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chaos-in-deepspace · 2 months ago

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LADS Sylus: Make It Worth It | NSFW

Oh gods, I finally finished editing this. I hate editing things. It's the worst. It's needed though. Hope y'all enjoy this pegging fic!

❧ Pairings: Sylus x Reader ❧ Warnings: Pegging, Teasing, Bottom Sylus, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Large Dildos, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Cum Eating, Spitting in Mouth, Almost Caught Sex, Semi-Public, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationships, Fake Cum, Fake Creampie, Slight Breeding Kink (If you squint, but it's mentioned once or twice in a joking fashion), Men Whining, Slight Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Fellatio, Mentions of Face Sitting, Dominant Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of "Slut" and "Whore" for describing Sylus ❧ Synopsis: You decided you wanted to top your beloved boyfriend, so you corner him in his office. Surprisingly...he's down for it. ❧ Word Count: 8.3k

Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

Sylus

Make It Worth It

One thing you knew about Sylus was the fact that subtle actions went unnoticed…in a sense. He would notice them, sure, but he wouldn’t entertain them unless it was to tease you. He once said that closed mouths don’t get fed when you don’t want to tell him exactly what you want. It took a lot of time in your relationship to finally get to the point where you could be completely straightforward with the man. A lot of reassurance from him went a long way in getting you to be honest.

It led to the now. You wanted to try something, and there was really only one way to ask. So you made your way down the halls of the Onychinus base on a mission, a duffel bag held close to your body. Luke and Keiran had passed you by, attempting to ask you what you were planning, but you had been dismissive to them as you didn’t want your grand plans to be hindered by second-guessing yourself. You swung open the doors to his office and saw him sitting at his desk, his laptop up in one corner and several papers scattered about in the other. He was in more casual clothes today due to a lack of meetings, opting for his black sweater and gray jeans.

“Welcome in, kitten,” he didn’t even look up, instead waiting for you to approach him. With a couple of long strides, you found yourself closing his laptop to put it off to the side and then slamming the duffel bag down in front of him. He blinked a few times, looking between the bag and then back to you; his eyebrow rose in question, “And what have you brought with you today?”

It wasn’t like it was uncommon for this to happen, interrupting his work for one of your whims. Sylus was caught more off guard when you brought something with you this time.

“Remember how you always tell me if I want something, all I gotta do is ask?” you began, speaking a bit quicker than usual. He hummed, confirming your words, “And also, how you said I should be exploring more of my own personality now that there isn’t anything holding me back?” he nodded again.

“I do recall saying that, yes.” He settled on it as he waited patiently for your next move. Sylus was good at reading you, and he could tell right away that you were nervous and excited about whatever it was you had planned. He chuckled when you pushed his desk chair back just enough to toss one leg over his thigh. Both your legs were caging his own in his seating position, and you put your hands onto the armrests of the chair as you leaned down slightly to get into the man’s personal bubble.

Sylus looked fully entertained with the current position as you mulled through your head exactly how you wanted to state this. It had to be elegant. Had to be smart. There were only so many ways you could state the question, though. Perhaps if you just didn’t think and said the first thing on your mind it would work out better.

“I want to top you.” It wasn’t as elegant or smart as you’d hope, but Sylus liked it when you were straightforward and blunt. Your question didn’t seem to catch him off guard in the slightest as he leaned back in the chair to look you over, smirking.

“Did you really come all the way to my office so that you could ask me this?” his tone came out teasing as your antics clearly entertained him. If there was one thing Sylus could always count on, it was you making his day more interesting, “What? Couldn’t wait till later when we were going to bed? Or were you that desperate to…top me…that you had to interrupt my work?” oh now he was being the usual little shit you were so used to. He chuckled at the pout he saw on your lips as you tried shooting him a glare.

“Actually, I couldn’t wait. I wanted to fuck you right now, but you’re working, so I came all the way here.” Your words only made him chuckle more as he placed his hands on your waist, intent on dragging you properly into his lap. Maybe grind up into you so you could feel just how interested he was in your current…proposition. You almost locked your legs so he couldn’t drag you down, not unless he was really dedicated to the cause.

“Will you be able to handle it, sweetie?” he asked with a tilt of his head. As you expected, his attempt to pull you down didn’t work when he wasn’t trying, “While I am willing, I will say if you plan on having me be submissive for you, I’ll only go along if you make it worth my time.” Instead of tugging you down again, he opted to just squeeze your hips and make you squirm for a moment.

You grabbed his chin between your fingers and dragged him to look up at you. He still had that knowing smirk plastered on his face, the one that you just knew meant you were going to have to actually put in the effort if you wanted to dominate him, “Are you saying I’d be incapable of topping you, pretty boy?” your voice dropped a little bit as you looked down at him.

“I think you can do it, but I’m not sure how well you’ll do your first time around. I’m always here to let you try new things.” As long as you could actually make him submit to you was left unsaid but heavily implied.

“Honestly, I’m more worried about you,” you said, trailing off to look behind you at the duffel bag, “I got a few items to use today.” Sylus’ eyes didn’t go to look at the bag. Instead, he used the opportunity of your distraction to drag you onto his lap and elicit a gasp from you. Both your thighs were now on either side of his legs, and you widened your eyes in surprise before narrowing them. You hit his chest, about to say something, when you felt his hips roll into your own.

You fought back the groan, noticing that he was already hard, “So what did you grab?” he murmured, happy to have you on him. The weight of your body on his own was always nice; it was one of the reasons he enjoyed having you ride him. Grabbing at your hips to control the pace, sometimes using his evol so his hands could explore your body or even letting you fully take over while he sat back and enjoyed.

“Bring the bag over here, and I can show you.” Maybe if you had been standing, you would’ve grabbed it, but since he was deciding to play this game, he could do it now. He rolled his eyes, knowing what you were implying.

The number of times you had convinced him to use his evol to grab you something was, quite honestly, a bit entertaining. He still always went along with it, of course, having a hard time denying you really anything. Even the twins commented when they watched Sylus grab you something, saying that the man was whipped.

You could see the familiar red energy gathering and heard the shuffle of the bag as it came over and was placed on top of both of your laps. Your hand went to the zipper, slowly undoing it as you adjusted yourself on his lap, purposefully grinding on the man. He didn’t make a noise at your teasing, but you could feel how his cock twitched from underneath your ass now.

Your hands reached in, and you found yourself pulling out two very large toys. They were both red and unique in their design. The first one had a red and orange design, with a thick head that led to an even thicker base and heavy texture all over it. The second one was only slightly smaller, but the head was tapered, and it had thick bumps over the body. That one was colored a darker red with a black gradient at the base.

They were both marketed as demon dildos, found off one of your favorite toy sites. You had gotten them both in a medium as well, thinking maybe the large would be a bit much. They were already huge at their current size, the smaller of the two being seven inches with a girth you could barely wrap your hand around.

Sylus looked at the items in your hands, realizing when you said you wanted to fuck him, you really meant it. “You want to peg me?” he finally got out. Now this…this was a bit of a shock to him. He managed to play it off as more neutral, not letting you see just how thrown off he was.

He had expected a lot of things from you, but pegging wasn’t one of them. Not that he’d turn it down, oh no. In fact, he found himself rather intrigued by the entire thing. Hell, even his body reacted with a blooming heat in his stomach as he thought about what it would feel like to be filled up with his partner.

“You did tell me you’d be willing to try anything at least once.” You reminded him of a conversation you had months ago when discussing bedroom activities. You watched Sylus’ hand go over to the tubes connected to the toys, playing with the object as he spun it in his fingers.

“Kitten, what are these tubes for?” he asked, and you smirked. You took a syringe as well as a rather large bottle of lube that was white and, from what you had seen, very slick and sticky. When you tried it out to see the texture, it stuck to your fingers in a rather stringy fashion, and it looked just like cum.

“That, Sy, is so I can breed you,” you stated as a matter of fact, “The syringe will even warm up the lube just slightly above the normal body temperature so you can feel it…you’re welcome.” Honestly, you had been pretty damn proud of this one. It had been expensive, but it wasn’t like you were spending your own money. Sylus was always insistent that you use his card if you plan to splurge on anything. Sure, he probably hadn’t anticipated it would be used to buy giant demon dicks with cum tubes to peg him with, but that was how life worked out sometimes.

“You want to…breed me?” he was still managing to remain calm and collected over the entire ordeal, but even he didn’t know how to respond to this. Not that he needed to; his dick underneath you had twitched at your statement and was clearly interested in the prospect, “Darling, you know that’s impossible, right?”

“See, you say impossible; I say we should try it out and see. Maybe a few times. Like a couple of creampies every day can’t hurt, right?” you chuckled, and he closed his eyes and shook his head. Of course, you’d go with something like this; he could never put it past you to come up with insane ideas. Sylus had tried many things with you in bed, but letting you fill him up with fake cum was a new one. Not to mention that the syringe looked huge, and he was certain you didn’t plan on just filling it up a little bit.

“Of course, how careless of me to not even let you try,” he said as he went to take one of the toys from your hand. He grabbed the red and black one with the tapered head, “I assume I’m given a choice between these two?” he gave it an experimental squeeze.

“You would be correct!” honestly, you had expected him to go with the smaller option, but a small part of you really wanted him to go with the larger size so you could watch him squirm as he took the blunt head into him. Maybe next time, you’d be railing him with the big one.

“This one.” He said, squeezing the silicone toy again. The firmness wasn’t too soft and wasn’t too hard. It reminded you just a bit of a soft dick, honestly, only being slightly firmer, so it could actually go inside of someone. “Perhaps if you’re any good at this, we can try the other one another time. I’ll admit, I’ve never…” inserted something into his ass like this? Probably not a shocker.

You didn’t know how many partners Sylus had in the past or if you were the only one. Honestly, it was a question you never bothered to ask, judging by how you knew you were the only one in his life currently, which was all you cared about. The man was an enigma, but you were certain if he had been with others, he was always on top. He had an imposing height and a muscular build, not to mention the aura about him just screamed dominant most of the time.

There had been many times people were shocked when they found him obediently listening to you. He would do his own thing, sure, but when it came to you, he was listening and doing what he was told. In bed, it was the same thing; he could be dominant and flip you over to absolutely demolish you, sure, but other times, you’d see a more submissive side.

The entire reason you had this idea was due to last week when you decided to try and choke him. He had come instantly and had whined about it. It was probably the hottest thing he had ever done, and you wanted to make him completely bottom for you. The best part about the situation is he didn’t seem embarrassed by it; rather, he was aroused and encouraging you to continue riding him that night, needing more of you.

“Are you certain you didn’t want to try riding one of these toys instead?” his voice cut off your inner ramblings, and you looked up at him in confusion. The tip of his finger was playing with the head of the other dildo in your hand. You looked at the large item and shook your head.

“If I want a dick,” you said as you placed the toy back into the bag. Your hand then went down to begin working Sylus’ pants off, “I have a warm one right here. Plus, this one moves inside of me.” You commented with a chuckle, unzipping him so you could lay your hand over the bulge in his underwear. His dick was always warm and so responsive, not to mention he was huge. He was probably about the size of the dick you’d be fucking him with today.

“Noted,” Sylus said, taking in a shaky breath when he felt how your hand cupped him through his pants, playing with his cock. There was already a wet spot right where the tip was that you were playing with your finger. You tossed the bag onto the ground as you began fishing out his dick from his underwear to grab it properly and give it a few lazy strokes. “However,” his hand grabbed your wrist and pulled you away.

You didn’t even see him put the other toy onto the desk, most likely using his evol, so he had a free hand. He was now grabbing your chin as he dragged you closer so his lips were almost pressing into your own, “If you fail to meet my expectations, then,” the hand grabbing your wrist left, and he used his evol again to grab the other, larger toy, “I get to put this in you.”

That toy was definitely larger than his own dick, and the head itself away about the same size as the shaft. You looked between him and the large toy, “Um, there’s no way that’s going to fit inside of me.” Not without it burning and causing you to limp afterward. Shockingly, you didn’t feel like destroying yourself today.

“Yet you wanted to put it inside of me?” he asked with an amused huff.

“Listen, the booty hole is like…different from the coochie. It can fit more into it. You can handle it.” You said the last part of your sentence was in the same tone he always used when he was trying new things on you. Either that or edging you…or bringing you into a state of absolute overstimulation.

Sylus paused for a moment, “Are those really the words we’re going to be using tonight?” he asked, clearly not amused by your childish lingo.

“Cooter. Poop shoot.” You easily supplied, “I can make it worse.” You said cheekily.

“You’re making me get soft…I didn’t even think that was possible with you in my lap.” That got a laugh out of you as you shook your head.

“Fine, your ass is different from my pussy. That make you feel better?” you said, and he smirked before finally dragging you down into a kiss. You groaned against him, your tongue prodding at his mouth as he let you in. He didn’t bother fighting you in the kiss; instead, he let you explore him as you leaned closer, your hands grabbing onto his shirt. You could feel his cock against your stomach, and you shivered. You almost wanted to ride him before you fucked him, but you also didn’t want to tire yourself out just yet. Instead, you parted from his mouth and kissed the corner for a moment.

Now that all the discussion was out of the way, you were getting off his lap and standing up. You held out your hand for him to take, and he happily took it. It always amazed you with how large his hands were, watching as his fingers entwined with your own and practically engulfed you. You loved how sensual it could be when he held it while fucking you, and you shivered as you recalled the other night.

You tugged at him so he’d be standing, and the moment he was on his feet, you easily pivoted him, so he was spun around. You pushed him down onto the desk and watched as he unclasped his hand from your own so he could grip the edge. His ass was halfway on it as he looked down at you in question. “Oh, you wanted to do this today…in here?” he asked, and you scoffed, rolling your eyes.

“Why else would I have brought the stuff with me?” you said with a quirk of your brow, “Besides, you’re the one who tells me if I want something, I should just take it. And you’ve also put me on a kitchen counter before and fucked my brains out, so honestly, this is pretty normal for us.” You shrugged.

Besides, there was a thrill of doing things like this where someone could hear you, something that you had picked up long ago that Sylus seemed to like. You were certain that if someone were to actually see you two, he might be a bit mad and hide you from sight, but the thought of it always got him hard.

“I suppose it is.” He said with a shrug. It wasn’t like you guys ever had to worry about someone just barging in. Everyone knew to knock before coming into his office; even the twins wouldn’t dare just waltz in when they knew he was working. They always knocked before so they wouldn’t have to worry about getting yelled at. The only one in the entire base who could just stroll in here at any time was you.

“Well, I’m glad you’re finally starting to take action,” he said as he adjusted himself. “But is this really the best place?” he asked with a small huff. His hand slowly went down the grain of the wood on the desk, taking a quick glance at it then back at you, as if silently asking you if this is really what you were envisioning.

“Oh? Are you telling me it might be uncomfortable for you to be fucked on a random surface?” you said, your tone now mocking. He seemed to have gotten the hint as he shook his head.

“No, I was just thinking maybe you’d like a lower surface so it’ll be easier for you. If this is how you want me, I won’t complain.” The desk was a little high up, but you would be able to get the right angle. It wouldn’t be too hard to fuck him on the desk. Besides, you weren’t opposed to grabbing a step stool if push came go shove. As long as you got to your end goal, you were happy.

Once Sylus had stopped complaining, you began working him out of his pants, pushing them down and kicking them off to the side. Your hands wrapped around his thighs, squeezing them and feeling how the muscles flexed underneath your grasp. He looked good, as per usual, as your hands began to glide over his body. You pushed up his black shirt, hands going underneath to feel his chest. Sylus watched you with interest, allowing your touch to just roam his body and feel his heat.

Then you were back to grabbing his thighs; you walked closer and began pushing him down properly onto the desk, your hands going to scatter papers to be out of the way. Sylus let out a short gasp as he watched, his own body moving to work himself onto the desk, but the man was smirking. He gave you a knowing look as he worked on adjusting himself some, getting comfortable on the hard desk under him.

“You know, some of those papers have million-dollar deals on them.” Sylus pointed out as he watched some of the pieces of parchment fall gracefully onto the ground. You began moving up from the man’s hips until your hand was just barely hovering above his dick. You barely even glanced at the papers, not caring in the slightest as to what was on them. Besides, maybe you just saved a few people from getting screwed over by a bad deal by tossing their things off the desk.

“Crazy how that’s not a me problem.” Besides, the man had made several deals on a daily basis, you felt. So what if some important documents were scattered? It would still be on the floor, and you were certain Sylus was smart enough to figure it out. You had more important worries right now, like getting the man off and then listening to him whine underneath you. Those priorities came before some million dollar deal weapons deal.

With that thought in mind, your hand was now grasping his dick and giving it a few slow pumps. The pre cum was already collected onto the head, and a small amount had dribbled off the tip and down the shaft. Your hand wrapped around the girth as your thumb swiped some of the sticky fluid, “Sweetheart,” Sylus cooed, “As much as I enjoy your hand being here, I thought you wanted to-ah!” you squeezed the base of his cock while glaring up at him.

“We’re getting there, Sy, but I get to decide when you get fucked. Be a good boy for once.” You scoffed and looked around. The items from earlier were still at the edge of the desk, the few things you didn’t scatter due to the fact that you’d be needing them.

“Be a good boy?” Sylus echoed, “And why would I do that? If I recall correctly, you’re seldom good for me.” You grabbed the bottle of lube and popped open the cap. You then turned to shoot him a warning look as you grabbed the syringe from earlier and filled it up with the lube for later. You then poured some onto your hand and spread your fingers, watching the white substance cling to your hand in a web-like formation.

“I just match your energy, is all.” You said with a smirk, “Now lay down fully on your back for me.” You could see the cogs in his head turning as he decided if he was really going to be doing that. You rolled your eyes and, with a clean hand, pushed down on his chest hard until his back was meeting the wood of the desk, “And you call me a brat…” you mutter out. You swore the man called you a brat because he was projecting.

“You are a-.” He was cut off again as you pressed a finger against his entrance. He groaned and bit the inside of his cheek as he looked down, trying to get a view of what you were doing. Honestly, you were a little surprised with how easily your finger slipped inside of him, pressing into the warmth that was his ass.

Your eyes were wide as you slowly took it out and then pressed back in. Sylus wasn’t making too much noise; hell, he wasn’t even squirming. He seemed more transfixed on the fact that you were inside of him rather than the actual feeling of it. He was so warm on the inside, for for a split second, you were almost mad you didn’t have an actual dick. You think if you did, you could die from how good he would feel inside. You were certain they had some evol sex toys that would let you feel it, so perhaps some day you’d invest his money into some.

You were even able to slip a second finger into him with relative ease, and in the back of your head, you were wondering if he was lying about never doing this. Then again, Sylus never lied to you. If he didn’t want to tell you something, he’d either change the topic or tease you, but he never lied to your face. “Sy, have you ever…?” you asked as you curled your fingers up to try and find his prostate; you knew the general area that it should be in.

Sylus let out an airy laugh, “No, kitten; I just know how to relax.” He stated, and then it was followed by a loud groan as your fingers apparently found what they were looking for. You smirked as you began curling your fingers into that spot every time you pushed your digits back into him. It felt different, like a small bulge in him, the bundle of nerves being like an instant pleasure button that you were happy to have found.

“You sure that’s it, and it’s not because you’re a little slut for me, Sy?” he gasped at being called that, his eyes narrowing, but you could see the subtle turn of his lips as he tried not to smirk.

“You sure are something,” Sylus murmured, but the way his cock had twitched made you hide your own laugh. His dick was now drooling onto his stomach as you grasped it with your free hand and began pumping his cock in time with how you fingered him. He was squirming and groaning as he rolled his hips up into your hand, wanting more as he was now starting to feel good. The fingers alone were okay, the prostate was amazing, but now that you were also pumping his cock with your hand?

“D-did you -mhn- plan on having me cum like this, or on your cock, sweetie?” his voice wasn’t wrecked yet, but he was at the point where he was moaning in the middle of his sentences. It was different from usual, normally he managed to keep his voice fairly steady while speaking in the middle of fucking you. This more submissive side of him was going to drive you absolutely wild.

“You close already? I can feel your cock pulsing in my hand, and you’re already making a mess of yourself. Quicker than I thought, you must like having your ass played with.” You teased, your fingers scissoring into him as you attempted to get him stretched out for your strap. “You’re so wet, Sy, what a whore.”

Sylus let out another groan, feeling like he was already on the edge, “D-didn’t answer my question, sweetie.” He said, holding himself back now. The names you were throwing at him was driving him absolutely wild right now. Your pace got faster, your hand easily pumping his dick with the slick he had produced to help you along with the glide. He let out another gasp as he squeezed his eyes shut for a second.

“I’ve seen your stamina, babes; you can go for a few rounds.” You commented, and after he was essentially told it was fine, his cum began coating your hand as you pumped him, some landing on his abs and dribbling down to his hips. He let out a few grunts, rocking his hips into your hand. You could feel the way his ass tightened around your fingers, practically trying to suck them in further as you worked him through it. There was an involuntary shudder that went down your spine at the sensation as you bit on your lower lip to hide your own groan.

He was always so pretty when he came, how his mouth hung open in a moan, his eyelashes fluttering, and his eyes almost rolled to the back of his head. He was arching off the desk as he came, and after a few moments, he began relaxing again, the aftershock wracking through him. He was panting subtly, and as you took your hand off his dick and placed it over his chest, you could feel how his heart was jackhammering as if trying to escape from his own chest. His pulse was always high, but in moments like this it was almost concerning.

“Such a good boy…” you murmured as you brought your hand up to your face. You licked up his release, groaning at the salty, bitter taste of it. You could see his dick twitching as he watched you clean up his cum, and you stuck your tongue out to show him the milky fluid in your mouth before you closed and swallowed it down. He always loved it when you swallowed his release, and while you weren’t sure as to why, you were more than happy to indulge him if it had him moaning just from the sight.

Your hands went back down to his thighs, squeezing them as you admired his form. He had dorito-shaped proportions, something you had once teased him about, but damn if you didn’t love it. His chest was honestly perfect for laying on with how wide it was, and you wished you could see him in a corset to accentuate his waist.

You were tempted to take off his shirt so you could stare at his tits for a while as you fucked him, but instead, you opted to just push it all the way up to his chin. Your fingers went along his nipples, ghosting over them until you decided to quickly pinch at the perky buds.

Sylus groaned from underneath you and glared, “If you plan on fucking me, I’d hurry up before I change my mind and make a mess out of you instead.” Sylus said after noticing how you were currently content with just teasing him.

“So impatient,” you cooed and began working your own pants off now, “Didn’t realize how needy you’d be; guess you couldn’t wait for my cock, huh pretty bird?” you shucked off your pants and kicked them aside, revealing a nice harness underneath. The black leather looked good against you as it squeezed at your hips and thighs, letting some of the skin there bulge out. The sides even had two little red gems on top of the buckles.

It was clearly to Sylus’ liking as he placed his hand over your hip, tracing over the straps of the harness. His finger grazed over the red gem on the side before giving the leather strap a small tug, testing to see how tight it would be on you. After he was satisfied that it fit correctly, his hand went to your thigh and squeezed it gently before letting go of you.

You took the dildo from the side of the desk and undid the harness enough to slip it behind. Thankfully, you had practiced this part, grabbing the silicone toy and squeezing it through the metal o-ring until just the base was pressed against your pubic mound. You adjusted the straps again, making sure they were nice and tight around you and not able to move when you began fucking him.

“Kitten, I think if anyone is desperate, it’s you.” He said as you grabbed the lube and began slathering it all over the dildo. Your hand jerking it off and as you stood, looming over him, Sylus’ mind started going blank. He didn’t think it was possible to find you even sexier than he normally saw you, but seeing you with a strap and happily jerking it was doing things to him. His dick practically jumped when your hands grabbed at his thighs, the fake cock falling on top of his own as you leaned over. The hand you had used to jerk the fake dick off while coating it with lube now smeared onto his skin, causing a small shiver to escape him.

“Kitten? Me?” you said, pushing his legs up so they’d be bent at the knee, “You’re the one who’s going to be purring.” You joked as you adjusted yourself between his parted legs. Sylus groaned, then looked off to the side. He could see the tube that jutted out from the side of the dildo base, the syringe right next to you on the desk, and completely filled with the sticky, white cum lube that apparently was now warmed.

“You’re serious about using that?” he finally got out, noticing how your fingers were splaying over his legs. You leaned over to one, kissing his calf and looking down at him. Sylus honestly wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He was both intrigued by it, but also just hesitant if he’d like the feeling. Hell, would he even be able to feel it? You had really set out to make him the most submissive he’s ever been.

“Of course, I wanna watch my cum dribble out of your cute hole, Sy,” he groaned at your open honesty. He wasn’t used to being spoken to like this, and honestly, he didn’t think you had it in you, but at this rate, he was almost tempted to bottom for you more often just to hear those filthy words leaving your mouth. Still, he wasn’t about to just back down from the challenge as he watched you take one hand to grasp your fake cock and line it against his entrance.

“You have ten minutes to convince me this is a good idea,” Sylus stated as you were now pushing the very tip right past the tight ring of muscle.

“Or what?” you asked, watching as the head was now inside of him. You heard him gasp at the intrusion, the item larger than your fingers, and stretching him out, “You were the one who came earlier from me fingering you. I’m pretty sure you like this. Besides, with an ass like yours, it’s practically begging to be played with.”

Sylus bit back another groan as he watched you adjust his legs now that you were somewhat nestled inside of him. You were placing his legs around your hips right now, letting him wrap them around you, “If you can’t make me cum just from this in ten minutes, you’re taking it out of me so I can pin you to the desk.” He said, and you rolled your eyes.

“Oh, so you want me to milk your prostate is what you’re saying?” you were pushing more of the demon cock into him, watching as he gasped from the feeling of it filling him up, “Baby boy, I fully plan on taking away your ability to walk straight.” You said as you finally bottomed out. You looked up at his face, noticing how his jaw was currently clenched and his eyes were closed. He was taking deep breaths as he willed himself to get used to the feeling of you inside of him.

Your hands smoothed over his hips as you felt his legs dragging you closer, his ankles locking behind you. One of his hands was now above his head, grasping the edge of the desk, and his other was reaching up to tug on the edge of your shirt as if attempting to drag you down.

You gave a small, experimental roll of your hips into him, and he groaned, arching his back up as he watched you through lidded eyes. You made the motion again, and this time, his mouth hung open as he panted slightly, his exposed chest heaving with labored breathing, “You seem to be enjoying this already.” You comment, your hold on his hips tightened as you properly began drawing out the dildo.

“I a-adore your voice, ah, but please shut up and f-ah!” the moan was punched out of him as you slammed the cock back inside of him. You didn’t bother waiting for him to try and speak again as you began properly thrusting into him, feeling how his grasp on your shirt got tighter and his eyebrows pinched together as he focused on the feeling of you inside of him.

The man had never felt full like this, and honestly, he liked the feeling. He briefly wondered if this is what you felt like, every time he fucked you on his own length. That thought had him gasping, as well as how you began angling your hips to thrust upwards into the area you knew his prostate was. The motioned earned a muffled keen from him as he chewed on his body lip and made a solid attempt to not show you how much he was enjoying this.

“Shit, Sy,” you groaned out, already feeling a little breathless, “You’re so fucking wet. Look at how your dick is drooling all over you. Such a messy boy.” You groaned, noticing how his pre cum was now mixing with his earlier release on his abs. His dick bounced every time you thrust back into his tight hole, and you could see how his tits were jiggling along with your movements. He looked so good like this, and you were reminded how you always stared at his chest when he worked out. You had to do this more often just to watch them bounce like this.

Sylus couldn’t even get out a response as you found a consistent angle to graze his prostate as your movements got harsher. It wasn’t hard to figure out that he liked it when you were rougher with him, letting out pretty moans the moment your thrusts got to the point bordering on painful. His grip at the end of his desk tightened, and you could hear the slightest splintering of wood underneath him as he literally began breaking that part of the desk. As much as you’d love to comment on it, he was dragging your body down and pressing his mouth against yours now.

He was moaning into the kiss, a high pitch keen leaving him as your pace didn’t falter. It was sloppy, his tongue desperately seeking out your mouth as you drank in all of his little noises. You could tell he was close, his legs managing to drag you in even closer as the wet smacking noises from your kiss and the fake cock pounding into his ass echoed in the room. Your hand went to find the syringe, fully planning on filling him up.

Right as you were about to press the object, there was a sudden knock on the door. Whoever it was clearly either being dense or somehow deaf if they couldn’t figure out what the noises inside were. Your pace paused for a moment, and Sylus let out a whine before his eyes widened as you both turned to the door, where someone’s knuckles hit as they knocked again.

“Boss?” It sounded like Keiran, “Luke and I,” Keiran began speaking, but the moment you knew it was him, you began thrusting back into Sylus. This time, your boyfriend took his hand off your shirt and slapped it over his mouth, trying to muffle the lewd moans escaping him. You weren’t even bothering to listen to what Keiran had to say, instead working on making it known what you were doing to his boss. Sylus’ attempt to muffle his noises didn’t help, not with how close he already was.

“Sy, Keiran needs you. Why don’t you let him know you’re busy? Don’t want him trying to barge in if you don’t say something.” You chuckled, your hand splaying over his pubic area. You weren’t about to play with his cock just yet, instead waiting for the right moment. Sylus shot a glare at you but slowly removed his hand from his mouth, his small whimpers filling the room as you fucked his needy hole. For a second you weren’t sure he could even speak, not with how when he opened his mouth a loud groan escaped it.

“I-I’m mhm fuck b-busy!” he managed to cry out, which was followed by an absolutely pornographic moan. It was silent on the other side of the door, and then you suddenly heard footsteps leading away from the door. Keiran processed exactly what he was hearing. You chuckled as your hands left the man’s hips, deciding the way his legs locked around you would give you enough leverage in your thrusting.

You grabbed his cock in one hand, thrusting it at the same pace as your hips. He keened from the touch, and you felt how his cock was throbbing in your grasp, already about to cum once again. Your other hand found the syringe next to you, and you finally pressed down on it.

Sylus cried out, feeling the warmth filling him up and dribbling out of his hole. Your eyes focused down at his entrance, where you watched the white lube dribble onto the desk. Then he tried speaking, his voice coming out cracked as he attempted to warn you, but it was too late. His cock shot out cum, harder than you had ever seen it. The cum shot managed to reach his chest and even a bit on his chin. He was whining as you worked him through it, the white liquids mixing with his body and getting on your hand.

His legs kept you close as he locked you into place around his body, his hips trying to thrust as he squirmed underneath you. You had never seen Sylus so wrecked and needy during your entire time together, and it was a treat. Seeing how red his face was, how his chest heaved with every shaky breath. His tongue was almost falling out of his mouth as he arched into you, his eyes rolling back in pleasure.

Then he found himself slowly coming down from his high, his body relaxing back onto the desk and becoming completely lax. You grabbed his hips, enjoying how he was finally relaxed and content, his unfocused, lidded eyes looking at you. For once, his eyebrows didn’t have a furrow; it reminded you of when he was asleep for a moment as he tried to come back down to earth. Sylus couldn’t recall if he had ever cum that hard in his life; the only thing on his mind was how good that all felt and how he had to do it again one day. Hell, maybe even do it again later today if he could ever get his brain back into his head.

“Well, did I make it worth your time?” You asked after it looked like he’d be able to hear you again. He groaned, squirming a little bit underneath you, as you wiped your cum coated hand on his hip to clean it off. He tried shooting you a small glare at the gesture, but he realized it was only making you smirk.

“I-I guess we could do that again…” Sylus finally got out and began relaxing his legs. He unlocked his ankles and let them fall to the side, his thighs squishing up against the desk as he relaxed his grip on the now splintered edge of the desk. He’d have to buy a new desk at some point, or maybe he’d leave it there as a reminder of what transpired today. He didn’t feel like making decisions right now, though.

Your hands went to the shirt that was still bunched up around his chest as you worked it off him, Sylus only helping slightly as you removed the piece of clothing and tossed it to the side. It had some cum on it now, so you doubted he’d want to wear it out of here. You knew the man kept spare clothes in his office after one particular incident where you both ruined his clothes after you decided to rip them off him in a desperate attempt to get to him.

You leaned forward, pressing small kisses along his neck and watching him shuffle underneath you, a small sigh escaping him, “We can do this again, cutie?” you asked as you finally began taking out the strap once you were standing back up. You had to hold back a groan when you watched the cum lube dribble out of his ass now that there was nothing to plug it up anymore. Your fingers went down, scooping some up and fingering it back into him. Sylus gasped at the intrusion, looking down at your hands as he realized just how sensitive he was at the moment, but he still managed to nod and answer your question.

“Glad you’re down to do this again, though, it would be a shame if we never got to use the other dildo on you.” You murmured, noticing how much of his cum was now on his body. You honestly hadn’t expected it to shoot up that far, and you wondered if he even could tell there was some cum on his chin and neck.

“A true shame…” his tone was almost mocking but soon turned to a moan when he felt your mouth on his thighs. He looked down, noticing how you leaned over to lick at some of the sweat collected on his inner thighs.

“W-what are you…” he muttered when he felt how you were licking at some of the cum that you had smeared onto him. You watched as his abs tightened, and his cock seemed to twitch with renewed interest in the sensation. Your mouth trailed over until your tongue came out to lick a thick strip up his shaft, and he groaned when you collected the cum that had gotten there. You then moved to his abs, and he let out a whimper.

“W-wait, don’t,” he murmured as he realized just how hard he was getting again. Not that he minded completely; it wasn’t uncommon for you guys to go a few rounds together. He was just so sensitive right now that he couldn’t mask the whine that escaped him.

“Don’t what?” you asked, loving his reactions, “Do this?” you took the head of his dick and popped it into your mouth, giving it a harsh suck. He keened at the feeling as you let it fall out of your mouth. Your tongue began exploring again, licking at his pubic mound and then up to his chest, collecting his release as you went. Your mouth sucked again when you got to his throat, leaving a small mark right on his Adam’s apple.

You heard a thunk as his head hit the back of the desk, and he let out a wanton moan, loving the warm and wet sensation as you peppered a few more kisses here and there. Finally, you were moving to lick the release on his chin before you grabbed at it, forcing his mouth open and spitting into it. He groaned when he could taste the bitterness of his cum, but he still swallowed what you had given him.

“We should get you cleaned up properly.” You muttered and were about to stand back up when you felt his hand on the back of your neck. He dragged you back down for a kiss, and you groaned into it, feeling how his tongue played with your own as he kissed you. He was still panting, and you adored how even his kiss was a bit unfocused and tired. When you parted, you wiped off a bit of saliva from his glossy, kiss-swollen lips.

“Just hand me my pants,” he murmured, “You said I had stamina, and you haven’t gotten to cum yet…although we should probably move this to the bedroom.” He said, realizing if you guys continued in here, then his desk might actually break from your enthusiasm.

“Fine…but I’m still in charge,” you said with a smirk, “And your face would probably make an amazing seat today.” You were already getting back up and working on the strap out of your harness. You tossed it to the chair, deciding you guys could clean up tomorrow. You had far more pressing matters to attend to, mainly dealing with how slick you were. Even your inner thighs were coated in it at this point.

“Whatever you want, sweetie. You’re in charge for the rest of the evening.”

#loveanddeepspace #love and deepspace #Sylus Love and Deepspace #Lnds #Lnds Sylus #lnds x reader #x reader #reader insert #Sylus x reader #l&ds #l&ds Sylus #l&ds Sylus x reader #lads x reader #lads Sylus #lads Sylus x reader

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kujousgf · 1 year ago

Note

Okay but what about g!p Nat getting r pregnant at a one night stand. R actually being yelenas best friend who always said her sister is off limits and told nat her friends are off limits. Nat being a player. But like a happy ending

KISS ME UNTIL MY LIPS FALL OFF mdni. 18+

pairings ; natasha romanoff + f ! reader (romantic), yelena belova + f ! reader (platonic), wanda maximoff + f ! reader (platonic)

summary ; you know you shouldn't, really you do, but there's just something about natasha that pulls you in and wraps an iron chain around your heart

warnings ; fade to black smut (i'm the worst, i know), natasha has a penis, unprotected sex, pregnancy, top ! natasha, bottom ! reader, tiny bit of angst, intoxication, morning sickness

wc ; 2.5k~

a/n ; i hope this is what you were looking for !! i got a liiiitle carried away with this i think. also this is not proofread ! (also, please do not use the term 'g!p', just say 'character with penis' please !)

“She is off limits, Natalia. I can see that look in your eyes, she’s too nice for you.”

“She is no good for you, Y/N. Don’t fall for her annoying charms.”

That is what Yelena had said to both of you, separately, of course, the first time you met her sister. For Natasha it was a thinly veiled threat and for you it was a warning– Natasha was no good, she would break your heart.

That was about four years ago and while the two of you tried your best to respect Yelena’s wishes, you more so than Natasha, it was getting increasingly harder to deny the attraction you felt towards each other. You never wanted to cross Yelena’s boundaries, she was your best friend since you two were old enough to walk. A betrayal like that would shake your friendship in ways you didn’t want to think about.

You understand that Yelena just wants the best for you, knowing of her sister’s habit of sleeping with girls only to leave them in the middle of the night and suddenly forget they exist, but there was just something that wouldn't stop tugging you towards Natasha. There was no denying her attractiveness, anyone with eyes could tell that the redhead was attractive, but it was the way she treated you that really had you weak in the knees. She was frustratingly charming and stupidly sweet. When Yelena was around to shoot daggers at her for her flirting, she claimed that she was just being friendly.

“What’s wrong with being nice to a pretty girl, Lena?”

You two had shared more than a few tender moments alone, but nothing past a soft kiss and a quietly whispered ‘You know we can’t’ that always left Natasha wanting more of you. She knew you wanted to respect Yelena, she did, and she lov– liked you for how much you cared for her sister, but God, she wished you cared a little less. She wished you were a little more selfish, a little more willing to let her have you.

Natasha doesn’t know when she developed actual feelings for you past physical attraction, and she’d rather not think about it, if she were being honest. It didn’t matter what she felt for you if she could never act on it, if it would make her feel rotten for acting on it, for crossing a boundary Yelena had set and you were trying your hardest to set yourself. So, she did what she’d been doing best for the past three years: slept with almost every girl that the only gay bar in Ohio had to offer.

It’s not like the both of you hadn’t tried to move on, but nothing ever seemed to stick. None of the girls Natasha slept with made the burning hole in her chest ease its aching, and no one you ever tried to date could ever compare to Natasha. Even that pretty blonde pilot with the same type of dominating presence couldn’t tear your heart away from the Russian. You think you might have to try and erase Natasha from your memory, but even then you don’t think it would work. Your heart would still remember her.

Too many drinks and Yelena’s birthday party is how you ended up here, in the one place you shouldn’t be. Natasha just looked so pretty tonight, even wearing something so simple as her usual leather jacket and black jeans, you finally just couldn’t contain yourself. You two are in the guest bedroom of Yelena’s apartment, Natasha’s hands gripping your waist as you grind against her lap, your hands tangled in her hair.

This is the first time the two of you had gone past a soft kiss or a gentle hand brushing against each other. It’s been four years of torture, trying to deny each other of what you both wanted, and now that you have it, it doesn’t seem like either of you want to let go. Natasha had been a little shocked when you barged into the room she was occupying for the night, but who is she to deny you when you were all red cheeked and asking for her to please kiss you?

“Okay, okay. Slow down, sweetheart.” Natasha laughs, breathless as she pulls away from your lips, her hands stilling your hips. God, she wants to keep going, but she could taste the liquor on your lips, and the last thing she wanted to do was let you do something you’d regret. You try to chase her lips, a pout making its way onto your features, but she holds you back.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Just looking at you, Tasha.” You grumble, trying to press your lips to hers again.

“Hey, hey, come on. Listen to me for a minute, okay?” She reaches up to tuck your hair behind your ear and brushes her thumb across your cheek. The touch feels like electricity shooting through your body and you wish she would just stop trying to talk to you. Does she not want you like you want her?

“You know, once we do this there’s no going back, Y/N. You have to be sure, okay? Do you want this?”

“Yes. Please, Tasha, I want you. Don’t make me wait any longer, please.”

And, well, who is Natasha to say no to that?

It isn’t until Natasha sneaks out of the room at 4am to get a drink and she’s confronted with Yelena in the kitchen that she realizes what she’s done. Yelena has never told her that anyone is off limits besides you, and she can’t even keep it in her pants for one night? (She knows it’s been four years, but you’ve only approached her like this the one time.)

She tries to act like nothing is different, like she’s just grabbing some water, but Yelena raises an eyebrow at the difference in the air around her sister. She’s not as stupid as the two of you seem to think she is, she’s noticed the downright disgusting tension between the two of you and the horrible lovey dovey eyes her sister makes towards you.

“You break her heart and I break your ribs. Got it?”

Natasha chokes on her water, she would’ve thought she’d be a little more concerned for her heart, but this is fine, “Got it.”

And then Yelena is walking out of the kitchen to go to her own room. On her birthday? You two just had to do it on her birthday? Unbelievable.

Since that night, you and Natasha had gone on a couple of dates and you’ve been trying to spend as much time with each other as possible. You hadn’t slept with each other since, it was hard to find the right opportunity while she was staying with Yelena for the next month while her house was being renovated and your roommate Wanda always seemed to be at your apartment lately.

About a week later you woke up feeling like something was off. You didn’t know what it was until your body was moving on its own accord and you found yourself rushing to the bathroom to empty the contents of your stomach. God, you hoped you weren’t getting sick. As you sat with your back leaning against the cool glass of the shower, you closed your eyes for a second before it hit you.

Natasha didn’t wear a condom.

Oh God, Natasha didn’t wear a condom. You scramble to get yourself up and brush your teeth before rushing out of the bathroom and tugging on a pair of sweatpants and an old college sweater of Natasha’s that she left a couple of nights ago. What time is it? You pat your pockets and then fish out your phone, 7:56am. Okay, the pharmacy should be open by the time you get there.

This is fine, it’s probably nothing. You’re probably just sick, maybe you shouldn’t have eaten as much candy as you did, but Natasha was so happy to get you something you liked and you were really craving it. You tug on your shoes and you’re out the door and walking down the street in less than two minutes.

The walk to the pharmacy is relatively short, you chose an apartment in the city, so nothing is more than a 15 minute walk. Your fingers tap against your thigh as you pick out one of the many options and you walk to the checkouts, but not before grabbing a chocolate bar. You’ve been really wanting one for days now, but that has nothing to do with this, you just like chocolate, that’s all. You groan, what are you even trying to do right now? Convince your subconscious that you’re not pregnant?

The walk back to your apartment seems like it takes forever and you don’t even need to drink a bunch of water because your nerves are making you feel like you’re going to piss your pants anyway.

Wanda chooses the exact moment you start pacing in the bathroom to come out of her room, concealing a yawn behind her hand. “Y/N, why are you doing laps in the bathroom? If there’s a bug somewhere just kill it.”

“No, I’m not– there’s not a bug, Wands. I’m just…” You pause, fidgeting with the hem of your, well, Natasha’s sweatshirt, “I think I might be pregnant.”

A pause.

“You think what?!”

“Don’t say that like that! It’s not a bad thing I think. I just– I just don’t know how Natasha will react.” You wrap your arms around yourself and deflate a little bit, just the idea of Natasha being upset has you acting like a kicked puppy.

Wanda softens and walks towards you, wrapping her arms around you in a hug, “I’m sure Natasha will react just fine. And if she doesn’t then that’s her problem, not yours.” You lean into her and let yourself relax for a minute. You hadn’t known Wanda for as long as Yelena, you only met in your freshman year of college, but you consider her one of your best friends.

“Y/N… I think you should take a look.” Wanda had taken a quick peek at the test over your shoulder, and she squeezes you softly before pulling away.

You turn around and try your hardest not to feel too scared. Either outcome is fine, right?

Two lines.

You were pregnant.

Tears start to prick at your eyes and you’re not sure why, but you find yourself turning and hiding yourself in Wanda’s arms, not able to stop yourself from crying. You only just started properly seeing Natasha, what if she hates you? What if she never wants to see you again? What if–

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. Everything’s okay. She won’t hate you.”

Wanda’s soothing voice reaches your ears and you realize you must have been saying those things out loud. You nod against her chest and sniffle, trying to get yourself to stop crying. You had to tell Natasha, you have to get yourself ready and make yourself look presentable.

Wanda helps you get ready, telling you soothing things every once in a while when you start to worry again, trying to reassure you that Natasha isn’t going to hate you. And, if anything, this is Natasha’s fault anyway, but she doesn’t say that part. She drives you to Yelena’s apartment where Natasha is staying for the time being and gives you a reassuring smile, saying she’ll be waiting right outside if you need her. But if you don’t come out in 15 minutes she’s leaving because she has to go open the bookstore for Darcy.

You give her a weak nod and walk the now intimidating path up to Yelena’s apartment. You stand outside for a whole two minutes before getting the courage to knock. You knew Yelena wasn’t home and that it would be Natasha to answer the door. The blonde went to kickboxing every Saturday morning and wouldn’t be back for at least another hour.

Natasha is a little surprised to see you standing outside her door at 8:30 in the morning, but then she takes in your slightly red eyes and still tear stained cheeks and she’s ushering you inside with an arm around your waist and a concerned look on her face.

“What’s the matter, baby? Are you hurt? What happened? Do you need me to call Yelena? What’s going on?” The words tumble from Natasha’s lips before she can stop them, the need to protect you and make sure you’re safe overpowering anything else she might have wanted to say. Like how cute you look in her sweater.

You shake your head and suddenly there are tears in your eyes again and your bottom lip starts to wobble. “No, p–please don’t call Yelena. I just– I need to talk to you.” You’re trying not to cry again, but you don’t know how to say it. You don’t know how to break the news in a way that won’t destroy the only thing you’ve wanted for the last four years.

The concern in Natasha’s eyes isn’t making this any easier as she takes you over to sit on the couch, sitting next to you and taking your hand in hers, rubbing her thumb over your knuckles. “Alright, we can talk. You can talk to me. What’s going on, sweetheart?”

“I-I…” Your fingers twitch nervously in her hands, “Natasha, I’m pregnant.” And the confession ruins any chance you had of stopping yourself from crying, afraid she’s going to push you away or yell at you or tell you to get out or–

Natasha’s eyes widen and her breathing stops for a moment, you’re pregnant? But you hadn’t slept together since– Oh. Oh.

And then she snaps back to the present where you’re crying and she’s frozen like an idiot. And she’s gotta do something before you come to the wrong conclusion. This should be fine, though, right? She loves you, she can do this. She can do this, can’t she?

“Hey, hey, hey. Look at me.” She speaks softly, cupping your cheeks and wiping your tears with her thumbs. She takes one look at your face and now she’s trying to keep the tears out of her own eyes. “Everything’s gonna be okay, yeah, baby? Everything’s gonna be fine. We’re gonna figure it out.” She brings your head towards her chest and wraps one arm around you while the other strokes your hair. You’re crying harder now, but you think maybe they might be relieved tears, happy ones, even?

“We’re gonna figure it out.” She murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

Yeah, she can do this.

#alice's fics !#natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanov imagine #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x fem reader #natasha romanov x you #natasha romanov smut

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leclercss · 1 year ago

Text

Tainted Love, Part 1 (Charles Leclerc)

Masterlist

plot: in an attempt to fix your marriage, you've reluctantly agreed into being in an open relationship with your husband. so far, it's only been your husband that has taken advantage of your recent arrangement until one night out you meet a man who makes you begin to question your marriage.

pairings: charles leclerc x fem!reader

warnings: (+18) mentions of smut, cheating and some swearing

authors note: this is based on a story that i was writing in my spare time but thought it would be interesting to use Charles and a couple of other drivers as characters instead. so Charles is used as a character inspo rather than it including his life as an f1 driver. would love to hear your thoughts and if you'd be open for a part 2. i'm thinking of making this a longer fic.

word count: 4.8k

"[Y/N!]”

You don't really hear your name being called at first. You've been stuck in your own thoughts for the last five minutes, staring at nothing in particular.

"[Y/N]!" It's a little louder this time but still not enough to knock you out of the deep trance you've found yourself in. It's only when you get an elbow into your side and the champagne that's in your hand falls onto your lap that you finally snap out of it.

"Shit!' you squeal as you look down at the champagne that now soaks the bottom of your dress.

"Oh my God! I'm so sorry," the girl beside you laughs, "We've been trying to your attention for the last minute."

You look up at her, eyebrows furrowed. You can't remember her name. Was it Bethany? Stephanie? You didn't care, to be honest. It didn't really matter anyway; she wasn't your friend. You were only here as you were roped into pre-drinks before a girls' night out by your best friend, who was the only person you know here.

"It's fine, I was totally out of it," you mumble as you reach out for a napkin to dry the bottom of your dress.

"No shit," you hear a familiar voice say with a hint of smugness. You look across the table and see your best friend Whitney holding back a smirk. "You're on your fourth glass of champagne. I'd be out of it too if I was drinking as quickly as you've been".

You chuckle half-heartedly. Laughing it off as if it was the bottle of Moet that you mostly managed to get through on your own which caused you to be zoned out for so long. Not the fact that you’ve been replaying the arguments that you’ve been having with your husband over the last few weeks in your head. Nor the fact that you’ve been thinking about your shambles of a marriage.

As Whitney takes her attention off you to start cleaning up the mess, you let out a little sigh to yourself and go back to your previous thoughts.

How had your marriage gotten to this point?

You had been so in love with your husband when you first met. In fact, he’d been the only person you had ever been in love with. There was a ten-year age gap between the two of you but that hadn’t stopped you both falling for each other so quickly. He was one of the first people you had gotten to know when you first moved to London six years ago. You’d met on a night out about three months after moving to the city. The physical attraction was instant but that blossomed into something much deeper and within two years you had gotten married. He was your rock, your entire world. And maybe that was a bit of a risk for a girl, who at that point was in her early twenties, to depend on somebody so much and so quickly.

You had a few sceptics when it came to your relationship back in the early days. A few friends from back home had told you it was just a whirlwind romance with a hot older guy. Your mother had been unsure about the age gap. What would a girl in her early twenties need from a man in his early thirties? And what would a man in his early thirties need from a woman in her early twenties?

Your brother had joked that it was probably daddy issues.

You married him anyway. And the first two years of marriage had been bliss. Until about eighteen months ago when things had started to change. Your husband spent more time away from home (he said it was work related), the sex had become less regular (not by a lack of trying on your part) and you slowly started to feel like a spare part in your marriage.

You started to have a feeling that someone else was now involved in your marriage. And that feeling was unofficially confirmed to you when your husband had brought up the possibility of having an open relationship - basically, he could fuck whoever he wanted, and you couldn’t (and wouldn’t) complain about it. You reluctantly agreed. You loved your husband, and you were willing to make this sacrifice if it means that you could start to repair your marriage. But you were so wrong.

Deep down you knew that you were never going to leave him. And your husband knew that too. Six months into your “open relationship” and your husband had been taking full advantage of the arrangement. Meanwhile, you took the opposite approach and hadn’t slept with anyone outside of your marriage. Despite that, your jealousy grew towards your husbands’ new partners and your loyalty was wearing thin. You had initially been quiet about your doubts when it came to your arrangement. But lately you had been more vocal to your husband about your feelings. Of course, he dismissed those feelings. That’s why you were arguing lately. He had told you that it was something you both needed in your marriage, you guys were too dependent on one other. You told him that you should be enough for him, you didn’t need other people to fill whatever void he was feeling. But you were beginning to realise that maybe you weren’t enough for him.

“Oi! Snap out of it. I’ve poured you another glass. But you better drink it quickly. And fix your dress because the Uber is getting here in ten minutes,” Whitney scolds as she shoves the champagne glass back into your hand.

“Thanks, Whit.” You can’t help but smile at her. Apart from your husband, Whitney had been your only other source of love and stability during your years in London. And that was why she had dragged you out tonight to pull you out of your recent misery.

“You know what you need? A girl’s night out! And before you roll your eyes and tell me how you’re officially too old for clubbing, we’re going out. You need to spend time with someone else other than him. And it’s been so long since you’ve been shitfaced,” is what Whitney had said when you had told her that you and your husband had been arguing more and more these days. You still hadn’t told her about the open marriage thing. She’d never forgive you for agreeing to it.

You flash her a smile before downing your last glass of champagne. Despite your hesitation, maybe a girls’ night out was what you needed.

“To getting shitfaced!” you yell before throwing the hard liquor down your throat. You try not to gag as you slam the empty shot glass down on the bar. Despite your previous doubts of this girl’s night out, you had been having a good time. It wasn’t your usual scene, but you had made an effort to join in and found yourself in a tipsy but playful mood.

“Come on, Stephanie has found a group of hot guys who’ve got a table,” Whitney shouts in your ear. You look at her and giggle, “Seriously?”

“Seriously! Now come on, I think they’re French.”

You allow yourself to be dragged over to the table where the other girls were mingling and flirting with a group of guys. You take a quick glance; they look about two or three years younger than you. Not your type (there was no harm in looking) but they were definitely good-looking.

“This is my friend Whitney, she’s single by the way. And this is her friend, [Y/N},” you hear Stephanie tell them. “But she’s married”.

One of the guys looks at you and lets out a laugh, “What a shame. Lucky guy”. You try to fake a smile at his remark, but your mind momentarily flashes back to your husband.

Rather than trying to come up with a response, you look around the table for something to drink. “Who’s up for some shots?” you ask before grabbing whatever alcohol you can find on the table. God, the hangover is going to be deadly tomorrow.

Just as you’re about to pour yourself something, you feel someone lean over to place a tray of Jager bombs on the table in front of you. “Did someone say shots?” he shouts before being met with a round of cheers. Before you have a chance to look up, the guy has sat down beside you. He leans over and whispers in your ear, “Weren’t you just doing tequila at the bar?” His breath is hot in your ear, his accent even hotter.

“Didn’t know there was a limit to how many shots a girl could have,” you tease, your playful mood apparent.

As you turn to face him, you’re met with a pair of piercing green eyes staring back at you. Fuck, they’re gorgeous. He’s said something to you but you’re too busy staring into his eyes that’s you have no idea what he’s said to you. “Huh?”

You only break eye contact with him as you notice his eyes start to scan your face, most notably he’s looking at your lips before lowering his eyes towards your cleavage. His eyes stay there for a moment before he’s looking into your eyes again. A knot begins to tie in your stomach.

You feel yourself starting to blush at the intense eye contact when you see his mouth start to move again. You really have no clue what he’s said this time.

“I’m sorry, what?”

He chuckles. He quickly scans your face again, smirk still intact, before leaning over to your ear once more. “I said, there’s no limit as long as it doesn’t stop me dancing with you later.”

As he leans back, you can’t help but admire his face. He has a light amount of facial hair, making his somewhat boyish face slightly more mature and handsome. You notice his dimples as he continues to smirk at you before taking a not-so-subtle glance at his lips. As you look back up at his eyes, you realised your staring is painfully obvious.

He leans over you and grabs two glasses from the tray of shots, handing you one. His eyes are back on yours again as he clinks his glass against yours, “Cheers!” You down the shot, wincing in the process before slamming the glass back on the table. “That was disgusting,” you groan before letting out a giggle.

You look back at the Frenchman who’s smiling at you. “Now I’ve gotten you a drink, are you going to tell me your name?” he asks. As he does so, he leans in slightly, so his face is a little closer to yours.

“It’s [Y/N],” you reply. “And yours?”

But before he has a chance to respond, the guy sitting behind your drinking companion leans over and chuckles, “Leave the girl alone, Charles. She’s married,” before turning back to his previous conversation. The beautiful man in front of you, who you’re assuming is Charles, looks back at you. “Married, huh?” He doesn’t look phased.

You nod. “And he’s not with you tonight?”

“No, it’s girls’ night. No husbands or boyfriends allowed,” you reply.

“And what other rules do you have on these girls’ nights?”

“Get as drunk as humanly possible with a group of hot guys.”

You’ve spent quite a while talking to Charles. He’s still flirting with you, lightly pushing the boundaries of “I know you’re married”. You’ve learned he’s from Monaco, not France. And he’s been living in London for about a year with a group of his friends from back home. He’s single (you’re not entirely sure how when he looks like that) and he’s better at handling his alcohol than you are.

You’ve spent a short amount of time getting to know some of his friends. His best friend Joris has been getting cosy with Whitney. You didn’t even get a chance to learn one guy’s name before he had started making out with Stephanie. The others you’re too drunk to remember they’re even here. However, your attention always falls back on Charles. And his attention always falls back on you.

You hadn’t even spared a thought about your husband until you saw your phone light up. First you notice your phone background, a picture of you and your husband kissing in front of the Eiffel Tower (and you’re aware that Charles is looking at your phone too). Then his name pops up on your screen. You glance at the message through your alcohol-blurred vision. It says something along the lines of how your night was going and if you were coming back home tonight. You roll eyes before swiping away the message.

“Husband?” Charles asks you. His finger has been tracing your knee for the last few minutes. You nod, trying to push the face of your husband to the back of your mind.

“Yeah, nothing important.”

Charles smiles at you. “How long have you two been married?”

“Four years, together for six.”

“Six years, you must have been late teens when you got together right?” you think it’s his attempt of saying you look good for your late twenties (as if that’s old). But it works on you momentarily, or it’s the fact that the finger tracing your leg has now turned into a hand.

“Well, I was twenty-one. He’s ten years older,” you tell him.

“And how’s that going? Is he okay with these girls’ nights out?”

You’re not sure why he’s quizzing you. It’s probably because of the face you pulled when you saw your husband’s name pop up on your screen. Or the fact that you haven’t mentioned him once all night. Most girls Charles has come across quickly name-drop their partner into conversations quite quickly if they aren’t interested but not you. Your body language has changed since the mention of your husband. And you’ve only been giving short answers when being questioned about him which tells Charles that your husband may be the reason you’re here tonight.

“He has his nights out, I have mine,” you lie before having a quick look around the table. “I’m not here to talk about married life.”

You momentarily look back to Charles who seems a bit taken back by your bluntness before looking back across at Whitney who’s no longer being occupied by Joris. “Whitney, can we go dancing?”

“Let’s do it!”

You stand up from your seat and look down at Charles. “I’m going to go dance. Whenever you want to do another shot come grab me,” you tell him before Whitney takes your arm and leads you to the dance floor. You feel a bit rude for ending your conversation with Charles so abruptly. But you weren’t here to spend the night talking about a man you’re trying to avoid.

Swaying your hips to the music and dancing with your best friend was exactly what you needed. The alcohol was well and truly coursing through your body at this point and it gave you the confidence you needed to feel sexy on the dancefloor. You weren’t a bad dancer by any means, but the numerous shots and glasses of champagne were a big help.

Whitney had reunited with Joris on the dancefloor, grinding and making out with one another. You didn’t mind dancing on your own. You were lost in the rhythm of the music, attracting some bystanders who you subtly moved away from when they got too close.

That was until you felt someone place their arm around your waist from behind. The hand felt familiar, but you couldn’t quite place it until you felt a mouth press against your ear. “You were looking a little lonely, thought I’d come and join you.”

You could get used to that voice whispering in your ear.

You look up at him and smile, “How thoughtful of you, Charles.” You were a little too drunk to care about the fact that his other hand found itself around your waist, pulling your body towards gently towards him. Mostly because you were enjoying it.

You felt his torso press against your back, and you leaned against his body as his hips joined yours in swaying to the music. As the both of you found your rhythm, you pressed your ass against his crotch and grinded a little harder on him. Truly letting yourself get lost in the moment with him. You think you hear Whitney cheer at the sight in front of her, but your only focus is on your movements against Charles. You feel one of his hands slide from your waist towards your ass, squeezing it a little before running it back up your waist to just below your breasts.

Fuck, that felt good.

You lean the back of your head against Charles’ chest and peer up at him through your lashes. He’s looking down at you and slowly moves his face towards yours, hips still moving in synchronisation. You look into his eyes, his attention fully on you before you take a quick glance at his lips. They’re slightly parted and if you didn’t have a slight nagging voice in the back of your head you totally would have kissed him. You’re suddenly nervous, you haven’t felt like this with a guy since you first met your husband. It’s new territory but it excites you. Is this why your husband wanted an open relationship? For the thrill and excitement of being so close and almost intimate with someone that wasn’t you?

Charles notices that you’ve gotten lost in your thoughts but wants your attention back on him. He lifts your chin with his thumb, so your face is closer to his and mimics your actions from a few moments ago – looking into your eyes before looking at your lips. You can feel his breath hitting your face and so you lick your lips. If he wants to kiss you, he’s going to have to make the first move.

He senses this and leans in; your parted lips meet his. You’re not sure if it’s nerves but it’s almost like you’ve forgotten how to kiss. The feeling of Charles’ lips against yours has caused all thoughts and logic to leave your body. You’re thankful that he takes the initiative once again and starts to move his lips against yours. You find your momentum again as your place one of your arms behind your head and place your hands on Charles’ cheek, your back still firmly pressed against his torso. As you continue to kiss, you notice that his crotch is still placed firmly against your ass, the bulge in his pants is slightly harder this time and it causes you to feel a slight tingle in your underwear.

As your kiss becomes more passionate, Charles turns you around so you’re face to face. He cups your cheeks with one of his hands, his thumb firmly under your chin and he reconnects your lips together. This time he slips his tongue into your mouth, and it begins to move against yours. The tingly sensation in your underwear is back again and it causes you to moan against Charles mouth. You can feel him smile against your lips, but it doesn’t stop him, it only encourages him to deepen this kiss even further. It’s like you’re the only two people in the room. Your body is tightly pressed against his, slowly tracing his chest with your fingers while Charles’ hands are covering as much body surface as possible. The hand that was cupping your cheek is now on your breast, his thumb grazing over the area where your nipple is. You’re not wearing a bra, so your nipple hardens at his touch, causing him to smile into your kiss once again. His other hand is very low on your back, his fingers spread across the top of your bum.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been kissing for, it could be thirty seconds or thirty minutes but you don’t want to stop. One of your hands finds its way into his silky brown hair and you tug on it lightly. In retaliation, he squeezes one your bum cheeks. This time you’re the one smiling against his lips.

After what feels like an eternity, you both part from the kiss. Your eyes meet his and it feels like you’re in a trance with him. All you can do is just look at him, only him. You’re not sure how long you’ve been standing like this, your hands on his chests, his on your waist. Once again, it’s Charles that takes the initiative but this time in conversation.

He leans down to your ear, your body lightly pressed against his. “Do you want to come back with me tonight?” He leans his head back slightly to gage your reaction. You quickly lick your lips. Your body is telling you to say yes – the tingle in your underwear is only getting bigger. But your head is pounding and you’re not able to open your mouth. The only thing you can do is move and so you move one of your hands from his chest up to Charles’ cheek, your thumb slow soothing the soft skin beneath you.

He's still waiting for an answer. His green eyes staring into yours.

As you finally muster up the courage to speak you feel you feel a strange hand placed on your shoulder. You jump slightly at the sudden touch of contact which clearly isn’t from Charles and turn your head into the direction it came from. Stephanie, the queen of impeccable timing, is smiling at you. She’s saying something to you but you’re not really paying attention.

Only until she starts waving your phone in front of your face do you realise what she’s saying. You thank her before taking your phone and looking at the screen.

It’s your husband. Out of all the nights he could have given you attention, it had to be tonight. You quickly look at your phone and see a missed call accompanied by three or four more unread texts. From a quick glance, you see he’s a bit concerned that you hadn’t responded to his previous message telling him what time you’d been home. He’d never usually ask so it’s a bit baffling to you why he’d suddenly care now. Then again, it’s the first “girls’ night” you’d gone out to in about two years. And you remembered the arguments you guys had been having for the past few weeks and the way you stormed out of the flat this morning.

And what you didn’t realise is that he had seen you pack one of your more revealing dresses in anger when you told him you were going out with Whitney and a few of her girlfriends tonight.

He was worried. Not about you. But about what you might be doing.

“Is everything okay?” Charles voice brings you back to reality and you look up at him for the first time since Stephanie had given you your phone. You hope he hasn’t seen you gulp but he has. He notices a flicker of hesitation in your eyes.

You nod and smile at him, but he’s not convinced. Your husband’s messages have brought you back to reality and your body language has become closed off. You’re no longer touching Charles. He removes his hands from your waist and you’re both left standing there awkwardly on the dancefloor.

You open your mouth to say something but at first nothing comes out. You let out a deep breath before you finally allow yourself to speak, “I can’t. I’m… I’m married, Charles.” He breaks eye contact with you and place his hands into his jean pockets. He’s nodding but doesn’t really say anything.

You both stand there awkwardly for a few moments before you speak again, “I think I need to go. I’m sorry, Charles”. You lean up to place a soft kiss on his cheek. His posture softens a little bit, but he’s disappointed.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. It sounds a little deflated and you can’t help but feel guilty. Moments before Stephanie had handed you your phone, you would have easily said yes to anything Charles would have asked you but now you find yourself in a weird mindset. You’re curious and you want to know what going home with him feels like, but your husbands’ messages are now imprinted in your brain. And so, you take the easier option which is to go home to your husband and be the loyal wife you’ve talked yourself into being for the last eighteen months.

“Have a good night, Charles,” you say softly before flashing a sympathetic smile. You turn away to leave the dancefloor when you feel Charles’ hand wrap around your arm. He tugs you back towards him and grabs your phone out of your hand. He gestures for you to put in your pin, and you oblige. He takes your phone once again and taps away on the keyboard before handing your phone back to you. You look at your screen to see he’s put his number into your phone.

“For whenever you need another “girls’ night”,” he whispers into your ear before letting you leave.

You quickly search for Whitney to let her know that you’re leaving before ordering an Uber home. As you hug Whitney goodbye, she leans in and whispers, “I hope you had fun tonight. I won’t say anything”. And you know she’s referring to the kiss that you’ve shared with Charles not so long ago. You thank her before making your way out of the club and getting into the Uber which arrives a few minutes later.

You rest your head against the window as you the Uber takes you through the busy London streets. You can’t help but feel disappointed with how your night ended and your mind flashes back to the look on Charles’ face when you told him you were leaving. A part of you wishing you had stayed.

You let out a little sigh and shut your eyes, pushing the image of Charles and the feeling of his lips against yours to the back of your head before opening your eyes again. Your phone lights up, catching your attention and you see a text from Whitney asking if you had made it home yet. You scroll down a little further on your notifications to see the unread text messages and missed calls from your husband.

You unlock your phone and start to type up your replies.

The first text.

Whitney: Just in the Uber now, be home in 20 x

The second text.

Lewis ♥: Staying at Whitney’s tonight. I’ll be home before noon tomorrow. Love you xx

You close your conversation with your husband and click on the + icon to open a new message. You let out another sigh before you begin typing the message.

To Charles: Hey, it’s [Y/N]. We didn’t get to finish our dance, mind if I come to yours? X

Your thumb hovers over the send button. You’ve typed your message, now all you have to do is send the it. Shit! You’re such a coward. You tell yourself that if you count to five you’ll send the message. Okay…

5…

4…

3…

2…

1…

Sent.

You quickly lock your phone out of embarrassment and throw it onto the seat beside you. Shit, why did you just do that? You refuse to look at your phone and tell yourself it was a dumb idea to message Charles. You just need to get home, get to bed and pretend like it never happened.

It’s about fifteen or so minutes later and you’re only a few streets away from your apartment. You’ve told yourself not to look at your phone but at the same time you’re curious to see if Charles has responded.

You pick up your phone quickly and see a couple of texts.

First from Whitney:

Text me when you’re in. Love you! Thanks so much for a great night xxx

Then from your husband:

Okay, text me if you need me to pick you up in the morning. Night, love you x

But it’s the third message that piques your interest the most. From Charles:

You changed your mind? We’re on the way home now. Here’s my address if you’re still up for it? X

You can’t help but smile to yourself. As the Uber driver pulls up outside of your apartment building, you look up towards your apartment window, the curtains are closed but a flicker of light is breaking out from the lamp on inside. Knowing Lewis is awake prompts you to make your next decision and you hand your phone to the Uber driver.

“Sorry, I need to go to this address instead”.

The Uber drive grunts at you but he begrudgingly types in the new address before pulling off. You can’t help but smile to yourself as he drives away from your building , and you let out a little giggle as excitement starts to course through your body. That tingly sensation is back as you type your next text:

Charles: I’m on my way x

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #charles leclerc x you #f1 x you

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porcelainseashore · 5 months ago

Text

Into the Ether (11)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire! Toreador! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary: At the all-night events cafe you run, you’ve become acquainted with an elusive patron, Leon, though you can never remember the last moments of your interactions together. After a harrowing encounter, a love-hate relationship develops between the two of you as you grapple with your newfound status in a world of darkness and investigate the reasons behind the untimely attacks.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Resident Evil x Vampire: The Masquerade crossover, horror, mystery, romance, slow burn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, swearing, smoking, alcohol, drug references, non consensual blood drinking, blood bond, vampire turning, violence, injury, mild gore, torture, religious themes, minor character death, RE ensemble, VtM concepts.

Author's Note: Brief mentions of homophobia, bullying, and attempted suicide, as well as suggestive themes ahead. Finally, I wanted to do a shout-out to these underrated RE characters appearing in my fic: let’s hear it for my boys, Patrick (Infinite Darkness) and Kevin Ryman (Outbreak)! 🥰

Taglist: @admirxation @angelstargel @miss-oranje-disco-dancer ❤️‍🔥

AO3 Link

Chapter 11: Hideous

Given how things had blown up between you and Leon in public, it was only natural that word of your outburst had gotten around. Within a few minutes, you had been accosted by an irate-looking man and his entourage kindly informing the both of you, “If you can’t control yourself on these grounds, then perhaps Elysium is not the place for you.”

Were you always meant to suffer in silence? Why was it so highly lauded? Would you win some sort of prize for not running around, kicking and screaming your lungs out? The one thing you knew, though, was that at least for tonight, you had been humiliated and ungraciously banished from Elysium.

Having to make the journey back home with Leon made your skin crawl, but you survived it, like you always do. It seemed as if every time you took a step forward, something would come around and set you two steps back. Like a Russian doll, opening the closet revealed not just a single skeleton, but countless piles hidden within layers upon layers of boxes. You were tired of this charade, tired of what else might lie beneath the earth, if you dug a little deeper.

You were so absorbed in your thoughts that you almost didn’t hear him say, “I gave the documents to the Tremere Primogen.” It was quiet and unassuming, without any fanfare. He didn’t expect it to absolve him of his sins, but he just wanted you to know that he hadn’t played God and condemned another this time.

Was it too late? You never liked things being so finite, but you were tempted to end it there and then. However, a question lingered on your mind. “Who is Sherry?”

You were back at his apartment and he had busied himself cleaning the glasses you had drunken out from earlier to avoid addressing the elephant in the room. One of them slipped out of his hands, landing with a thunk at the bottom of the sink as the water continued running from the tap.

His time with you was up; judgment had finally come for him. He had made a promise to you a few nights ago to always be honest with you, and he was going to keep it, regardless of the consequences. Shutting off the tap, he gripped the sides of the metallic basin. A knot in his chest tightened and he felt like he was suffocating.

“She was one of the vessels,” he admitted, and without further prompting, he revealed the detail that would damn him the most, “I found her when she was eight years old.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, he heard your loud gasp as fat tears streaked down his face. Everything he had was lost in a matter of seconds. If by some miracle you hadn’t already hated him before, you would hate him for the rest of his unlife now. Blood pooled in his mouth as he bit down hard on his tongue.

“You’re—”

He turned around, facing you for the first time since you’d gotten back. “A monster? Yes, that’s what I am.”

“Why?” You felt the air escape your lungs with a hiss, as if through a puncture wound.

He didn’t want to make any more excuses. You knew what was implying when he simply replied, “For Ada.”

There was nothing else left to hide. He had laid everything bare before you. You saw him as who he was now, in all his vulnerability. Just a man who had chipped away at his soul to be loved and, along the way, convinced himself that this was all there was to it.

The expression on your face hardened, eyeing him like he would never be redeemed. It was the final straw and whatever shred of empathy you had for him was gone. He would do anything to win you back, going down on his knees, begging and groveling, but you had already made up your mind. He just didn’t want to see you say it.

So, he was back at the sink again, holding the glass that had fallen in earlier with a shaky hand. He mouthed the words as you uttered them, as though he knew it by heart.

“When all of this is over, I’m leaving you for good.”

Minutes ticked away into hours. You had already gone to bed, while he stared down the basin, like a bottomless pit reflecting back into him. He didn’t even wince when the glass crushed in his hand, its shards piercing and embedding into his skins as thick, dark red blood ran in rivulets to his fingertips. He watched as it dripped like black tar heroin into the drain, at the same time, wondering, Is that all there is?

━━━━━━━━━━━

Your mind was all over the place at the cafe. It wasn’t like you to forget the program lineup, as well as the logistics of what needed to go where. You even ended up creating a mess when it came to sorting out the lighting and sound tech for the cabaret show that evening. Your colleagues shot you concerned looks as you walked around in a daze like a zombie.

“Do you think she’s burnt out?”

“Probably having an off night.”

“She’s always been a bit of a workaholic.”

Funny how Auspex just kicked in for you naturally now, and you could hear snippets of conversation from people who thought they were being so secretive.

Feeling a hand on the back of your shoulder and you spun around, coming face-to-face with Patrick. “Hey, why don’t you take it easy tonight?” he suggested. “I could cover for you. Besides, you’re the boss here.”

“One of them,” you corrected, as you stubbornly continued to unwind the equipment cords, plugging them in along the marked out areas on stage.

“Yeah, but er, the rest aren’t as active,” he reasoned.

“So?” You shrugged, heading off to the other end of the stage to check on the mic stands.

Like an obedient puppy, he continued tailing you, following closely behind. “Something’s off with you…” He wrinkled his nose. “Is it Leon?”

Upon hearing his name, you fumbled with the mic, nearly dropping it if not for your Celerity-induced reflexes. “Fuck, shit!” You held onto the stand, stabilizing yourself as you pressed your lips into a thin line.

“Alright, that’s it,” he stated sternly, prying the mic and stand away from your grip. “Head out back and I’ll join you — the usual spot.”

Before you could open your mouth to protest, he already signaled for another employee to take over. “I mean it,” he scolded. “You’re not lifting another finger.”

Sighing, you ran a hand through your hair which had begun to stick along the sides of your face in the humidity. Was the ventilation system broken again?

"I can still see you thinking about work," he said, narrowing his eyes and using both hands to shoo you away from the stage.

You made a fuss and grumbled, but did as you were told and went out into the cold alleyway. Sitting alongside a curb, you stretched out your legs and waited for Patrick to arrive.

“Hm, Gauloises,” you heard his voice coming from behind as you fiddled with the cigarette pack. “Fancy.” He plopped down beside you.

There were only two sticks left now, as you’d chain-smoked the rest in the last nights. In fact, you’d gone through a bunch of them on the way to work. You couldn’t get any nicotine high out of it, but the feel and taste of them against your lips comforted you.

“Wanna split the last two?” You extended the pack towards him.

“Sure.” He fished one out, lighting it straight away before helping you with yours. You tried to hold back your flinching. “Where’d ya get them from anyway?”

“Leon’s ex.”

“Oh,” he coughed out, choking on the smoke. “Well, that must’ve been awkward.” Cocking an eyebrow at you, he suggested, “Is this what it’s about then? He’s got his panties in a twist after seeing her?”

Sort of, but not really. “More like, skeletons in the closet, y’know?” You exhaled a long train of smoke, which coiled and entwined like tendrils in the air.

“Right.” He paused, growing unusually silent as if contemplating on something. “And you’re wondering if he’s a good guy.”

You locked eyes with him, probing for answers. How the fuck did you know? you wanted to ask.

“What if I told you that I wasn’t always like this,” he offered.

“You mean, this annoying?” you jested, snickering as he smacked your arm with the back of his hand.

“Hey, fuck you.” He wagged his finger in your face. “And I meant being comfortable with who I am, liking both men and women — that sort of thing.”

Patrick had moved to Raccoon City from a small town in the middle-of-nowhere, and you could only imagine how it must’ve been like living in a place where the community encroached upon everything that you did. Stifling, was the word.

“I’ve done some stuff in the past I’m not proud of,” he continued. “People can really make some fucked up decisions when put in a situation.”

“You don’t say…” you trailed off as your lips curled into a cynical half-smile.

He glanced over at you skeptically and huffed, “What if I told you that I outed a guy I was in love with, because I didn’t want to get caught?”

You frowned, considering his words as you stared at your smoldering cigarette which had disintegrated into a stub.

“That I bullied and ostracized him after we kissed, just so I could cover my tracks?” he added. “It got so bad that he had to move away. And the last I heard, he tried to—”

You saw him clench his jaw as he cleared his throat, wringing his hands uneasily. He didn’t need to complete his sentence for you to know what he was alluding to.

“Am I a good guy, then?” he forced out, his voice tense and paper-thin, like a razor blade slicing through flesh.

You mulled over what he had shared with you as the crisp, icy wind nipped at your cheeks and your breath came out in misty puffs. “You’re a good friend,” you finally determined.

He draped his arm around your shoulders, jostling you a little as you smiled at each other in understanding. “I can’t change what I did back then,” he conceded. “But what matters is what I do next. At least, that’s what I tell myself.”

Bumping his head playfully against yours, he posed a final question, “So, what’s Leon like now?”

━━━━━━━━━━━

“Feign to the right!”

“There you go.”

“Hold your guard up!”

A string of commands were barked out by the beefy brunette man in front of you, while you worked up a sweat, throwing quick jabs at him as he countered them with ease. You kept your feet light and springy, deftly ducking and sidestepping as he aimed a roundhouse kick at your ribs.

“Nice one!” his sister yelled through her cupped hands at the sidelines.

For a brief moment, you got distracted and found Chris’ fist landing squarely on your jaw in a brutal left hook which sent you sprawling to the ground.

“Ow…” you groaned, rubbing the side of your face sorely as you scrambled to your feet.

Your mentor folded his arms, throwing you a harsh look as he admonished, “What did I say about blind spots?”

“Never have your back to the enemy,” you recited monotonously. “Always be aware of your surroundings.”

“Hey, Chris, lighten up will ya?” the redhead called out. “She’s doing just fine for a start.”

He sucked his teeth in response before spitting sharply at his side onto the dusty ground. “Fine, take five,” he relented. “We’ll work on some drills next.”

“Well, he wasn’t lying when he said he doesn’t go easy,” you muttered as Claire jogged up towards you.

“Yeah, he’s a bit of a pusher,” she explained, shrugging apologetically. “Used to be in the military.”

“Not surprised.”

You peered around the vast, minimalistic space you were in. It was an industrial warehouse at the west end of Euston Street that had been converted into a makeshift gym. The bare, unpainted walls and stripped back decor gave it an illicit vibe akin to an underground fight club. Aggressive, punk rock music blared from the stereos, accompanied by the rhythmic clunks of metal hitting the ground as the weightlifters in their muscle tanks did their reps.

From what you could see, it appeared to be a popular Anarch hangout, with the majority of them likely coming from the Brujah clan. The other Kindred at the corners of the room eyed you suspiciously as they wrapped their hands in strips of cloth for sparring practice. There were talks of you being a Cammy spy, fears that the Redfields tried to allay.

“Don’t worry about her, she’s with us,” they said, pulling you along behind them as they got bombarded with questions, which they took in their stride.

“Yeah, Leon’s childe.”

“Yes, that Leon. The one and only, you idiot.”

“So? He got to her first. Sucks to be you.”

It seemed like Leon’s name carried a certain weight to it. He must’ve been relatively respected within their social circles. You still couldn’t imagine him hanging around areas like this. It seemed too ‘unrefined’ for someone of his standing.

“I showed Leon a few tricks back in the day,” Chris boasted, his eyes twinkling with a faraway look as he recalled fond memories.

“The same tricks you’re gonna teach me, right?” you prompted, trying your luck.

He threw back his head and laughed. “Gotta say, I like your spunk, kid. But you don’t have any basic training,” he pointed out. “So, learn to walk before you run.”

And that’s how you ended up here, being pushed to your limits as Chris dumped exercise after exercise onto you, and gave you an ass whooping during one of the practice fights. You were exhausted by the end of it, collapsing in a heap on the dirt floor, as you wiped the sweat and grime off your brow.

In fact, you found out that you actually weren’t as strong as you thought you were. The time you ripped off Leon’s bedpost was an anomaly. You’d probably triggered a Blood Surge without knowing, which temporarily buffed your physical strength. Another way was to learn the Potence Discipline, which came naturally to Brujahs and some other clans, but not yours. However, in order to do that, you would need to find the right teacher who possessed those Disciplines and drink from them before your lessons could begin. That was not something you were prepared to do, though Chris had mentioned a third way, and that was by training with the blood to enhance your physical capabilities.

“Rough night, huh?” One of the Kindred who’d been watching you from the start approached, uncapping what looked like a plastic water bottle, but topped up with blood instead.

“Yeah, I’m kinda new to all of this actually,” you replied modestly.

“Well, you got a tough trainer.” She squatted next to you, gulping down the liquid in satisfaction. “But it’ll be good for you in the long run.”

You jerked your chin towards her bottle. “How’d you get one of those?”

It was an innocent question, but the bewilderment on her face told you that you knew close to nothing about their world, having been sheltered all this while by Leon. Your cheeks grew warm.

“Is that a trick question, or—?” she snorted, only to realize you’d been genuine. “Oh, um, I hunted and drained the victim?”

She followed up with another query, “Didn’t you already have your first kill?”

“What?!” you blurted out, not quite sure if you misunderstood her words.

“Like, the first person you drank from when you turned.” She moved her hands around wildly, as though it would aid in her explanation. “’Cause there’s no way they didn’t end up dead with that kind of hunger frenzy.”

“No, no… it wasn’t like that,” you sputtered, still shocked at what she had divulged. “Le— My sire helped me.”

“Wow, you’re lucky,” she huffed, clearly astounded and simultaneously jealous by the revelation you’d shared. “Some of us didn’t even get anything left for us to eat.”

“You mean, your sires just abandoned you?” you quizzed, baffled by how cruel some Kindred could be. Then again, it shouldn’t have surprised you, seeing as how you’d been treated by the rest of the Camarilla.

She nodded solemnly in response. “Yeah, pretty common among our lot, actually.”

Waving to another group that had entered into the building, she mentioned, “Caitiffs, over there.”

Caitiff was a catch-all term used for Kindred who didn’t belong to any clan, either because they didn’t know who their sire was, or they had been rejected by their clan as the blood didn’t take. The latter meant that they had no real lineage, including the clane bane and its noticeable features. They were considered to be at the bottom of the social hierarchy, just above the Thin-Bloods.

“Why do you think we’re part of the Anarchs?” she asked rhetorically. “’Cause there was nowhere else for us to go.”

The more you talked with the rest of the group, the more you realized that Leon had been shouldering most of the burdens that should’ve been yours to carry. While other fledglings scrounged around doing someone else’s dirty deeds to be able to survive the next night, you didn’t have to move a muscle. Simply because Leon had taken it upon himself to do it for you.

What’s Leon like now? Patrick’s question from the previous night echoed in your ears.

Kind, caring, protective — were the words that came up spontaneously. It astonished you that insults like disgusting, vile, revolting didn’t. But he had also been incredibly dense and obtuse at times. You facepalmed and stifled a laugh at the recollection of him dressing you in Ada’s raunchy lingerie set after the night of your Embrace. You’d been outraged at everything then, and when you’d asked him why he had done that, he blushed furiously and stammered, “I-I thought you would feel more comfortable in, uh, um… women’s clothes?”

“What’s so funny?” one of the Anarchs asked, bringing you back to reality.

“Nothing,” you mumbled, shaking your head and shrugging off the residual thoughts that lingered. But like a parasite lodged deep within the crevices of your skull, you couldn’t scrub the image of him abducting a child from your mind.

That was why you were here, you reminded yourself severely. Not to think about the small pockets of good times with Leon that brought you much-needed joy. Not to make excuses for how he could be redeemed. He wasn’t your little project to work on. You wanted to be free and rid of this man once and for all. You were here to learn how to be independent and self-sufficient, so you would never have to rely on him again.

“How do you usually feed, Claire?” you popped the question out of the blue, so much so that she thought you were joking, just like the younger Anarch.

“What has Leon been weaning you off? Blood bags?” she giggled until she saw the look on your face. “Wait, you’re actually serious?”

An exasperated groan escaped her throat. “He really needs to stop babying you.”

“Tell me about it.” You leaned back against your elbows as you idly watched the others train.

“Well, I shouldn’t be laughing ’cause I’m actually a Bagger myself,” she disclosed. “Working at the charity blood drive at the hospital gives me a couple of privileges when it comes to siphoning off some supplies.”

Raising a finger in front of your face, she preempted your next question, “And no, sorry, I got dibs on that first. You’ll have to find your own way.”

“What other ways are there?” you pondered out loud.

“I dunno, be creative,” she suggested unhelpfully. “My brother’s more the stalk and knock ’em out kind. The Anarch you spoke with earlier prefers sleeping victims…”

She shuffled from her stretched-out position back to sitting on her bum. “Whatever you choose, remember that we’re predators, so think like one. That said, these are just our feeding preferences. In a pinch, you’ll do anything it takes to survive.”

You hummed, contemplating her lengthy exposition on the topic. If there was one thing you’d been good at in life, it was talking with people, getting them excited about an idea, making them feel heard and leaving them wanting more. There were two ways to go about this: either you became a charismatic cult leader or you resorted to the cheesy but tried-and-tested method of picking people up at parties. Naturally, you opted for the latter.

When you told Claire about your plan, she grinned cheekily. “Never took you as the seductive Siren type.”

“I’m not having sex with anyone,” you protested. “Just gonna ask if they’d let me do some weird shit to them.”

“Ooh, like a blood kink sorta thing?” Placing her chin between her fingers, she rubbed her bottom lip in anticipation. “That’s pretty smart, but also on the borderline of a Masquerade breach. You should be careful.”

“It’s kinda what I thought Leon had at first to be honest,” you admitted.

Her hand flew up to her mouth, covering it as she erupted in a burst of raucous cackles. Tears fell from her eyes and her shoulders heaved up and down. Her whole body shook uncontrollably.

“Hah— oh god— jeez,” she wheezed, grabbing onto your shoulder for support. “You’re killin’ me!”

Apparently, it spread like wildfire, since the rest of the crowd reacted similarly, except Chris, whose cheeks were dusted in light pink as he looked away in embarrassment. You never thought you’d be gossiping behind your sire’s back, but it was too late to retract that statement now.

You tried to spend most of these nights away from Leon’s apartment, hoping to get back each time when he had already nodded off to sleep, but you had no such luck. He’d be sitting there either in front of his desk or at the TV waiting for you like a strict parent. Once you got in, he’d glance over at you briefly, his eyes laden with grief, before quietly switching off the lights for bed.

The change in atmosphere was jarring; you much preferred the liveliness of the cafe and the Anarch hangout, compared to the oppressive heaviness you felt at the apartment. You tossed and turned in bed, unable to find sleep, only to hear the rustling of sheets coming from downstairs, confirming that your companion suffered from the same fate. It was only in the very last moments before sunrise that your body automatically switched off like a clock.

No matter how well you tried to hide the cuts and bruises you returned with from your training sessions with Chris, nothing could elude Leon’s hawk-like scrutiny. He didn’t call you out on it initially, merely giving you perturbed looks, a raised eyebrow here and there, accompanied by a frown. It wasn't until one night, when you returned home with broken knuckles after getting a little over-enthusiastic during a combat fighting session, that he spoke up.

“Are you thrill-seeking, or are you purposely picking fights I don’t know about?” his sharp voice rang out across the room.

You ignored him, heading straight into the bathroom as you loaded a pail with cold water and ice. Plunging your fist into it, you stuffed a towel into your mouth to muffle your whimpers. Then, you roused the blood, focusing your concentration on mending the wound. Within seconds, your mangled hand fixed itself like machine parts slotting into place, becoming brand new again. A pang of hunger arose deep within the bowels of your stomach and you growled reflexively.

Shit, you needed blood. But you refused to touch the blood bags that Leon had been procuring for you night after night.

At that point, Leon stormed in. “Hey, answer me!” he demanded, his eyes flashing dangerously.

You stood up, facing him as you scoffed, “What’re you, my dad or something?”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me.” With a brazen look on your face, you stripped off in front of him. He stared at you in shock before averting his gaze out of respect for your modesty.

Stepping into the shower, you ran the tap, allowing the spray of water to wash away the dirt and crustied blood from your body. “Feel free to enjoy the show,” you jeered. There was a long pause before you heard his footsteps exit the room in a hurry.

You took your time getting ready, ensuring that not a single strand of hair was out of place and that your makeup was on point. For good measure, you applied a flirty cat eyeliner and chose a brighter, more youthful cherry red for your lips, blotting and smudging it along the edges to create a softer look.

Pulling out a strappy, ribbed cotton dress from the clothes you’d hung in Leon’s wardrobe, you threw it on. The material accentuated your curves but had a semi-relaxed fit, giving off a casual, sporty vibe — perfect for what you were about to get up to. You favored the warm, earthy tones of its burnt orange hue against your complexion in the mirror. It reminded you of saffron spice and the ember glow of charcoal as the floral taste of shisha filled your mouth in some distant land. Adorning yourself with gold dangle earrings, you completed the look by slipping on a pair of black heeled sandals before making your way out.

However, a hand grabbed your wrist, spinning you around as you landed with your back against the door. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

Leon gave you a once over as his smoldering eyes swept over your outfit from head to toe. A multitude of conflicting emotions crossed his face, ranging from disapproval to admiration. He seemed to be leaning hard into the overprotective parent role and it was getting on your nerves.

“The night’s still young,” you argued, tempted to provoke his temper even further. Oh, well, YOLO. Giving him a devilish smirk, you added, “I’m heading out to have some fun. So, don’t bother waiting up for me.”

Wresting your wrist free from his grasp, you flipped your hair, turning towards the door as you strutted out of the apartment without looking back.

━━━━━━━━━━━

It was drizzling when you arrived at the front of the queue at one of the more commercial clubs popular with the younger crowd in downtown Raccoon City. The rain had moistened your skin, giving it wet, glistening sheen as the bouncer ushered you into the space.

Kaleidoscopic strobe lights flashed across the dance floor while a tired playlist of the current top chart hits reverberated through the state-of-the-art sound system. You wouldn’t call this place your usual haunt for a party, but it was your best bet at finding people who’d be willing to hook up and more. The latter part being the crucial factor here.

Scanning the room, you picked out a couple of potential targets — mostly singles who were either halfheartedly bobbing along to the music or restlessly standing at the sides, on the lookout for fresh meat, like yourself.

A buzz of eagerness and exhilaration coursed through your body. The Beast in you egged you on, smiling wickedly as you approached a lone man in the middle of the dancefloor. A well-loved banger came on just in time for you to conduct what you and your friends openly ridiculed and coined as the ‘mating call’.

Sashaying over, you made eye contact with the guy and winked, making sure he knew you had his full attention. He smirked, looking as though he had just hit the jackpot. Maybe he’d been here for a while with no luck. Taking a leisurely sip of his drink, he made no attempt to conceal his blatant ogling of your figure. He wasn’t bad looking himself, but something told you that he was a little rough around the edges and probably had a foul mouth.

As you drew closer, you noticed the way his medium-length, dark brown hair fell against his face in a tousled, layered style, complementing his rugged and laid-back appearance. His square jawline was clean-shaven and he had a broader, sturdier frame than Leon. Wait, why were you comparing him to your sire again?

“Aren’t you a pretty little thing?” He gulped down the rest of his drink for liquid courage before dumping the emptied bottle on the floor. Placing his hands on your hips, the corners of his mouth ticked up into a cocky grin.

Hm, forward, you thought. But at least you could get straight to it then.

You let him twirl you around as you gyrated your hips against his sensually, his chest hugging your back as you made small talk. “What’s your name, handsome?”

He chuckled, his breath tickling the shell of your ear as his gravelly voice dropped an octave lower. “For you, sweetheart, it’s Kevin.”

“Kevin,” you repeated coyly, allowing him to grind even harder against your ass.

“Mmm, that sounds so good on your lips,” he murmured, peppering the side of your neck with kisses. “I’d like to take this someplace else, if y’know what I mean?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” You emitted a breathy giggle, trying to play the part of a ‘seductive siren’ that Claire had mentioned. “Lead the way, Kevin.”

It turned out that his idea of ‘someplace else’ was rather uncreative, but you weren’t here to judge the man, you needed to satiate your hunger. He kissed you roughly against the door of a toilet stall you’d locked yourself into, ignoring the other patrons who were either drunk or high out of their minds. When you heard the metallic clink of his belt unbuckling, you knew it was time.

Pressing your index finger to his lips to stop him momentarily, you asked, “Would you let me do anything to you?” It wasn’t perfect, but it was close enough.

The confusion on his face shifted into a saucy smile, as his imagination began to run wild with interpreting what you wanted. “Didn’t realize I had such a dirty, naughty girl in my hands.”

Kneading your ass, he leered, “Come home with me, baby. I’ll show you a good time.” His hands continued to grope the sides of your body. “Got handcuffs, batons, you name it. Courtesy of the RPD.”

Huh, another police officer. Looks like you had a type apparently, you grimaced internally.

You ran your hands along his muscular chest, grazing your fingertips against his neck, causing him to shiver. “I will, but first, I wanna take a bite.”

“Fuck me, that’s hot,” he gritted. “You can do whatever you want, baby.”

Bingo. Pushing him back onto the toilet seat, you straddled his lap, feeling his hardened erection against your crotch. He let out a hiss at the friction building up between your clothes. Combing his hair away from his neck, you licked a thick stripe along the prominent vein you spotted at its side.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his eyes rolling back in pleasure and you took your chance, plunging your teeth into the vein as you drank from him.

Warm, sweet blood filled your mouth to the brim like a midnight dessert, and you could taste the alcohol and nicotine in it, giving you a double dose of wooziness. So, this was what it was like to get tipsy, you laughed to yourself. All at once, your Beast quietened down, the gnawing feeling at the bottom of your stomach numbed to a point where it was just a tepid throb.

This was where you should end it right? You hoped the man beneath you was still alive. Licking the wound close, you withdrew, quickly grabbing some toilet paper to wipe away the streaks of blood from his neck before chucking it into the bin. Messy drinker. You still needed to get used to feeding.

He was out cold, though his expression was one of pure bliss. I really should get paid for this, you thought, shaking your head as you checked his pulse. Yup, he’ll be fine.

Tugging down the hem of your dress, you smoothed out the creases and stumbled out of the stall. Whoops, you forgot you weren’t entirely sober now, especially in your heels. At the sinks, you peered at yourself in the mirror. Your lipstick was smudged and splotches of bright red decorated your mouth and chin. It was on the borderline — you could’ve just had a lot of makeup on that got ruined in the process.

A partially intoxicated woman at the next sink bumped shoulders with you merrily. “Had fun?”

Trailing a line across your bloodied chin with your finger, you sucked the remnants of Kevin into your mouth, before pulling it out with a ‘pop’. Smiling widely at your reflection, you declared, “Yes.”

Back at the main area of the club, a pair of vivid, crystal-clear blue eyes illuminated in the darkness, stalking your every move. His lips contorted into a vicious snarl, and his fingers wrapped around his sweating glass, gripping it in a chokehold. He looked hideous like this, but he didn’t care. It was only feeding, yet jealousy coiled and wound its way like a rose stem around his heart, its thorns lacerating through flesh and bone, nestling itself deep within its confines.

That guy? Keith— Kevin? Whatever. He was an acquaintance through his brief dalliances with the RPD. As far as Leon was concerned, that sleazeball didn’t deserve you. And neither did he, but he should’ve been the cop you went off with instead.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil #vampire au #vampire the masquerade #vtm #crossover #fic: into the ether #porcelainscribbles

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wings-of-ink · 2 months ago

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Looking for your Input for IF Patreon

Hello my friends and neighbors! I hope you are all safe and well. I had some things to share with you and I am once again fishing for thoughts and opinions.

Like many of us who create these IFs, I am strongly considering a Patreon. I have no plans to go exclusively to Patreon, so don't fret. I want to make extra content to go along with any IF I work on, and I'd like to be able to put more things into these projects such as real art (including character portraits), and not just the stuff I flounder through on Canva. I'd like to pay my artist a fair wage and devote more of my time to this. Getting some support would help me allocate even more to these projects and extras. I'm testing the waters here to see if it's sustainable for both myself and subscribers as well. I do not know what timeframe I'm looking at to start this either.

I only want to do this if it's worth the while for everybody, so I'm putting out feelers and asking for your input.

Most of all - I want to know what you want in a Patreon sub. I also want to know what you feel to be a fair sub price for different tiers. Over the years, when I have been able, I have subbed to help support my favorite creators at all different levels. So, I have some ideas on what I am looking for in a subscription, what keeps me coming back, and what prices are both fair for the effort of the creator as well as for my pocket. But, what suits me may not be what you want, so that's why I need some feedback.

Below, I have compiled my ideas, so far, for possible tiers. None of these are set in stone, just a framework to build on to see if I'm on the right track. At the bottom is a poll (of course, it's like my favorite thing), and is probably the first of a few about this topic I will use. I welcome comments and suggestions on this topic. Tell me what you are looking for in a Patreon. What do you want from one each month? What keeps you subscribed? Please feel free to comment below or to send comments and suggestions via the Ask inbox, especially if you prefer to be anon (do let me know if you do not want your response posted - I may post some that either have questions or that I find relevant to the conversation).

I still do not know for certain what the ultimate future of God-Cursed will look like (meaning when it is all finished). I've played with the idea of eventually refining it to sell on itch and/or Steam. I have to admit that being able to do so would really feel like a huge accomplishment to me. I've always had dreams of being published and such, and it feels like a part of that dream. I, personally, prefer to buy IFs through either platform whenever I can. It supports my favorite authors, shows my appreciation, it compiles my favorite stories into an easy-to-find library, and I can relive my favorite stories over and over easily. So, needless to say, this is calling to me more and more.

Anyway, what I have come up with so far for possible offerings are these. Please let me know if something like this would work for you or if you have any suggestions for improvement:

An appreciation/tip jar - if the other tiers aren't for you or you just want to give a little love. Subscribers could get updates and public posts, and participation in polls.

A "Supporter" level - all the other stuff plus GC demo releases 1 month (30 days) in advance. I debated about the time, but I want to really make the early access feel worth it. This level would also be privy to some "insider" info (things cut, character development, the egregious typos, etc…). Of course there would be some sort of dev-log to go with this as well.

A "Plus" tier - all the above plus early release of demos for other IFs, more "behind the scenes" type things, and I'm thinking some POVs and other extra content (some interactive) such as short stories. These extras need not be exclusive to IFs either if anyone is interested in other things I write.

"SMUT" or "Spicy" tier - (being very honest, I'd be the most excited for this tier, lol) all the above including all things smut for each IF. This will include interactive extras, short stories, and any other horny content we want. Likely will run some polls and take suggestions for the spice you desire each month.

"Smut plus" (lol) - all the above, PLUS a patreon-only IF that I will have in the works (so, access to 3 projects in total). I have an idea for an IF that will focus on 1 RO at a time (each with their own complete and unique story within the same world), and I am itching to write it even if updates for it will be a bit slow. It will be more like a traditional dating sim type thing and may comprise all sorts of genres. This may be one that would be good for just subscribing on months that will have updates, and that's something I would probably post about publicly so if you're just interested in getting access, you don't have to worry about staying subbed.

And finally a sort of "Power Supporter" tier - this may be like a limited number sort of thing and be a bit pricey (not sure yet how much). You'd get a custom interactive story set in whatever world of mine you want that can be spicey or not. You'd give me all your MC's details (mostly cannon things but some liberties could be taken), physical traits and personality, and pick your RO and/or other desired characters. I'd take prompts or ideas from you as well concerning what you'd like in the story. You want a sexcapade - you can have that. You want to have tea with Oswin and his weird twin sisters - you got it. The main limitations are spoilers, of course, especially for any mystery ROs depending on when and if this all comes to pass. There may be some subject-matter that I will not write about, but I'd let you know what is out of bounds for me.

Naturally, I would also pop your name in the credits, I just don't know which tier that should go on.

So, there you have it. This has been on my mind for a while and I've gotten some questions and messages asking about if I will do something like this, so I'd like to give it a go at least.

Looking forward to hearing your ideas and desires! ^_^

~Lunan

#god cursed if #twine if #if wip #twine wip #interactive novel #if game #interactive fiction #patreon

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thygoddessouijathicc · 1 year ago

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Bishop Edibility Tierlist; A very deeply serious essay about which bishop would taste the best if you had to eat one of them for any reason

Aight, 88% of you voted in favour of this being released, so this is on you. This blood is on YOUR hands. Just remember that as you read this.

So you all remember that essay I did about how the bishops all had some kinda trauma or different reactions to purgatory and shit and how that was such a serious thing analyzing dialogue and reactions and stuff-?

Well there are TWO wolves inside of me, and one of them writes serious researched essays, it’s time you meet the other.

To preface this, this essay is entirely a joke please don’t take any word of this seriously.

To start with, technically anything is edible if you try hard enough, sometimes only once but I digress, however some things are more appetizing than others.

For this essay we will be taking evidence from canon in some cases on things you can eat, but assuming that this only means these things are more appetizing in this world, not that anything you can’t feast upon very specifically in the game is somehow inedible. Meat is meat.

Also Narinder will be referred to as a bishop because he was one.

Ok let’s start our list.

At the absolute bottom of the edibility tierlist is Narinder. Narinder is a cat. While technically cats are indeed edible by the laws of meat is meat, cats hold a special place in the hearts of many including myself.

But to be honest the real reason that Narinder holds this spot is meat quantity and quality of him specifically. Narinder, holds very little meat. Sure he has a head, but his arms are skeletal and it’s safe to assume possibly a lot of the rest of his body tis also but frail bone. Possibly what is not could also be rotten if he’s that kind of god of death that qualifies as a corpse. And while meat is meat, Narinder not only has very little, but what he does have may be poor quality. This cements him in the shameful bottom spot.

He’s also a-

Moving on, next, quite regrettably, is Leshy. Leshy is a major jump in quality from Narinder.

We don’t know much about bushworms or their anatomy but what we do know, is Leshy is dummy thicc, this means he has a large quantity of meat.

Unfortunately Leshy is also a worm which isn’t exactly the most appetizing creature to put in your gaping maw so that docks him a few points.

However the true reason he cannot be higher is that depending on your read of his anatomy, Leshy could qualify as a salad, and EWWWWW VEGITALS!!! 🤢🤮🤮

Moving on to the “would eat again category” we start with Heket.

Now it should not be news to anyone that frogs are edible, especially to French people. But I don’t believe in French people, they aren’t real. Anyway as I’m saying, you can eat frogs to your hearts content!

There are sanitation issues with Anura apparently being super gross which docks some points but overall, Heket is a solid option.

Now we’ve reached “ok hear me out” territory with Shamura.

Spiders are a major food source in cult of the lamb. Which is a bit questionable for a few reasons, including that there are multiple spider characters and Webber exists but also small spiders on the ground which seem to be a separate species which raises a lot of questions possibly best gone unanswered.

What really matters is what you can do with the small spiders you find around, you can chase them down and when you catch them, they drop meat. My friends have told me that this means I’m just taking meat they are holding, after all you can get berries if the spider has taken them.

What I say to this is: but the idea of lamb running around at night and picking up whole large spiders off the ground and feeding them to their followers is fucking hilarious, and also they always drop the same meat and never berries unless they have picked them up. You’d think if I’m just taking what they have and they will eat berries as well as meat, that I’d get berries more often. Nay, only when picked up from my farms.

This leads to the only possible conclusion being that people in the cult of the lamb universe feed often on spiders, that’s right, Helob eating followers is VENGEANCE.

So, we have established spiders are very edible in cult of the lamb, and you know what Shamura is? A giant fucking spider. They are edible, I rest my case.

Now let’s move on to first place oh boy who is it, probably who you should have expected, Kallamar.

His name sounds like Calamari to start with and not only can you eat squids in real life, you can in the game (similar weird separate species thing with spiders only in this case it’s more definitive that you can very much eat the squids themselves.)

Kallamar would also likely cry if you proclaimed your desire to consume him, misery not only makes meat better but his tears could be seasoning!

Not even to mention the fact that after beating him, it would be a moment of victoriousness and pure vindictive nature, to proceed to eat Kallamar, and vindictive nature is something I most definitely do not lack as I cuss out bishops every time I see the statues after I beat them.

Squids also don’t have many bones so unlike the others who you’d have to spend an extensive time processing before eating, Kallamar would be easy and his bones make up very little of his composition.

In conclusion, why did you read this whole essay it’s not even that funny.

And those of you who voted to have this released. Are you happy?

Are you not entertained!?

#cult of the lamb shamura #cult of the lamb kallamar #cult of the lamb heket #cult of the lamb narinder #cult of the lamb leshy #cult of the lamb #COTL #cotl heket #cotl narinder #cotl leshy #cotl shamura #cotl kallamar #bishop shamura #bishop heket #bishop leshy #bishop kallamar #bishop narinder

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puella-1n-somn10 · 1 year ago

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⚔️Puella Magi Madoka Magica x Pokemon Sword/Shield: Hop and his Witch Form⚔️

Word count w/o intro: 11,703

Look, I know that the Traveler from Genshin won that poll, but...if I may be honest, I am not ready for what concept I had for them to completely topple apart all thanks to a single shred of lore being aimed at my head at mach speed. Trust me, fellas, I saw the roller coaster that is the Fontaine chapter; if shit is that crazy while we are halfway through the main story, then I dread the revelations that will befall us all when SNEZHNAYA rolls around-!

With all that being said...welcome back, ladies, gents, and those who have casted the dreaded concept of gender out of their lives! For those who are unaware, we are here today to witness what would happen if I were to take the worldbuilding of Puella Magi Madoka Magica and apply them to other media. Today's unfortunate guest for today is none other than the goat himself, Hop!

...Not funny? Ah, alright-

Yes, I am aware that Hop's reputation amongst the fanbase is...controversial at best. Generally speaking, I've noticed that the negative image of this character was formed by the fans prematurely judging him based on his initial lines of dialogue, passionate (which is often mischaracterized as cheerful) attitude, and, I shit you all not, animations (which is more of a fault caused by tight release schedules and the developers being rushed than that of the character himself). From these alone, he tends to be placed on tiers lower than the fucking Gen 6 rivals (no hate towards them, promise, I just wish they were fleshed out more)- which proves to me that not only are those types of Pokemon fans purely visual beings, but that media literacy is dead, rotting, and its tombstone has been Hyper Beamed to Hell and back-

BUT we're not here to rant now, aren't we? My...personal, burning distaste towards those who call him a Hau clone aside, we are here to dissect his character- in more literal ways than one! If I may be honest, this analysis post thinly disguised as a silly, crossover ficlet was created as a thought and writing exercise for myself, and it was quite fun, if I must admit! So I hope from the bottom of my heart that you guys find as much joy in Hop's pain and suffering as I did while writing it!

Just a few quick warnings, this post will contain mentions of child neglect and favoritism, implications of social ostracization and public shaming, and, I cannot stress this enough, mentions of self destruction/S-H/su-c-de. If any of these themes are too triggering, especially that last one, please, please click away! I am being serious here- take the utmost care, and be safe!

Of course, spoilers for Madoka Magica, Magia Record (Anime ver.), and Pokemon SWSH are right up ahead! If I may be honest, I haven't touched upon the DLCs yet, so spoilers regarding them will be minimal at most. There will also be shades of PostwickShipping (Hop <3 Gloria) present, so if that isn't your cup of tea, I sincerely apologize.

It would also be fitting to play some Decretum on the side, too, especially when we get to the despair bit- God damn, he and Sayaka need to be buddies.

-The Wish, Possible Powers, and Soul Gem-

"Before we ever started out on this journey… I remember watching Lee on the telly. He was like a bright star, so strong I could hardly bear to look right at him. But now, I can tell just how strong he really is… And what he's got that I haven't…"

Now, I could go the easy way and say that he'd wish to be as great as Leon- to become as strong as the champion and equally undefeatable, but, honestly, not only does this feel cheap, it feels so...unlike Hop as a character. He doesn't just want to defeat Leon- he wants to prove his worth and make his mark as a trainer. Hop, like the rest of Galar, idolizes his brother- so much so that he copied his strategies and every move; a mistake that had gotten him to lose the fight in the Circhester stadium even after facing off against so many trials and tribulations-

After all, as Bede said it in his own...brutish way, if people looked down on Hop, they will do the same to Leon - the man who Hop looks up to as not just an older sibling, but as a symbol- as an unshakable LEGEND, and not just as a human being -. So if the perception of the man who Hop saw as a hero was to shake all thanks to him...it'd be quite devastating, to say the least. It was this possibility that hit him the most- where his worth and identity came into question.

Hop may dislike losing - a sentiment that grows stronger every time you defeat him -, but what he fears even more is disappointing others; lowering his and his brother's worth in their eyes. He wanted to be number #1 because it was expected of him to do so, by himself, by the public, and, when you think about it, even by his family - whether consciously or not -...

After all, just look at his home- do you see any pictures of Hop around? Left and right you find memorabilia and trophies belonging to Leon, but how much mementos of Hop can you find? Whether or not he was aware of it, Hop craved not just the glory of his brother, but also the validation and positive attention.

This was his path in life- no, this was his destiny, as he'd put it; to become as strong as his hero and receive that blazing torch after living in his shadow for so long. To live up to his splendor, to inspire others to get up and take a stance, and to make something out of himself. His brother was a hero- so it makes sense to imitate someone as amazing and strong as him.

So, after analyzing his character for a bit, his wish could go along the lines of wanting to be by his brother's side, or, more appropriately, to make an impact on the world and the lives of others like he did. After all, we are assuming that he made the contract a bit before his constant losses began to fuck with him; he had confidence in his abilities at least during the beginning, and was certain that he was going to emerge from the final battle victorious.

The powers resulting from this wish could go in a lot of different ways; after all, wishing to make an impact is quite abstract. It isn't like he wished for someone else to get healed or to win on a lottery; so trying to make powers based on that would be tricky. My best guess is that his powers are associated with memories and legacies, which, once more, also fits in really well with how he documented and tried to mimic Leon's strategies and actions.

Now, before we focus on his soul gem and witness it crumble along with his self-esteem, we're going to take a good look at his attire upon transformation into his Magical Boy form- an aspect that, regrettably, I've forgotten to cover back while I was analyzing Medic. Now, this part may be a little unclear to some upon first reviewing the designs present in PMMM, but a pattern is there- and one of the most common reasons behind a magi's design is the intent behind their wish and their desires before or after taking on the contract. In order to prove my point, I'm gonna list some examples:

Sayaka Miki is a knight in shining armor; she wanted to uphold the ideal of a magical girl and fight for what's right

Homura Akemi's outfit is rather...funerary, for lack of a better term; she made her wish as result of her losing Madoka, and had more or less doomed herself to watching the demise of her beloved over and over again

Nagisa's outfit looks like an everyday, ordinary outfit for someone her age; she craved a normal life where she was able to be just like the other kids around her- not having to worry about living in a dump and caring for an unstable parent

Iroha's design invokes the idea of a ranger or even a mercenary; she is dedicated to finding her sister at what cost, even if most of the evidence (or lack there-of) pointed towards Ui not existing in the first place

Being in the spotlight of someone else's life, looking up to his brother, and making said champion an example on how he should lead his life...I think a stereotypical, legendary hero might do it; the main protagonist of tales like Beowulf or even your everyday JRPGs. Hop often made references to him 'weaving his own legend', so this would make perfect sense!

Speaking of-

Regarding his soul gem's shape, simple- upon transformation, it would look just like a small flame placed on his solar plexus like a brooch or button. Comparisons to Leon's charizard aside, it is a simple and straightforward symbol representing his personality; passionate, competitive, hot-headed, and bright- but all flames are prone to dying out one way or another. Hop's association with fire is also presented to us in-canon in his second league card, with him pulling off Leon's signature pose as flames wildly danced around him.

This also brings the idea of him burning himself away to fit into his ideal of a champion to mind, or literally burning himself out. A raging fire ready to render all that is in its path into ash- including himself.

The emblem on the middle of its egg form is a little harder for me to interpret fully. I could go with the easy way and say that it's probably the same as its form upon his Puer Magi transformation, but we all know that my perfectionist ass would not just simply settle with that. The options on our hands are as follows;

The easy option, the Hop flower (symbolizing how becoming a professor is his true calling in life)

A coat of arms (royalty themes- also, a pun on Eternatus' eternamax form, coat of ARMS, heheh)

A spiral (symbol of futility, continuation, cycles, and a downward spiral)

A coat of arms WITH a spiral in the middle (look at the above two points)

A flag (him wishing to create his own legend, and how he was initially a foot ahead of us during the start of our journey together)

A windmill (...we'll get to that, but let's assume it's because of Postwick for now- I personally prefer this one)

A shield with two crossed swords (again, royalty and hero themes)

As for its color, here is where things get interesting; I already spoke about how most soul gems correspond with the eye color of their respective magi, since "eyes are the windows to a person's soul", so a brilliant gold would fit both with this unwritten rule and thematically. However, then I got thinking- Red is also an applicable color, right? It fits his personality, and would clash really well with the cool purples and blues...until I realized that not only is red already going to be present as a sort of secondary (if not primary) color to go along with the existing cool palette in mind, but the added gold highlights would embolden it and make sure this design really pops.

Besides, making red a central color for his magi outfit also adds in to the idea of him still mimicking Leon, whose associated colors are purple, gold, and, of course, the reds of his cape! We aren't completely sure as to how much control a magi has over the outfit they'll don upon transformation, but we do know that Madoka actually designed her own magical clothing, so some input from the magi themselves, whether consciously or not, does contribute to the matter. This would also make a cute little homage to his champion outfit in Pokemon Masters EX!

One last point before we get to the part you've all been waiting for, we have to look at his weapon; yes, his powers are probably associated with memories or even perception, but, according to my research, one's weapon doesn't necessarily have to be tied to the wish. As a matter of fact, aside from Mami's ribbons (symbolizing her being tied to the life of a magical girl and her capturing others in this web of malice whether consciously or not- a literal lifeline), most of the cast's weapons are unrelated to the wishes made, and, like the aforementioned outfits, are more tied to the magi's intents or even personalities;

Nagisa's is a trumpet that blows out bubbles. She wanted her mother to hear her, but she's only ever able to let out little squeaks; the dichotomy between her desire to be acknowledged and wanting to be a decent daughter to a horrible person like her mother.

Homura's is a shield; she wishes to protect Madoka, but a shield alone cannot deflect everything threatening her sweet rose. There's also the symbolism of her hiding behind a shield, both as Moemura (shy and reserved) and Cool Homu (covering her emotions with an aloof exterior); in both cases, she's hiding herself away from the world.

Sayaka's is a cutlass sword. Go figure.

I am not completely sure on Madoka's; she dislikes brutal fighting, so it would make sense for her to use a long-range weapon that she's able to use to snipe enemies from a safe-enough distance. I also heard that a bow and arrow have some sort of significance in Christian lore, but, to be frank, I am not completely sure about this; this section requires further study.

Again, I gotta thank @bluethepearldiver for saving my butt here and on the upcoming natures section! According to them, since I had already removed swords and shields from the equation in order to make space for both Gloria and Victor, a polearm type of weapon would fit him the most! In their own, brilliant words, it is "representing how unattainable his goal ultimately is", and, in my opinion, it is a mid-range weapon- when utilized correctly, Hop would be able to conquer battles that would require either long or short ranged attacks to clear! Also, personally, it brings the image of a sheep herder to mind.

As for the specific type of polearm, that one would require a lot more creativity, but, since Hop comes from Postwick, a weapon that originates from Europe would be fitting. After thinking about it, I believe his weapon is probably a Halberd, due to how it can pierce, chop, or slash depending on the situation. It would also symbolize poor, bright-eyed Hop constantly changing his strategies and teams in order to catch up to us- to finally match us in strength. Every time we met him, he would have different strategies, a different team, a different outlook- he tried every viable, effective strategy, tearing apart the aspects of himself that were deemed roadblocks, pushing himself until he was burning himself way too brightly for his own good, yet...

-Descent Into Despair-

He lost. He had lost yet again, hasn't he?

His grip on the pokeball was shaky. The eyes of the crowd fixated on him as the last of his pokemon fell to the ground. Frozen air filled his lungs; his eyes felt like they were turned to stone, as did the veins in his arms.

The whispers grew louder; the crowd's collective judgement was being passed from one attendant to another. His teeth were about to shatter from the pressure around him alone. Not even Melony's concerns were registered on his mind; all the words around him amalgamated into a brute cacophony that choked all the will and rationality out of him.

His heart was on fire. His lips were dried as he stared at the nothingness before him. It was so hard to continue standing up- fucking impossible to focus on anything but this blunder forged by his own hands- which he now sees as nothing but useless vestiges. His heart was a war drum in the midst of conflict; beating as though the drummer's life was on the line if they were to dare and drop the pace. How he wanted to gouge his own eyes out and rip those ears out...

"Pitiful."

What on Earth was he missing?

He tried to change his strategies, he really did. The sad look on his pokemon’s eyes broke him every time, but they just couldn’t be of good help…he had to be a better trainer.

That’s what good trainers do, right? They make sure their teams were optimal. After all, strategy came first; that was what he learned from all these battles that long moved his heart.

"Foolish."

Another loss.

He looked down at his final, fallen comrade, not taking his shaking hands into account. Was it the cold? The stress? The sheer disbelief of what was before him?

Or was it frustration? A poison seeping between his clenched teeth- ready to curse out himself and direct his anger to the world? Readying him to pound against the earth beneath him until his knuckles were mangled and bloody?

No...no, this can't be it. He had to push himself further- he had to be better. Not a single Pokemon of his would listen to someone as fragile as he was; he had to make an example out of himself if he had to be a strong leader- a hero to them...

"Hypocrite."

Wooloo...

You promised, didn't you?

He stifled his own sobs. Oh, how could you have done this to them, Hop? They were the closest thing you had to a childhood friend! They were right by your side to the very end! All you had to do was to keep their head up, tell them it wasn't their fault, and that you would still enter the league together if you both focused! All you had to do was stay strong-

But you couldn't. You just had to up and leave them; cast them to the dirt where you dragged his good name through.

In the end, he couldn't even uphold that.

"Pathetic."

Over and over...over and over, he had repeated this fruitless, pitiful endeavor- all to no avail.

Finding himself floating adrift, Hop feels as though his very existence was slowly slipping from his fingers; becoming one with the very void surrounding him. He couldn't even feel his limbs, much less his face.

No matter how much he had stretched himself so thin, it just wouldn't work. The evidence was there before him, for all of Galar to see- his true rival and his brother on that field together, the latter holding the other's hand and raising it up in the air...that no matter what he did, all the sacrifices he had made, it was all up there in the air like smoke. His dreams, hopes, and ambitions- gone with what shine in his eyes that were left.

Oh, little sheep...do you not realize that you have tangled yourself within this spider web- the very definition of insanity?

"Worthless."

He's tired.

With each loss, it got a lot harder for him to get up and walk away.

His legs were shaking, and not just due to the harsh winds around him. The winds were picking up their pace, but the eyes, the eyes, the eyes-

Why must you insist on further embarrassing yourself, young man? Can't you tell when it's the time for you to just drop everything and move on with something better for everyone else's sake?

You're just embarrassing yourself at this point- nothing more than a clown attracting disrespect and shame like flies to a rotting carcass much like yourself.

...

Yeah...

What if...it was him?

He couldn't take the watchful gazes of the crowded streets anymore. Oh, how he wanted to hide away in the corners of the world- render his own face into nothing but a crimson pulp just so their judgemental glares, mocking smiles, and whispers would finally leave him alone and hollow.

His heart was racing- his veins were on fire, and his arms were about to burst.

It was too much... Upon stumbling upon a silent, empty, dirty alleyway, he slumped onto his knees as he shook from both the cold and pressure of all the bottled up frustrations in him. At long last, the waterworks finally broke out. Only the night sky and howling winds were his current company; doing little to distract him from his pained heartbeats and dried up throat.

He couldn't hold on to his victories, no matter how feeble or small. It didn't matter what he did or how much he tried, all that he's tried holding on to will just slip away from his fingers, like the breaths of fresh, cold air escaping him; inhaling just enough as to not allow him to pass out on the spot, but it was only that much.

The sound of metal clanging on the ground escaped his ears. It was only when he was finally slumped on the ground that he had noticed the fading luminescence just before his reach. Even as his body shook from the mental strain and the cold, he still recognized the jewel that was on the dirtied ground. Hands shaking, he slowly picked up the once brilliant object...

Through jittering teeth, he just couldn't help but sob whilst instinctively smiling; the sound coming out like a sort of soft giggle...

Hahahah...oh, don't tell him- don't tell him he couldn't...

What a mockery- look at him, everyone! Not only had he failed the challenges before him, but, oh, this poor damn pest- he couldn't even look after his own damn soul gem! The very thing he had traded away what was left of his identity outside of the league for- and even then, with his wish, it only made sure that his mistakes would return to him in even stronger, more merciless manners. Was it due to him being unable to focus on both perfecting his strategies and his duties as a puer magi?

For all Hop cared at that moment, it was just another sign of his pathetic, useless existence. Worthlessness- no, he was way beneath that; he had failed. He had failed, he had failed, he had failed, he lost, he had motherfucking lost.

Answer yourself this, Hop- Do tell how you expected to come so far like this! How you have managed to shamble and shuffle through the league challenge like the worm you are, with nothing but another's achievements to your name- and you couldn't even take good care of that!

"...Useless..."

Hop shakily breathed out.

"Hah...if only I wasn't born so useless..."

His grip on both sides of his head grew tighter. As he gritted his teeth and his eyes twitched, one last thought flashed in his mind-

"There's...nowhere left for me..."

"Everyone else is moving on without someone...some pest like I am..."

With all the air that was left in his lungs, Hop roared into the night and unleashed all the grief in his heart. His anguished wail was interrupted by a sudden crash, and all that was left were the howling, autumnal winds...

Word of the contestants' escalating behaviors grew amongst the people of Galar.

At first, it manifested as deepened anxieties; competitors being so overwhelmed by the upcoming events that it caused them to hyperventilate, shake uncontrollably in between sobs and unintelligible screams, or, at worst, completely melt down; faces reddened by tears as they were unable to remove themselves from the ground due to the paralyzing nervousness and hysteria. Initially, these incidents were brushed off as being related to the individuals' worries over the nature of the Gym Challenge, on top of the resulting trauma caused by the Darkest Day; even after the region was granted another chance at seeing the bright, blue skies, tensions were still at an all-time high, so, at the time, this appeared to have been the most rational conclusion.

It was when they've descended into thrashing bitterness and violence, however, that concern was finally demanded and raised- and, along with them, a whole basket of questions that craved all the answers in the world; anything to make sense of what was unraveling. Many a stadium had to close down - some even in the midst of these breakouts - for investigation purposes in order to get to the bottom of this anomaly.

Before long, rumors began to spread amongst the Galarian public- both on the streets and on social media; ranging from a contamination of sorts, to possible side effects of the Darkest Day that the current chairman was uninformed of. In the end, one by one, the majority of the gym leaders had to step forward admit that they knew as much as the rest did regarding the matter, but that did little to help stop the creation and spread of conspiracy theories, and they soon devolved into a competition of its own; on whose hypothesis is the most click-worthy and attention-grabbing.

Nothing was stacking up; everything had been tested - the water, the air, the soil, and especially the power spots -, the stadiums were inspected from top to bottom, and even the gym leaders were interviewed; it all came back negative.

The chairman himself had gone dark.

In the midst of the mass hysteria, right everyone's noses, the range of whatever was influencing these stadiums, the...being that has sending all these people into these frenzies...was growing.

Violent breakouts and missing persons reports spiked without ever showing a sign of slowing down. Nay, not even the gym leaders were spared- with Bea finally coming to her senses while Allister tried to subdue her and not hurt the rest around her, and Milo's herd of Wooloo going completely berserk and in complete panic not unlike the contestants and their own pokemon.

It was at its assumed worst when it had finally reached Postwick Town. Most of Galar had succumbed to what was engulfing it with its malice and twisted hopes, and, according to theorists, they doubted it would stop there. The people residing in the Isle of Armor and Crown Tundra were given the order to lock down and cease all functions until further information's released, in the vain hopes of preventing the spread of its influence.

And then-

Silence.

Everything around them was completely dim, with nothing but small flickers of flame and their own eyes' adaptation to help traverse them through what became of the region; a dim, cold land with ashy skies overhead, overrun with scared wildlife and...monsters- beasts you have never seen the likes of before. Perhaps staying still while you're able to recognize Galar while you could would be the wisest choice; stray far enough, and the world around you will fade, shift, and turn, until you find yourself not outdoors anymore, but in a dingy, suffocating hallway filled with cracks and little to no light-

and, soon enough, you will realize that you are not alone.

To the most fortunate (or unlucky, depending on the perspective), the sight of the missing people was there for them to see; lined up for their next battles and subsequent executions. Days of being trapped, fought, beaten up, and isolated in pain did a number on their psyches, and that is without mentioning the existing effects that have already engulfed Galar; plunging them into insanity.

By the braver and most informed few, most of the missing people have currently been accounted for- most, had it not been for the unfortunate casualties resulting from...all that has been unfolding around them, whether they were still yet to be found, were done in by beasts swarming through these twisting tunnels, condemned by whatever's waiting for them at the center of this cursed maze, or...just couldn't take it anymore, is still up in the air. Those whose statuses have not yet been confirmed included the younger brother of the former champion himself- who, quite possibly, may have been one of the earliest victims, if the timeline was to serve them right-

Oh, but if only they knew better- that the bright-eyed, enthusiastic Hop was right back to where it all started; watching the competition from atop the stage, waiting for the next match to begin. The empty husk that was once "Hop" was silent; slumped to the back to his seat with his dull, milky eyes staring into the distance, as the crowds roared once the hero and his new challenger entered the fray.

Yes...yes! Cheer for him! ONLY HIM!

Shaking from the cold and the tension of her surroundings, Gloria's attention darted from the armored monstrosity to her unconscious rival amongst the masses. His colors all but completely desaturated- it was nothing short of a miracle seeing his body still somewhat intact, though his sunken face and sloughing skin - some even falling as soon as she grabbed on to him; revealing pale bone -...without thinking, the armored girl screamed.

Contrasting Gloria's priority shifting from grabbing on to Hop's corpse and make a break for it to taking down that thing who must have caused it, Leon was...silent. His heart sank as he fell on his knees- his eyes shook as he fixated on the monster before them. His blood ran ice cold; it was so hard to breathe without sobbing...

Gloria and the gym leaders who have finally located the arena - those who have and haven't contracted - deemed that being a monster- Hop's God damned murderer, but Leon knew better.

The gold hues that were pooling from what's assumed to be the monster's eyes were unmistakable.

His own little brother was right before him, waiting to fight him in the middle of this arena-

Just like how he had promised- like how he had always wished for...

-The Witch's Nature-

Ah, the most unpredictable section of this post- the one where yours truly is expected to agonize and sob over all the options before me. Character complexities are complex! Multiple reasons behind despair! Oh, how is your truly ever going to choose the perfect nature for a warlock that would not only encompass the magi's goals and history with only a few words, but one that would also feel fitting for a spooky being like a witch?!

Welp- once more, I have thank Blue for their brilliant input once more! They've decided that his nature would be Admiration, and, honestly, it's genius! It not only fits his overall character, goals, and what caused his sanity to go downhill with the brakes cut off, but it has the right amount of dissonance that the witches of PMMM are known for! Again, this has been your reminder to support them- c'mon, chop chop, that's an order.

Of course, nothing wrong with mentioning all the other, though scrapped, natures. Again, you're all free to reinterpret the warlock to your hearts' content, and if you do have any other suggestion that would fit, please let me know! I not only want to understand Hop's character better, but I do wish to improve my character-deciphering and writing skills. Once more, I encourage all sorts of fair criticism heading my way, and, with all that being said, here's the losers' club:

Reflective

Smitten

Idolizing/Idolization

Competitive (decided that this one might fit Nemona better if I ever got into ScaVio and made a witch for her. Later. Inshallah.)

Self-abandonment (look at the above, but with Bede instead)

Self-immolation

Guilty

To yearn/Yearning (again, Nemona)

-The Witch's Appearance-

"It's not enough! I've got to try harder! And harder and harder till no one's laughing!"

Alright, first thing's first, before we dive into ANYTHING, we need to touch upon Hop's self-image and how it transforms through the course of the game. From the beginning, he is just so confident in his abilities and goals; it wasn't just a desire, it's a goal- he will beat Leon! He will become champion! One day, he's going to be on that stage; he WILL fight Leon, and he WILL beat him- just we wait!

And 'wait' we didn't.

For all his talk about creating his own legend, of taking up the mantle, we have done nothing but drag his face through the dirt without failure.

The more we beat that poor fella up, the more...desperate he became, and it gets cranked up to 11 once Bede humiliated him; calling him a waste of space, and that all he is doing is tainting his brother's legacy by trying, so it would be best for all parties involved he should just stop that. If he just stopped trying at all. If he just gave up at once. He still tries to maintain the spirit of friendly competition between the main character and himself, but the constant humiliation has been getting to him, and the talons that are digging in to his mind are sharp.

It is then that we finally realize that the once-confident trainer who initially accompanied us is no more. This hatred towards himself only grew with time, and, even when he had reintegrated Wooloo/Dubwool into his team, his self-worth was still nigh-non existent; he dared not accompany us during even the post-game story, believing that he would just be slowing us all down, and how we would fare and be better without someone like him around.

In Hop's eyes, he was a burden; a waste of space, and, no matter how much he tried to fight it, those words would persistently repeat in his mind. His constant defeats didn't help, either, whether it was by our or any other trainer's hands-

Hell, it can be argued that Hop's earlier confidence and passion were nothing but "fronts"; he had always cheered Leon on and idealized (dare I say even worshiped) him to no end, but, aside from the promise that he would, one day, defeat his brother and become a champion, what other positive things did he say about himself? What other dreams did he hold? He owed so much of his own knowledge about Pokemon battles to Leon, after all. This can be seen in the third episode of Pokemon: Twilight Wings, if we choose to interpret Wooloo's actions as reflective of Hop's- trying to be something it is not, and, ultimately, causing it to stray far from "home".

He wanted to be the hero of his own story. That's all he wished for. Instead, we've shoved him into the sidelines- face first on the dirt, without even realizing our strengths.

History repeats once more- the tale of Leon and Sonia all over again.

The image of a knight, a warrior, a hero is definitely a strong base to start it all off. The ideal knight in shining armor, he who stands up for everything right- the unbeatable champion of the people. Not just a person to look up to, but a symbol- that's all he wanted to become; just like how he saw his brother.

When he realized that his current tactics didn't work, everything had to go out the window. We aren't saying this lightly- everything. His plans, his . He had to change everything about himself- until he realized that the problem weren't his teams or his plans...it was him. It has always been his fault- he was just weak, nothing more than a pathetic worm.

The armor is scraping every fiber of his being. No matter what, he still cannot attain the strength and glory of a champion- so he has to keep doing this; break and melt himself. It isn't right, it hurts, but he deserves that pain- he deserves the agony and so much worse for the sin of his existence.

But it's not enough. It's not enough, and it will never be enough. Flaming hot, red daggers will forever pierce through his flesh and skin; melting and reshaping him not necessarily just to fit his desired goal, but as punishment.

It doesn't matter, though. It doesn't change his sheer, fucking incompetence. He'd bash himself against the wall, turn his knuckles bloody, and have his howls of torment be drowned out by his observers' whispers and harsh judgements, but it doesn't change the fact that he deserved every second of it. He had to keep molding himself, he had to suffer, he had to pay for being such a pest to everyone's lives and for being so weak...

No matter how much he tried, it doesn't change the truth that he is no damn hero; he is here as a prisoner, present to repent for his crimes of his pathetic existence...

Oh, yeah. Futility is not just a present theme, but we are running to the HILLS with it.

Next up, we look at his actions- the "spice" and depth this brings to his warlock's design.

Let's retrace our steps a bit and look at Hop's character before and after the main story; as soon as we boot up the game for the first time, there we see Hop being so excited over his brother finally coming home- he was practically shaking and jumping by the news of it alone! He just couldn't wait to see him again, much less what he must have brought back with him- and, when he laid his eyes on the starters and chose his, he was over the moon and the sun; this was the beginning of his legacy! Ah, even his own mother said that he had to learn some patience.

Compare and contrast to his attitude in postgame- he's a lot more mellowed out, but that can be better described as him finally being burnt out. He had nowhere to go, no goal to attain, and not a single strength to his name. Bede and Marnie are training to become gym leaders, Leon's the new chairman of the Galar league, Sonia is on the way to become the new regional professor, but Hop? There was nothing left for him. There isn't anything he was able to do that others could do even better- all that was left for him was to rot in the fields, forgotten and cast away like the object of shame he was.

"I don't know how much I can really help... If I come along, I might just end up slowing the rest of you down..."

I've already established how the warlock might be imprisoned in a sense; all to symbolize how he must have felt during his downfall and the lengths he went through in order to become someone worthy of becoming champion- of sharing his brother's legacy, but we should also take how he first started off into account. We already have the pain, but where is the tragedy in it all? The downfall of his confidence? The fall of Hop, the once bright-eyed, confident, and proud young man? How could we symbolize the face that we have flicked his passion and convictions away with the push of our buttons?

Passion...glory...destruction...hotheadedness...Lee...Charizard...

"Fire- and lots of it!"

Yeah, this should not come off as a surprise - given how I have already mentioned it dozens of times already -, but, hey, if Ophelia has a lot of flames in her design to symbolize the tragic end of her family and her own hotheadedness, then I can't see why the same cannot be applicable to our uncrowned prince of Galar. Truth be told, I think the fire is burning at him to this day; as I already mentioned, he is in a constant state of melting down and reshaping himself to no end to fit an ideal that is so far away from him, and what better way to do so than by forcing himself to endure these flames to no end- not just to burn away all his mistakes, but to subject himself to what rage and disappointment he believes Leon must be feeling? You cannot ask for a more fitting punishment, no? Quite ironic as well, if you'd ask me.

Plus, as a warlock, he wants the people to cheer for him- only him! What better way is there to grab their attention and love than by becoming the brightest thing on the battlefield?! Yes, it's all worth it in the end, hearing the people of Galar scream just for him alone- oh, he couldn't be happier! That is all he desires! If we thought Oktavia craved attention, think again.

Speaking of lengths he went through to become someone he is not, let's talk about him changing his teams; this is his point of transformation as a character, where the cracks in his confidence begin to grow alongside his desperation. At this stage, Hop was willing to make any sacrifice necessary to meet that goal of his- if he fails, not only were his dreams on the line, but so was Leon's reputation. The only constant between these teams is the starter Leon gave him- with teary eyes and a regretful heart, he had damned the experiences and memories he shared with the 'mons he caught along the way, for all that mattered at that moment, all that was worth keeping, was the one thing that held any sort of direct connection to his future glory; the very gift his brother gave him. It should be worth it though, right? He's only becoming better, becoming stronger, becoming the best trainer he could be-

Isn't that right, Wooloo?

Oh, man, wooloo. What kind of Hop-centric design would this be if I didn't incorporate this cute little sheep in some form or another? If not the sheer GUILT he must be feeling? Since I already covered how the warlock would be forever unsatisfied with his form, let us talk about the promise he made with Wooloo, and how him breaking it must be haunting him. Just up and abandoning them, his lifelong partner pokemon must hate him for such a cowardly decision- it should hate him; he had backed out of such an important vow between them, and implied that it was their fault that he was unable to reach his goals. Ultimately, it is his guilt and self-hatred that got him here; whenever he wasn't melting down and reforging himself, he was always fighting for the audience's attention- a whole herd of sheep who constantly demand a spectacular show. It felt right for his first partner pokemon to judge him, after all- he must be condemned for his disloyalty...

Building upon the last point- since Wooloo, his very first pokemon, was also removed from the team, this would translate beautifully into him removing parts of himself to fit that perfect mold, and what better way than to add in sheep elements to his design? The warlock having hooves as dark as obsidian for feet? Broken horns that might be mistaken for parts of his armor? Heck, even the gnarly skeletal system resulting from us combining that of a human's and a sheep's? While I am not too sure about what exactly is going on underneath his helmet, I will just assume that at least its base form resembles a mutilated black sheep's face, because of, well, Hop seeing himself as the black sheep of the family. Combined with his halberd, which I am certain would carry on from his last form to this one, this would bring the idea of a twisted sheep herder of sorts, on top of the existing themes of sacrifice that are already associated with cattle in multiple religions.

Of course, we can't go wrong with referencing him copying Leon's tactics in battle and said worship! This, too, will be a source of pain to his warlock; not only does his armor resemble draconic scales (again, Charizard), but the base of his helmet would bear the shape of Leon's beard. This also ties in to the above point of him trying to reshape his form to that of the champion's in order to achieve prestige and victory by following in his hero's footsteps, but its ultimate purpose in the end is the further erasure his form and himself; all that made Hop 'Hop'. He is constantly slicing away at his being just to fit that mold....

Yes, he also gets to keep the cape; much like his halberd, I can't see why this element of his magical boy form would not get carried over here, as it also assists with establishing the theme and desire to be like a big shot like his brother. Its red coloring would also be of nice contrast to the ashen grey or deep darkness of his armor, although it is tattered and not as magnificent as it used to be in his eyes. The armor already boosts the idea of a hero, but, combined with all of the elements from above and Hop himself going down the slippery slope, this monster right here invokes the idea of a fallen hero; bright-eyed protagonists who have become jaded over the course of their journeys or have decided to outright give up on their ideals and goals- some even opting to join the opposing side of the narrative outright.

I should also mention his inability to look at Leon in the face and how he didn't want negative attention to be drawn towards him in spite of Hop's desire to face off against his brother- some eye trauma, maybe? Would the mementos of Leon in his barrier bring him pain? Or...would the warlock be unable to see past the "glory" of the champion and his dreams? How his mistakes are blinding him? Maybe what he saw was so bright, so brilliant, that it blinded him to everything else; turning his eyes into burning pools of blood resembling molten steel?

Now, we calculate his karmic potential, his emotional volatility, and how they contribute to his warlock's strength.

While I was first working on this post, I thought that maybe he would have cracked after he had lost against the gym leader of Circhester Stadium - Melony -; after all, he must have been devastated, with all these eyes watching him as his final pokemon fell, but then I remembered two key details-

His self-esteem did not get any better by the end of the game's main storyline. In fact, it was at its lowest during postgame- and he even brought a comically large shovel to dig wayyyyy deeper, courtesy of Sordward and Shielbert!

His karmic potential not only stems from him being the champion's little brother, but his role in stopping the second Darkest Day.

So, in a way, that loss would be considered to be more of a catalyst for his despair rather than the straw that broke the camel's back, not unlike Sayaka learning the truth behind the soul gems or Hitomi's confession to Kyosuke. He may have brought Dubwool back to his party, he may have appeared okay-ish after we've defeated him in the semi-finals, he may have helped us save the day, but his internal conflict didn't dissolve just like that- you cannot erase all these years of constant comparisons, long-standing dreams, horrible impostor syndrome, and such an inferiority complex just like that with the snap of one's fingers.

Truth be told, he was supposed to finally give in after said semi-finals, but, out of urgency, he held on just for a little while- for just enough time to assist us with finding Leon and stopping Rose's plans. Now that everything was said and done - now that everything was laid to rest -, the eyes just wouldn't stop staring at him, the whispers didn't cease, and Hop...he was tired- he was oh so tired. Falling on his shaky legs and the harsh thoughts in his heads still not slowing down, Hop had finally closed his eyes and gave out his final farewell...

Also, Sordward and Shielbert will die by my hands for making his self esteem go further down the toilet in postgame, I swear to Allah-

From all that, we can see that not only are legends, prophecies, and destinies HUGE themes for when it comes to the design of his barrier, but that his warlock is gonna be powerful. Now, I don't wanna be redundant by saying that he, too, would be as tough as Walpurgisnacht (we've already done that with Medic, though, after thinking about it, he'd be more comparable to Hyades Daybreak), but saving an entire region is, putting it lightly, a huge feat, and that's without us touching upon his supposed connection with the legendary pokemon, one of Galar's heroes of myth, Zacian. In between being tied to almost a hundred destinies (Madoka) and saving the entirety of France (Tart), putting an end to the apocalypse - The Darkest Day - has got to be up there.

I know this sounds like a sort of repetition on my end, but remember what Homura said back during episode 9; "from here on, for every person (one) has saved, (they) will curse another". So, while Medic got his powers thanks of a combination of his own karma and how he had fused 8 other souls into him, Hop's karma was all his. In short, by this logic, Galar is beyond fucked.

Oh, and, y'know, the whole deal with him being the champion's little brother and Gloria's childhood friend. With all that in mind, bro's warlock is not just stupidly powerful, but outright broken. Not at Ultimate!Kriemhild levels, but that's still not good news in of itself, isn't it?

In the end, whether he had completely given up after he had lost to Melony or during some time between the events of the main story and postgame is up to you and your interpretation of Hop as a character. For the sake of this segment alone, I will just go with the idea that, if he despairs before the climax of the main story, his warlock would be a formidable foe, but not yet a world-ending threat like either Walpurgisnacht or Crépuscule de La Reine.

For comparison's sake (and to paint a clearer picture), I'd say that he could be as powerful as Gisela, if not moreso. From the PSP games, we can see how resilient and tough that witch is - so much so that she is tied to both Mami's and Kyoko's backstories -, so surpassing her strength is still a commendable feat. Much like his depiction in the section above, the warlock would still be capable of cursing many stadiums at once and cause such intense panic in order to take the league challenge down with him by making the contestants to go completely berserk, and, if he so wishes, he could render an entire village into ash.

However, if you guys wouldn't mind, I'll still be running with the idea that, thanks to the player, Bede, Sordward, Shieldbert, his family, and Galar's corrupted celebrity culture, the entire region has yet another apocalyptic event to go through, and only Arceus could save them now- basically what happens during the above despair segment. Good job, everyone! Enjoy listening to Grass Skirt Chase while ya could! /j

Now that we got the basic picture of the warlock down, let's cut to the chase and dive in to his barrier. I've had a lot of fun with this one, so buckle up!

As I already mentioned in my previous Medic post, a witch's labyrinth is stated to be the "mental landscape of the magi before they turned into a witch". From analyzing the barriers of the Holy Quintet and the other existing witches from the original anime, I've already deduced that they must be tied to either core memories, coping mechanisms, or desires-

HOWEVER,

A more simplistic take on all that would be "a place that rubs salt on the magi's/witch's wounds"; makes more sense, no? Candeloro is forever alone in her little tea party, Charlotte is in a silent conversation with another doll- unable to speak about what's on her mind, and, for goodness' sake, Ophelia's barrier is underwater. It is just logical to see that a labyrinth is designed to keep the witch miserable; specifically made to remind them of their own shortcomings, mistakes, broken hopes and dreams, and all that they've lost by the act of contracting with an uncaring trickster like Kyubey.

Unsurprisingly, with this idea in mind, I think the barrier would be a twisted version of a stadium, lit up by raging fire. The audience is present; their eyes ever-staring at you as their yells echo throughout the arena. You just know that your actions and failures will be recorded for future generations to see, mock, and spit at- after all, you are now trapped in a legend that is yet to be completed! Yes, even the style of your surroundings looks like it could fit right in an old storybook or any of the murals present across the region. Not too far away from this labyrinth's center, you are able to find multiple cages housing the victims he had captured; fighters worthy enough for him to test his skills on or put on a spectacle for all the audience to see.

In the middle of the battlefield, in the shadow of a large statue behind him, lies the warlock; broken, battered, burnt, and practically melting, but his duty remains clear as daylight- bound to his punishment and his own selfish desires, it has become his goal to defeat you before the audience. It is his destiny to be bound to this stage, having to pay for the sin of his existence.

The trinkets of Leon - or a silhouette that resembles him - that surrounded him in his own house are also present; after all, they are tied to his motivation, admiration towards Lee, and his wish to become champion. Even until now, the warlock and his familiars take good care of them, though he despises the reflection cast by them.

I should also make a quiiiiiiick note Pokemon Masters EX; you see, upon activating a character's sync move, they are displayed in front of locations present in the canon of Pokemon known as their "mindscapes", and, fellas, upon finding out that said places are significant to each person's story and life one way or another, I've realized that I have stumbled upon a hail Mary for PMMM/Pokemon crossover fanatics out there, myself included. Of course, I wouldn't recommend using these mindscapes alone as a sort of easy way to make barriers, but they do act as nifty, optional blueprints or spices to make those labyrinths look more colorful or representative of these characters.

When it comes to Hop, his mindscape, unsurprisingly, depicts Postwick Town. The location doesn't change when he becomes a Neo Champion, with the only alterations made to the artwork is that it is now nighttime and the presence of small flickers of flames dancing around; burning as brightly as the stars above - one more point towards fire being a persistent theme here -. Perhaps if you've gained enough of an upper hand and luck in battle to grant you some time to look at the ground, you can see that there's specks of white paint that faded away with time; the surface still resembling that of a soccer field's to this day, not unlike the one in his backyard.

To reflect his mental state and emotions of worthlessness and futility prior to him crossing over the point of no return, well, here's where the fun and pain come in-

The halls of the labyrinth are...suffocating; as soon as you enter, you realize that the area is only wide enough for a single person to traverse through. It's so dark, too; only the oil lamps and unmaintained lanterns present provide any form of luminescence, and even then, you have to be careful; one small misstep, and it is you who will be up in flames.

You also get the sinking feeling that you are being watched through the cracks and holes of suffocating halls; a feeling exemplified by the sounds of rain and howling winds just outside. The oil lamps do nothing to alleviate the bone-biting cold around you- the warmth provided is minimal at best. Not too far away, peculiarly enough, you can hear what must sound like...a radio; the details of what is being said is unclear, but the language is actually understandable if you happen to know Arabic. Through static and compressed sounds, you can hear that the voice on the radio is...reciting a nasheed; one chanting about the light of honor, victory, and divine heroism in the face of adversity, with determination being a repeated theme peppered in. No matter which hallway you turn towards, you cannot seem to get any closer to the source of the sound.

As you make your way to the center of the barrier, in spite of the lack of windows present, you decide to be a little brave and take a peak through the torn cloth or any of the cracks on the wall; you find that not only are you not at all far away from the hallway you've already visited, but that you appear to be going down a spiral- but this can't be possible! It is like you've done nothing but repeating the same steps over and over, only for your determination and desires to bring you down...

The winds have gotten louder - clashing with the noise present in the halls -, and your legs feel so tired...

You cannot take it anymore. You finally deduce that, if you want to face off against the warlock right then and there, then you better take a nosedive; break through the halls and descend further and further until you reach the arena, and face off against a furious gladiator- angered and heartbroken by the prospect of you destroying these mementos. How could you?! Such an act is beyond heinous in his eyes! You are no honorable opponent like the rest of them- nay, he is here to strike you down, to restore and clear the champion's name...

To rub salt on his wound a little more, let's add in more references to the people who affected Hop's life- those who have sent him down a spiral, whether consciously or not.

At the end of some of these hallways, you can find shrines that are clearly meant for worship; moreso than the memorabilia that are already present. A large statue rests in the middle of it, surrounded by worn pictures depicting a silhouette of a man and damaged, worn-out books and scrolls. The scent of smoke is present, alongside ashes on the ground; the warlock or one of his familiars must have been near the shrine not too long ago.

Some parts of the halls, namely what items made of organic material like cloth, are clearly damaged- whether caused by burns, cuts, or, most strangely of all, moths. The bothersome nature of these little creatures not only represent Bede tearing apart at his self-worth, but also his reliance on Chairman Rose- such a depiction may symbolize his actions and words' effects on Hop's self-image and life, but it also acts as a subconscious, final "fuck you" to white-haired youth; at the end of the day, Bede is just an unwanted, insignificant insect who gravitates towards any source of light while causing great disaster to others, even at the detriment of his own life.

...but...isn't that what you have cursed yourself into, Hop? Having to prove yourself to someone who is so far away for all eternity? To mimic them? All for a part of their attention and approval- much less a sliver?

They have both locked themselves in a cycle of attempting to appease to someone in their lives at the detriment of their own health...

Upon his defeat, once the crowd cheers at his defeat, the walls will crumble, and the debris will crush and pierce the warlock - whether he was still alive or dead by then - as you finally get a look at the outside world... Rolling hills that span for miles greet your vision as the grey, rainy skies conceal the afternoon sunlight- but it still is brighter than the suffocating arena and its connected halls. Not too far away, you are able to spot a windmill, still going on for what seems like several vicious years, if its poor state was any sign. Ah, if not for the chaos around you, the flickering silhouettes of round sheep in the distance and the smell of grass and rain really makes it feel like you're right back home...back in Postwick...

To end all this on a high note, let's touch upon his witch's kiss/warlock's whisper/evil cutie mark. Thankfully, I got it as soon as I could; one of those old emblems that acted as tickets to a gladiator match depicting a simplified sheep's head! To add some freakiness, the sheep face is stripped to the bone on one half, and glaring right at the person looking at it on the other. A circle of hop flowers surround the disfigured head, and the emblem itself appears to be half-melting.

-Witch Card-

Sayf Al-Muharib. The Gladiator warlock, whose nature is admiration. The light of an old hero's glory - eternally out of his reach - had caused his sight to turn into searing, painful ichor; blinding him to all but his own failures and shortcomings. As penance for the sin of his existence and weakness, the warlock is in a constant state of breaking down, melting, and reforging himself whilst in preparation for his next battle in the hopes of searing away all the flaws in him - all that lead him to his incriminating mistakes - and achieve a perfect form. He is unable to recognize the being beneath his armor anymore, nor could he remember the vision he had prior to his entrancement.

The cries and cheers of his familiars herald another chance for the warlock to prove himself and absolve the legacy of his hero once and for all- but, no matter what, the crowd is never satisfied, and neither will he ever feel proud of himself for the victory. He will never be an inch closer to the light of legend he craves so badly. To emerge from the battlefield victorious, one must not lose sight of their promise in the midst of battle.

(His name is inspired by Sayf bin Omar/سيف بن عمر, a Muslim historian and compiler. It should also be of note that the reliability of Sayf's ahadeeth have been a point of controversy to this day. When translated, the warlock's full name means "The warrior's sword".)

(The fact that his first name literally means "sword" bears two meanings depending on the protagonist- if it's Gloria, then it reflects how he tags along with and respects her though he is seen as incomplete without her presence in the eyes of the rest; while if it's Victor, then it's the clash between their friendly rivalry and his growing respect towards him. Either way, it also symbolizes how the MC stole his spotlight and destiny, and how they broke him and his dream apart throughout their journey.)

(Also, Homura fits the criteria needed to defeat him, let's GOOOOOOO-)

-Familiars-

Batel (plural form: Abatil). The gladiator warlock's minion, whose duty is preservation. A scholar at heart, the warlock analyzes the actions of the hero of legend to learn from them for future endeavors. Prioritizing the opulence and safety of these treasures, these small followers of his are on constant lookout for anything that would posses a danger to these sacred masterpieces while archiving the feats of the champion for future re-readings.

Unfortunately, their master despises the reflection cast on the memorabilia; forever reminding him of what he will never become. He will hang his head down in their presence out of both respect and shame, lest the sight of the failure he had become shatter what was left of his original heart once more.

(Symbolizing Hop's knowledge of battling in general; jokes about type advantages aside, he was always analyzing Lee's battles and was eager to use his knowledge during battles. It's also one of the key reasons as to why he chose to become a professor in the end.)

(Yes, the warlock himself also does his job at chronicling the feats of Leon - even going as far as to imitate them to this day -, but not only are the Batels there to assist him (I mean, they are his familiars), but they also sort of symbolize how...exaggerated Leon's achievements can get, especially in the eyes of others- including Hop's.)

(Its name is a play on words in Arabic; "Batal/بطل" means "Hero", but "Batil/باطل" can either mean "of no good use" or "useless". Leon was the hero, his hero, his ideal- Hop, on the other hand, was just dead weight to him.)

(Another note to add is that Hop's uniform number is 189, which, when read in Japanese, can mean "Hiyaku"; leaping. While the warlock himself would be struggling to walk with these hooves of his and his mutilated form melting and meshing with the armor, I can also see that the Abatil's only way of moving around is through leaping, since they would probably have only one leg to stand on. Ah, I love the smell of symbolism in the morning.)

Al-Daja (plural form: Al-Dajij). The gladiator warlock's minion, whose duty is to uphold competition. Ever-so excited for the upcoming battle, the crowd will explode into applauds whenever a new victim enters the stadium and comes face-to-face with their master. Their never-ceasing cheers always demand for more, and, not wanting their wide, unblinking eyes to stare at all his faults and mistakes, the warlock complies.

The warlock will try and not show a sign of degradation to his opponent- he'll hold out until they sing songs of his glory and his story gets passed down from generation to generation. However, these minions will often times become so entranced with the relics and spectacle that they would forget the identity of their master altogether, and even start cheering for the new challenger once the warlock is thrown into a corner.

(Based on Hop's personal drive - to become as glorious and powerful as the unbeatable champion himself -, how the losses have been affecting him, and him not wanting what negative attention he garnered along the way to affect Leon directly. The audience can be quite the chatterboxes; all it takes is one small piece of gossip for everything to go out of control. Its name, ألضجة, means "The Noise".)

(They also symbolize how everyone else already act around him all thanks to his brother's legacy- looking down on him for every little mistake he makes, while each victory earns him another comparison to Leon. He doesn't want to disappoint them- not the crowds, not his friends, not his family, and not himself, so he carries on with his useless endeavor; constantly chasing after a dream that is so far from his reach. The fact that this familiar is prone to forgetting who they are serving exactly is indicative of Hop forgetting himself.)

-Inspirations-

In-canon:

Sacrificing aspects of himself just to come close to that aforementioned ideal; going as far as to remove his lifelong friend, Wooloo, from his team

Trophies and other memorabilia of his brother being found in their home- almost no mementos of Hop being found there

Corviknight, one of the 'mons he gigantamaxes upon the release of the DLCs (the other is his starter pokemon, which I will assume is Scorbunny)

The fact that he is evidently Arab/Muslim-coded, especially in the French translation of the games where his name is Nabil (fun fact, Raihan is also an already-Arab name)

The third episode of Pokemon: Twilight Wings

Dubwool being able to learn a fuck ton of self-destructive moves

The statue of the Hero of Galar in Wyndon (Motostoke in the anime)

Outside Influences:

The Sealed Vessel from Hollow Knight and their theme; actually, wanna bet that he is trapped in a similar manner as they were if we were to assume that his power is equal to Isabeau's? That he has been gathering power from the mass hysteria resulting from his influence over the stadiums?

How sheep, lambs, and goats are associated with sacrifice, slaughter, deceit, and rituals (to tie the aforementioned wooloo/dubwool and self-abandonment points mentioned earlier)

The golden calf

The fact that some gladiators were prisoners and had to fight and put on a spectacle in order to regain their freedom

nana825763's "My house walk-through"

That one segment from Valle Verde part 2 which starts at around the 3:58 mark

The Devil Within by Digital Daggers (not my dumb ass imagining an animatic in which Bede is this warlock's first victim)

Cause of my Death by Itoki Hana

Dolus Vel Pedica, Area Strigae, and Delusio Summa from the Madoka Magica PSP game

The concept of living armor, but with added body horror

-Closing Statements-

Phew! Well, thank GOD this didn't take as much time as Medic's warlock did! (unless if we count my sick days- then yeah, it took just as much) To say that this was a WILD ride would be the understatement of the century!

I wanted to nail the vibe the witches had before we, as the audience, learned the truth about their origins - that he must have been born out of competition and the impostor syndrome that comes with such high-stakes contests -, and the idea that he, Sayf, was vengeful not just towards the leagues and the people who had beaten Hop while he was down, but also towards himself. I am unsure of whether or not I've completely succeeded on that front, but, if you guys have better ideas and/or criticisms, please do let me know! I aim to improve my writing in general and my abilities to break down character motivations and symbolize their actions in more abstract manners.

Being Bede is suffering; his ass is getting haunted on one hand, and Leon is able to smell his fear from a mile away on the other. He's not fucking winning this, lads :'3

...With all that being said, there is one shred of information that I've been withholding until now- the final piece of the puzzle that, once we step back, paints a rather grim image of what would occur if we were to combine the worlds of Pokemon SWSH and PMMM...

Outside the league challenge, the story of SWSH tackles the eldritch origins of Dynamax/Gigantamax; that the very vessels that allowed the people of Galar to utilize it must come from the remains of the invading Pokemon, Eternatus. Its initial awakening from its 17,000 year slumber heralded the event known as the Darkest Day; in which it had absorbed so much of Galar's energy that it caused its form to change and a dark storm to envelope the region, causing the pokemon to dynamax/gigantamax and go berserk. With the emergence of said storm come what is now known as "Galar Particles"; other sources of energy that, after the defeat of this threat, were utilized by humans for generations to come; rebuilding Galar from the ground up to the region we know today.

Now, a theme that both medias apparently share here from this fact alone is "energy". In a sense, you could say that Eternatus itself acts very much like a living grief seed; absorbing "impurities" in order for its true form to "hatch" and release boundless amounts of concentrated energy that can be used in a useful manner later down the line.

So....what gives? Why is Eternatus such a key element to this concept if the focus of this post is Hop? What does that creature beyond out comprehension have to do with the one we currently have in our hands right now?

See, not only does Hop's karmic potential stem from his destiny to stop the second Darkest Day alongside the main character, but his brother was also tasked by Chairman Rose with capturing the beast and delivering it to him; this was planned out in order to solve Galar's energy crisis that was going to unfold in the next several years or so, and, though it was a hard decision, the Chairman believed that now was a better time than never. The future of Galar, in his eyes, relied on him...

Obviously, Rose's entire plan fell flat on its face, so it was up to us, our bestie, and a very gud boi an' gorl (Pokedex entries confirm Zacian is Zamazenta's older sister) to save an entire region's ass from a wicked, unfathomable threat once more, but what if things went a little differently in this timeline? Obviously, one of the heroes who was supposed to assist/had assisted Gloria fell into despair and became the next world-ending threat she's going to have to put down, but what if this wasn't the only deviation from the norm here?

After all, Rose wasn't the only one who had sought out the means to prevent and remedy a sort of entropy issue at any cost necessary...

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elacular-kink · 2 months ago

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Poly-techhic -4: A Little Lunch and Seltzer AU

So, when I wrote Chapter 4.5, I saw how Olivia teased Susanna and thought "Hey, good idea, character that I write! Let's write that!" So, in this alternate universe version of chapter 4, Susanna is the one who gets the hiccups during their date instead of Kiran. I've also written it twice, once from Kiran's perspective and once from Susanna's. I'll see if I can sorta get both on one post via reblog, but if not I'll double up like I did with the shower story.

The Kiran chapter's first few paragraphs are retreads of part of Chapter 4 to set the scene, so I'll put those in a different color if anyone wants to skip to the new stuff.

Last ramble: This is the last bit of Poly-Techhic I've written so far. That doesn't necessarily mean there won't be more, and it certainly doesn't mean there won't be more hiccup stuff in the future, but my muse is on its contractual lunch break, so I can't say when.

Character Sheet

TW: Anxiety, Painful hiccups, menstruation (mentioned) Kinks: Hiccups, Embarrassment

Susanna and I had just arrived for our date at the French restaurant whose name neither of us could pronounce. The man in the tuxedo looked past me at Susanna as she entered. "We don't wear hoods in this establishment, sir."

"M-ma'am!" I corrected him, blushing.

"It's cool, Kiran," Susanna pulled her hood down and I saw that, rather than laying flat or being mussed like it usually was, her hair looked like it had been styled with gel or spray, a perfect gently punkish messy spikiness to it. As Susanna unzipped her hoodie, I saw that she was wearing a white button-up shirt underneath, the arms cuffed past her elbows in an imitation of short sleeves, and the bottom tucked into her khakis and strapped down with a leather belt. Oh god, she looked so dapper. How was I supposed to cope? "I don't mind what people call me, and I figu—uh..." She'd started tying her hoodie around her waist when the maître d' took it from her and hung it up on a coat rack instead alongside mostly suit jackets. "Uh...yeah. Okay. That works."

The tuxedoed man sniffed and turned. "This way, ma'am and ma'am." He showed us to a small table and placed a set of black leather-bound menus in front of us. "I'll need to see ID if you intend to drink."

"Nah, I'm good. I'll just take water."

"Hmph." He took a note.

The idea of asking for soda in an establishment like this made my stomach ache. I was glad that I had at least managed to eat a little lunch; the idea of that ache making any noise made me feel even more ill. "I-I'll take water as well, please!" The maître d' made a noise I didn't know how to interpret and walked away. Susanna rolled her eyes as he left, and that helped me calm down a little.

For a while, the two of us chatted about the restaurant's (stuffy) atmosphere and its (expensive) appetizers, but it wasn't long before we were interrupted by someone who was, thankfully, not the maître d', and who placed a wine glass of water in front of each of us. "Uh, thanks man," Susanna said. He nodded without saying anything and walked off quickly. "Is this...classy?" She picked up her glass and tilted it around.

"I...suppose? I'll be honest, rules of etiquette were never something I was able to keep track of very well."

"Pff. My god, poor etiquette? You bad girl, you." I could feel myself blushing under her smile. "Well, whether it's classy or not, it'd be weird not to clink these." She held her glass out and I picked up my own and tapped it against hers before I took a sip. I was a bit surprised to realize that it was seltzer, but I supposed that would explain why even the water on the menu had a price.

When I looked back at Susanna, she was swirling the water in her glass and sniffing at it. "Ahh, essence of tap. Hydrogen and...notes of oxygen I presume?"

I stifled a small giggle as she took a sip. "Why yes, with a surprising hint of carbon di—" Before I could finish speaking, Susanna choked and started coughing, putting the glass down as quickly as she could. "—o-oxide? Susanna, are you okay?"

"Yeah—k-kuh, yeah Kiran, I'm fi–*eek!*" A tiny, high-pitched noise forced itself out of her and her eyes went wide. Her face was unbelievably red and she slapped both hands over her mouth. After a split second, she sucked in a breath of air and held it, shutting her eyes tight.

"Susanna?" She opened her eyes and nodded at me, then rocked back silently and shut them again, another tiny noise audible in her throat. She held up one finger and I nodded back, even though she couldn't see me. I couldn't take my eyes off of her though. Every few seconds she kept jolting, and it seemed like they were getting faster and harder. She held her breath for a worryingly long time. I half wished I'd taken out a stopwatch, because it had to be over a minute, probably over two.

Eventually, she let out her breath all in one massive huff, though she kept both hands over her mouth, just barely containing a high-pitched little "*mmp!* S-sorry." Without her bangs or her hoodie on, her cute, flushed face was a little hard to ignore. I kept accidentally meeting her eyes, and they looked almost...scared. "Be right b---back." Without elaborating, she got up and rushed off deeper into the building.

"...okay," I said, long after she had gone. I was barely able to wait five minutes before I felt compelled to pull out my phone. Texting on dates was horribly rude as far as I was aware, but if she wasn't at the table, it seemed like it would be okay? And honestly, I was worried.

Queen of Illusion: YOU BETTER TELL ME HOW THIS SHIT WENT WHEN YOU GET BACK PLEASE TELL ME YOU FUCKIN KISSED HER AND THEN KISS ME (IF YOU WANNA)

Kiran (Kiki): Maya?

Queen of Illusion: WTF are you doing texting me And yeah

Kiran (Kiki): I'm sorry! I didn't know what else to do!

Queen of Illusion: Hold up What stupid shit is Susie doing?

Kiran (Kiki): I don't know! She disappeared deeper into the building!

Queen of Illusion: wait Where the bathrooms are?

Kiran (Kiki): I don't know, maybe?

Queen of Illusion: That mother fucker Gimme 2 seconds ill fix this shit.

Kiran (Kiki): Is she okay? Does she need a pad or a tampon? I carry those.

Queen of Illusion: oh shit thats super helpful tell the whole team that But yea shes fine Just really fuckin stupid I told her to get her ass back to the table or Id throw her switch in a blender And she knows im crazy enough to do it

Maya was still typing, but when I looked up, I saw Susanna coming back over. She looked very small, shoulders pulled in and her head bowed down, and she speed walked over to our table and sat down in her chair with a hyperefficient stiffness. Also stiff was the way she kept jolting backward, her shoulders jumping, her head snapping back, and her whole body rocking. "S---sorry Kiran. *mmk!*"

"It's...fine?" I wasn't sure quite what she was apologizing for. Her face was still unbelievably red. "Are you...are you alright?"

She nodded before her head was abruptly jerked back again. "Got th---the h-hic---cups. Sor---ry."

"...oh!" Oh, that made sense. Susanna must have been sensitive to carbonation like Maya was. Did she not know that about herself? I'd never seen her drink or order soda, so why didn't she say as much when we talked about it?

...actually, considering that Maya was the one who had brought up hiccup triggers, I could see why she would want to keep that to herself right then.

"Oh, okay. N-nothing you need to be sorry for, Susanna. D-do you want me to try and get you some regular water?" She looked up at me and nodded slightly. "Alright...alright." I looked around for a waiter who didn't look busy. The restaurant wasn't crowded, and the maître d' had left his post to wander among the tables doing...honestly, it wasn't clear to me at all what he was doing besides occasionally staring at us in an intimidating manner. But I couldn't see any other employees who weren't occupied, and Susanna looked so uncomfortable and was jolting so hard. So I steeled myself as best I could, straightened up, rolled my shoulders back, and then walked over to the man in the tuxedo. "Excuse me, sir." He sniffed at me. I wanted to shrivel up and disappear, but I forced my back to stay straight. "My—" Wait, shit, what was I supposed to call her? Fuck fuck fuck—

No! No panicking right now. She needs you.

"My date would like some still water, and I'd prefer to get it sooner rather than later."

He stared at me. I was glad I'd straightened up. It gave me an inch or two on him, and he clearly didn't like that. "...off-menu requests cost extra."

Susanna better not have heard that. "That's fine. And I'll tip for a prompt delivery." He sniffed, then walked back towards the kitchen, and I walked back over to our table and sat back down. As soon as I was in the chair, I slumped again, and I felt Susanna's hand land on mine. I smiled at her, or at least tried to. "I'm alright, Susanna. Hopefully, we'll get you some water soon."

She exhaled softly and nodded. "Th---thanks." There was an audible thump in her chest and she rubbed her sternum, looking pained. Her little body was being so violently rocked...I really did wonder if she was going to hurt herself. And her face still looked so red and feverish.

The not-exactly-silence that fell between us felt horribly awkward. "Well, I...suppose that you'll need some of Olivia's hair now." She stared at me, and at least her looking confused was better than her looking scared and in pain. "F-for your voodoo doll. It stopped working. It's not transferring your hiccups right now." After a moment, she smiled. Susanna smiled and she shook with quiet, soft laughter and it made me feel like I was glowing.

Then she "*HNK!*—nnf!" jerked back harder and shut her eyes tight, rubbing her throat.

"Susanna, are you in pain?" She looked at me and shrunk in on herself before she nodded. "Is holding your hiccups back causing that? Would letting them out help?" She cringed, then motioned for me to come over. I joined her on her side of the table and saw that her spasms were throwing her hard into the uncomfortable-looking back of her chair. I couldn't think of anything else to do, so I put both of my hands on her shoulders and gripped them. With her next hiccup, I just barely managed to keep her from hitting the back of the chair again. God, she was so strong. Her whole body was so unbelievably strong. And she was looking back and up at me. "I—um, sorry, is this okay?" She nodded again, and my heart rate slowed at least a little. "You're being shaken so hard, I just...thought this could help."

She turned away and shook with almost silent laughs again. "S---sweet." Before I could stammer out a request to elaborate on that, she took out her phone and started typing on it, holding it awkwardly high so I could easily read from behind her.

Susie Q(eer): That'd help, yeah, but I don't think the people around here would appreciate it. Especially not tuxedo douche.

"I-I don't care about that!" That came out of me louder than I meant it to, but I ignored my blush, just lowering my voice as best I could. "Certainly not more than I care about your well-being." After a moment, she put a hand on one of mine and gently nuzzled into one of my arms. I may not have trusted my ability to comprehend body language, but I felt safe assuming that whatever this was was very affectionate. My heart clearly felt safe assuming that, considering how it was bursting and melting all at once.

"Erm, your still water, ma'ams." Our waiter came over and placed a glass of water in front of Susanna, who quickly grabbed it and took a large swig. Unfortunately, barely a half-second later, she jerked back into my hands again. "Also," the waiter was cringing. "Um, other patrons have requested that you please take your seat, ma'am."

"I—" I wasn't sure what to do, but before I could worry too much about it, Susanna gently patted my arm and gestured for me to go back to my seat. She jerked back into me again before I could, though. Her hiccups were so strong..."No, I don't believe so." The waiter blinked at me, and Susanna was looking up, shocked. I gently pulled her to her feet, keeping a hand on her back. "This restaurant isn't what I was hoping it would be. I'm sorry, Susanna. Please let me take you somewhere better suited to the two of us."

I walked over to the maître d' and paid with one of my least important credit cards. This place didn't deserve the dignity of giving me gold points. "Don't forget your companion's...jacket."

"Of course. Thank you, sir." I put as much venom in my voice as I could, then took Susanna's hoodie and helped put it on her before wrapping an arm around her shoulders again. There wasn't really a need to do that, but she wasn't complaining. She even leaned further into me once we were outside again.

Despite those actions, I heard Susanna sigh. "I'm s---sorry, Ki–*EEK!*–Nnuuh!" She covered her face with both hands, and I couldn't help but laugh.

"N-no, I'm sorry!" I shook away my giggles as best I could before sighing. "I'm...sorry for laughing, for one. You're just..." I could feel my face warming. "...You're just really cute."

"Mnnf. *HMK!*" She leaned into me more, and my nerves kept pulling giggles out of me.

"But beyond that, I'm...I'm sorry about that restaurant. I wanted to take you somewhere that...that you might not have been to a place like yet. A-and I know that I'm very privileged with how much access to money I have, so that's something that I can provide you if we go on a date together and—"

"'Prov---provide me'?" Susanna squinted up at me. "You–*HOOP!*–Nn!" She covered her face again and I couldn't help it. I just pulled her into my arms and against me. She was so cute. Her back jolted into me, and for once it felt really nice to have such a soft belly for her to hiccup into instead of something hard that could hurt her. She made more tiny noises, then pulled her face out of her sleeve-covered hands. "...*MMK!* You don't ha---have to provide---nnnghf. *MMK* Provide me anyth–*UK!* th-thiiiing. Fuck."

"But I want to." I realized that we had idly walked to a small park block and looked at the nearest bench. It looked uncomfortable, especially the back, and I sat down on it and confirmed that fact. I couldn't let Susanna sit and hiccup back into that. But what other option— "...Susanna? Would you like to..." I uncertainly patted my lap.

The light was too dim to be sure, but I thought her face went even redder. Even so, she nodded. "S---sure, but–*HNK!* d-don't let m---me hurt you."

"I won't." I hoped I'd be able to keep that promise if need be, but more than that, I really really really hoped I wouldn't have to. She slowly, gently eased onto my lap, and I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her back against me. She was so small in my grasp. "...but just to be sa–OOF!" I was shocked by the force one of her spasms pushed back with. "S-safe, you should stop holding your hiccups in." After a long moment and a few rough jolts, she nodded. I could hear and feel her start to breathe more deeply, seeming to have to make an active effort not to try and mute herself. High-pitched *HEEK*s and *HNK*s and *HK-llp*s squeaked out of her, but her motions were far gentler, more bounces than jerks. One of my arms was resting on her stomach while the other had ended up across her thighs (which I really hoped she didn't notice or object to) and it was interesting just how much I felt her move, and how much more fluid even her herky-jerky hiccup motions were now that she wasn't trapping everything inside of her chest. "Yeah. There you go. Good—" My face practically lit on fire as I realized what I was about to say, and I buried it in the back of her hood. But I couldn't not finish my sentence. "Good...good girl."

After a split second, I felt her laughing against me. Her chuckles came tangled up with hiccups, but I didn't mind, and it seemed like, at least to an extent, she didn't either. Once her laughter calmed, she sighed. "S'just emb–*UCK* emb-barrassing. *HNK-lk*."

I sighed back. "I can see why. I'd be mortified." It took me too many seconds to realize what I'd just said. "N-not that I'm saying you should be! Y-you don't need to be embarrassed, Susanna, I just—" I hid my face in the back of her hood again, glad that the hiccups mostly moved her chest and torso rather than snapping her head back. "I just understand why you would be. B-but you don't need to be. It's just the hiccups. And you shouldn't have to hold them back any more than Olivia does."

Susanna made a noise I didn't know how to interpret. "Oliv---via has to h–*OLK*–g-guh. Hold them ba–*UCK* all the time. *HMK!* I'm...*hmp*." She leaned forward and pulled down her hood, resting her head against my chest afterward, and I wondered if she could feel exactly what that was doing to my heart. "I'm lucky, in a way. *HMK-mmp* To be someo–*UK* someone she doesn–*nnt* have to hide ar–*HUP* around." She hummed softly, and I could see her purse her lips. "*hmk* Never really tho–*UCK* thought about it like tha–*hup* that before."

"About what?"

Even under the dim light, I could see how red her cheeks had gone. "Ah...ah–*HUP*–p-puh...It's kind–*AUK* kinda hard to expl–*HUCK* explain."

"I suppose most things would be with a case of the hiccups like that."

Her face...her face was still so flushed. "Yeah. *hmp*. Not having the–*eek-up* these would definitely make it easier. *hmk*. Do you..." She shook in my arms with a few nearly silent hiccups. "...do you thi–*ic*–ink we could stay like thi–*ic-olp*–this until they're gone? *hmk-mmp*. I'll tell you af---after that."

I simultaneously hoped that she stopped hiccuping in the next few seconds and that this case never went away. But either way, I loved getting to have her body against mine, no matter how it was moving. "That sounds good to me. Thank you, Susanna."

"No. *hmk.* Thank you, Kiran," she said. After that, we just sat in the park together while she hiccuped, and I thought that made for a far better date than the restaurant ever could have.

#hiccups #hiccup kink #hiccups kink #my writing #hiccup story #Poly-techhic #Poly-techhic AU #Can't believe that's a tag I'm making #Eli's kink writing

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