hooked,” Y/N whispered, her voice breathless. “We need to get him somewhere more secluded. Before he hurts someone else.”

Hotch nodded, his grip on her waist still tight as they made their way toward the exit. Once outside, the cool night air hit them, and Y/N quickly scanned the area, her heart still racing from the adrenaline of the moment. She can’t see if the unsub followed them. The only light illuminating the area around them being the moon.

“We need to keep making this look real,” Y/N murmured as they moved toward a shadowed alley. “Just in case he’s still watching.”

Without warning, Hotch spun her around and pinned her against the wall, his body pressing into hers. One of his hands is still tight on her hip, the other one shooting up to her neck, squeezing it slightly to hold her in place. Y/N’s breath catches in her throat as Hotch’s eyes visibly darken.

“Is this believable enough for you?” Hotch whispers, his voice low and rough in her ear.

Y/N swallowed hard, enjoying the tiny amount of pressure on her throat. “Yeah… that’ll do.”

They stood like that for a few moments, their bodies pressed together in the darkness. Hotch plants open mouthed kisses from her cheek all the way down to her neck and across her chest, the neckline allowing him much needed access. Y/N sucks in a shaky breath, still waiting for any sign of the unsub. She could feel the tension between them, the heat radiating off Hotch’s body as he held her against the wall.

Suddenly, movement caught her eye. The unsub stepped out of the shadows, his gaze locked on them. Y/N’s instincts kicked in immediately. She shoved Hotch to the side, spinning around to face the unsub as he lunged at her.

In one swift motion, Y/N ducked under his arm, grabbing his wrist and twisting it behind his back. The unsub let out a grunt of pain as she swept his legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground.

Hotch was by her side in an instant, helping to restrain the unsub as they waited for backup to arrive.

When it was all over, Y/N stood there, breathing heavily, her heart still pounding from the adrenaline. She glanced over at Hotch, who was watching her with an unreadable expression.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft but steady.

Y/N nodded, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Hotch’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he looked away, his expression unreadable once again. “Good work.”

Y/N couldn’t help but smile, despite the tension still thrumming between them. “Thanks. You weren’t so bad yourself.”

As they waited for the team to arrive, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between them. The mission might have been over, but the tension between her and Hotch was far from resolved.

»»————-　➴　————-««

Y/N barely made it through the door of her hotel room before she kicked off her heels with a sigh of relief. Her feet ached from the hours spent in the club, and all she wanted was to peel off the red dress that clung to her like a second skin, take a long shower, and crash for the night. The team had successfully apprehended the unsub, and they’d earned a few hours of sleep before their early flight back to Quantico.

As she reached for the zipper at the back of her dress, a commanding knock on her door stopped her mid-motion. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was late, far past the time she expected anyone on the team to come knocking. Confusion settled in her chest as she moved toward the door, wondering if someone had an emergency or a last-minute update about the case.

When she opened the door, the sight that greeted her sent her heart racing.

Hotch stood there, but not like the composed, stoic team leader she was used to seeing. His tie was loosened, the top buttons of his shirt undone, and his usually slicked-back hair had a slightly tousled look, as if he’d been running his hands through it. But it wasn’t just his disheveled appearance that threw her off—it was the way his dark eyes flickered with something raw, something he was barely holding back.

He looked… frazzled, but not in a scared or anxious way. No, this was different. It was the kind of frazzled that spoke of barely-contained desire, the kind that made her feel like she was standing on the edge of a cliff.

Her heart skipped a beat as his eyes swept over her, lingering on the red dress she was still wearing. His gaze darkened, his jaw tightening for a split second before he quickly looked back up at her face. But not quickly enough.

“Hotch?” she asked, her voice uncertain, her brows knitting together in confusion. “What are you doing here? It’s late—”

Before she could finish her sentence, Hotch stepped forward, forcing her to take a step back. He shut the door behind him with a firm push, the click of the lock sending a shiver down her spine. His entire presence was overwhelming, the space between them growing smaller with each passing second.

“Why are you still in that dress?” he asked, his voice low and rough, his gaze once again dipping to the neckline of her dress. It wasn’t a question borne out of curiosity; it was an accusation, a demand.

Y/N blinked, completely thrown off by the intensity in his eyes, the tension radiating off him in waves. “I—I just got back. I didn’t have time to—”

But before she could explain further, Hotch took another step forward, backing her up against the wall. His hands were braced on either side of her head, caging her in. The heat of his body was intoxicating, the scent of his cologne filling her senses.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice a low growl, “what the hell were you thinking?”

Y/N’s heart was racing now, her breath hitching as she stared up at him. His face was inches from hers, his breath warm against her skin. “What are you talking about?”

“The kiss,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “The way you touched me. What were you trying to do?”

Y/N’s lips parted in shock, her mind spinning. This wasn’t an interrogation—not really. This was something else, something charged with an energy she couldn’t ignore.

“I was trying to sell the cover,” she replied, her voice faltering slightly, though she stood her ground. “We had to be convincing.”

Hotch’s eyes flashed with something dangerous. “Convincing? You were doing a hell of a lot more than that.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as his words hung between them, thick with implication. The way he was looking at her, the way his body pressed so close to hers, sent heat pooling in her stomach. She could feel the tension crackling between them, making it harder to breathe, harder to think.

“What are you trying to say?” she asked, her voice quieter now, her heart pounding in her chest.

Hotch’s gaze bore into hers, his voice dangerously soft. “You know exactly what I’m saying.”

Y/N clenched her fists at her sides, trying to regain control of the situation, of herself. But the way Hotch was staring at her, the way his body was crowding her against the wall, made it nearly impossible to think straight.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“You didn’t do anything wrong?” Hotch’s voice was thick with disbelief, and he leaned in even closer, his lips hovering near her ear. “You kissed your superior, L/N. You pushed yourself against me like a dirty whore. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

Y/N felt her pulse quicken, her skin tingling where his breath brushed against her ear. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to push him away or pull him closer. The heat between them was suffocating, and her body reacted in ways she couldn’t control.

“You kissed me back,” she shot back, trying to hold on to some semblance of control, even as her voice wavered.

Hotch’s hand slid down the wall, his fingers brushing against her arm, sending a shockwave of electricity through her. His lips were so close to her neck now, she could feel the warmth of them, but he didn’t touch her—at least, not yet.

“You want to talk about what I did?” His voice was a husky whisper. “Or do you want to talk about why you did it in the first place?”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her heart racing. “What are you trying to get at, Hotch?”

“I’m trying to figure out what was going through your mind,” he said, his eyes dark with intensity. “You could’ve made it believable without kissing me like that. But you didn’t.”

Y/N’s skin flushed, and she fought to stay composed. “I did what I had to do to keep the cover intact. That’s it.”

Hotch’s lips twisted into a smirk that sent a ripple of heat through her. “Is that what you’re telling yourself?”

Her pulse was in her throat now, and she couldn’t ignore the way her body responded to his nearness, the way her mind spun every time his breath ghosted over her skin.

“You’re trying to act like you don’t care,” Hotch murmured, his voice low, predatory. “But you can’t stand it, can you? You’re as affected by this as I am.”

Y/N’s chest tightened, and she pressed her palms flat against the wall behind her, trying to ground herself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You may be able to lie to yourself,” Hotch said softly, his hand brushing over her side, sending a shockwave of heat through her. “But you can’t lie to me.”

Y/N’s heart was pounding in her chest, her breathing uneven as the tension between them became unbearable. Every inch of her body was attuned to his, and the more they fought, the stronger the pull between them became.

“Maybe it’s you who can’t handle it,” Y/N shot back, her voice shaky, but defiant. “Maybe you’re the only one who’s affected.”

Hotch’s eyes darkened even further, and without warning, his lips crashed against hers, all of the tension, all of the pent-up frustration between them exploding in that moment.

Y/N gasped into the kiss, her body melting into his as his hands gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him. A certain wetness pools between her legs as his thigh spreads her legs apart. She grounds herself against him as the kiss builds. It’s fierce, heated, and Y/N can’t stop herself, her hands tangling in his hair as she kissed him back with equal fervor.

It was overwhelming—the way his body pressed into hers, the way his lips moved against hers, demanding more. She could feel the heat between them building, igniting something deep within her that she couldn’t suppress.

For a moment, everything else faded away. The mission, the team, the rules—they all disappeared, leaving only the fire that burned between them.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting against each other as they tried to regain control.

“This is a bad idea,” Y/N whispered, her voice breathless.

Hotch’s hand slid up her arm, his fingers brushing against her neck. “I know.”

But neither of them made a move to stop.

[fawnprincessblog]

𝒮𝒽𝒽...

type: smut (2010 tom kaulitz × fem reader)

includes: public sex, fingering, d0m!tom 💗 uh, blurb please! : tom gets hard, results in public sex. however they have to keep it down...

The library was quiet as usual. There were no sounds, just the casual flipping of a page and clicking of a pen. It wasn't that huge, but it was a library after all, and there were countless shelves packed with an array of books on every possible genre, making it ever so pleasing to the eye. 

Tom and you were casually looking around. He was observing the latest magazines; completely engulfed into the pictures of naked women sponsoring luxury undergarments, barely paying attention to the text. Whereas for you, you simply browsed any books that seemed appealing to you, running your delicate fingers across the spine of the books, slowly capturing the names on each paperback. 

You were busy contemplating a book that sort of interested you when Tom had appeared behind you, tapping your shoulder lightly. "Hm?" You responded, not turning your attention away from the book. "Come with me," he whispered, "I need to show you something." 

"But I'm looking at this," you reply, finally turning to face him. 

"It's important," he persuaded, tugging onto your arm a little. 

Hesitantly, you put the book down, and let him lead you to where he wanted. You didn't know what your boyfriend had pulled you so far for, but you let him for now. "Why are you taking me so far?" You say softly, confused as he had pulled you into a corner in between two shelves that showcased books on self-help, where nobody seemed to be paying a visit to. "I need you to help me now," he whispered, somewhat desperate, his index finger pointing down to his growing hard-on. 

You roll your eyes and sigh, "I told you not to look at those magazines, Tom!" You scold, keeping your tone as low as possible. "This is a library and I am not taking any risks. Someone could catch us." 

"Please," he begged, his eyebrows furrowed. "You know I can't walk around like this.." 

Tom had a severe case of a high libido and a permanent hard-on. He was always horny and always desperate for some intimacy. You loved helping him out since you knew how good he could fuck you when he got out of control, but when it came to the times when it's least expected, it was so inconvenient. 

"Tom we can't-" you hesitate, though he cuts you off abruptly, "Yes we can, god damn it, we can make it quick." He unexpectedly starts trailing his fingers down to your waist and puts his sly hand under your skirt, tugging at the rim of your underwear. "Tom, stop it-" You smack his hand away, which only made his comeback stronger. 

"I know you're horny too," he whispers seductively, bringing his hand back under your skirt as he had you cornered against the wall in between the two shelves, his fingers slipping into the side of your underwear, running them across your slit. You whimper as his touch, becoming wet in an instant as his fingers begin rubbing your wetness leisurely in order to stimulate you, making sure you'd be just as horny as him to give in. 

Tom knew that all it took was a rub on the core, a bit of neck sucking and some breast play to get you stimulated and needy for him, which was an easy task. You were weak when his fingers toyed with you. 

"You're wet," he whispered into your ear, lips touching the skin of your neck as his fingers still continued its action on your aching pussy. He plastered his lips onto your neck, beginning to suck a light hickey onto you, making you gasp softly from the pleasure. "Nghh-Tom..." Your words trailed off as he had bit you on the same spot he sucked on, making you squirm. 

He groaned into the kisses he placed onto your neck, his fingers increasing its speed onto your pussy, pleasuring you to its finest. "En-Enough Tom, enough..." You managed to breath out, trying your best to hold in whatever sounds that threatened to slip. Hesitant to pay regard towards your request, he slipped his fingers into you, pumping in and out slowly. "Oh..mm fuck.." you moaned softly, biting onto your lower lip harshly, your eyes closing involuntarily. "There you go..." Tom whispered, "so horny for me, you naughty girl..." He was saying this all on purpose, turning you on in every way to get you as needy as possible. You felt yourself sweating, beginning to tremble under his touch. Barely a few good pumps in, he pulled his fingers out again, making you whine softly. "Better save all that goodness for me," he says, sucking onto his two fingers that had previously been in you, savouring the sweet taste on his tongue. 

You weren't going to refrain now; you were horny as fuck, and you needed him to fuck you right now despite the unfortunate place you were in. This was a big risk you were taking. 

Tom let out a soft grunt as he unzipped his pants, revealing his severely hardened length. He felt his cock twitch, aching at the thought of having it deep in you, begging for a full on pleasurable release. "We're making this quick, baby," he says, his voice husky. You pull your panties off, letting it pool at your ankles, leaving only your skirt on, promptly placing both your hands onto his shoulders as he positioned himself. Without a second of hesitation, Tom immediately plunged himself into you, thrusting harshly. He threw his head back, a low groan escaping his lips as his eyes closed. 

Unable to help yourself, you moaned out the moment you felt his warm dick insert itself into your drenched pussy, your body immediately going tense. For a second, you had forgotten your surroundings. "Mmh..To-" you choked out, though Tom quickly threw his palm over your mouth. 

"Shhh..." he hushed. "Control yourself. People will hear you." He continued to thrust at his desired pace, his hand still covering your mouth. Your moans were muffled into his palm, your hands gripped onto the sleeves of his shirt, trying hard to contain yourself in every way possible. 

He had his fingers of his free hand digging into the skin of your waist as he increased his thrusting pace, wanting to make this quick like he promised. You were trying to be as quiet as possible though Tom's size didn't help. 

"Ngh..fuck–" he groaned, his breaths coming out in ragged pants. Eventually Tom hit a certain spot, causing an immediate reaction from you. You gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you felt yourself clenching around his throbbing cock, your back grinding against the wall behind you. Feeling your tightness, Tom clenched his jaw, letting out a rough groan in his throat as he jerked harder into you, his palm pressing harder onto your mouth. 

You were so close, feeling that familiar knot in your lower stomach. You couldn't say anything since he covered your mouth, and it's not like you could word out anyway; Tom was just too good. Your hands gripped onto his shoulders, squeezing your eyes shut as you felt yourself draw closer to the edge. 

A few more rough thrusts and Tom released his load into you, letting out a low moan muffled into your shoulder. His hips jerked forward as his body experienced the orgasm, his cock twitching inside of you as you released right after, a sharp gasp escaping your lips. 

Tom released his palm from your mouth, letting you catch your breath. He slowly rode out his orgasm, bringing his eyes up to your face. "Fuck," he breathed. "I'm not done with you."

You feel him reluctantly pull out, making your squirm a little. You weren't able to speak for a moment, the pleasure still lingering. "Let's go home," he said, looking around cautiously as he zipped his pants back up, wondering if anyone noticed. "We'll continue there." 

hello everyone! first smut posted >< tell me what you think. is the writing alright with you all? lots of love 💋💋

[deliciousangelfestival]

Nothing Has Changed - 6

Summary: Returning home for peace, you're faced with your tormentor, Bucky Barnes, who is now involved in your family's business.

Character: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Words Count: 2,143

Warning: Angst, Tragedy.

Nothing Has Changed - Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more

Even though you and Ransom have started talking again, you don’t fully trust him like before. He could have warned you about his family’s plans for you.

If he claims he can't escape from his parents' grasp, you find it hard to believe, knowing how Ransom will stop at nothing to get what he wants. You’ve lost count of how many times he’s bribed people.

This time, you will stay on guard. At least you’ve got the pen drive with you. It’s your insurance in case someone tries to frame you again.

After Ransom left your apartment, you continued packing up all your things. Being a minimalist, you don’t have a lot of stuff, which is helpful. You quickly gather your essential belongings, load them into your car, and leave the city to return to your hometown.

🏙️🏙️🏙️🏙️🏙️

In the small town, everyone drives the same type of SUV. So, when your red Lamborghini enters the town, it catches everyone's eye. People are amazed, but there’s also a hint of jealousy, especially from Natasha. She grits her teeth when she sees you flaunting your wealth.

Before heading back to your father’s house, you stop at the pawn shop where you sold your Rolex.

You walk into the store and see Mr. Rogers carefully examining a pearl necklace while Steve talks to another customer. You clear your throat to get their attention.

Mr. Rogers looks up and says, “Yes? Oh, Tom’s daughter. I heard you went back to the city.”

You bristle slightly, realizing every move you make is a topic in this town. “I decided to stay a while to take care of my father. I’m here to buy back the watch I sold previously.” You show him a stack of cash.

“I’m willing to pay more,” you add, placing the money on the counter with a firm expression.

Mr. Rogers nods, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of the cash.

Mr. Rogers was impressed with you. “It’s alright. I won’t ask you for more. Wait a second, I’ll get your watch.” Then he called his son, “Steve, could you accompany Y/N?”

'No, don’t leave me,' you thought. There was an awkward moment, but Steve followed what his father said.

He nodded at you, and you did the same. While waiting, you took a good look at him. He looked different, taller, and had put on some muscle. But one thing that stayed the same was the pencil he always kept on his right ear. He’s an artist and always draws, which is why he keeps a pencil nearby.

“Are you still drawing?” you asked.

Steve never thought you would want to talk to him. “Sometimes.”

“You should tell the truth to your dad,” you said.

“The truth?” Steve looked puzzled.

“Your dream of becoming an artist,” you clarified.

Steve widened his eyes, surprised that you remembered.

“Speak up. That’s what I did after I left this town, and everything opened up for me,” you said, then continued, "Not that I care."

Before Steve could respond, his dad appeared with the watch. “Here’s your watch.”

The Rolex, the first luxurious item you ever bought with your own money, was back in your hand. It had been a gamble to sell it, but it was a promise to yourself that you would find a way to get it back.

“Thank you,” you said sincerely. Then you left the store without looking back.

After you left, Steve continued to stare at the door, even though your car was no longer in front of the store. Something you said had ignited a fire in him. He turned to his dad. “I want to say something.”

📄📄📄📄📄

You drove back home, the familiar sights and sounds of your small town easing some of the tension from your shoulders. Unexpectedly, Bucky's car was also there when you arrived.

Tom's face brightened when he heard the car, and he eagerly waited at the front door, greeting you warmly as you entered the house.

“Are you exhausted? Do you want something to eat?” Tom asked with concern, guiding you towards the dining table.

You glanced over and saw Bucky, but you chose to ignore him for the moment. On the table, there were scattered papers and a calculator, indicating some sort of ongoing work.

Tom let out a sigh, gesturing towards the mess, “Ah, it’s messy. I’m helping Bucky with the accounting, although I’m not very good at this.”

Then an idea seemed to strike him. Your father looked at you with hopeful anticipation, his hand reaching out to grasp yours, his gaze shifting to Bucky, “Maybe she could be a temporary auditor at your hotel.”

You and Bucky locked eyes, a mix of surprise and hesitation passing between you. What was this? You had just returned home, and now your dad was suggesting that you help the person who had once bullied you?

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[saetoshi]

you’ve lost track of the times it’s rained during the past few weeks. the amount of trials held by the chief justice have gone up, just like the chances of rain.

it was upsetting the first time it happened—your notepad getting soaked right after you’d finished getting information for your steambird column. the second time was more annoying, drawing your personal tea party to a close and leaving you drenched (and with a few soggy biscuits).

it’s a force of habit now—the familiar weight of your umbrella having become soothing rather than a burden. it almost feels like muscle memory, having to open your umbrella to shield yourself from the downpour as soon as the skies turn gray.

the rain does nothing but put a damper on people’s mood. or, at least, that’s what your neighbor tells you. you don’t dislike it, though. you don’t think you can bring yourself to do so.

there’s a certain stillness that comes with the rain. it’s calming, almost—most people who’ve forgotten their umbrellas at home seek refuge under the overhangs of the buildings, so it’s easier to navigate the streets of fontaine when they’re not so crowded.

it’s nice, almost. it’d be better if you didn’t have to work. (you’d give anything to stay curled up in bed during days like these. but you don’t think you can give yourself that luxury. at least, not when you’ve got bills to pay).

the way to the opera epiclese is nice. the aquabus is emptier when it rains. and, somehow, the landscape seems prettier with the faint mist the rain leaves behind.

it’s a little bit more crowded near the fountain of lucine. a few children run around while holding their umbrellas, jumping on some puddles before running back to their parents.

you’ve grown familiar to seeing the sight. sometimes you think this might be the reason you don’t resent the rain like most of your neighbors do.

or maybe, it’s just the sight of neuvillette standing just a few steps away from the stairs to the opera epiclese, his hand outstretched as he lets the raindrops fall onto his glove.

“you’re going to catch a cold if you keep standing under the rain like that, neuvillette,” you say, lifting your arm a little to cover him with your umbrella. it’ll do nothing, really—not when he’s already soaked to the bone.

he turns his attention to you, the corners of his eyes softening when they meet yours. he gently takes the handle of your umbrella from your hand, mindful to keep you covered from the rain more than him.

“i suppose that would be the case, yes,” he replies, his eyes focused on yours. he turns his attention to the fountain, his jaw tensing for a moment before it relaxes.

you still notice the faint crease to his brows, the slight downturn of his lips. it’s almost imperceptible—but it’s still there.

you’re not sure what to call your relationship to him. you’re not quite friends, but you’re far past acquaintances. you’re close enough to have dropped the honorifics, but not close enough to consider yourself important to him. close enough to recognize the subtle shifts to his expressions, but not close enough to pry about them.

perhaps just naming it reporter and chief justice would be better. reporter who got lucky enough to get the chief justice to open up about the court trials and proceedings, maybe. (part of you would like to ascend to reporter who gets to ask the chief justice out for a cup of tea when the rain stops).

“how was the trial today?” you ask, reaching into your pouch to pull out your notepad and a pen. part of you wishes you could feel bad for missing it, but you’ve never been one for the spectacle of the courtroom. it’s inhumane, you’d argue—how people’s grievances and crimes are exposed for the whole nation to see as if it was nothing more than a play.

neuvillette adjusts his grip on the umbrella, his eyes focused on you. “difficult,” he says, his tone measured. he blinks, and for a moment you think you hear the rain fall a little harder before it turns into a drizzle. “the evidence procured by the attorneys was not as sufficient as they had originally thought.”

the light, hurried scratching of the pen against the paper fills the air, barely audible with the sounds of the raindrops pelting down on your umbrella. you glance away from your notes to look up at him. “that sounds messy,” you muse, pursing your lips.

“quite so,” he solemnly nods, his grip tightening around the handle to keep your umbrella from swaying with the wind. his lips press into a fine line, “it ended up being far more complicated than i had thought it would be.”

you nod, acknowledging his words as you write them down on your notepad. he inches infinitesimally closer to you—enough for you to notice when a droplet falls from his hair onto the ground, but still far away enough for you to not consider burdensome.

it almost makes you smile, how mindful he is. always a gentleman, you think. it fits him—not as chief justice, but as neuvillette. part of you wishes you could write that in a column, if only for the rest of fontaine to be privy of the surprising gentleness the chief justice possesses. but you don’t think you will. (it’s a piece of information you wish to selfishly keep for yourself).

he angles the umbrella, his eyes focused on the top of your head as you organize your notes. the sun faintly peeks through the clouds, letting the soft orange hues of the sunset shine through the drizzle. his eyes study your face while you’re unaware, the corners softening the longer he stares at you.

“what did lady furina think of the trial?” you ask, your eyes drifting from your notes to his face. the troubled expression he was sporting when you first saw him is gone, replaced by some sort of warmth you can’t describe.

“she found it less entertaining than the previous ones,” he says, his tone losing that firm edge to it. he adjusts his grip on the umbrella’s handle again, making sure to cover you properly even if the rain is starting to let up.

“what about the attorneys?” you continue, tapping the tip of your pen against the paper. “what was their reaction when they realized they weren’t properly prepared to defend their client?”

“i will get you the court records for the full description,” he says, his eyes flitting to the people around the fountain of lucine. his grip on the handle eases when he sees the others start to put their umbrellas away. still, he makes no move to do the same with yours—not until the light rain stops completely.

his eyes flicker back to yours, the corners of his lips quirking up into the hint of a smile, “but, it seemed like steam was coming out of their heads.” he pauses for a second, a faint pink dusting the tips of his ears. “those were lady furina’s words.”

they’re not. you’ve interviewed him for long enough to tell when he adds an observation of his own. (still, you’ve never pointed it out to him. it’d be a shame if he stopped giving them out if he knew you were aware of this habit).

you softly hum, smiling in amusement, the corners of your eyes crinkling, “you want me to include that on the column?”

“preferably not,” he clears his throat, returning to his stoic façade. still, he can’t help the way the corners of his lips quirk up again slightly. “let that be our secret.”

“alright,” you whisper, the amusement in your smile giving way to a slight fondness. “it’ll remain between the two of us.”

“i’d hate for our dear lady furina to be branded as a gossip,” you add, your eyes drifting to the sky. a soft hum leaves your lips, your hand peeking out from under the umbrella. a hint of a smile tugs at your lips when you realize it’s no longer raining.

“it would be most unfortunate,” he says, his tone soft as he watches you. he lowers the umbrella, giving two firm shakes—the way he’s seen you do it before—before closing it.

“i will get you the finalized court records by sunset tomorrow,” he says, holding the umbrella out to you. “would that work for you?”

you nod, placing your notepad and pen inside your pouch. your fingers brush against his gloved ones as you grab your umbrella, a small jolt of electricity shooting through your hand. “that’d be great.”

neuvillette’s eyes soften once again, a soft hum rumbling in his throat. “i will give them to you over dinner, then.”

you blink, the tips of your ears burning at the implication of his words. your heart races in your chest, your eyes meeting his. “dinner?”

“if that works for you, as well,” he says, softly clearing his throat. your heart skips a beat when you take notice of the faint flush to his cheeks.

you can’t help the smile that grows on your lips, a pleasant warmth filling your chest the longer you gaze at him. (he looks unfairly pretty with the sunset framing his face, you think).

“it works perfectly well for me,” you say, your voice hushed. your smile widens when you recognize the relief on his face, your heart fluttering in your chest.

perhaps, your relationship of reporter and chief justice is not such a bad label. (at least not when it means you’re the reporter who’s going to get dinner with the chief justice).

[cuirelixir]

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[starlightshadowsworld]

Kunikida: Atsushi! You're half an hour late, what is the meaning of this?! Did Dazai give you the wrong time?

Dazai: Why do assume it's my fault?

Kunikida: Because it's always your fault.

Atsushi: No, no it wasn't Dazai's fault. He told me half 8, it's just.. I erm... I didn't know when to come.

Kunikida: You didn't know but had the time?

Atsushi: Right but, I didn't know when that was. And usually I'd ask Kyouka but she was out. So I had no one to ask... Soo... I guessed.

Dazai: Atsushi, do you not know how to tell the time?

Atsushi: Nope.

Kunikida: But didn't you say your Orphanage had a timetable you followed everyday? How would you follow that without knowing?

Atsushi: Guessing, mostly. The Orphanage had no clocks and all the staff had watches.

We figured out ways to tell how many hours passed. But we'd have to mostly guess we were on time and hope for the best... Or get punished.

Kunikida: What? Why would they do that?

Atsushi: shrugs Apparently knowing the time was a luxury we were too lowly to afford, or something. You get a watch when you graduate but I was kicked out soo...

Dazai: Every day the urge to burn that place down grows.

Kunikida: Right, well we're going teach you to tell the time than. Get a pen and paper.

Atsushi: But don't we have a case?

Kunikida: Your late arrival meant Kenji and Junichiro took it instead. But no matter, this is clearly a more pressing issue.

Atsushi: You don't have too, I can figure it out myself.

Dazai: We want to help you. You're part of the Agency, that means we won't let you struggle alone.

Atsushi: tears up Guys...

Dazai: That and we get to see Kunikida back in his teacher mode grins It's so fun to watch.

Kunikida: Say that again and I'll put you in time out.

Dazai: Not again!

Atsushi: laughs, takes a pen and paper out Alright, let's do this.

(The clock stuff comes from beast but I thought hey what if that happened here too.)

[muddyorbsblr]

feels like mine pt1

See my full list of works here!

Summary: You wake up in a bed that isn't your own, living a life that seems to be pulled straight out of your wildest dreams

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: 18+ | mentions of death; slight gaslighting (?) [let me know if I missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: everything is not what it seems; twist at the end

Your eyes squinted to adjust to the brightness of your bedroom awash with the morning sun. Looks like Mother Nature chose to be a little too chipper this morning and tried to blind you with its rays shining straight into your room.

You rose from your bed, your hands flopping on to the ultra soft comforter that sunk beneath the pressure.

Weird, you thought to yourself. I don't remember checking in to a hotel, and God knows my bed isn't this soft. You slowly sat up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and alarm bells immediately ringing loud in your head when you looked down at the pristine white sheets.

"This isn't my bed," you said aloud, hopping down from the mattress and assessing your body, ensuring that you were free to move and your limbs weren't tied down in some capacity keeping you captive in what would have been a bizarrely cozy looking prison. You assessed your clothes next; mainly to see if you were even wearing any, your brows shooting to your hairline when your hands touched a lush satiny fabric covering your curves. "These aren't my clothes."

You rushed over to a mirror situated on a door that you assumed was a closet, your confusion growing by the second when you saw that the reflection looking back at you was…yourself. Exactly as you were last night before you went to bed, only clad in a navy blue nightie that looked like it cost over a week's pay. And wearing a ring that probably cost your soul.

The items on the nightstand by the side of the bed you'd woken up on raised even more questions. A black leather-bound journal with a gold 'H' pressed on the spine, a fountain pen, a laptop, a tablet, and a Kindle Oasis. An almost exact match to the items on the nightstand that you knew by heart, but each item was a more luxurious variant. For one, you wouldn't in your right mind ever buy yourself a Kindle Oasis. Or an S.T. Duponte fountain pen.

On the opposite nightstand were a stack of papers bound together with brass fasteners and a pair of reading glasses with a grade that moderately blurred your vision when you held it close to your eyes. You decided against looking at the contents of the book-bound papers in case there was anything confidential you weren't meant to glimpse in its contents.

You checked on the door next, seeing if it was locked from the outside. It wasn't.

You stepped out of the bedroom, assessing your surroundings to find any semblance of information that would tell you where you were and why you were here, only to grumble out of sheer frustration, "This isn't my apartment." To start with, apartments didn't have stairs. And your place didn't have nearly this much windows.

"Did I…shift?" Your voice softly echoed off the walls, staring in disbelief at the framed picture before you. Your hair and makeup impeccably done, a flower tiara delicately put in place at the top of your head, clad in a downright whimsical wedding dress and smiling brilliantly at the groom whose back was turned to the camera, your only hint at who he was being broad shoulders and brown slightly curly hair.

The unmistakable sound of vegetables being cut led you down the stairs and into the kitchen, desperately hoping it would lead you to who your mystery husband was and maybe start making some sense of this downright crazy predicament.

But catching a glimpse of the well over 6-foot lean frame dressed a white button-down shirt tucked into black dress pants that put a way too familiar butt on proud display had you itching to wake up because this was most definitely a concerningly vivid dream.

That is definitely not my husband.

No way on God's green Earth were you married to Tom Hiddleston. This just went from bizarre to downright impossible.

"Good morning, sweetheart," he greeted you in that low timbre that had your knees buckling, setting aside his task at hand and removing his apron before walking over to you.

"Hi…" you answered him, voice wavering. Before you could speak another word, he framed your face in his hands, thumbs softly running across your cheekbones, and then pressing a delicate kiss to your lips. "What're you--"

"We finished filming early," he answered, words murmured against your lips. "I caught an earlier flight so I could see you sooner. Oh I've missed you so much." He pressed his lips to yours again. "My darling wife."

Okay, I definitely shifted. This body you may have woken up in had your face, and probably your maiden name…but this wasn't your life. You were occupying space meant for someone else. Another Y/N.

"Tom, I think I have to--"

"Whatever it is can wait." He kissed you again, this time he pressed against you a little harder, your heart beating wildly in your chest when you felt a light, tentative lick to your bottom lip. "Just let me hold you a little while longer." He wrapped his arm around the small of your back, cradling your head with his other hand as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, sighing in contentment.

You knew you were seconds away from abandoning all your plans to try and get him to listen when he started pressing numerous open-mouthed kisses along your neck, your whole body growing weak when he started nipping and licking at the skin. "Please it's important. I don't think I'm supposed to be--"

The feel of him groaning into your skin made your knees give out, making him hold you tighter against him. He walked you backwards until your back pressed against the wall, your breathing labored as he kissed along the expanse of skin exposed to him by your negligee.

When his kisses started traveling south and he pressed his lips to the swell of your breast, you knew you had to get your words out before you gave in and let him have his way with you, however far that may be. "I'm not supposed to be here," you blurted out, pressing your palms to his shoulders and inwardly cursing at yourself for making him stop. "I know that I might sound like I'm not making any sense but…I think I shifted realities…? It's bizarre to me because I never actually succeeded until now but the point is--"

"Sweetheart, slow down." He began to rub his hands up and down your arms, calming you down some within seconds and once again making you question this reality. And how he knew what to do when you began to ramble and spiral in your own thoughts. "You say you're not supposed to be here. Where do you think you should be? Tell me what you know and perhaps I can help from there."

"My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and I'm a software engineer in the middle of a career shift. Last night I went to sleep in a one bedroom apartment in Anaheim. I was no one to you. At most a faceless name that sings your praises online. Definitely not…" You waved your hand in a sweeping gesture across your surroundings. "This," you finished, your breath hitching in the back of your throat when you caught sight of his expression, eyes shining with tears that were seconds away from falling down his cheeks.

"What a bleak life," he breathed out, pressing his lips to your forehead as he pulled you into an embrace. "I can't imagine having to live in a world where I didn't know you. Didn't love you." He kissed your temple. "Thank God it was just a dream."

"A dr--A dream?" you sputtered, confusion overcoming your thoughts. Surely it wasn't that simple. That easily explained. You could remember in vivid detail the code you worked on last night, the bumpy bus ride on the way back to your apartment. The last story you read written by your friends online before you finally laid your head on your pillow and succumbed to an exhausted slumber.

Something about Tom's character on The Hollow Crown and barn sex before he was to face off against the Dauphin of France.

"Yes, my love. Nothing but an awful vivid dream," he reassured you, soothing you with the low velvety tone of his voice, partnered with the kisses he was softly peppering all over your face before stopping at the corner of your mouth. "Your name is Y/N Hiddleston. We've been together for five years, and you gave me the unique honor of becoming your husband less than a year ago. You were a software engineer amidst a career change when I met you all those years ago, and you've come so far since then. You have amazed me at every turn, and it's been a privilege to witness all that you've done. And all that you will continue to do." He captured your lips in a tender kiss, making you melt into his arms as you crossed your hands behind his neck, allowing him to pull you closer. "You just need a few minutes to readjust after waking up. Everything will come back to you soon enough. And any details that don't return to you I'll happily fill those blanks in."

It was almost like the protests that remained in your mind got muffled at his assurances. He spoke about you with such conviction and fondness and love that it made it sound beyond reproach. All that remained was the faintest murmur of doubt that you quickly recognized as those few hours of disbelief you would go through after waking up from a particularly vivid dream, much like those ones you had back in college where you mourned the loss of your best friend and you internally panicked for hours until he walked into the classroom looking every bit as alive as he had the day before.

"Just a dream…" You tested the words on your tongue, the explanation steadily becoming more and more palatable than your initial theory of successfully shifting. Your eyes met Tom's again. "Sorry I…kinda freaked out back there--"

He pressed a delicate kiss to your lips to stop you. "There's no need for apologies, sweetheart. You were disoriented, and I'm grateful you confided in me that you were instead of holding it all in." He brushed the tip of his nose against yours, the gesture bringing a smile to your face and causing a small giggle to escape your lips. "How about you head back upstairs and get ready for the day, and I'll finish whipping up breakfast?"

"That…sounds like a good idea," you agreed, unable to keep the smile off your face even as he kissed you again. "I'll go take a shower and then…I'll be back down here in twenty minutes?"

Tom loosened his hold on you, hands smoothing down your sides before he took a step back so you could make your way up the stairs. Before you passed him, he took your hand in his to call your attention again, bringing it up to his lips to press a kiss to each of your knuckles. "I love you," he whispered against your skin.

"I love you, too," you said back, biting your lip as you gave him a smile before heading back up the stairs, your doubts calmed and your panic from earlier subsiding, allowing you to simply look around the house and appreciate the beauty and joy that your life granted you in stark contrast to last night's dream.

Just as you stepped on to the top landing of the stairs, a flash of green glinted at the corner of Tom's eye, diverting his attention to the visitor in the kitchen.

"She is a perceptive one, your mortal," Loki mused, staring down at the ingredients on the cutting board. "A part of her recognizes that she is no longer within her universe. That part could linger…fester, even. Are you truly certain you wish to continue down this path? To risk her finding out the truth and resenting you from stealing her away from her life--"

"What's the alternative, then?" Tom snapped, gripping the countertop so hard his knuckles were going white, hot tears finally falling from his eyes. "Go on the rest of my days without my wife? Let her go back to a world where she said it herself, she's no one to me?"

Loki let out a sigh, taking a few steps towards the door to the patio, the tension and frustration evident in his stance. "She did not deserve the life she was designed for, on that I do agree. But it will take time for her to fully acclimate to this new universe, if you truly wish to keep her here. And you must accept that no matter what you do, she may never fully fill the space that your late wife left behind."

Tom's eyes burned with more tears, indignation and grief making his heart ache even worse at the memory of you -- that is, the you that he lost not even three days ago. "I know that," he said through gritted teeth. "What of the people who heard news of her passing? The people on set who saw me when I got the call? They're going to ask her questions when they see her alive and well. Questions she won't be able to answer."

The god simply waved a hand dismissively. "Simple memory spell. Their recollection of events will simply be altered wherein they recall you receiving a call and you needed to leave and halt production to ensure her safety, not see to her funeral. Her record at the hospital has been expunged. Any and all evidence that suggests that the Y/N Hiddleston of his universe is no longer with us has ceased to exist."

"Thank you," he choked out, walking up to the god and extending a hand.

"Of course. You deserved not the life you'd planned with your wife taken so violently." Loki took your husband's hand in a firm shake. "Now, I know it may not be my place to tell you what you should be doing at this moment. But from where I stand, you have just been reunited with your wife. If you're open to suggestions, I would recommend putting the apron down, going upstairs, and simply enjoying the life that has been returned to you. Breakfast can wait."

With those words, Loki disappeared in a flash of green right as Tom turned around and headed up the stairs in your direction, heeding the god's advice.

A/N: Something tells me that when I told y'all there's a Centrum Ad Hiddles story coming your way, y'all probably didn't expect this…and to be honest I didn't think I was even gonna make a Centrum Ad Hiddles story, let alone one that took this direction. 😳👀 I hope you like it though, slightly dark twist and all 😅💖

‘everything’ taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @unlucky-number-13 @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @lokidokieokie @superficialdomina @anukulee @kmc1989

Hiddles taglist: @spooky1980

[idyllic-affections]

achilles heel ii.

summary. love is a sin. the regrator is a sinner.

trigger & content warnings. threats of physical violence, nightmares.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. found family (moreso than the first post), fluff, slight angst. pantalone & young teen!reader, slight arlecchino & young teen!reader. 2.6k words. they/them pronouns used for [name]. this fic is divided into six drabble-like sections. this fic is the second part of achilles heel; please read the first post before reading this one.

author's thoughts. teehee pantalone....... he is never dad-ified enough i swear. he has so much dad potential. look at him. silly rich guy (<- he is a criminal and is NOT silly).

i. a slip of the tongue ♡

       Their enrollment into the House of Hearth came with two specific conditions:

       One, Arlecchino would not have ultimate authority over them. They didn't disrespect her regardless, but Pantalone was insistent that her authority should not exceed his over them. He was their caretaker, after all. They were a special case in the Knave's orphanage—an orphan but not quite an orphan.

       Two, that they returned to his residence on weekends, which wasn't something they or Arlecchino has any qualms with. She didn't exactly get along with the Ninth, but oddly, she didn't argue either of his conditions.

       (They felt immeasurably guilty, however, that they had a home to return to. That was a privilege unique to them. The orphans of the House of Hearth did not have such a luxury; hell, those children could not even dream of a home outside of the orphanage.)

       This was one such weekend. Upon returning home, they let themselves into Pantalone's office—of course, not before ensuring he was not occupied with another Harbinger or other business partners of his. Had he been, they would have only entered once he was done.

       "I'm back, Father."

       ...

       Immediate terror stuck their chest. Admittedly, their reaction once they processed what had just come out of their mouth was a bit dramatic, but still! Had Arlecchino's children somehow rubbed off on them? All of her children tended to call her 'Father', but they only ever called her by her name...

       The Regrator paused what he was doing, wordlessly setting his pen down.

       "...Sorry, dear, could you repeat that? I didn't quite hear you."

       "Um. I said I'm back."

       "After that."

       "..."

       "[Name]."

       "I didn't say anything after, I swear." They were completely flustered now, hand shyly fidgeting with the strands of hair securely held back by what had once been Arlecchino's hair clip while their gaze settled anywhere that wasn't on the Harbinger. "I didn't..."

       "You are a terrible liar."

       "I'm— I'm not."

       He smiled at that, gingerly shedding his gloves and rings.

       He thought it was a bit cruel of him to create any kind of distance between himself and the little thief he brought into his home, especially in what was such an important and vulnerable moment.

       It was then that he beckoned them closer. They obliged, albeit hesitantly. His hands gently smoothed down some wild strands of their hair—presumably caused by whatever the Knave had put them through that day. His tenderness seemed to calm them down a little bit.

       "Do you see me as a father figure, [Name]?"

       They pouted. "I don't know. Maybe. It just came out. I didn't think about it. Sorry."

       If Pantalone was any more morally correct, he might worry about who they were looking up to, but...

       Their immorality was inevitable, really, so he tried not to concern himself with it too much. It was the one consequence associated with taking them in. It was one that simply couldn't be avoided.

       Pantalone had come to terms with that fact some time ago.

       "Don't apologize. I don't mind if that is the case."

       "...Okay."

       He held himself together with skillful grace that was only to be expected of someone like him, but the second they left his office, he slammed his head on his desk, resisting the compelling urge to just sob.

       (...He was probably the reason they had become a tad dramatic.)

       Oh.

       That day, the Ninth learned two things:

       One, [Name] had adopted a more formal method of speech, which was good. It would be useful in the future. His lower priority business partners, the general nobility of Snezhnaya and other nations... those people would all expect his child to take on a more refined demeanor. It was good that they already were.

       Two, which was objectively more important in his mind (because really, he did not care for the opinions of people who had never struggled a single day in their lives), he had unexpectedly become an actual father. Not just a caretaker, but a father.

       Oh, fuck.

ii. third time's a charm ♡

       "Can I keep him?"

       "Absolutely not."

       "Please? Come on. He won't cause any trouble!"

       Pantalone pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, sighing deeply. How could he have possibly gotten himself into this situation a second time? Perhaps he really was spoiling them just a bit too much. "[Name]. You cannot continue bringing wild animals into our home."

       They pouted, holding up the little feline in their arms. It may have been small and harmless at the moment, but a snow leopard such as the one they snatched up from the streets would surely grow impossibly bigger, provided enough time and proper nutrition. "Father..."

       He shot them an annoyed look. They could only smile innocently.

       "Don't 'Father' me, [Name]."

       "I've taken good care of Winter thus far!" Said fox chirped upon hearing her name. "Look, see—she's perfectly healthy. I can handle another pet!"

       "You named her Winter?"

       They shrugged. "It's always winter in Snezhnaya, so..."

       He couldn't help but chuckle fondly, teasing, "Clever."

       "I doubt you would have came up with a better name, Father," they huffed playfully. "Anyways, come on! Look, how can you say no to a little face like this?"

       Neither of the two said anything for a moment. [Name] held up the little squirming cat with one hand, supporting its hind legs with the other.

       It was clear to Pantalone that they would not budge.

       A deep sigh left his lips.

       They knew they had won.

       Once again, Pantalone welcomed another unexpected guest into his household.

       He could unflinchingly deny Il Dottore further funding for his experiments. He could ruthlessly send out the agents employed under his command to collect the debts of those foolish enough to leave them unpaid without so much as a second thought.

       Somehow, he could not deny his child another exotic animal.

       Oh well. At least the feline would eventually grow into a suitable bodyguard for [Name], he supposed.

iii. ultimatum ♡

       Whenever Pantalone had free time during the work week—which... wasn't very often—he had grown into a habit of visiting the House of Hearth.

       His darling child was there. How could he be expected to stay away?

       (The Knave grit her teeth, clenched her jaw, and ultimately bit her tongue when he kept showing his face in her territory again and again. As much as she didn't like the Ninth... she would have to tolerate it, she supposed. He was too preoccupied with [Name] to bother her the majority of the time, anyway.)

       The children were all polite and respectful with him whenever he came around, often pointing him in the direction of their sibling-in-arms. They were typically lingering around the younger children, engaging with them and entertaining them in a way that a doting older sibling might, but for some reason...

       They weren't there that day.

       "One of the matrons wanted to talk to [Name], sir. I don't know why," one of the younger children his child typically surrounded themselves with had told him.

       He was surprised to find that, rather than wanting to speak to [Name], one of Arlecchino's employees seemed to have forgotten just whose child it was she was speaking to.

       "We are raising soldiers," a woman harshly spat, "not regular children. It would be in your best interests, Mx. [Name], to quit teaching them to be soft."

       They blinked.

       "...Um. They're five."

       "Are you even listening?!"

       "Listen," they began, shifting their weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably. "They're barely five, okay? They'll learn. They can't even wield a sword properly yet. Half of them can't read mid-level literature yet. For now, I think they deserve attention from someone they can trust who won't hurt them. I mean... if I were really doing something wrong, Arle surely would have told me—"

       "You rich little brat."

       That stung, admittedly. With nervous fingers, they plucked at the threads of their sleeve.

       "By the Tsaritsa, if the Ninth himself weren't so enamored with you, I would have your head mounted on the wall for the disrespect you have shown not only us but our Lord."

       She raised a hand, and they flinched back, and then—

       Nothing came.

       "Fa— Father... hi."

       The Regrator's grip on her wrist was crushing, rage barely concealed behind a tight-lipped smile.

       "Hello, dear." Pantalone's eyes were kind when they were on his child, but glazed over with an unsettling iciness upon facing the woman. He leaned down, head tilting slightly as he observed the tense matron who so boldly dared to raise a hand to his child. "Now, I'm certain this was a one-time incident, unless of course you would be interested in taking a... leave of absence to see the Doctor, hm?" His grip tightened slightly in a wordless threat, a promise of a fate more vile than death itself. "A permanent leave of absence, that is."

       Tension weighed heavily in the air.

       Of course, the matron relented. She would have been foolish to not when the fate promised to her would be undoubtedly worse than death.

       "...No, of course not, sir. It won't happen again."

       He released her trembling wrist, adjusting his rings nonchalantly.

       "Good. Go on, then. Leave us."

       "Yes, Lord Ninth."

       She turned on her heel, bowing her head respectfully to both the Regrator and his child before rounding the corner of the hall. Just like that, she was gone.

       Instantly, all his attention shifted to [Name].

       "Are you alright?" he murmured softly, only for their ears to hear. He kneeled down to their level and gingerly tilted their chin upwards to check if Arlecchino's matron left any wounds behind.

       "Yeah, I'm— I'm fine..."

       He was quiet for a moment, thumb gently rubbing along their cheekbone and wiping away the beginnings of tears. The Knave would not like to see them in such a state. The Ninth didn't particularly care for her opinion, but he knew very well that his child did, to a certain degree.

       "...Don't cry, dear. Do not allow yourself to be pushed around. You are worth infinitely more than any agent among our ranks. Do you understand?"

       "Mm-hm. I'm just..." They gnawed on the corner of their lip. "I guess I'm used to it."

       He was quiet for a moment.

       "That will change," he concluded. "You will never be treated so poorly ever again."

iv. bonding ♡

       "Were you never given the opportunity to bake?"

       They hummed thoughtfully, lips pulled into a calm and content smile as they observed their father knead the bread dough they took part in making.

       Indeed, a man as prestigious as him could just have one of his employees do this... but what kind of parent would he be if he refused to bond with his child alone? No genuine bonding would take place if he was not the one engaging with them.

       ...

       Baking also happened to a special place in his heart as a child of poverty, so he didn't mind doing it.

       "Not really. I couldn't afford to. It was too expensive," they mused, trailing off briefly. Pantalone was quiet—patient. He didn't interrupt them or urge them to speak. He simply waited for them to go on. "I didn't get paid well when I was taking thievery commissions. I was small and weak, so it was easy for those older people who commissioned my work to scam me out of what I was owed."

       The Regrator made a mental note to investigate those people further.

       For now, though, his focus was on them.

       "I understand," he reassured. "Baking is indeed an expensive hobby. There was a time where even I could not afford it."

       "I really wouldn't have believed you if you hadn't told me," they said, stealing and snacking on some of the fruits spread across the counter. The Harbinger chuckled fondly, pinching their cheek.

       "Stop that. If you keep that up, we won't have anything to put in the bread. Now, for the next step..."

v. nightmare ♡

       It was the middle of the night when they jolted awake, skin dampened with a cold sweat and fingers relentlessly shaking.

       The House of Hearth's hardwood floor was cold against their bare feet, but it really didn't bother them. It wasn't anything they weren't used to, anything` they hadn't experienced in their past. It was with quiet and purposeful steps that they snuck out of the room they shared with a handful of the younger kids that bonded closely with them.

       Their years of thievery still benefitted them, it seemed, as they effortlessly snuck out without awakening anyone else.

       "What are you doing up at such an awful hour?"

       They practically leapt out of their skin, heart hammering in their chest at Arlecchino's sudden appearance.

       "I, uh—" they began, taking deep breaths in the hopes of calming themselves down. "Um, sorry. You frightened me."

       "Oh? My apologies, then, [Name]."

       Whether or not her apology was sincere was debatable. She seemed to derive very slight amusement from their fright, but gave them a firm pat on the head. It was comforting in its own way.

       "...I had a nightmare," they reluctantly admitted, "so I can't really sleep. Sorry."

       "It isn't uncommon for these things to happen," she replied. "Your apology is unwarranted. You aren't the first and I doubt you will be the last to be unable to sleep."

       "Arle, um... I know I'm not supposed to leave again until tomorrow, but..."

       Arlecchino's eyes were trained precisely on them, and perhaps she might have looked irritated, but in reality, she could not find it within her to be frustrated. They were strong and smart and excelled in the things that they needed to excel in. There was no reason for her to be frustrated with them for something so simple. It was normal for children to seek out their parent following a distressing experience.

       "I will take you back to the Regrator's residence, then. Consider it a reward for your high performance this week."

       "Ah, really? Thank you, Arle."

       "Go get your things. Meet me outside."

vi. found family ♡

       "You're home early, [Name]."

       When they entered Pantalone's office (he lamented the fact that he was still working at such a late hour, but such was unfortunately his obligation as a Harbinger), he was pleasantly surprised, quietly setting down his pen and offering them his full attention.

       "I know." They nodded. "Arle said I performed well this week, so she brought me home a day early. I guess she probably had something to do elsewhere anyway, since she offered."

       "I see."

       A silence settled for a moment.

       The Ninth instantly knew something was wrong when their fingers reached up to their sleeve, absently picking and pulling at the threads. He'd noticed that habit of theirs back when he first put them in the public eye.

       "If there is something troubling you, dear, you are more than welcome to tell me."

       "It's stupid," they murmured, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. Maybe they should have just stayed back at the House of Hearth.

       "If it's bothering you, it is most definitely not."

       "I had a nightmare."

       "Ah, I see. Is that why you've come home so late?"

       "...Yes."

       "Do you want to stay with me for the time being, then?" When they nodded, he smiled kindly, opening one arm for them so that the other could be free to finish what remained of his paperwork.

       They were secured in his arms the second he made his wordless offer.

       His fingers tenderly carded through their hair, mindful to avoid his rings catching uncomfortably on their locks.

       Love is a sin.

       In Snezhnaya, love is a sin.

       For his child, Pantalone was a sinner.

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Young Zaundads wip (38)

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Most of the planning comes down to Silco. Funds in and funds out, captains they've given their word to, goods they'll be able to sell quickly (the cosmetics, the gas masks) and the alcohol that makes a better profit but takes longer to sell. The whole thing makes Vander's head hurt but Silco spends days rearranging estimates and carefully writing over his figures.

Silco trades a bottle of wine to the harbour master for an ink pen, but he spends more time staring at the forms each night than daring to write on them. He stores them carefully in the safe, locking it every night and insists Vander scrubs his hands if he wants to lay a finger on them.

"You have to be a Piltovan citizen in order to buy land," Silco says, chewing on his thumbnail and staring at the pages spread across the desk. "Technically, the undercity is part of Piltover but none of us have any papers that could prove citizenship."

"Do the forms ask for proof?"

"They ask for an address. I think 'abandoned shack in an old mine' might raise some concerns." Silco sighs and stretches back on the desk chair, arms above his head and head tilted back. "We could lie. Just pick a Piltover address and hope they never send paperwork there."

"Or steal the mail," Vander offers from the bed. It's an hour past curfew. If Silco doesn't come to bed soon, Vander's going to fall asleep in an empty bed. And then Silco will wake him up to complain there's no room left for him and make him move over. "Come to bed."

Silco grumbles under his breath but he carefully places the forms and the ink pen in the safe, and then locks it. He turns the lantern down low, and starts stripping by the faint yellow glow.

"We can't do that," Silco says, pulling his shirt over his head and folding it over the back of the desk chair. "We wouldn't know when the mail was coming. We can't afford to come over to Piltover each day just to steal mail."

Silco undresses by mindless habit, an easy routine. Vander still likes watching it, the steady reveal of pale skin. The narrow line of Silco's waist, the long lines of bare thighs as he steps out of his pants and drapes them over the chair as well. He pulls the tie from his hair, so his dark hair hangs free to his shoulders, swaying as he moves. 

The last things Silco removes are the cotton bandages wrapped around his forearms. He keeps them there in case there's an accident in the mine, a burn from a fuse or a deep scratch that needs to be protected from the dirt in the air. If he isn't injured, he'll take them off each night, the last piece of armour he takes off.

Once he's completely bare, he comes to bed. Climbs into this little piece of Piltovan luxury, between soft sheets and cheap, thin blankets and kisses Vander. It starts as a goodnight peck but Silco lingers, lips warm and gentle fingers on Vander's cheek.

Vanders slides his hands around Silco's hips, thumbs brushing along the jut of hip bones, and Silco kisses him again, slower and wetter.

"Did you want to sleep?" Silco asks as if the answer isn't obvious.

"When have I have ever picked sleep over a little action?"

"I wouldn't want to keep you up," Silco teases, nipping at Vander's upper lip.

Vander rolls his hips against Silco, his cock pressed to warm, bare skin. "I'm already up," Vander says and Silco snorts at the bad joke.

They grind together as they kiss, as hands slide over skin, tracing all the places no one else gets to touch. When they're both breathing heavily, Silco pushes himself up with a hand on Vander's chest and reaches under the bed for that small bottle of oil.

"I want to try something new," he says, so it's not Vander's first assumption. Silco pours a little on to his hand and then carefully puts the bottle back on the floor. "Shove over for a moment. I want to lie on my back."

Vander shuffles to make room and watches as Silco spreads the oil across his inner thighs and then lies down, knees together. "Is this idea courtesy of Babette's?"

The tilt of Silco's chin gives away his slight embarrassment. "So what if it is? Come here."

Vander follows the light tug of Silco's hands, settles over Silco with his weight on his elbows, faces lined up so he can kiss him. "I've never heard of anyone researching fucking like you do."

"I'm not researching it. I'm not taking notes," Silco splutters. "A little friendly advice is practical."

"Too good to try and fail and figure it out like the rest of us?" Vander teases, pressing a string of kisses to the warm curve of  Silco's cheek. There's something sweet about it, that Silco would suffer the embarrassment of asking about sex, all to impress Vander.

"Keep complaining and I won't show you." It's an empty threat, given the way Silco reaches down one slick hand for Vander's cock. Vander hears the rumbling groan he makes when Silco strokes him, firm and serious. "Anything else to say?"

"You are very clever," Vander says, dipping down for a kiss as Silco strokes him again, "and very pretty."

"Better." Silco guides Vander's cock between his thighs. It's not as hot, as tight as being inside him, but it's slick and warm and Vander can keep kissing Silco as he moves. Deep, hungry kisses that get messy and breathless, that become open-mouthed panting against skin as Silco works a hand between them. Vander can feel Silco's knuckles against his stomach as Silco jerks off, one hand on his cock and the other tangled in Vander's hair, holding him close.

Silco's a mess afterwards, stomach and thighs sticky and a dark love bite on his shoulder that Vander barely remembers making. Vander decides to be gracious and fetches a damp cloth.

Silco pulls a face as he wipes himself down, but that's probably for the chill of the cold water. After cleaning himself, Vander rinses the cloth out, wringing it and putting it over the bowl to dry.

Silco moves over against the wall, leaving space for Vander to get in. He likes Silco like this: all those sharp edges softened, smooth like a river rock.

"I was only teasing, you know," Vander says, lying on his side and resting an arm across Silco's chest. "About the research."

"I know," he says, but there's something in Silco's tone, like he's thinking something and doesn't want to. 

"What is it?"

Silco traces over the back of Vander's hand, over ridges of knuckles and faded, fine scars from bar brawls. "Life used to be simple. Before you. I didn't want to die here. That was it. Just survive and get out."

Vander slides his head closer on the pillow, enough to lean his forehead on Silco's shoulder.

"I was too angry to let them kill me," Silco says, and a little of that broiling anger seeps into his tone.

Vander soothes him, his hand brushing Silco's side. "And now?"

"It's not enough. It's not enough to get out just to die somewhere else. I can't drag you out of the mine with nowhere to go. Just to starve on the streets until we choke on the Grey? You'd be better off here."

"It's not all on you," Vander says gently, pressing a kiss to whatever bare skin he can reach without moving. "We could leave together. Work for a trader."

"And watch you be seasick? You'd hate it."

Vander hums. He can't really argue that.

"I keep thinking there's… more," Silco says slowly, like he's considering each word before he says it. "There's a chance here, there has to be, but I can't quite see it. All I can see are locked doors, and every time I find a key and force it open, there's just another locked door behind it. And another. It would be easier just to give up."

"For anyone else, maybe," Vander allows. He can't imagine Silco without his driving ambition, his desperate urgent desire to achieve something. "Giving up might kill you."

Silco falls silent but his fingers keep grazing over Vander's hand. It's a soft and delicate touch in a place that tries to grind those things out of everyone. Closing his eyes, Silco says, "There were rumours, in the Foundling home, stories the older children would tell us. That when the benefactors came to visit, that sometimes, very rarely, they'd adopt someone and take them back to Piltover."

"Only the smartest, the most well-behaved, so we were all well-behaved when they visited in all their topsider finery," Silco says bitterly. "It never happened, of course. They sometimes brought sweets or ribbons, stuffed toys for the youngest ones, but none of us ever got whisked away to a life of plenty."

Vander can't help thinking of Silco's manners, his careful note taking and his love of reading. The little traits that allow Silco to talk to those Piltie engineers without them being uncomfortable.

"What if this is the same?" Silco asks, the words hushed in the dim room. "What if leaving the mine is just another naive, childish dream?"

It's hard to know what to say. Vander's never heard Silco admit doubt. Doubt in his ability to outsmart the system, to create his own way out. There should be something kind that Vander can say, something encouraging. Something that could make SIlco see himself the way Vander sees him: driven and indomitable, as strong and brave as anyone Vander's ever met.

Vander knows he should say something, but… As hard as he thinks, he can't find the words. "What about the land?" he says instead. "That would have an address, right?"

Silco turns, looking at him. Those pretty blue eyes blink, brows rising as he thinks. "For the form?"

"Yeah."

"That might work. They wouldn't send any mail here but it makes a certain amount of sense."

"See? We'll get there. We'll just pick one locked door at a time."

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