#out of glamour (ooc)

[mechahero]

//Making Lambda in fashion based Ro.blox games again because I lack self control.

(bonus outfit under the cut. it's not too terribly suggestive (it is a Ro.blox game after all) but it's going under there just in case)

[vixlenxe]

Ivy in armor is a way of life 😤

[catcake24]

Universal Misunderstandings

Summary: Based on @keferon's Mech Pilot Jazz AU. Jazz is a Mech Pilot who gets lost in space.

I wrote this in like... an hour, so I'm sorry if it isn't very good. I just needed to get it out, even if it's a little clunky. (Also I don't write Jazz and Prowl often, so they might be a bit ooc)

If you had asked Jazz what was the craziest thing he ever saw, he would say the moment the giant ships entered earth’s atmosphere for the first alien invasion. Or maybe when he joined the mecha program to fight those aliens, and saw the mecha suits they would be piloting for the first time.

He wasn’t sure if meeting a race of giant robots was any crazier than that, but it was at least top three now.

Being a mecha pilot was surprisingly routine in some ways, similar to the times he was a NASCAR driver in some strange ways. How he would check his machine before every mission, how he piloted it like it was an extension of him, and how painfully aware he was of the danger all around him.

Only now, instead of being at risk of crashing into another driver or spinning off the track, he was at risk of being killed by giant aliens with five faces and so many tentacles.

No one was even sure why the aliens attacked in the first place, only that they desired some sort of potent energy source that was only discovered after they drove the aliens from one of their mines on Earth - and what was found in them revolutionized their technology forever.

They called them Lightning Crystals, based on the blue glow and the little shocks they delivered. The crystals were rare, but extremely potent in energy unparalleled by anything on earth.

Exactly what they needed. Oh, sure for solving global warming and creating efficient technology of course. But they also were the missing element in the new M.E.C.H. program – giant robots which could be controlled by a single person, able to pack as much punch as the aliens. With the Lightning Crystals, they could power these giant machines and finally drive them from their planet.

Jazz was one of the top pilots, though his Mech Suit was focused on rescuing people from peril and buying time as they evacuated a city that would be attacked. It was almost once a month, or several times if they were unlucky – the aliens would land, attempt to get a foothold on their planet, but were driven off by the Mecha. Only to appear again the next time.

And so, the routine was set. Go out, punch some aliens, retreat and recover, and start all over again later. It wasn’t glamourous, but Jazz knew he was doing his part in protecting the planet.

That changed when the Space Program was initialized.

The director of MECH realized they needed some sort of foothold in space, to fight back before they landed on the planet and destroy the ships they had just out of striking range out in the void.

Jazz was selected as one of the first, as his smaller robot would be more ideal for space travel – or so they told him, he wasn’t totally sure if that was bullshit or not anymore.

And so, Jazz found himself being launched into space to fight Aliens. He wasn’t sure when exactly his life turned into an anime, but it definitely felt like one.

During the fight though, something went wrong.

Jazz had been thrown into one of their ships, there was frantic beeping and flashing, and suddenly he felt his whole body feel every sensation at once – and when he got his bearings and noticed the ship was in motion again, he realized, with a sinking terror, that he couldn’t see earth in any direction around him.

His worst fears were only confirmed when he was thrown off the small space shuttle, and couldn’t contact ground support after he crashed onto an unknown planet.

He had to take a few hours to himself, and screamed inside his mech suit’s protective armour. Jazz didn’t know when he passed out from crying, but he felt somewhat refreshed. Not any better, but… not exhausted.

All things considered… he would be alright for a little while. He found more lightning crystals on the planet, and had some rations he could stretch out for awhile. But he wasn’t sure what to do, without any idea where he was or how to contact home.

He set up his homing beacon, and just hoped again all odds that maybe it would be picked up by someone.

-

Prowl wasn’t a very social cybertronian, everyone knew that about him. He wasn’t anti-social, but he didn’t have an easy time communicating with others.

He would be too blunt, or maybe just not react the right way, and suddenly they were upset for reasons he didn’t immediately recognize. He got better at learning what was and wasn’t acceptable in the broad terms, but he struggled with specifics sometimes.

But Prowl was also brilliant – that wasn’t ego, it was repeated often enough that even he had to accept it. The Tac-Net within his processor was faster than any standard internal strategy computer, but that was only a tool. His processor was able to churn through all the data it gave him, and utilize it to its fullest extent with his own creativity and intelligence.

It made him one of the vital assets to the Autobots, and later to the combined cybertronian armies which fought the Quintessons – a walking battle computer, able to analyze a battle field and begin a counter strategy before the opponent even realized it.

So, his communication issue was merely a minor inconvenience in comparison.

Even still, he didn’t have many friends, and he was used to his own company. Prowl didn’t think on it often, just focusing on his task.

Prowl was alone while crossing a large stretch of uninhabited space, a spiral galaxy system which consisted of planets either barren or void of sentient life, when he received the ping on his console.

Unknown Energy Signature, Distress Beacon Detected. Prowl frowned as he read across his screen, because it didn’t make sense at first. He pulled the ship around for a second look before he lost the signal, and saw it was located on a nearby planet.

His Tac Net spat back possibilities when probed, ranging from “Quintesson Trap” to “New Emerging Sentient Life”, and he deemed the risk low enough to check at least.

Prowl wasn’t a social mech, but he wasn’t as heartless as some soldiers said he was.

-

Jazz didn’t notice the ship until it was almost right above him, but he was still in his Mech Suit luckily enough. Using the larger bulk of this robotic body, he tried to wave the ship down using his long arms with a burst of frantic energy.

The Mech robot was psychically linked to himself, and so it was easy enough to arrange the machine’s body to look like a crazy person looking to hitchhike on the highway. He didn’t care though, only happy that someone, anyone, had found him.

It definitely wasn’t human, there were basically no ships of this design and even if there were none had launched yet. Another alien race didn’t seem too far off either, whoever they were. But really, they could be made of goo and Jazz would probably hug them in thanks.

He only really started to realize that this might be a bad thing when the ship landed, because that thing had some pretty big guns. Or maybe those weird energy blasters he saw before, and this was one of the aliens trying to colonize his planet.

Still though, he swallowed his fears and put on a brave face – even if no one else saw. He strutted up to the large ship like he owned it, and… waited.

The ship door opened soon enough, lowering down into a ramp, and out stepped… another robot?

Jazz blinked, suddenly very aware of his body inside of the mech suit, when he saw it… or them?

He didn’t know what to think, seeing the human-like face and odd proportions of their body. Was this another mech suit of some sort? Why did it have wheels?

Jazz had to snap out of it, because the robot started talking to him.

“Dobbqfkdp,” they said with a stoic demeanour, “xj F ql xpprjb vlr ibcq qeb afpqobpp pfdkxi? F txpk’q xtxob qebob txp olylqfz ifcb qefp cxo lrq fkql qeb dxixuv.”

Unfortunately, Jazz didn’t understand a word of it. The robot was holding the blaster on their hip, obviously ready to attack if Jazz proved hostile.

Hesitantly, he turned on his communications radio and spoke.

“Umm, sorry my guy, but I don’t know what you’re saying? I’m a bit new around here is all,” he said with a somewhat nervous laugh. He almost wished his own mech had a face, so he could express how he wasn’t hostile.

There was silence for a moment, the wind blowing by around them and picking up a barrage of maroon plantlife that looked like flowerpetals. It was serene to see, but Jazz kept his focus on the robot whose eyes were widening in surprise.

They then cleared their throat, deliberately taking their hand off the gun and offered something. Jazz stepped forwards hesitantly, seeing it was a small chip.

The robot gave a forced smile, obviously trying to not appear threatening but looking awkward instead. “Jv xmlildfbp. Bah-weep-Graaaghnah, weep ni ni bong.”

Somehow, against what was rational, the phrase they said made Jazz relax a little. It was a ridiculous nonsense in English, but somehow it made the offer seem less unknown.

Hesitantly, Jazz accepted the chip and plugged it into his mech. His eyes nearly bugged out when it started interfacing with his systems, almost pulling it out, before seeing what it was doing – it was scanning the coding and language of his mech’s sytems, pulling them out into a strange dictionary. Soon, it was done with a PING, and the chip ejected itself.

Holy shit, he thought, they have a fucking universal translator, like Star Trek!

The robot’s hand was extended again, obviously asking for the chip, and Jazz gingerly placed it back in the robot’s open palm – somehow having five fingers, which somehow was one of the first things Jazz noticed right now.

He was really overwhelmed, okay?!

The robot inserted the chip into the back of their head, and Jazz had a sinking realization.

Maybe he was jumping the gun, but the way the robot’s eyes went dim briefly as it processed the chip, made Jazz think is this an actual sentient robot?!

“Thank you, I suppose this must be very confusing for you,” the robot then said, in perfect English.

“Ugh… kind of?” He said, shrugging slightly which translated to his robot around him. It was a reflex hard to break, even if it was unnecessary for his mech to emote.

“We’ve known about aliens, but this is the first time I’m meeting one that doesn’t want to kill me,” he said, with a slight laugh at himself. “Sorry, this is really weird.”

“Well,” the mech said, giving a soft smile which looked much more genuine, “I’m sure my kind will be eager to welcome another robotic race to the galaxy.”

Jazz’s mind went blank, as he had two sudden realizations.

Holy shit, I was right, this is an actual sentient robot who is actually talking to me, quickly followed by, they think I’m also a robot.

This… might be messy.

Despite this, Jazz just gave a nod, “Well, I’m sure the feeling is mutual!” He said awkwardly.

“Now… can you help me off this planet?”

The robot gave a brisk nod. “Of course, it’s not uncommon for new space faring species to have transwarping incidents like these. Come with me, my people will help you get home.”

Without any better options, Jazz hopped onto the ship. As he went inside, he realized the whole thing was scaled to the giant robot he was with. Scaled to his mech as well, conveniently enough.

“So, could I get your name?” Jazz said, as he finally was getting ahold of his anxiety. At least he wasn’t dead, and he was going home, so suddenly this was feeling a lot less intimidating.

“Of course, I’m Prowl of Praxus. You?”

“Ummm, Jazz. Jazz Wilson,” he said.

“Very well, it’s nice to meet you Jazz Jazz Wilson,” Prowl said, and somehow that phrase, which wasn’t nearly the craziest part of this situation, got a bark of laughter from Jazz.

“Just Jazz is fine. It’s nice to meet you too Prowl.”

He got a nod of acknowledgement, as the ship flared to life and prepared for takeoff.

Jazz might need to sleep for a decade when he gets home.

(Translation for Prowl Earlier: Greetings, am I to assume you left the distress signal? I wasn’t aware there was robotic life this far out into the galaxy.)

I also won't apologize for using the transformers universal greeting :P, I love that thing. Canonically, it's a phrase so ridiculous that anyone who says it must mean no harm - which is why Jazz somewhat relaxes when he hears it despite not knowing what it means.

I hope you liked this short little story (≧∇≦)ﾉ it's more just exploring the concept than anything.

Also sorry for using the term mech or mecha wrong, I don't watch enough anime ( ´･･)ﾉ(._.`)

[fear-less]

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 starlight

Pairing: mattheo riddle x reader

Warnings:  ooc mattheo ig, strangers?? to lovers, some things may not be accurate with the hp timeline but shhhh.., no mention of y/n, no mention of house or gender but written with f!reader in mind, time skip, bad writing.., nor really related to “starlight” by taylor but it's hinted.. somewhat

an: finally (!!!!) posting, I plan to post more this month and next year! since fluff is winning the poll, why not just post before the poll closes! ill post something else soon, enjoy this active era... don't know how long it'll last... anyways, I decided to make a Mattheo fic, I wasn't planning on writing for fancast characters but oh well...

4k words :3

The music echoed through the grand hall of Hogwarts as the ballroom glittered with candlelight and charm. The Great Hall had been transformed, enchanted with silver and gold streamers that twirled in the air, floating like ribbons of light. Students twirled and danced in their finest robes, laughing and spinning beneath the enchanted ceiling that reflected a thousand stars.

You stood on the edge of the room, watching the scene unfold with a quiet smile. It was a magical night—one of those rare nights at Hogwarts when everything seemed to shimmer a little brighter, when the worries of exams and dark rumors faded into the background. You could hear the soft murmur of conversation and the click of shoes against the polished stone floors, but all of it felt like a dream, something out of reach.

Then, as though the world had shifted, you saw him.

Mattheo Riddle.

He stood across the room, bathed in the soft glow of the lights, his dark hair falling slightly into his eyes. His black suit was tailored to perfection, sharp enough to cut glass, and yet somehow, it made him look even more out of place among the laughing couples and chattering students.

He wasn’t the type to care for events like these, not with his reputation. But there he was, looking like he had stepped out of a story—a page from a fairytale written in shadow.

Before you could turn away, your eyes met his. For a brief moment, time slowed, the bustling world around you fading to a whisper. There was something magnetic about Mattheo, something that made it impossible to look away. He didn’t smile, not at first, but there was an almost imperceptible tilt of his lips, a challenge in his gaze.

You took a breath, feeling the weight of the moment. It wasn’t that you weren’t aware of him. The rumors about Mattheo Riddle had followed him around for as long as you could remember. He was the son of Voldemort, after all, and most people saw him as nothing but a shadow of his father’s dark legacy.

But standing there, amidst the glamour of the night, he didn’t seem so terrifying. He seemed… alive. And that was enough to make your heart race in a way you hadn’t expected.

As if on cue, Mattheo took a step toward you, his movements confident, but there was something almost hesitant in the way he approached.

"Don't tell me you're avoiding the dance floor," he said, his voice low and smooth, like it always was, the corners of his mouth barely lifting in amusement.

You raised an eyebrow. "Maybe I prefer to watch," you replied. "Not everyone likes being the center of attention."

"Ah," he smirked, his eyes glinting in the soft light. "But you would be, wouldn't you?"

Your gaze flicked to the crowd around you—pairs of students swaying, spinning in time with the music. You shrugged, feeling a spark of defiance rise in you. "Not if I don't want to be."

For a moment, you both stood in silence, the music continuing to swirl around you. Then, unexpectedly, Mattheo extended his hand.

"Shall we, then?"

You hesitated, not because you didn’t want to, but because of all the things that might follow—rumors, questions, the consequences of dancing with someone like him.

But then, you looked at him—really looked at him—and saw something beyond the darkness of his family name. There was something in his eyes that was raw, something that felt familiar.

You took his hand.

The moment your fingers brushed against his, the entire room seemed to shift. The crowd, the noise, the shadows—all of it melted away as if you and Mattheo were the only ones who existed in that moment.

He led you onto the floor, his grip firm yet gentle, and together, you moved. You didn’t need words. The music took over, and as you both swirled and stepped in perfect sync, you felt as if the very night had been made for this—a moment, fleeting yet infinite.

The whole place was dressed to the nines, the lights casting everything in gold and silver. You were dancing, dancing like you were made of starlight. The floor beneath your feet felt like it was floating, the air crackling with magic. There was no sense of time, no sense of anything other than the rhythm of the music, the warmth of his hand in yours, and the overwhelming feeling that you were a part of something much bigger than yourself.

For once, nothing else mattered. Not the expectations of your houses, not the whispered rumors that followed Mattheo wherever he went, not even the legacy that hung over his every move. In that moment, you weren’t the daughter of this family or the son of that one. You were just two people, dancing beneath the stars, lost in the magic of the night.

As you spun around, Mattheo’s face softened. His usually guarded eyes shone with something you couldn’t name, a kind of freedom that was rare for him, rare for anyone in this world that demanded so much.

“You look like you’re made of starlight,” he said, his voice barely louder than the music around you. “Like you’ve never known anything but this—this moment.”

You laughed softly, breathlessly, spinning in a circle as he twirled you, the movement effortless, like it had been practiced a thousand times in some distant dream.

“Maybe I have,” you teased, “but I don’t think I’ve ever danced with someone like you before.”

His lips curled up slightly, a hint of something softer behind his usual cool demeanor. “I’m not who they say I am,” he said quietly, his words only for you. “And I don’t think you are, either.”

For the first time, the truth in his words felt real. The world around you faded, and there was only the two of you, dancing together under a night full of stars—like you were made for this, made for each other.

As the song reached its final notes, you both slowed, your hearts still racing with the electric energy of the dance. The night was far from over, but in that moment, everything felt possible.

The last note of the slow melody echoed in the air, and the room seemed to hold its breath as you and Mattheo stood still, caught in the moment. The other students around you began to return to their conversations and laughter, but neither of you moved, still wrapped in the enchantment of the night.

Mattheo’s hand remained on your waist, his fingers grazing lightly against your skin, making it feel as if the night wasn’t quite ready to let go of its magic. There was an unspoken understanding between you both, a sense that, just for this one night, the rules didn’t apply. And you found yourself caught up in the moment, as though you were both playing parts in a story where anything was possible.

"Well," you said, breaking the silence, a playful glint in your eye, "that was fun. Too bad it’s almost over."

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a mischievous smile. "Who says it’s over?"

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Mattheo Riddle, are you suggesting we do something reckless?”

His eyes sparkled with an almost dangerous amusement. "I’m suggesting we do whatever we want. No one’s going to stop us."

You took a breath, feeling the adrenaline surge through your veins. Maybe it was the atmosphere, maybe it was the starlight, or maybe it was the fact that you had never met anyone like him before, but in that moment, you realized that you didn’t want to let go of this feeling. Not yet.

"Alright," you said, grinning, "what do you have in mind?"

Mattheo’s smile widened, a glimmer of mischief lighting up his dark eyes. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I know a way to make this night unforgettable.”

He took your hand, and without waiting for another word, he led you toward the back of the hall, away from the crowd. The further you walked, the more it felt like you were stepping away from the rules of the school, stepping into something that was entirely your own. You could almost hear the soft hum of magic around you, as though the night itself was urging you forward.

"Where are we going?" you asked, your voice low, full of anticipation.

“Trust me,” Mattheo said with a grin, his hand still firmly holding yours. “This is going to be much more fun than anything in there.”

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

Before you knew it, you were sneaking down the hidden corridors of Hogwarts, away from the watchful eyes of the professors. The sounds of the ball faded behind you, replaced by the quiet hum of the castle’s stone walls and the rhythmic thud of your shoes on the floor.

“Where are we going?” you asked again, this time more curious than ever.

Mattheo turned to you with a grin that was nothing short of devilish. "We’re going to do something no one’s ever done before. Something no one’s allowed to see."

You raised an eyebrow, your heart beating faster with excitement. "What, like sneaking into the Restricted Section?"

"Even better," he replied, his grin widening. "You’ll see."

Soon, you found yourself outside one of the secret entrances to the castle—a hidden door that led to the courtyard. Mattheo gave you a look, as if daring you to question what was about to happen. Without another word, he stepped outside, pulling you along with him, the cool night air hitting your skin like a wave of freedom.

Outside, the world had transformed. The moonlight bathed the courtyard in soft, silver light, casting long shadows across the cobblestones. You could hear the distant sounds of the ball still going on inside, but it felt far away now. It was as if you were living in your own little world, far removed from the structure and rules of the school.

Mattheo gave you a wink before walking toward the small, abandoned boathouse by the lake, a place where few students ventured. You could tell by his confident stride that this was no accident, no last-minute idea. This was exactly what he’d been planning all along.

As you reached the boathouse, he turned to you, his eyes alight with something mischievous. “Ever sneak into a party no one invited you to?”

You laughed, knowing exactly where this was headed. “Are you really asking me that?”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, enchanted key—a key that unlocked a small, rusted door at the back of the boathouse. It creaked open, and you followed Mattheo inside, only to find yourself standing in front of a small boat, hidden from the view of the rest of the castle. The boat was waiting—its silver oars gleaming softly under the moonlight.

"This is where the fun begins," Mattheo said, as though the whole world were an open invitation. "We’re going to take the boat out onto the lake, just like a couple of royal rebels—no one will know. We’ll be our own duchess and prince, living on our own terms."

You couldn’t help but laugh, the feeling of wild freedom washing over you. This was absurd, ridiculous, and absolutely perfect.

Mattheo winked at you, his expression playful. "If anyone asks, we’re a pair of nobles escaping the confines of their royal duties."

The image of you and Mattheo sneaking out under the stars, pretending to be royalty, made you laugh again. It was like a scene from some fairy tale, a far cry from the expectations of the world around you. For once, you didn’t care who was watching. You were exactly where you were meant to be.

You climbed into the boat beside him, the cool night air swirling around you as the two of you set off into the lake, the boat gliding silently across the water. The lights of Hogwarts twinkled in the distance, but here, in the middle of the lake, it was just the two of you—alive, free, and made of starlight.

The boat creaked gently as it floated back toward the shore, your hands still tangled in Mattheo’s. The night air was cool now, the stars shining brightly above you as the two of you made your way back to Hogwarts, the ball long forgotten behind you. The distant sounds of laughter and music still echoed in your mind, but it was almost as if they belonged to someone else’s world now—the world you had left behind when you stepped outside with Mattheo, a world of rules and expectations.

Your thoughts were swirling. This night had been more than just a dance or a stolen boat ride—it had felt like an escape, like you and Mattheo were breaking free from everything that had ever tried to define you. It felt like you could dream impossible things, and for a fleeting moment, those dreams were more real than the walls of Hogwarts itself.

But as you neared the shore, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of everything that had come before this night, everything that had been lurking in the back of your mind. The pressure of your future, the weight of what people expected from you, the doubts you had about yourself—it all came rushing back in.

You glanced over at Mattheo, the full moon casting a silvery glow over his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes that made you wonder if he, too, was caught up in the same thoughts.

“You alright?” he asked quietly, his voice low as the boat gently bumped against the rocks of the shore.

You hesitated, not sure how to explain the whirlwind inside your head. “I’m just... thinking,” you said softly. “About everything. About the future. About things I can’t change.”

Mattheo’s gaze softened, and he let go of the oars, turning to face you fully. “You know,” he said, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “you worry too much.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Worry too much? About what?”

He reached over and gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch light but deliberate. “About things you can’t control. Things you can’t change. You’ll spend your whole life singing the blues if you keep thinking that way.”

His words felt like a weight being lifted off your shoulders, but you couldn’t quite let go. "But what if I can’t change them? What if I’m just stuck?"

Mattheo leaned back slightly, looking up at the sky, his gaze distant for a moment as if he was searching for something. His voice was low, but firm. "You can’t change the things that happen to you. But you can change how you see them."

He paused, his eyes meeting yours again, this time with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

"Don’t you see the starlight, starlight?" he asked, his words slow, deliberate. "Don’t you dream impossible things?"

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the sudden depth of his voice. It was almost as if he was pulling you into his world, asking you to forget about the weight of reality and just... believe.

He took a step closer, his hand reaching for yours again, his fingers brushing over your knuckles. “There’s magic in this world, you know. Not just the kind that happens in the classrooms or the halls of Hogwarts. But the kind that comes when you stop worrying about everything you can’t change and start dreaming about everything you could.”

You found yourself leaning in just slightly, drawn to the fire in his eyes. The world seemed to hold its breath for a moment, everything else vanishing into the starlight. "What if my dreams don’t come true? What if all this is just... just a fleeting thing?"

Mattheo’s lips quirked into a smile, but there was something so genuine in it, something that made you believe him. "Then at least you’ll know you tried. And I can promise you this—you’re never alone in your dreams."

There was a weight to his words, an unspoken promise that you couldn’t quite put your finger on, but it made your heart race. You took a deep breath, trying to steady the feeling that was blooming inside you, something warm, something real.

The air around you felt alive, as though Mattheo’s words had summoned something powerful between you—something bigger than Hogwarts, bigger than the worries you had been carrying for so long.

“Mattheo,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “What if we just... forget everything? Just for tonight.”

His gaze softened, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. “That’s exactly what I was hoping you’d say.”

Mattheo took your hand once more and pulled you gently toward the shore. The moonlight illuminated the two of you as if you were the only two people in the world. And for the first time all night, you felt a sense of peace, a sense that maybe, just maybe, things could be different. That you could dream beyond what you thought was possible.

The weight of everything you couldn’t change, everything that had been pressing down on you, seemed lighter now, as if Mattheo had taken it all away with a few simple words.

“So what’s next, then?” you asked, your voice light, playful. “Where do we go from here?”

Mattheo chuckled softly, the sound carrying across the stillness of the lake. “We go wherever we want,” he said, his voice filled with conviction. “And wherever we want is our world. The world we’re going to make.”

You smiled, finally letting yourself believe him. It was crazy, it was reckless, but it felt right. For the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to let go of the things you couldn’t control. For once, you were going to dream impossible things—and maybe, just maybe, they would come true.

Mattheo’s hand was still in yours, and you could feel the magic of the night wrapping around you both like a promise.

This was only the beginning.

And as the two of you stood there on the shore, under the starlit sky, you both knew that anything was possible. Even dreams that seemed impossible.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡��ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

Three months had passed since that unforgettable night on the lake, where Mattheo and you had escaped the confines of Hogwarts and found freedom under the stars. Since then, things had changed in the most unexpected, but wonderful way.

You and Mattheo had gone from secret stolen moments to open affection, from daring adventures to quiet, late-night talks. There was something easy about being with him, something that felt as though it had always been meant to be. The once carefree moments of rebellion had turned into quiet afternoons together, exploring the world beyond the walls of the castle, letting each other in in ways you hadn’t thought possible.

Tonight, though, things were different. You were at the Yule Ball, one of the most anticipated events of the year. The air was filled with the gentle hum of magical music, and the grand hall was glowing with enchanted lights, just like the first time you’d danced with Mattheo. This time, though, you were no longer strangers. You were a couple, and there was a deeper sense of understanding between you two.

Mattheo looked as handsome as ever, dressed to the nines in a deep emerald green suit, his dark hair tousled just the right amount. He looked at you with a familiar, lazy smile as you met him in the center of the floor.

“Ready for another night we won’t forget?” he asked, his voice smooth and full of promise.

You smiled, your heart skipping a beat. “Always.”

As the music began to play, you found yourself swept into a gentle waltz. The orchestra’s soft melody filled the air, and Mattheo’s hand slid easily into place at your waist, pulling you in closer.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly as you both moved in sync, the ease of your connection making the dance seem effortless. The way his hand held yours, the way his eyes locked with yours—it was like a scene from a dream.

And then, something strange happened. As you spun in the circle of his arms, you felt a rush of deja vu, a sense of déjà vu that made everything feel like it had happened before—this exact moment, this exact dance, this exact feeling of being swept away.

The music was now the same song that had played on that first magical night—the night when everything had started. You remembered the boat ride, the starlit sky, the way Mattheo had told you that you could dream impossible things. It felt like the universe had conspired to bring you back to this moment.

Mattheo seemed to sense it too. He paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing just slightly, his grip on your hand tightening.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the music.

You nodded, the feeling of being here with him—again—too strong to ignore. “Yeah... It’s like we’ve danced this dance before.”

A slow smile spread across his lips. “It’s because we have. It just took us a little while to get here.”

His words echoed in your mind. We’ve danced this dance before. And in a way, you realized, you had. This wasn’t just a simple waltz. This was a story that was continuing, a dream that you had both shared and were now living in real-time.

You spun again, the room spinning with you, but this time, everything was in perfect harmony. The music, the people around you, the glittering lights. It was all a part of the magic you had built together. A love you’d crafted from impossible dreams and starlight.

Mattheo leaned in as the music softened, his lips brushing against your ear. “You know,” he said in that playful, teasing voice that made your heart race, “I’ve been thinking…”

You raised an eyebrow, still caught up in the rhythm of the dance. “Uh-oh, should I be worried?”

His eyes twinkled with mischief. “Well, I was thinking that, maybe one day, we could get married. Have ten kids. Teach ‘em how to dream impossible things, just like we’ve been doing.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, a soft sound that was filled with affection. “Ten kids? That’s a bit ambitious, don’t you think?”

Mattheo grinned, his lips curling into a devil-may-care smile. “Hey, I’m just dreaming impossible things here.”

You leaned into him, the soft beat of the music surrounding you both. There was a certain magic in that idea—impossible, maybe, but thrilling all the same.

For a brief moment, you both fell into a quiet, peaceful silence, the song washing over you like a tide of shared memories. The whole place was alive with the hum of the ball, but in that instant, it felt like it was just the two of you, wrapped in the starlight, with the impossible dreams you shared.

As the song played on, the world seemed to blur around you, the room twinkling like the stars above. You and Mattheo danced, lost in the rhythm, lost in the magic of this moment. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like the world wasn’t something to be feared or controlled. It was something to be embraced, to be dreamed into existence.

When the song ended, you and Mattheo stood there, both of you breathing slightly heavier, faces flushed from the intensity of the dance. His hand lingered on your waist, and yours was still tightly wrapped around his. The crowd around you had grown louder with the ending of the dance, but the two of you seemed to exist in a bubble—one that had been created by the impossible dreams you both shared.

“You know,” Mattheo said softly, his voice almost a whisper against the music, “it’s moments like this... that make me feel like anything is possible.”

You smiled, your heart swelling. "I know exactly what you mean."

He pulled you closer for another slow dance, as if time itself was standing still, and for once, it felt like the impossible was within reach.

[mannythemunchkin]

HERMES' SAGA

SUMMARY: Modern day Greece has left the gods with not much to do, so when a intriguing mortal arrives at the shores of Ithaca, Hermes couldn't help but have a little fun, but after she leaves, he can't stop thinking about her. He follows her to her homeland, and so, his saga begins.

WORD COUNT: 1.9K

TAGS: Fluff, Hermes being Hermes, a little ooc, Hermes being a little obsessed, modern day au, oc x Hermes, not beta read we die like the crew.

A/N: I have become a smidge obsessed with Epic The Musical, and Hermes has changed my brain chemistry, SO HERE WE ARE! This fic is so self-indulgent, but I needed it out of my brain, and I hope you'll love it as much as I loved plotting and writing it! ♡ special shout out to @kquil for motivating me to actually finish and post this! Love you MWAH!♡♡

ART BY XIMENA NATZEL

What on earth was he doing here… literally, why was Hermes, messenger of the Greek Gods, God of Mischief, Thieves, Merchants etc sitting in a café in a city in Sweden, sipping some sweet concoction of coffee, cream and sugar, while staring out the window. Hermes frowned as he looked at all the people passing by, both outside and inside, no one noticing him since he had glamoured himself to stay hidden from the eyes of mortals. The God leaned back in his seat, a leather couch that he had deigned a good enough spot for him to plan how he should approach the reason why he had left his home on Olympus.

Saga.

A mortal woman who had arrived at the coast of Ithaca about five months ago, her presence having caught Hermes’ attention almost instantly. Normally the gods didn't care for mortal tourists in Greece, yet as soon as this little human had arrived, Hermes couldn't help himself from investigating, because this little human had divine essence in her veins. It was barely a drop, having been diluted over the centuries, but it was there. And it was foreign. How could he, the local trickster and messenger deity, not want to investigate such a rare occurrence.

So he had. Some might have considered that a mistake, because Hermes became utterly and completely infatuated with her. What he had intended to only be a little fun had turned into a full-blown obsession almost. He had spent all three weeks of her stay guiding her around the island, showing her all of the places no one knew about, telling her the true events of Greece's legends and myths, and just spending time with her almost every day.

So once Saga had announced she was moving on to the next country for her travels, he had followed her, telling himself that he was the God of Travelers, and he hadn't guided many of those in the past centuries, so why not this little intriguing mortal. Hermes followed her for weeks, not interfering or revealing himself, just watching in case something happened. Which nothing did, of course. And when Saga had returned to her homeland, he had made sure she was okay before returning to Olympus, only to have the little Swedish mortal stuck in his head for the next few months, much to his own and the rest of the pantheon's dismay.

And now he was here, in this little, quaint café in Saga's city. Hermes had made sure it wasn't a place she came often. He needed time to plan the perfect “meet cute”, theatrics were everything obviously, so he had spent about two weeks in her city, memorizing her schedule, noted all of the places she went and which she loved the most, and the café wasn't anywhere near where she usually ventured. Hermes took another sip of his coffee and hummed thoughtfully as he considered his options, his silvery eyes scanning the patrons in the café in slight boredom, until his gaze fell on a certain platinum blonde head of hair, and he almost dropped his coffee.

Saga turned around, her own coffee in hand, and her eyes landed on him, and they widened in surprise. No, wait, that couldn't be. Hermes looked around himself, but there was no one but him on this side of the café, so it was definitely him she was looking at. Which shouldn't be possible, he had hidden himself from the eyes of mortals, not wanting to be bothered, so when Saga shot him a bright smile and began walking over, Hermes quickly removed his glamour in a panic.

“Kostas! What are you doing here?” Saga plopped herself into the couch opposite Hermes, her smile radiant and sweet, her emerald eyes shimmering with joy. Hermes returned her smile with a playful one of his own, barely managing to mask his bewilderment of how Saga had been able to see through his glamour.

“Why, Saga darling! What a delightful surprise to see your gorgeous face here.” He greeted her with his signature toothy grin, and he leaned forward, propping his elbow on the table between them to rest his chin in his hand. Saga shrugged off her coat, dumping it on the seat next to her before replying. “Well, it's not as much of a surprise since I live in this city, but you on the other hand, Kostas, you are so far from home! Why on earth are you in Sweden?”

Why on earth indeed, little mortal… Hermes thought to himself as he shrugged at her question with a small sound of indifference. “Ithaca was getting too small, too boring. Needed to experience something new, so I thought why not the homeland of my favorite little tourist?” He replied with a wink, causing Saga to laugh, the sound like music to Hermes’ and he smiled wider. “But tell me, my sweet Saga, why are you here? You never mentioned this quaint little place back on Ithaca.” Hermes narrowed his eyes playfully to mask the real purpose of his question. He was so certain that she had never been here before, maybe before they had met, but it wasn't a spot she frequented, and Hermes would know, he had practically stalked his little mortal for weeks.

Saga just chuckled and shook her head as she took out her phone, the screen lighting up when she put it on the table, and Hermes’ eye twitched. Her lockscreen was art of none other than Zeus from some musical about Odysseus’ journey from Troy and back home to Ithaca, a legend that Hermes himself had taken part of. Hermes pretended to feign offense, his arms crossing over his chest as he huffed in disbelief.

“Still obsessed with that silly play I see.” He grumbled, his tone a little more offended than intended, and Saga raised an eyebrow before laughing at Hermes’ seemingly silly behavior. “I know he's not your favorite, Kos. Let me show you my homescreen.” Hermes harrumphed in protest, but still glanced at her screen as she unlocked it and held it up for him to see, and he had to do a double take. A wide, satisfied grin spread on his lips. Saga's homescreen was art of none other than himself, not that it was completely accurate, but the winged helmet donned on top of the character's mussed hair was impossible not to recognize.

“Oh my, I see your tastes have improved, sweetheart! He's such a handsome fellow, isn't he.” Hermes grinned while nodding approvingly at her. Saga rolled her eyes at him, but couldn't help but chuckle at Hermes’ instant mood change. She turned off her screen and placed it back on the table, before leaning back in her seat, bringing her coffee to her lips and taking a sip. “I felt bad about how I talked about him while on Ithaca, so I decided to give him a chance. He has begun growing on me a little, I admit.”

Hermes’ entire face lit up, he simply couldn't help it, and he leaned closer, folding his hands under his chin as he smirked. “Sweet Saga, darling, dare I assume that you changed your screen to Hermes because you missed me?” He teased her with a sweet voice, his silvery eyes shining with delight and mischief. His eyebrows rose and he tilted his head, his smirk widening when a bashful smile tugged at Saga's lips.

“Well, yes. You made my time on Ithaca unforgettable, Kostas. I couldn't have asked for a better guide, and you were so sweet and kind. So yeah, I've missed you.”

Oh, oh how Hermes wished she'd talk about him like that, not as the human, Kostas, he was parading around as, but as Hermes. His real self. But that would probably never happen, simply because no mortal could look upon the true form of a God, and also because no mortal would ever believe that the ancient gods were real.

Hermes felt his grin falter, but only for a split second, and he waved her off with a small playful scoff. “It was nothing, sweetheart. I couldn't just let such a sweet looking tourist wander around on her own.”

Saga rolled her eyes at Hermes' dismissive, yet playful attitude. She put her now empty coffee cup on the table, and took out her phone again. After tapping around on the screen, she held it out towards Hermes, who quirked an eyebrow and gave her a questioning look. “What do you want me to do with that?”

“Your number. I'll be your guide while you're here.”

Well fuck. Hermes glanced between Saga and the phone, unsure of what to do. He knew what phones were, obviously, but he had a distaste for them. They could leave him without a job, after all, but luckily none of the Gods back in Greece had had any interest in that specific technology, so he remained their messenger. He didn't own one, and he wasn't sure he would know how to operate the thing even if he did.

“Ah, well… I don't have a phone, darling.”

His response resulted in Saga giving him an incredulous look, finding it hard to believe that a young man like him didn't own a phone in this day and age. She retracted her hand, and sighed. “Well, how am I going to get in contact with you then? Back in Greece you always just kinda showed up, so we didn't need to be able to call or text.”

His little mortal was right, annoyingly so. Hermes hadn't thought this part of his plan through. Yet. But only because he wasn't given the time to since, apparently, Saga's divine heritage made her able to see through his invisibility spell, much to Hermes’ dismay. Leaning back in his seat, Hermes crossed his arms over his chest, and let out a sigh. Back on Ithaca he had just appeared when the moment felt right, and Saga didn't think much of it because, well, she thought he lived on the island. With a dramatic roll of his eyes and light click of his tongue, Hermes reluctantly replied.

“Fine, I'll acquire… a phone.” He grumbled, his eyes slightly narrowed in irritation, but when Saga's expression practically lit up at his words, all annoyance he felt evaporated, and he couldn't help but flash her a cheeky half-smile. “But! Only if you help me get one, sweet Saga.”

"Oh, absolutely!” Saga hastily grabbed her coat and almost bounced out of their booth as she swiftly put it on. Turning to him, she held out an expectant hand while smiling brightly at Hermes, who chuckled at her with a small shake of his head, but took her hand in his nonetheless, and got up. His little mortal all but dragged Hermes out of the café, her mouth working overtime as she rattled on and on about different phone models and accessories he could get once he had chosen one.

As Saga dragged him through the streets, Hermes couldn't help but smile almost fondly at her back, not that he'd ever show her that side of him. The fond smile quickly disappeared when Saga looked over her shoulder with a wide smile, and Hermes gave her his signature cheeky grin, showing off his tooth gap.

“Keep going. I'm in your capable hands, darling.” Urging her on to keep talking and leading the way, Hermes winked playfully at her. Saga laughed sweetly, the sound tickling Hermes’ brain just right, almost making him stop in his tracks. He knew little about love and being in love, but whatever Saga's wonderful laughs had just done to his body… it felt a lot like how most mortals, even some of his fellow gods, would describe it.

And it felt dangerous.

[inkblot22]

Truss

Woohoo Malleus woohoo! I'm making the trigger list a bit bigger because I keep thinking about how people will totally skip reading it if it's too small and then blame the writer for their own mistake. That shit is clown behavior but I don't want to be held responsible for someone else's case of stupid, so sorry to those of you who think this looks clunky. Line divider found here: @/cafekitsune. This is also a fic that is wildly self-indulgent, in that I mean that while writing I visualized my own physical form and quirks.

That being said, this fic is written with afab (assigned female at birth) readers in mind. No pronouns other than you are used for the reader, but the reader does possess a womb. Reader's chest is not described in the least, just the lower bits, and even then it's not at length. Malleus also refers to the reader as "beauty," but masculine people can be beautiful too so idk but here's a warning anyways.

This fic is DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT. TW for noncon, fae interaction rules used for said noncon, slight bullying if you squint, one (1) mention of blood (I'm beginning to think I have a problem.) Stay safe while reading. Possible OOC Malleus, I haven't read any of book 7 and if you spoil it I'll block you temporarily.

This is absolutely not your fault, and you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing. It’s awful. Crewel was for sure his namesake, because this whole thing was a steaming pile of-

Alright, from the top, just to organize your thoughts: you are the only non-magic student in a school of mages. The teachers are mages. Your best friend/roommate/monster friend is a mage. The plants here can do magic, but you? No. Thanks homeworld. Love the gift of nothing.

Thus, the faculty have seemingly created a game of “how to piss off and challenge the magicless student,” in which they give you various tasks to just make you lose sleep. Vargas had you running laps until your legs felt like jelly, doing pushups until your shoulders started sounding like glowsticks. Trein had you learning completely off the wall trivia, such as what type of fabric the Queen of Heart’s favorite bathrobe was made of and why it made her more powerful. That’s nothing, it’s easy because you apparently have so much free time in their eyes. But Crewel? Fuck that man. 

When you got the assignment, it sounded fun and exciting. He gave you seeds for a fast-growing rose thing. Honestly you weren’t paying attention to the name of it, but you retained what you needed to know. The plant only grew in moonlight, so you needed to cover it before you went inside at night. It needed a minimum of two hours of moonlight to grow per night. If the basket was overturned and it was exposed to the sun, then the plants would die. Moderate watering, no fertilizer, the usual.

Once the plants bloomed, you were supposed to take the flowers and make some kind of glamour potion, so here you are, failing at doing so. You only had four flowers, and you’re down to the last one. You wasted three tries and you still have no idea what the hell you’re doing wrong and it’s due next alchemy class and you’re breaking curfew on top of all of it. You glare into your cauldron with your latest failed attempt and hunker down to shoulder against the side so you can dump it out and try again. 

“Oh, it’s you.”

The voice makes you jump out of your skin. You turn around and you almost want to cry tears of joy, because if anyone can help you, it’s him.

“When I saw a little head duck down, I thought that something strange was happening. A crime, perhaps.” Malleus smiles, and it’s not a kind smile, but you’ll take anything remotely positive at this point, “What are you doing on the floor, child of man?”

“Oh, I have to empty the cauldron.” You puff out, still trying to throw your weight to push the cauldron. You did it twice earlier, so this must be the effects of mental and physical fatigue.

“Oh, that’s right. Allow me.” Rather than waving a hand or anything, Malleus strolls on over and uncrosses his arms, taking one hand and pressing his fingertips against the lip of the cauldron. The whole damn thing tips, the failed mixture pouring out into the nearby drain. With the same ease, he tilts it back and turns to you.

When he looks at you, it’s… weird. You know he’s lizard-like, as dragons evidently are, but even Sebek’s eyes aren’t this jarring. They aren’t soulless or cold or unfeeling, but it feels like he is looking through you. His emotions don’t reflect in his eyes properly. That’s what it feels like. They reflect, but it’s wrong. Fractured. His lips quirk into a smile and you blink.

“Uh… wait, what are you doing out here, Tsunotaro?” You ask, turning to gather more materials, following the transcript of your recording from class.

His smile grows, “Just on a walk. Will you tell me what you’re trying to make?”

“Uh, yeah. This glamour potion? I don’t know. Remember how I was growing those flowers?”

“Of course. And what happened to the rest?”

“I… uh… I messed up the other potions. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong here.”

“No?”

“No. Do… do you think you could maybe… help me?”

“Of course.” Malleus plucks the flower up, twirling it thoughtfully, “Why don’t you gather the other ingredients?”

That was simple enough. Petals from your tediously grown blooms, some kind of floral oil with tiny white flowers inked on the label, a ball of clay no bigger than a pea, something that really resembled a severed finger, something that was hopefully just someone’s baby tooth, a handful of crystals in a rainbow of colors, and water. Lots of water. Malleus watches as you put all your ingredients on the nearby table and hums thoughtfully before dimming the lights and turning back to you.

“And where did you hear that you needed these things?” He asks. It’s not something that he says with any indication that you’re right or wrong. The tone is bland but the words say enough. 

He has essentially told you before that he believes you inept, a babe in the woods when it comes to this sort of thing, but it doesn’t stop you from looking as hurt as you feel, “The headmage visited class and gave me some pointers?”

“You personally or the entire class? I don’t personally recall concocting anything like this when I was in your grade.” He says.

You suppose you’re grateful that he’s so blunt, but his flat tone makes the sting of your failure that much sharper. You thought he’d be nicer, since you two are sort of friends, and Lilia has told you that Malleus is fond of you, but it also makes just as much sense for him to refrain from easing up in his flatness because he supposedly thinks so much of you. He thinks you’re an idiot, but he’s not willing to treat you as such.

“The whole class. And no one else in my grade is doing this.” You mutter, staring at your assortment of items on the table.

He approaches the table and plucks up the beaker of water, twisting it in his hand, “Did you distill this?”

“What?”

“Tap water often has various minerals in it. If you haven’t been using distilled water, you’ve been adding an extra ingredient. Typically, most potions are much more forgiving and you can use tap water with little issue, but this particular potion is known to be disagreeable.” He murmurs, crossing the room with your beaker of water and setting it up to distill with a practiced ease. “That’s why it’s typically saved for fourth year students’ aptitude testing.”

The revelation hit you like a ton of bricks. You’d like to protest but it unfortunately makes sense. Malleus looks over at you, somewhat blandly, then turns around to face you, looking half concerned.

You answer his question before he can ask, “I didn’t… know that. I guess it’s my fault for being from a different world…”

His lips twitch into a smile, and for a moment you can see amusement in his eyes, fractured with the underlying coldness, “Oh, it isn’t. It may be your fault for failing to ask questions, but having someone who is unused to this type of work take on an advanced project is cruel.”

“You think so?” You ask, voice lilting with hope.

“Of course I do. Why you’re expected to make a potion of this caliber is beyond me.” Malleus states blankly.

“Uh, yeah. I- I don’t know either. But thank you for helping me!”

His expression flinches. It lasts for less than a second before it smooths into an odd grin. You’re not quite sure what that means, but you’re too happy to stop and think about it. The water finishes distilling and you carefully begin crafting, using the tips Malleus occasionally mumbles towards you. Don’t put that ingredient in yet, stir clockwise, you need to grind that up with the oil, don’t rush you have time, et cetera, et cetera, and then you have a gorgeous violet mixture, glimmering with a pearlescent golden sheen.

Your jaw drops. Somehow the few ingredients you threw together is enough to fill several bottles. Malleus is making a smug face as you rush to the shelves of empty bottles and choose several fluted bottles, quickly using a ladle to deposit the final, successful potion into the bottles. You’re so giddy with your success that you hardly notice as Malleus walks towards the door and locks it. But only hardly.

“What was that for?” You ask, not actually caring. You’re too happy to be worried.

“Oh, we’ll need privacy.” He responds.

That part confuses you enough into caring. You turn around from where you’ve safely wrapped the bottles and slipped them into your bag and shoot Malleus a frown, “Privacy? For what?”

Malleus doesn’t say anything. He walks over to the table and you feel your body stand up, void of your control, and stagger over to stand in front of him. If you were concerned before, you’re frightened now. Malleus looks down at you with his strange gaze and folds his arms.

“Wh-what’s happening?! Why can’t I move?”

“You really don’t know?” He asks. Something about his tone sounds mocking, but you’re certain he doesn’t mean it to be. It’s his version of sarcasm, he’s spoken to you like this before.

Your body hops up on the table, taking a seat, and Malleus turns to stand before you, looking down at you with a soft smile. You shift your hips- what the fuck is going on- and Malleus very gently hooks his hands in the pants of your dorm uniform.

Your dorm uniform is legit whatever the hell you want it to be, so it would change on the daily. Today it was a pair of jeans and a hooded jacket. He kneels to remove your shoes and stands back up, leaning close as he tilts your chin up. His breath fans over your lips.

“You didn’t tell me that you were so lovely beneath your clothes.” His hand on your chin shifted to your cheek, and his other hand laid flat on the table. “And… your smell is much stronger. Are you aroused?”

“You can’t just ask me that! I don’t know what you did but you’ve got to let me go.”

“I didn’t do anything. This is your doing.” He retorts, pecking your lips very chastely. 

“What are you talking about?” When he didn’t respond, instead pressing the tips of his hand that was on the table against your exposed sex, your heart jumps but your body doesn’t move. You can’t, “Don’t do that!”

“Lilia informed me that making someone climax is similar to binding someone to you.” He mumbles, kissing you again as his fingers slowly slip inside. “It makes them fall in love with you. Isn’t that the most binding contract of all?”

You don’t know why he isn’t listening, but even less than that, you don’t know why he thought you could handle two fingers, much larger than your own, penetrating you. You squeal, but your body is incapable of tensing. Malleus pulls back, looking at you in a soft confusion.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“With me? What’s wrong with you? That’s too many- it’s uncomfortable!”

He blinks at you and withdraws a finger, which feels much better. You sigh. If you’re going to be forced to do this, you may as well not get hurt in the process. You close your eyes and Malleus hums.

“Is this better? You’ll have to forgive me. I haven’t had a dalliance with a human before.”

“I- I don’t think I’ll be able to… to forgive you for this.”

“No?” You can hear his smirk and the squelching noise as he pumps his finger gets louder. He slips the second finger in again and the burn isn’t so bad as last time, “Well, maybe you can decide that for certain after the wedding.”

“The wedd-” You have to bite your tongue to keep from moaning. Your body leans back, laying on the table, and your gentle assailant curls his fingers, leaning forward to mouth at your neck, “There’s not gonna be a motherfucking wedding. You’re-”

You can hear his horn scraping against the table, “Hmm. I didn’t think you were so entitled. You’re squeezing around my fingers. Are you close?”

“No!” You’re a liar. A ragged gasp leaves your throat and you feel the drop in the pit of your stomach, the burst of euphoria traveling up your spine as his thumb presses against your clit.

Malleus laughs, then leans up off of you. The sound of clothing hitting the ground is the first and only warning you get, but you can’t move, so it might as well have been silent. You feel something on your stomach, coming up about a half inch below your belly button. It’s… almost cool to the touch. You would think it would be warmer, but it’s not. Your eyes round as you stare at the ceiling, and Malleus’s face leans into view, his eyes boring into yours as though he’s reading your thoughts.

“You’re very warm. I’ve always thought this. You must be boiling inside.”

“I- what?”

He doesn’t respond, leaning back up. You feel the velvety head of his cock press against your entrance and as much as you want to jolt away, you can’t move your body. You can’t even look down to see what he’s doing. Your lashes flutter as the stretch sets in, the pressure worse than his two fingers. It burns, especially along the bottom, where his weight lays heavy thanks to gravity. You’re capable of wincing and letting out a whine, but nothing else.

“H-hey, that- that hurts.” You babble.

“Does it? You are squeezing me like a vice. I’ll stay still for a moment so you can relax some. Let me know when it stops hurting.” It’s very peculiar. Although he speaks with an animated tone, his voice is often detached. You would think he’d have more emotion since he’s inside of you.

You blink rapidly and decide that now is as good a time as any to ask, “What the hell is happening?”

“Must you tease me so?” He responds, his voice tense.

“What? I’m not teasing you. I can’t move!”

“Of course you can’t. You only just bound yourself to my will.”

“I what?” You shout.

“What, did you think I enslaved you? I could have, when we first met. You’re too free, giving people your name, thanking them, taking gifts freely… it drives me mad.” You feel a flash of heat, something warm rolling against your skin, like standing too close to a gas stove, “And now I find that you didn’t even know? I didn’t think you were such a fool.”

“That’s just called being polite!” You protest. “Oh my god-”

“I suppose I can’t blame you, really. Relax, lest I harm you.” He murmurs, rolling his hips further as though he can slide in deeper. 

You squeak, “N-no, that’s-”

“Too much, yes. Tell me, in your world, do faefolk exist?”

“I- I mean, if they do, most people don’t believe in them.” The oddity of the situation felt like a blanket. Having a semi-conversation while your friend- not after this- used you as a dick holster. It was almost comforting. “I don’t- I don’t understand.”

His voice was deeper than normal, an underlying rasp to his voice, as though it was coming from somewhere deep in his throat, “I will explain. I’ll tell you anything you’d like to know. But after I explain, I will begin to move.”

“H-hey, no-”

His voice sounded choked, half strangled as he stifled a groan, “I apologize for not being clear earlier. Among the fae, verbal contracts are common and binding. You do not give someone your name. You wonder why I never directly gave you mine? It is a way to bind someone to your will. You do not accept gifts. Invitations are fine, but a gift is a sign that you owe someone something. My help- a boon- is a gift. Typically it is repaid with another kind turn. And, most importantly, you do not thank someone without the sufficient power to break their hold.” 

You felt him draw back, that wave of heat rolling over you again, and then he slammed forward. The slick noise and dull smack were muffled by your squeal, his cockhead punching your cervix like it stole from him.

“Foolish little thing. I suppose it makes you cute.” He sneers, and your body sits up, arms wrapping around his shoulders.

The angle makes his motion a bit less painful. He’s no longer bumping against your cervix, thank the Seven, but the stretch remains. Your eyes flinch shut and Malleus tilts your chin up to kiss you again.

“St-stop- stop!” You whimper, “You’re hurting me!”

“If you would relax, beauty, that would not be a problem.” His chuckle is dark, the squelching from your coupling making a wicked duet that makes you feel dizzy, “And you said it to me so easily as well. Thank me again.”

“Wh-” One of his hands slipped under your hips, holding your bottom just under the split in your cheeks, and nipped your neck as a flat thumping echoed from where your bodies met, your legs bouncing with the motion. His member had gone back to bullying your cervix, and you wailed in the hopes that he would stop, “Thank you!”

“Heh… it escapes your lips so freely. Tell me, beauty-” He cut himself off with a grunt, panting against the column of your throat. “Tell me, what is it that you’d like? I would give you the world on a platter, should you want it.”

“I- ow! Y-you’re hurting me!”

There was a possibility that he was getting off on the pain he was causing you, just as much as there was a possibility of him not understanding that he was hurting you. With every motion of his hips against yours, despite the wicked pain, you felt that ever evil tug in your gut, like a stone growing heavier and heavier. 

You tried again, because if this had to happen, if you were under his control now, you may as well not get injured. You would not be pissing blood if you could help it, “It’s too deep!”

He listened. It was odd, but he listened, his voice warming as he slid back a bit and continued ramming into you, but no longer beating the hell out of your internal organs.

“I didn’t realize. Is that better?” His voice sounded warmer, echoey against your shoulder. His teeth grazed over your skin again when you didn’t respond. He choked out your name and you sort of came back to yourself.

“U-uh- I guess?”

“Wonderful.” He mumbled, his free hand reaching between your bodies and slicked with your sweat, to tweak your clit.

It should be embarrassing, how quickly you reached your height. Whoever he had been with in the past couldn’t have been so sensitive, since you felt his body jerk against you, an uncontrolled undercurrent to his motions. You let out a quiet, squealing moan and barely even felt the break when Malleus bit you to muffle his own groan. You didn’t feel him climaxing inside of you. You felt the control return to your body and flopped backward onto the table, your hoodie damp with sweat. Malleus took a step back, then carefully redressed you, then himself. You looked up at him and saw nothing but adoration in his eyes, not the fractured appearance of such. It was like he was actually looking at you.

When he spoke to you, leaning forward to cup your cheek, his voice was warm, warmer than ever, “Now, let’s start planning for the wedding, my beauty.”

[sageispunk]

Control (18+)

gif from pinterest (@javier-pena i think)

Kinktober Prompt: sex pollen, thigh riding, forced orgasm (day 4)

pairing: Max Phillips x f!reader

summary: Drinking with your boss goes differently than you'd planned.

“Mm baby, I bet I could get one more out of you, what d’ya think? Can you cum one more time for me, like a good girl?” You looked into his eyes, seeing his hunger for you, it was carnal, lecherous.

wordcount: 2.3k+

warnings: no Y/N, this is sort of dark, DUBCON, max has a thing for reader, boss/employee dynamics, drugging (w/blood), intoxication, dom/sub vibes, teasing, nipple play, grinding/dry humping, voice kink, praise kink, magic kinda, making out, overstimulation, small visual hallucinations, multiple orgasms (2), use of “good girl”, dirty talk

A/N: max is a little OOC also my vampire science is slightly based on true blood–if a human ingests vamp blood (so not sex pollen exactly), they sort of trip on it BUT there are less extreme visual hallucinations + it just makes you feel rllyyyy good and very h-word. he can also influence you if you make eye contact for a few seconds (which is just glamouring in TB lol)

“How’s it taste?”

Max watched as you took a couple sips of his fancy red wine (whose name you couldn't pronounce), eyes a bit widened in excitement. You let the taste linger in your mouth for a moment, before replying. “Not bad, it's a little strong, but smooth. Reds usually don't do it for me, but this, it's pretty good.”

He smiled at your candidness, subtly scooting a bit closer. The two of you sat on high stools in his kitchen, talking at the marble island. Max had invited you over early in the day, during your lunch break, stating that even though you'd been working there for a few months, he barely knew anything about you. Said it would be good to get to know each other, it would help ease you into the work culture.

“I’m glad you like it.. it's been fermenting awhile, probably longer than you’ve been alive!” He says, with a slightly obnoxious laugh, watching you giggle in response.

The both of you chat about random stuff, mostly about you– how long you’ve been in the city, where you came from, etc. Every time you want to ask him about himself, he sort of beats you to it, pulling bits and pieces of information out of you.

A few moments later, you start to feel woozy, more in your head and upper body. “Woah, that stuff was strong.” You’re giggling, reaching for the bottle that stood on the counter between you and Max, wanting to read it again.

“You feelin’ it?” He asks, eyes steadily trained on your face, his body turning to better face yours. A chuckle leaves your throat, “Yeah, it's…” You just shake your head and sit the bottle back down, at a loss for words to describe how your body was beginning to feel.

It was good, a sort of light feeling, as if every particle of your being was being lifted up by tiny little angels, washing away that heavy burden of being a person. No more stress, no more doubts, no more responsibilities, no more ego.

There was also a physical tingling slowly radiating from your spine to every other part of your body, your head, your tummy, your toes, fingertips..

You brought your hand up, eyes wide in amazement at the faint glowing you could see emanating from your nails. You eyes briefly left your hands, going up to meet Max’s, your mouth hung open as if to say do you see this? but nothing came out. He watched you, with a sort of amused, content look on his face, lips slightly upturned.

Your arm slowly reached out, hand stretching towards him, wanting him to see and feel what you were experiencing. When you touched, it felt like electricity– “Oh!” You gasped.

But the sharp feeling quickly turned into a soothing, warm sensation as Max fully took your hand in between both of his. He gently rubbed your hand, while you sat in complete awe. You met his eyes again, and this time you could see the darkness in them.

His orbs were almost black, gaze trained on you with such intensity that sober-you would've simply imploded. But right now– they were comforting, nearly tranquilizing.

“How are you feeling? Good?” His voice was deeper, more…sensual–it hit your ear in a different way than before. You wanted to hear more.

Nodding your head, you leaned your body in a bit more towards his, reaching your other hand up to his face. You were only slightly surprised to feel that jolt again, that static that seemed to sit on his skin. You stroked his cheek softly, soothing that electricity just like he did with you.

“Mmm..” Max groaned and his eyes fluttered shut, head tilting back slightly as your fingers graced his jaw. You watched as he reveled in your touch, leaning into your hand. Your fingers traveled along the outline of his face, going down until they were loosely grasping the side of his throat with your thumb stroking his cheek again.

Max’s eyes opened again, looking as though he was shocked that you could get him like this. “Come,” And then he was pulling you by your arms, so quickly that it didn’t feel real. For a split second, you stood there, in between his legs, with your faces only an inch apart, so close that there was equal static flowing between you two.

And then you were falling.

You’d been sitting for so long, you didn’t realize how numb your legs were. “Woah there, mama, let's get you up.” Max cooed, standing up to catch you and help get you upright. You weakly held onto him, less focused on your legs and more focused on how close you were to him, the woody scent of sage and cedarwood in his clothes, and the way he was holding onto your body, his own tall figure serving as a protector for you. “C’mon, baby, I’ve got ya.”

The lights were low, the constant whirring of the ceiling fan lulled you in the background, and you were in heaven. Max had led you into his living room, sitting the both of you down on the soft sofa with you atop his lap. He firmly grasped your chin with his right hand, bringing your eyes back up to his. “Tell me how you’re feeling.”

His voice had a tone of dominance in it, and his eyes had you falling into that peaceful trance again, unable to focus on anything other than him and the wonderful sensations happening within your body. “Feelin’ good,” You meekly whispered, voice a bit hoarse from not having spoken in a minute.

“Mhm?” He looked pleased with your answer, leaning back into the sofa as you remained straddling his lap. His hand dropped from your face, both coming to rest on your hips. His eyes wandered, first to your lips, then your neck, down to the curves outlined in your short black slip dress, especially your breasts.

Max lifted his hands up to each of your breasts, gently holding each of them in his palms while you looked down at him, nothing but calm in your eyes. Then his thumbs lightly flickered across your nipples, drawing a gasp out of you. His eyes lit up at both the sound you made, and the way you jumped in his lap, subtly grinding into his hardening cock.

“Do you always wear such revealing clothing when at your boss’ house?

Your eyes widened at the question, head shaking in response, feeling yourself become needier the longer his hands were on you.

“Hm?” He stopped thumbing at your nipples, eyebrows raised with a stern look on his face.

You got the hint. “No, no I don’t..”

“It's just for me?” The touching resumed, now turning into soft groping.

You nodded your head, “Only for you.”

He squeezed and massaged your breasts, causing you to let out breathy moans above him. A cocky smile graced his face as he began to pleasure you. Max was now fully hard and slightly grinding his bulge up into your soaked panties, hissing at the feeling of your warmth, even through his pants.

“Fuck, baby…you’re so good, y’know that?”

A pang of electricity shot through your stomach, making you feel even weaker. His hands, his eyes, his cock hard under you, and his fucking voice… everything had you so far under.

“Jus’ wanna be good for you,” Your voice was so soft and hushed, but you knew he’d heard you. “Yeah?” He asked, and you nodded in response, your eyes low and focused on his.

He sat up to come in closer to you, his firm hands coming up to your face, pulling you in until you were an inch apart. You stared into his eyes, the depth of darkness pulling you in, enticing you. All you wanted was him. To become one with him.

You kissed him, a bit too fast, with a sort of hunger, and then you quickly pulled back and leaned your forehead onto his. He panted, a feral, frenzied look written all across his face, letting you know that he needed this as much as you did.

Your faces pulled back together and his hands shot down to your ass, pulling the bottom of your dress up above your hips. Feeling that you only had a thong on underneath, Max hissed in pleasure. His hands grasped each of your cheeks, squeezing and groping, more obviously grinding his bulge up into your heat. “Y’feel that baby? Feel how much I want you? How much I need you?”

“Yes,” You let out a breathy moan, your head swimming in clouds. “It feels so good.”

“Show me. Show me how good you feel.”

Your hips began to move, rocking back and forth on his lap, your clothed clit rubbing against the hem in his jeans. Every time it hit that one spot you let out a moan, each one getting louder than the one before.

His right hand came down on your ass hard and fast, feeling like a lightning bolt shooting through your backside. You yelped, now humping a bit more frantic. You could tell you were nearing your peak already, though it felt much different than when you normally do, alone and in the darkness of your bedroom.

It was more intense. Your body trembled and your eyes kept fluttering shut as the waves of pleasure amplified. “M-Max, I-”

“I know, baby, let it out,” His voice grunted out, hands tightly guiding you back and forth on his lap, getting you closer and closer, until all you could feel was static electricity, all over your skin, on Max, inside of you…

He brought a hand back up to your jaw, holding your face up to meet your gaze. “Cum for me.” His eyes pierced yours and you felt yourself let go, hips stilling for a moment then twitching uncontrollably. You cried out as your eyes rolled back into your head, immediately feeling overstimulated all over your body.

“Good girl,” He cooed in your ear, his body stilling under yours. “You did so good, baby.” Your body continued to twitch slightly, still coming down from the most intense high you’ve ever felt. “So beautiful, all soft and sweet like this. I’d pay–no I’d kill to see you break down like that again.”

You whimpered at his words, his voice still having a strong effect on you and your body. “Mm baby, I bet I could get one more out of you, what d’ya think? Can you cum one more time for me, like a good girl?” You looked into his eyes, seeing his hunger for you, it was carnal, lecherous.

You wanted to say not yet, you needed time to recover, to fully come down. But his eyes, they bore into you, taking over every thought of denial your mind came up with. Ignoring your oversensitive clit and tired hips, your fuzzy head nodded.

Max patted his right thigh, “Up here,” You straddled his thigh and a shiver shook through your body at the feeling of the strong mass under your panties. “Look at me. I want you to keep your eyes on me, okay?”

You nodded, once again. He grasped your hip with both hands and began to pull you back and forth on his thigh. He kept it slow at first, only beginning to slowly speed up once he noticed your sensitivity wasn't as high anymore. “Touch yourself,” He ordered.

Your hands moved immediately, both gravitating towards your breasts again, this time you slid the straps of your dress off your shoulders. You gasped at the feeling of your own fingers pulling at your hardened nipples. You twisted and pulled until they were too sensitive to the touch, and resorted to simply groping your own tits.

“So fuckin’ beautiful…” His praise hit your ears and sent shocks down your body, right to your slick pussy. You were dripping, thong completely soaked and ruined, as were Max’s pants. Your hips found their rhythm again, wanting to chase that peak he had you nearing again.

Back and forth, and back and forth. You even added in a small circling to create a different feeling than before. The closer you got, the more your sensitivity intensified. It was twice as strong as your previous high, and you didn’t know it you would be able to take it. Max could tell, he could see the way you were beginning to doubt yourself, a nervous look written on your face. “Don’t think about it baby, just let it happen. You’ve got it, doing so fuckin’ good.”

“Max, I don’t know–” Your gaze began to fall from his, but he grabbed your face, not as gently as before. “No, you’re gonna cum for me. Right now, you’re gonna cum like the good girl that you are, and you’re gonna fuckin’ love it.”

“Ohhh, my…” Your voice trailed off into a high-pitched wail, your second orgasm hitting you, causing your body to completely lock up for a few quick moments. You watched Max’s face as you came, he had a proud look on his face, and you felt it within yourself as well.

You slumped in his lap, unable to hold yourself up at all. He rubbed your back and tucked your face into his neck. “You did so well for me baby, m’proud of you.” Strong butterflies pounded in your chest, his praiseful words aiding your harsh come-down.

The longer you laid there, the more you realized how exhausted you were. Your head felt heavy again, eyes low, nearly closed with drowsiness. Your body was tired and sore, in several different places. You didn’t focus on the pain though. Max’s hands on your back and head, rubbing in rhythmic circles, had you falling deep into a peaceful slumber.

A/N: that was so hot to write omg. it took longer than expected but i'm still proud i got it out:) max was a little difficult bc i don't know his character super well (i've only seen the film once) but it was still fun playing around with it. please like and reblog (and leave plenty of comments) if u enjoy reading this. feel free to send requests/suggestions!! <333 (follow @sageispunklibrary + turn on notifs for updates)

i do not give permission for anyone to copy, translate, or repost any of my works. 18+ ONLY -- i am not responsible for the content you consume.

[endawn]

# anyways where was i going with this ) #(uh) # definitely him sometime after the reveal ) #( the need for deceit and subterfuge because many consider what he is a reason enough for him to be hunted and destroyed ) #( the possible feeling of betrayal in the tadcrew. their justifiable anger with him. ) #(the uncertainty on whether or not they are truly okay with him or are simply pretending out of fear ) #( anyways anyways odie was not okay with it at first and was mad !!) #(he's understandably wary with pax & ast..arion for sometime )

sorry, still thinking about this. just !! pax’s entire demeanor and body posture being different depending on him having his glamour on or not. hiding behind the mask of your old skin. your old life being a mask. pretending to be alive. holding onto your humanity with bloody hands. the inherent struggle of it. being exposed to the truth, feeling guilt for having to lie. having never come to terms with what was forced on you.

[buryustogether]

-> THE SHADOWS OF STARS

johnny silverhand x reader (not v)

word count: 8.5k

summary: despite being the newest groupie for samurai, you work hard to pull more than your weight and ensure gigs run smoothly. after a run in with a crazed fan goes awry, johnny silverhand offers you a bit of comfort.

warnings/tags: pre-relic johnny, reader is not v, violence, blood, age gap romance, non-penetrative sex, first kiss, first time, virgin!reader, mention of arranged marriage and running away, smut, swearing, alcohol consumption

author’s note: he may be a bit ooc but he’s my dreamboat so

If you’d have known how the night would have ended, you would have done things differently. You would have said more, said less, perhaps. Stepped further left, taken two more paces back. Anything and everything, you would have done differently.

Anything and everything would have been for nought - because the end of the night transported you to the stars invisible above your head, and beyond the crescent moon hanging from a weathered thread. You hadn’t known you could go that high - and you owed the jump to none other than Johnny fucking Silverhand.

It started with a woman - of course, that’s what all the old-world love stories say. But this woman wasn’t a princess waiting for a king to come down from his tower and save her and make her his; she was a plastered drunk with ugly-as-all-hell bangs on her forehead and a tank top so thin and skimpy her tits would have hung out even if she tried to keep them covered.

You had been watching her from the corner of your eye the entire show from your little perch beside the stage, headphones clasped over your ears and a tablet with the set list in hand. From the shadows, because that’s all you were, really in comparison to them, you had tracked her as she downed drink after drink and got closer and closer to the edge of the stage. Of course she was decked out in their merch - hell, everyone here was, but there were hearts inked onto the Samurai logo across her chest. Just what this gig needed - a crazy-ass fan hammered out of her mind.

It was when she’d disappeared to get herself another shot when you’d allowed yourself a glance up to the stage on your right. Christ above, they were so fucking cool. You didn’t care if that made you sound like an awestruck teenager; they were the only words you could conjure up at the moment. You’d never been one for poetics.

A band of rough and rowdy outcasts, torn at the edges in all the right places and ragged at the ends, they stuck out in a city like this. Especially the guitarist; god, you’d had a massive schoolgirl crush on Johnny Silverhand since you were sixteen and had first discovered their music. He was everything you found enticing; attractive, but without the superficial glamour Night City was held under; charismatic, charming, confident; maybe a bit full of himself, which you had discovered after being pulled into their crew as the newest groupie, but it didn’t phase you as much as you thought it would.

Your younger self would have fainted if she knew you were a groupie for Samurai these days. You were new - the youngest by far they’d ever taken on, but god above knew you pulled more weight than the older assistants who’d gotten used to the feeling of trailing in the shadows of stars. You stayed late into the night and early into the morning to clean up and pack after gigs, set up arrangements for desirable venues, arrived early to prepare so they only had to get up there and sing. Hell, you even cleaned their instruments when you had the time; you’d restrung Silverhand’s prized guitar enough times to have the same calluses on your fingers as his.

Of course, it had taken a snapped string, a sweat-inducing dash to the nearest music store, and an approaching meeting with a business partner for him to give it up to be repaired by someone else than him. Eurodyne had certainly had a hand in convincing him to part with the damned thing; he’d given you an appreciative nod and a charming wink when Silverhand had left his case at your little station.

Back in the present, you found your gaze pulled from your set list to watch as Silverhand kicked up a foot on a speaker to twist out a solo that left goosebumps trailing along your skin. Below him, fans hollered and screamed their approval; his lips quirked up in that Cheshire grin of his, the crinkle of his eyes hidden behind his aviators. You swallowed thick. Despite working for Samurai for nearly a month now, you’d never spoken to Silverhand once. He’d never even glanced in your direction, too caught up in his own business or too distracted by fans to pay you much mind.

You wondered what his voice would have sounded like feet from you, soft and gentle, instead of strained with his cries as he appeased his crowds.

Your spine straightening, your eyes at once flicked back to the woman you’d been watching as she reappeared at the front of the crowd. She was barely able to keep herself on her platform heels, eyelids drooped and movements sluggish. Your lips twisted themselves into a frown; some hangover she was going to have in the morning. You glanced back down at your tablet for a moment, then back to the chick. At once, your chest thundered.

She was leaning against the wall of the stage, hand outstretched in an attempt to touch Silverhand’s pant leg. He kept his cool - surprisingly - and continued the song as he took a step back so that he stood just out of her reach.

You cast a quick glance around the dim venue. Where the hell was security? The bodyguards you’d hired to keep a perimeter at the stage? You found them; they were both slumped at the bar. Perfect; this night was throwing in all kinds of elements that made for a perfect bomb. The question was - when was it all going to blow?

The rest of the gig, you kept your eye on the rowdy fan, never letting her stray too far from your vision. She paced back and forth about the stage, trying to touch even the boot or pants hem of one of the players. It raised the hair on your neck at end as a hot, lava-like sensation filled your stomach.

Were you… jealous?

God, no, you told yourself as the last song of the set came to a close. You didn’t get jealous of blackout drunks practically sobbing over a couple of rockstars who probably didn’t even know your name. And yet… every time she cried out Silverhand’s name, every time she blew him a kiss, that sensation worsened. It coiled like a serpent in your belly, forcing your jaw to clench and your blood to boil.

Shit. You needed to get a serious grip.

Slowly, as the bar began to clear out and final tabs were paid at the bar, you found yourself in conversation with the owner of the place. You sat at a table and watched as she did the math for the band’s share of the profits of the night, cradling an iced concoction you’d been dying for since you got here. Up on the stage, Silverhand and Eurodyne were speaking in hushed tones, motioning back and forth.

“You know,” said the owner as she tallied up her data, “you seem pretty young to be a manager for those fellas.”

You forced yourself to smile and chuckle softly. “Oh,” you said, “I’m not their manager. I’m actually a groupie. I just, you know, move their things back and forth and hook up their systems for them.”

“You seem to do a lot more than that.” With a flick of her hand, she deposited the eddies into your account; a moment later, they showed up on your vision screen. When you got the chance later tonight, you would divide up the earnings between the band, the hired muscle, and yourself. You didn’t think those meatheads had done anything to earn the scrap, but you were terrified to be the one to tell them so.

“I guess someone has to,” you murmured quietly.

“I mean it,” she said. She gave you a gentle, motherly smile, one that made your heart and ache and pang for home. “You’re playing practically every role in this little game of theirs. Movement, tech, cash flow. And I’d bet they don’t even know your name, do they?”

You felt yourself blanch a little. Casting a glance over toward the rockers, your stomach flipped slightly as Silverhand threw his head back and barked out an echoed laugh. “They do,” you lied.

“Sure, kid.” The woman patted your arm before hopping off her stool and taking your empty glass. “If you’re going to survive a life like that, at least make sure to claim the respect you deserve. You’re not a doormat, girl. Don’t act like one.”

With that she left you to your own clouded thoughts, mind a hell scape of troubles and conflicting wants and needs and desires. You pursed your lips and stared down at your lap. Maybe she was right; maybe you should talk to them. Ask for better pay. Throw in a couple set ideas you’d been saving for the past weeks. Yet as much as you wanted to, the queasy feeling in your belly kept you from advancing too far.

You’d always been an anxious kid; too scared to voice your opinions. Your parents said you were well-behaved. You thought ball of nerves was a better way to phrase it.

You had just begun to kick off your stool and begin the tedious task of packing up the equipment when a flash of movement caught your eye. That woman - the one who had tried to touch the band on the stage - was jittering across the floor toward Silverhand and Eurodyne as they made their way to the backstage entrance. Her tits swayed as she bounced in their direction, feet dragging in her drunken state.

Fuck - some people just didn’t know when to quit, did they?

Feeling that simmering boil arise in your chest again, you quickly stride across the floor to intercept her aim toward the men. She was just behind them when you reached her, her arm outstretched and palm open to grab a handful of Silverhand’s ass. The serpent in your belly flared.

“Hey.” You grabbed the woman’s wrist in an iron-fisted grip, stopping her fingers just inches from their prize. Her head drunkenly lolled over to glare daggers at you. “No touching, you got it?”

“Get the fuck off me, you fucking kid.” She ripped her hand from your grip, and the numerous rings slid along her fingers scratched along your skin. You refused to flinch at the pain, instead pulling yourself to your full height and clenching your fists. “What the hell’s your problem?”

Your eyes flickered to the door backstage. The men had disappeared, and you felt a short little something burst inside of you. Disappointment? Surely you weren’t thinking they would come to your aid? That Silverhand would tell this bitch to scram and then say, ‘Damn, kid, thanks a lot. Want to come backstage and sign to become our mascot?’ God, you were a fucking idiot.

“Go home before someone knocks you on your ass,” you said, trying to mimic some of things you’d heard street kids say in back alleys. “I’d hate for your lipgloss to smear any further.”

“And who the fuck do you think you are?” Now she was angry. Getting up in your face. And you were alone - the venue owner had vanished, and the band was backstage. You suddenly wished you knew how to mind your own business. “You know where you are? This is fucking Heywood. Lose an eye for saying something like that.” She sniffed and looked you up and down. God, those bangs were ugly as all hell. “What are you, sixteen? You better run home to mommy before you get smacked.”

To your dismay, and fury, and horrified embarrassment, you felt tears beginning to pool in your eyes. You could count on your fingers the number of times someone had yelled at you like this, and each and every one still made your heart thunder like a drum. You weren’t cut out for this kind of shit; you should have taken her advice and run home, begged your parents’ forgiveness.

But suddenly the owner’s words were resurfacing in your mind.

You’re not a doormat, girl. Don’t act like one.

Gathering what little courage hadn’t dwindled away, you squared your jaw and said, “Get out and don’t come back, or I’ll call the pol-“

You weren’t able to get anything else out before suddenly a fierce, solid fist connected with the side of your face. You went sprawling, sending a table a a stool clattering into their sides, your hands clutching at your nose. Hot, tangy copper flooded down from your nostril, dripping onto your shirt and staining your palms. Holy fuck - she’d just punched you. You’d never been struck before - is this what it actually felt like? Your nose throbbing, your eye aching in its socket, your lips open as you gasped for breath?

Vaguely, through the blood pumping in your ears, you felt the woman kick your foot and scoff before the door swung shut behind her. You were left in silence, still in place where you lay propped on your elbow on the floor, with nothing but the scarlet falling from your nose and a painful watering eye.

With a coarse gasp, you sat up. Your head pounded like someone had delivered a bullet to your temple and it had come out through your jaw. Now that they weren’t being held back, tears cascaded down your cheeks freely and fell from your chin. You touched your nose, the skin around your eye, and let out a small sob as the pain flared through your skull.

Your attention was pulled from your attack to the backstage door, where a peel of laughter reached your ears. The band - you could ask them for help. Explain what happened. They could clean you up, take you to a ripper doc to make sure everything was still intact.

“Fuck, no,” you whispered to yourself. You’d eat lead before you let them see you like this; before they realized that, shit, you may have had your nineteenth birthday a few months ago, but goddamit, you still were just a snotty-nosed kid who needed her hand held when things got rough on the playground. They couldn’t know that. No one could.

You felt yourself rising, using the bottom of your shirt to gingerly wipe off the excess blood on your face. You needed to pack up. Load the equipment into the truck. Call the venue for tomorrow’s gig and make sure the show was still on.

Then you would wander, see if any rippers were still open. And if there wasn’t, well… you’d just have to deal with it.

Your mother’s words rang in your ears, still as sharp as a razor as they were when you left home. “No one’s going to take care of you out there,” she had said. “No one will help you. No one will care about you. No one will love you. You’re going to be all by yourself.”

Fuck it - you didn’t need any help. You didn’t need anyone to take care of you, to love you. You’d do it all yourself.

The pain was too much to acknowledge that was a lie.

It wasn’t but a half hour later that you were winding up speaker cords and wrapping them in their protective cases, gritting your teeth against the panging ache blossoming from your face. You were nearly done with the front half of the stage, a small tower of equipment stacked behind you and waiting to be dragged to the truck out back. You were already sweating your ass off, not to mention that the scab in your nose kept breaking and bleeding. You were sure you weren’t looking like much of a model.

You exhaled a long, exhausted breath and took a seat on the edge of the stage. Your toes barely touched the ground. Head bowed, you fisted the material of your blood-stained shirt and bit your lip to keep a fresh wave of tears at bay. You failed; they escaped, trailing down your cheeks like twin rivers.

What the hell were you doing? You were miles from home, miles from anything you knew. You’d had a life, a future planned out for you. Money. Comfort. Everything you didn’t have now. And you’d run away from it all.

“Hey, kid,” said a voice from further down the stage. “You seen my pick around here? Dropped the fucker after the show.”

Oh, holy fuck. Johnny Silverhand was speaking to you - and you were sitting here crying about being smacked around once or twice.

You cleared your throat once, twice, that the same time turning away quickly and pawing away the tears clinging to your cheeks. “Uhm, yeah.” Keeping your face turned from him, because frankly, you couldn’t take one more thing going wrong tonight, you fished out the obsidian-colored guitar pick you’d found on the stage while packing up. You had planned on leaving it beside his case when he and the others went out for a drink like they always did; it had been burning a hole in your pocket since you’d stuck it there, knowing it was the very pick he often stuck between his teeth after songs.

You held it out in his direction, refusing to let him see your tear-streaked face. He took it from your outstretched palm with his cybernetic hand, the metal fingers clicking together as he accepted it. You began to pull your hand back before suddenly those metal fingers were wrapped around your wrist, keeping your palm turned upward.

“You cut yourself or something?” he asked. He was looking at the blood you’d wiped off with your hand; fuck. Couldn’t you do anything?

Sniffling again, you pulled your hand away a little more forcefully than you meant to and cradled it in your stomach. “Yeah,” you murmured quietly, but you knew he heard you. Your voice echoed here in the empty building. “I’m fine. Sorry for worrying you, Mister Silverhand.”

To your surprise, he released a mumble from the back of his throat as he came closer and settled himself on the edge of the stage beside you. You immediately stiffened, your wide eyes trained like a magnet to an empty spot in the corner. “Christ, kid, I’m not that old. Johnny’s fine, as long as my hair’s not grey and I can still piss on my own.”

You listened as he lit up a cigarette, the lip of his lighter clasping shut before he tucked it back into his pocket. Was this actually happening? Was Johnny fucking Silverhand actually sitting down with you? Maybe that chick had knocked you clean out after all.

“You’re the new one, aren’t you?” Johnny asked as he took a drag of his smoke. He said your name, and your heart sprang like a bird screaming to be free of its cage. He did know your name. “What do you think of this shitshow? Not exactly what you expected, right?”

You reached up to wipe your nose - and quickly hid your hand when you brushed off a fresh swatch of blood. “I don’t think it’s a shitshow,” you admitted in a shy voice. You sniffed. “I think it’s great. I think you all are.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw him tilt his wrist - he was offering you a drag of his smoke. You stared at it for a moment before gingerly taking it and holding it like a joint; you felt his gaze on you, you could see the edge of his faint smirk. Obviously you weren’t holding it right. Nevertheless, you hesitantly brought it to your lips. How bad could one drag be?

As soon as the smoke tumbled down your throat and into your lungs, you pitched forward and hacked out a number of dry coughs. It felt like ash was steamrolling down your spine, tasted like a bad dream you couldn’t wake from. You felt like you were going to be sick.

Beside you, his feet crossed at the ankles, Johnny gave that deep, drawling laugh you’d heard time and time again - and had practically fallen for - and took back his cigarette. “First smoke, kid?” You heard the smile in his voice as he placed it back between his lips. “When you throw up, just don’t do it here.”

You raised your hand to cover your mouth, your bleeding nose, but you were too late. You bent your head and coughed into your lap - with enough force to send a spattering few droplets across the tops of your thighs. Your hands scrabbled to wipe them away, but the man beside you was quicker.

“Jesus,” he said, all traces of amusement wiped like a slate from his voice. “Didn’t think it’d kill you.”

“Sorry,” you gasped.

There came a short, yet stifling moment of stillness, of silence. It felt as if the world had gone still, had come to a stop on its axel or the spinner or whatever the hell it rotated on. If it even did anymore.

But then it all came back full force, like a slap to the face, like a bullet to the chest. Johnny reached his hand out and grabbed your chin - gently, but commanding; forcefully, but gingerly - and forced you to turn your head and look at him. It was the first time you’d met his eyes since he’d walked into the stage - his aviators were pushed up on his head, his smoke dangling from his lips, his oak-colored eyes hard and steely and rough to disguise the shock lying beneath them.

“Fuck me.” He tilted your head slightly, his gaze traveling over your face. “Someone do this to you, kid?”

You felt as though you couldn’t speak. Even if you wanted to, you just couldn’t. His artificial fingers were cool against your flushed skin, his grip harsh but forgiving all at once. Fireworks were exploding across your face where he touched you, rendering you speechless. Did he… actually care? Give a shit you’d taken a clock to the skull?

When you didn’t answer, his fingers tightened slightly on your jaw. Your eyes found his again, lips parted and heart skipping beats. “Hey,” he said more firmly, then pulled his cigarette from his lips with his free hand. “Who did this shit to you, huh?”

Ignoring the thrumming and singing and screaming of your heart, you swallowed thick and averted your gaze. “No one,” you replied. When his grip didn’t let up, you finally caved. “Just… just a fan, a little bit ago. She was, uh…” You hesitated. “She was trying to catch a grope of you, so I stopped her. Guess I caught it instead.”

Your small, forceful chuckle wasn’t met with the kind of response you were hoping for; maybe a laugh, or at least a tug at the corner of the lips. But it did not happen. Instead, you were met with a stony glare. A hard gaze. A deeply-set frown that bordered on a scowl.

You became suddenly and deeply intimated of Johnny Silverhand, aware now of the tight grip he had on your jaw and how close he was to your face. You bowed your head to the side, and he at last let you go. “Sorry to ruin the after party,” you murmured, then swallowed thick and hopped off the stage. “I’m fine, really. I just need to finish packing up and I’ll get out of here.”

Attempting to hide the flush in your cheeks and the hammering of your heart in your chest, you bent over to gather up a speaker in your arms. When you stood straight again, you found Johnny standing just feet before you, his aviators clutched tight in his grip at his side.

“I’m not fuckin’ with you here, kid,” he said, bringing his face close again. You felt your knuckles paling around the speaker, clutching it tight to your chest. His hair framed his face in a darkened curtain, the stubble on his cheek pronounced in the dim lightning. “Nobody fucks with my band without feeling it later. You know what this bitch looks like?”

“There really isn’t a need for more violence.” Eyes down, head bowed, you shifted the speaker’s weight in your arms. You tried not to dwell on the sensation that arose in the pit of your belly over being included in his band. “I just want it to be over with.”

Johnny watched as you set down your load, reaching up to wipe at your bloody nostril. As he crossed his arms, his foot began to tap gently - a sign of agitation you’d come to recognize. “Fuck all, kid,” he rumbled, then pulled the bandanna from his back pocket and tossed it to you. Raising the cloth to you nose, you tried not to inhale deeply as his scent overpowered you. “If you’re not going down that road, you at least got liquor at your place to soften the blow that shiner’s going to give you tomorrow?”

You clenched your jaw, wrapped your free tightly over your chest. The blood from your nose was stained into the fabric of the bandana; your grip tightened around it. You murmured a soft reply.

Johnny cocked his head, hands planted on his hips. “Speak up, kid. Use that voice of yours like it’s meant to be used.”

“I live in my car,” you said again, louder, then immediately cleared your throat and began to drag a box toward the door. “Listen, uhm… Johnny, I appreciate it, but I really need to finish packing -“

“Fuck packing.” Johnny crossed the small distance you’d put between the pair of you, stopping so close you felt his breath fanning across your face. “Let those other dickwipes pull their weight for once.”

Your gaze tried to avert itself again, but something within the hallows of your chest forced your eyes to stay trained on his. Were those flecks of hazel in the brown of his irises? You blinked a few times; you’d never been this close to him before. Hell - you’d never been this close to a man before at all.

“I…” You hesitated, gripping the bandana so tightly you were sure you were about to tear it in two. “I didn’t think you cared so much.”

“I told you, kid,” he said, then reached up to grab your shoulder. Explosions; fireworks; detonations where he touched you. “I take care of my band.”

And that was how you found yourself holding an ice pack to your face in Johnny Silverhand’s apartment in Pacifica, with the night sky and the stars taking up the space between peering in on you from the windows across the room.

You brought a small glass of liquor to your lips as you took in the living space; it was quaint, but not a shitty little hole in the wall either. You knew he didn’t care for aesthetics or shows; he was a man of practicality. Whatever served him well - pretty or not - he kept around.

Maybe that was why you’d lasted this long so far tailing the band as their little runt groupie.

You shifted slightly in your seat on the couch, pulling the pack slowly from your face. A television was set against the far wall, where the news station spewed some commercial for the latest body mod people were just ‘dying for!’ Clothes lay discarded around the bed set in the alcove in the corner, and a trio of electric guitars stood by dutifully in the corner amongst a mountain of expensive speakers and stereoes. Mounted on the wall were half a dozen framed magazine covers that featured Samurai - and a few were only his face occupied the page. Photoshoots, interviews, covers… he had it all done and displayed.

The star himself stood at the miniature bar pouring himself a few fingers of vodka, hair tied up in a half knot at the crown of his head. He set the bottle down and crossed the room to take a seat on the opposite side of the couch, then kicked up his feet on the coffee table and crossed them at the ankle.

“So tell me,” said Johnny and sipped at his liquor. He extended an arm across the back of the couch, his fingers just a few inches from your head. “How’s a kid like you end up in this shit city? You certainly aren’t built to be a street kid, so you didn’t grow up here.”

Consciously, you reached up to touch the area around your eye. You’d used the bathroom when you first arrived here to clean the blood off your face, but the black eye steadily blossoming across your skin wasn’t going to wash away as easily. As if you didn’t already feel bad enough; you were sitting on fucking Johnny Silverhand’s couch in a bloodstained shirt and the confession off your lips that you lived in your damn car.

When he tilted his head to look at you expectantly, you felt your throat run dry. You knew how he - hell, how most of the street kids in Night City - felt about where you came from. Surely you didn’t have to tell him the entire truth. Besides - even if you lied, you were expecting him to come to his senses any time now and tell you, his month-new groupie, to get out of his house and scram.

“Well,” you said and gingerly placed the ice pack on the side table, “I guess you’re sort of right. My family was pretty… well-to-do. I grew up on the top floors of the snottiest buildings -“

“You used to be a corpo kid.”

Your blood ran cold in your veins. Fuck; this was it. Your run with Samurai was over. With any band, really. Surely word would spread you were a corpo brat trying to slum it as a street kid.

Johnny shrugged a shoulder and brought up his glass to take another sip. “You don’t hide it well, kid,” he told you bluntly. “The way you talk, walk, hold yourself. You reek of that high-brow lifestyle, no offense.” The corner of his lips quirked slightly. “But surely mom and dad didn’t drop their precious little darling on the street, now, did they?”

You couldn’t stop the zipping, electric sensation that pinged off the walls of your chest. “Not exactly.” You finished off your drink and set it aside, eyes focused on the corner of the television. You had no idea what the anchor was talking about; you didn’t really want to know. “My parents are oil investors. Old money types - they both came from countryside mansions and absent fathers - heh.” You smiled slightly to yourself. “They always told me I was a, as they called it, ‘soft soul.’ In their native tongue, that means weak. Not able to make those cutthroat decisions, you know? I don’t think they ever planned on including the stocks and the oil fields in their inheritance, so they went off and found the son of another tycoon who they could give it to.”

“Holy fuck,” said Johnny and lifted a stunned brow. “You’re telling me they arranged a marriage for you and this asshole?”

“They tried, I guess.” You hesitated, hand fidgeting with a stray loose end on your shirt. “I told them I’d rather splatter my brains on the wall - and they told me I could either do it their way, or leave and not come back at all.” You turned your head and gave him a wry, tight-lipped smile. “So I haven’t gone back.”

Johnny hissed out a breath through his teeth and tossed back the rest of his vodka. “You’ve got balls, kid, I’ll give you that,” he said and set aside his glass. “NC’s sure one hell of a place to hit the ground running.”

“Mm.” Maybe it was the liquor in your systems talking; or maybe it was the fact that slowly, as the evening went on, you were becoming more and more comfortable around him. “When I was younger, I heard your music for the first time and I just couldn’t get enough of it. My parents fucking hated it - tried to take away my vinyls, block the streaming websites, but I always found a way to keep listening. I guess… it was the only way I felt I could rebel.

“I got dragged to parties to be seen and not heard; I was given piano lessons at five, and when those didn’t stick, they put me in sports. They always wanted me to be some, I don’t know, incredible prodigy. Like I needed to be amazing to call myself their daughter. And I guess when they realized I wasn’t anything to be proud of, they just gave up.”

As soon as you shut your mouth, you regretted what you had said. When you’d left home, you had vowed to leave your past in the past. What the hell were you doing?

But then Johnny was barking out one of those laughs of his as he rolled his head back against the couch cushion. “Oh, come on,” he said and eyed you incredulously. “Nothing? You can handle your way around eddie negotiations - you sure they didn’t try to shape you into a corpo biz manager?”

“Believe me,” you said, finding yourself snickering along with him. “They tried everything. Nothing I ever did was good enough for them.” A loosened giggle escaped your lips as you gestured vaguely around the apartment. “Hell, I think they’d keel over and kick it if they knew I was at Johnny Silverhand’s place - the most infamous rockstar in Night City.”

He smirked coyly. “What?” he said and scratched at his throat. His eyes stayed trained on yours as you watched his tattoos move with his ministrations. “Your old man doesn’t like bad boys and tech fuckers?”

“Especially.”

There was another one of those still, silent moments between the pair of you, like the string attached to your fingers had pulled taunt. The television played quietly across the room. Car horns blared and wailed outside. Your gazes were locked together, unable to pull apart even if you wanted to.

Then he was moving. Pulling his feet off the table, standing to his full height. Stepping closer - resting a silver hand on the couch arm beside you and the other on the back near your head. Your breath hitched in your throat as he leaned over you, enveloping you against him and his ow shadow.

“Listen, kid,” he said, and you realized his voice had dropped a baritone. In the pit of your belly there came a fluttering, one that traveled further, lower, straight to your core. “I might be getting some off vibes here, but I’m not going to be a pussy and say I wouldn’t be disappointed if I was.” You felt your breath slam from your lungs as he leaned closer, closer, and dragged his tongue along the short expanse of your cheekbone; you swore your heart stopped. “Tell me if I’m wrong, but I think there’s a thanks in order for saving my ass earlier.”

Ice - your blood had frozen and turned to ice beneath your skin. Did he know you were holding your breath? Did he know you’d never been this close to anyone like this? Did he know you’d never kissed before, never fucked or gotten fucked or known what real, true devotion felt like?

After what seemed an eternity - a forever of him staring at you from inches away, awaiting your green light to advance - you at last found your voice. “I didn’t do it in exchange for this.”

“Yeah,” he said, “but let me spoil you, sweetheart.”

Then his lips were melded to yours, and your mind, your senses, your body - they all burst red and green and purple and every color across the spectrum you didn’t even know existed. His knees came to rest on either side of your legs and he bent down, so that he hovered over you and you stretched up in order to keep your mouths connected. His kiss was rough and demanding, the reins held tight in his hands, and he took up every last gasp of breath you had left in your lungs.

He pulled back for a quick inhale, leaving you shell shocked, but only for a moment before he was pushing his lips back against yours. “Fuck, honey,” he slurred between deep, passionate kisses, “you taste even fucking better than I thought.”

When his mouth moved down to the column of your throat, his touch anchoring your hips down beneath him, you realized this wasn’t supposed to be a one-man show. Your movements felt foreign, unknown, as you brought one hand to thread through his hair and the other to cradle the back of his neck. His tresses slipped through your fingers like feathers or silk or some other poetic shit - you didn’t care enough to think of the right metaphor.

Johnny found a spot on your skin where your neck met your shoulder, his hand moving your shirt collar out of the way, and attached his mouth to that area. He sucked and pulled at your vulnerable throat, using his sharp teeth to gently bite at the skin. You gasped aloud, your grip in his hair tightening, as he licked at the place he’d bitten, almost like apologizing or making up for the pleasurable pain.

And fuck, was it pleasurable. With every moment that ticked by with his mouth lavishing your neck, with his touch roaming across the planes of your body, you felt yourself growing wetter. Your belly was flip-flopping with nerves and excitement, your core suddenly aching from the attention you were receiving. And, if you shifted your hips just right, you felt the growing erection in his pants pressing against your thigh. You gave a hesitant, experimental buck of your hips against his - and your heart leaped when he pulled off your throat to groan low and gravelly into your collarbone.

“Oh, fuck, sweetheart,” Johnny growled as he sat up. He peered down at you with blown pupils and an almost animalistic gaze, his hands working the clasps and buckles of his bulletproof vest. “Keep playing games like that and you might get your prize sooner than you expect it.” At last, he lifted the vest over his head - and you didn’t stop yourself from staring. His stomach was a flat plane of muscle, riddled near the hip and the pec with a few puckered scars. His dog tags clinked against his chest, hanging like ornaments over the line of hair that began at his belly button and became thicker as it disappeared beneath his waistband.

“Impressed?” he crooned, drawing your eyes back up to his.

You felt yourself smiling, albeit a bit nervously, and slowly reaching out to touch his abdomen. “Maybe,” you murmured. Your fingers trailed over his chest, his nipples, his belly. His muscles flexed under your touch, and every few moments he let his head fall back and released a low-throated moans. They sent shivers up your spine and an ache down to your core, clenching around nothing.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Johnny said, coming to his senses and hooking his fingers beneath the hem of your shirt. “I can’t exactly do this the right way if I’m the only one playing skins.”

Your nerves jumped wildly as he began to pull up your shirt; you partially lifted yourself to aid him, but as the fabric began to clear your breasts, you felt your blood spiking. “Wait!” You grabbed his wrist, halting him in place. “Wait, Johnny, wait.”

Obediently, he paused where he was. He peered down at you questioningly, searching for a sign of whatever he’d done wrong. “Don’t get cold feet on me now, kid,” he drawled gently.

“No,” you said quickly, and you panicked because he looked like he was going to pull away, so you surged forward and kissed him hungrily. He gave a muffled grunt of surprise, but returned it nonetheless. When you finally leaned back again, you knew your face was flushed; how attractive you must have looked, with a violent blush and a black eye coming in. “I want to, Johnny, I really do. More than…” You shook your head slightly. “More than I think I’ve ever wanted anything?”

“More than you want to tell those fucking parents of yours where to shove it?”

A nervous, wobbly smile wound over your lips. “Yeah,” you replied. “More than that. But…” You swallowed thick and averted your gaze, letting your eyes fixate instead on his dog tags. “I, uhm… I haven’t exactly… done this before. At all.”

“Hmm.” It was all he said for a long, quiet moment. You could tell he was staring at you, but you didn’t want to know if his gaze was full of reproach or unease - or the wild, suddenly feral look some men got around virgins. He shifted his weight atop you slightly. He spoke again. “You’ve at least cum before, haven’t you? Used one of those toys you women like so much?”

For a fraction of a second, you realized the gravity of it all - you were lying beneath Johnny Silverhand, talking about your previous use of sex toys. But before you could begin to register the situation, you said, “I mean, I’ve used vibrators before. I didn’t ever… didn’t ever orgasm on those. It just wasn’t enough. And my mom always said I didn’t want to lose my virginity to a piece of silicone. So…” You gently tightened the grip you had on his wrist. “No. I haven’t. I didn’t… I hadn’t even kissed anyone before this.”

“Fuck me, kid.”

You waited for him to roll off you, to tell you that you were a nice kid, but he suddenly wasn’t feeling well. It seemed forever. Then, that feeling - that sensation that was growing familiar - of his metal fingers on your chin drew your attention back up to his face. He was gazing down at you with a look so understanding, yet so teasing and coy it seemed as though the painter who had sculpted his features changed his mind half way through.

“If I’d known that was your first,” he rumbled to you, “I’d have made sure to bite.”

With that he dipped down to recapture your lips, his artificial hand coming up to cradle your cheek affectionately. A tidal wave of relief flooded through your systems as you reached up to tangle your hands in his hair again, your body beginning to act on its own accord. Your leg twisted around his to pull his hips closer to yours, and you felt his erection bump against the apex of your thighs. You both groaned into one another’s mouths, sharing breaths and panting into throats.

“Hang on,” he ordered you, and once you had locked your legs around his waist, he braced you against him and hauled you up into his arms as if you weighed nothing. He continued to bite at your lips and shove his tongue into your mouth as he carried you toward the bed.

When your back hit the mattress, he pulled you further up toward the pillows and crawled over your form. “I’ve got an idea,” he drawled, nipping at your throat. When you made a noise of acknowledgement, he slowly began to undo the button of your trousers. “We’ll save the fucking for the next time. Tonight we’ll stick with basics - swear it’ll feel just as fucking good.”

You felt your heart rate pick up like a methodical tick. Your grip on his shoulders tightened, nails digging into his bare skin. “The next time?” you murmured, dammit, hopefully. You knew Johnny Silverhand was a womanizer, that a different girl fell into his arms every other night. A part of you felt stupid for hoping this would be different; now you weren’t feeling quite as foolish.

Johnny smirked down at you, his hair curtaining you both. “What?” he said. “Thinking this was going to be a one-time thing?”

“Well…”

“Let me tell you something, sweetheart.” He pressed his forehead to yours, his human hand trailing down to the space between your thighs. A small squeak escaped your lips, one that melted into a moan, when he pressed his thumb down on your trousers right above your clit. “I’d be fucking stupid to find a little thing like you and let you go.”

You hitched out a gasp. “Let me go?”

“Oh, yeah, baby.” He inched down until he was level with your exposed belly, then licked a stripe up to where your shirt was bunched just below your breasts. “You’re all mine now.”

Your world was flipped on its head, like you were watching the scene play out from above instead of from your own eyes. Johnny helped you pull off your shirt, and then your bra, and you finally let yourself moan unabashedly when he pulled the peaks of each breast into his mouth. Then he removed your pants, and your panties, and then he had practically picked you up and pulled you into a position that had your core aching like never before.

Johnny sat his back to the headboard with you seated between his legs so that your shoulder blades laid flat against his bare chest. He’d hooked his ankles around yours when your legs spread, keeping them apart and open for his touch that was slowly, torturously making its way down your body.

“Johnny,” you moaned as his metal hand cupped your breast, alternating between kneading and pinching the nipple. His warm, human hand was dragging his fingers over the tops of your naked thighs, occasionally dipping between them, but never where you needed him the most. “Johnny, please…”

“Ooh, my poor thing sounds so good when she cries for me,” he chuckled in your ear from behind. His voice was low and came from deep in his chest, sending goosebumps over your flesh. “I bet she’d sound even prettier singing.”

Without warning, his hand dipped toward your center and dragged a finger through your wet folds. In reply, as if obeying his command, you released a garbled cry and leaned your head back against his shoulder. Fuck, this was so goddamn good. You’d never known letting someone else touch you like this could feel so fucking amazing.

“That’s right,” growled Johnny, then found your clit and began to rub circles around it. “Cry for me, sweetheart.”

You squeezed your eyes shut in pleasure as he played with the bundle of nerves, your hands gripping onto his thighs for support. Your legs instinctively tried to snap closed, alleviate the heightened need for friction, but his ankles locked around yours kept you from doing so. Feeling your pull against his legs, he quickened the speed of his circles, increased the pressure ever so slightly.

“Oh, fuck!” you whimpered. Your pussy was clenching around nothing, your slick smearing across your thighs. “Oh, shit, Johnny. Oh, my god, please don’t stop.” Quickly becoming overwhelmed by the amount of pleasure and sensation, your body began to react on its own. You squirmed in his grasp, hips attempting to buck and feet kicking. There was a sort of coiling feeling building in your abdomen, like a pressure from within, and your body was chasing after it like it was the sun it had never seen.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” With every buck of your hips, his own chased yours, practically humping up into you from behind.

You couldn’t reply, only whimpered and whined and buried your face into the musky-smelling crook of his neck.

Johnny applied just the smallest bit of more pressure, his free arm wrapped securely around your middle to keep you anchored to him. “Come on, kid,” he whispered against the shell of your ear. “Give it to me. Give me this first one.”

Whatever kind of effect his words had on your systems, it was immediate. That coil in your belly snapped, wound too tight, and your vision tore white as you threw your head back against him. “Oh, god, Johnny! Johnny, fuck!” Your words melted into hoarse cries and moans and gasps. You felt a warmth pooling from your entrance and his fingers gingerly gathering it up; if you had been able to open your eyes, you would have seen him suck your release off his own fingers and smirk to himself in satisfaction.

For a long, quiet few minutes, you simply sat there between his legs, feeling your chest rise and cave as you tried to regain your breath. Behind you, Johnny craned his neck to press open-mouthed kisses to the back of your neck, your shoulders, the jut of your spine. He unhooked his legs from yours, allowing you to draw them together and to your chest as you gripped his thigh with a grip that refused to let go.

“You with me still, kid?” Johnny shifted his weight a bit, then wrangled you until you were sat sideways in his lap and he cradled you against his front.

Your head rested against his bare pec, fingers unconsciously gripping onto the dog tags around his neck. “Mm,” you hummed, because you felt as though you couldn’t form words anymore even if you wanted to. A sudden and powerful tide of exhaustion had washed over you, leaving you feeling hollow and full all at the same time.

“Use that pretty voice of yours,” he insisted and flicked a piece of stray hair from your sweaty forehead. “Tell me you’re alight. That I didn’t go too hard.”

So - because you would do anything for him, after he just did everything for you - you scraped together what was left of your vocal cords and said, “I’m alright.” You skimmed your fingers along his chest, and again, his muscles flexed beneath your touch. “Johnny.”

“Yeah, kid.”

“You won’t…” The next words caught in your throat. You thought of your parents, who had tried to sell you off because they believed you were nothing. You thought of that woman who had clicked you like it was a second nature to her. You thought of your own doubts and fears that taunted you like bad dreams that wouldn’t go away even after you woke up. “You won’t leave me… will you?”

Johnny’s grip around you tightened, and he pet your hair soothingly. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he said, and there was something about his tone that made you believe this wasn’t just a promise to you, but to himself, as well. As if he’d loved and lost before; as if he refused to let this crash and burn, even if it killed him in the end. “I’m never letting you go.”

[echantedtoon]

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished Ch2 Red Shines Bright Tonight

(Tagging @punks-never-die205 @feiatjjk

@karmadglory @babygurlenthusiast @swampstew @purplesoulsapphire

Remember if you want to be added to the taglist lemme know.

I apologize if I write Kid or his crew OOC in this. I only wrote for Kid like one other time. Also apologies for the inaccuracy of anything. I'll research everything in One Piece as accurately as possible. I'm only planning on this to have four parts so bare with me. The first three chapters are post the two year time skip.

Warnings for spicy things implied or mentioned maybe some innuendos but it will STAY sfw otherwise. Kid's cannon killing streak and violence mentioned. Some cussing and mentioned drinking.)

The measurements of one's own worth weighed heavily upon the beauty of outer looks. Or the wealth from the status you had upon thee either from birth or taken for one's own self through selfish means. 

Wano was no stranger to that way of life.

The crystalized glamor that was painted over the true cruelty of the withering Flower Capital of Wano hid the true meaning underneath. The streets bathed in the battered blood of civilization tainted with selfish desire and covered in a layer of cherry blossom petals and silk robes to distract those from the real monsters underneath. 

Which was exactly why they felt so at home being worse than the monster's already inhabiting the district.

The many hours of sailing had made the residents of the blight known as the Victoria Punk had grown restless in excitement and desire at their Captain's promised reward for their gastly deeds done not a mere day ago. The celebration of their bloodshed would soon be upon them. Morning sunlight shown upon them all as that night slowly slid to a close to make way for the morning light. Many a crew slept the day's voyage away minus those whom had duties to perform or were too excited to sleep. Slowly the day trickled by. The morning sun rising towards the middle of the sky. Winds favored the boat full of sins as they pushed the sails ever faster towards their desired promise. However no greedy pirate would miss the loud voice carried upon the breeze and instantly awoke any slumbering hellions.

"LAND HO!!"

The voice calling down from the crow's nest caused quite a stir up. Men and women crew members alike bursting from below deck charging up towards the deck stampeded out. Some snorting awake and tripping over themselves from beds to rush within the growing board. Some already up top rushing towards the railings. No matter where they came from, all cheered and talked with glee spotting the glittering land so close now on the horizon and having their desires so close to being fulfilled.

The dull thudding of boots against wood under his feet sounded out before he stopped just on the upper deck looking upon the sunlight glistening off the beautiful blue sea and seemingly added an extra shine to the glamoured land. 

"Huh. We got here earlier than expected," the red headed man commented shooting a grin at the right hand man next to him. "Guess today's our lucky day after all, ain't it?"

"The winds were favorable is all," he calmly stated but couldn't hide the happy undertone of his voice. "We got here a couple hours before sundown." A sigh was let out. "I wish you didn't make such a big deal about it. The entire crew's riled up now."

"You would be too if you're promised the night of a lifetime which I did promise you." The blonde didn't respond beyond a sigh as his best friend and captain patted his back. 

"Just don't do anything really crazy like burn half the district down. I heard Kaido's had his eyes on this place and with what happened a day ago, it's best to at least lay semi low."

"Don't worry. If there's a barbecue then you're the first person to get dibs on the food." Killer didn't respond to his joke as he turned grinning eagerly to himself and rubbing his own hands together in his own anticipation. "The district is a walnut and the best way to get the goods inside is to crack it wide open."

The closer to the glittery land they got, the more the excitement and desperation truly grew within greedy heart. It was only a matter of time before they truly were there.  And the horrors of the Victoria Punk brought with it would not be lost on the people who gazed upon it's visage either. For when the danger pulled into the docks only the sounds of sloshing ocean waves and the groans of the ship coming to rest into the docks were the warnings onlookers got before the cheers of the greedy hellions were had again.

Those within earshot or eyesight of them were always the same and upon this land there was no exception. Those who recognized the immediate threat shrieked out in terror, fled, or both. Some of them seeking to hide in the nearby streets and buildings while some could only watch in horror. Those who didn't know looked on in confusion but fear as the bridge connecting the Victoria Punk to the docks lowered until connecting with a resounding thud and then the desperate board descended onto the promised land. Whoops. Bollard. Cheers. All were heard alongside the desperate steps thundering down onto land after hours at sea, and right behind them following slowly behind was the Red Devil himself.

Slowly coming down off his ship with each slow step of those boots until he took a deep inhale of air before slowly letting it all out. The sweet smells of seawater and the distant cherry blossoms were both an enticing and delightful change of the usual smoke and fire from the misdeeds done and the oil and rust from the workshop located right next to his own private courters. 

"Smells nice..Almost makes me sick." Amber eyes darted towards the latest victim of the devil. And a nearby man shouted in fear as he was suddenly in the air, held there by a fist holding the collar of his shirt. A maniac pirate smiling up at his as a crate of fish, no doubt, what he'd been doing at the docks, crashed onto the ground below. "Which way's the Red Light District?"

Terrified a arm shot towards the right, down a stretch of road. Good. His reward was getting to live another day. With a squawk of fright, the man was tossed aside. Flying off the docks only to splash into the seawater below. Earning a round of laughs from some but most were interested in following the thudded footsteps of their Captain as he walked down the street towards the desired night or another night of horror at his own hands.

The streets were as beautiful as the buildings and each were obviously made to show off wealth and status, and yet they looked so breakable! The annoyance in pattern only continued on with each step they took, each street passed, each house going by. Becoming more bigger and tacky looking the more wealthy into the district they marched. Getting stares of disgust, horror, confusion, and in most cases a mixture of all three. Mothers pulled their children inside. Ladies closed windows and doors. Men quickly retreated out of their path and in some instances even diving into nearby buildings to escape his path. 

He reveled in the fear he brought automatically. Yes. Fear him and his decaying death and drear he brought with him. It'll only benefit them all to listen to the warnings. 

Then a soft glow settled amongst the glam and glitter that paves the streets. There was still plenty of light only just beginning to turn sundown, but most of the light came from above. Strings of lanterns hung up over the streets and connecting the buildings within the dazzling glow of red lantern lights. Sparkling like mini stars and giving off the red glow the district was known for. Finally. The heavy scenes of sweet perfumes and food ravaged the air. And the sights before Amber eyes were what they were hoping for.

The streets were full of people crowded yet still more were coming in. Once a buzz like bees murmuring of speech, now slowed down to a full stop as eyes from streets, doorways, and windows looked down to stare wide eyed at the band of murderers and thieves standing loose in the streets. The streets were filled with beautiful women adoring flattering dresses and make up, and working men in loose fitting Hakama shifts showing off their impressive builds, both men and women of the night ripe for the taking for any paying customer. They'd often catcall out to potential customers to entice them out of their money and lure them to an early empty wallet.

However there was nothing but silence as the mere presence of the pirates was noticed. 

Eventually the silence was broken in by the chuckling of a Red Devil. "Well? What the hell are you bastards standing around for?"

That was it.

The straw that broke the camel's last remaining restraint.

The floodgates burst open like a dam of water rapidly pushing a trail of dominos.

A woman's squeal was the first thing heard amongst the domino's effect. First by a man of their group shoving aside a man who might've been talking to said woman moments ago, but was now caught up in the arms of the hellion cackling in pure delight at his catch. A domino effect started on as they descended amongst the crowd and buildings. The sounds of women squealing and maniac laughing filled the air as he just smiled...And then turned hearing a sigh next to him. 

"'Nothing's gonna go wrong', huh?" Killer crossed his arms in a 'i told you so' way as he stared at him.

"Eh, fuck off, Kil. Let 'em get some stress relief in." He waved off the concerns of the blonde, rolling his eyes with a grunt. Before setting his sights up on a establishment he was itching to see. An unmistakable pub. Whoever placed that in the middle of an entertainment district had a smart investment idea. "Speaking of which-"

Killer watched him start walking off. "Where are you going?"

"I've had a long day, so I'm going to drink until I black out or you drag me back to my ship! Whichever one comes first!"

An inwardly sigh left the killer's brain, but the thought of getting a drink was appealing so follow Kid he did. Through the chaos surrounding them all and straight into the pub which was already swarmed in other members of their hellish parade. They passed by Wire who was in the middle of working an honestly eight out of ten barmaid. Whispering something sweet to her mad face before slowly kissing her hand. Ah. Wire always had a thing for charming the ones who caught his eye. A couple more feet away from him was Quincy eyeing the nervous bartender with a list filled smiling face.

Proof in point. Doesn't matter what gender they were, any crew member of his hell scape was fearful. 

The poor bartender quivered more when the stares of both himself and Killer stopping at the bar looked down upon him from their rather taller heights. The pupils in his skull shrinking as the Captain leaned down to give him that satisfied smirk.

"Gimme a beer. Make it strong because I'm planning on not being able to walk come morning."

"Give me a shot of whiskey and leave the bottle..Please," Killer added watching as the trembling man quickly nodded and turned around to scramble around the many bottles visible on the shelf before looking back to Kid. "Let's not loose ourselves too much and act like semi civilized gentlemen at least."

"HA! Since when are we civilized?" A pint of the alcohol he wanted was placed in front of him and he pointed it at Killer snatching it up into his grasp. "We don't fucking pretend to be something we aren't, Kil. If we want something then even Kaido couldn't stand in our way." He made him point by downing the large pint in front of him before slamming down the mug loud enough to be heard above the many voices around him. "Give me another!"

Killer hummed again casually reaching out to poor himself a shot of the whiskey the trembling barman had placed in front of him, plucking a straw from a nearby cup before poking said straw into one of the holes of his helmet. "This is why Heat n' I are the designated babysitters." 

Despite the sigh leaving his lips, anyone could tell Killer was smiling under his mask as he drank the preferred drink tonight. For tonight was about nothing but celebrating the Red Devil's whims.

Step after step through the crowd.

His legs carried him closer and closer towards the destination of the festivities. Music played. Many people celebrated. Lots of guests coming forth to celebrate the creation of hellions' escapades. 

"Almost shameful behavior."

He commented to himself  despite the gleeful smirk on his face watching as one of the men drunkenly pulled his laughing woman of the night onto his lap, giving her a big kiss to her cheek, and holding up a large mug. "TO CAPTAIN KID!! MAY HE BE HALF AS HAPPY AS ME AND MY BEAUTIFUL LITTLE LADY HERE!" The woman busted out laughing high pitched giggles in his lap as he pulled the mug back chugging down the sake.

A loud laughing fit emanated throughout the crowds followed by wolf whistles as the man went back to smothering his wife back with affection as she just laughed. It made his eyes roll and a chuckled huff escape his lips at the sight. Truly degenerate. But he meant it in the best way.~

He heard the sounds of loud laughter a mile before he even stepped back outside and was hit with the reek of alcohol long before he even stepped foot outside and made his way quickly through the throngs of people and towards the center. Back towards the pub. His senses were attacked by the strong smells to the point he was sure he'd get drunk from just smelling it. The crowds were terrible. Pushing against his body uncomfortably so and bumping his arms annoyingly so but he kept going his way towards the pub.

The loud laughter, music, and other blurring noises blending together from the crowds was mixed together in a vile assortment of degeneracy. The only thing to remedy this would be to seek shelter at the ship...But why would he want to do that?~ Finally he managed to get back to the bar and find his way inside. It had been a good three hours now. The sun had finally set and early night had just arrived. Now truly the city was alive but the hellions made no signs of stopping anytime soon. Knowing them, they'd be at this all night only to get dragged back to the Victoria Punk to sleep off angry throbbing hangovers. However he didn't bother with their fun.

Once inside he made his way over towards a small table in the corner where a few of his fellow crewmates were sitting by themselves and just drinking. Those included Killer still sipping on the draw poking out of his mask, Heat, and one other crew member whom was in a conversation with Heat while both drank some form of alcohol but they looked up as he just casually sat down across from the three of them.

"There you are, Wire. I thought you went back to the ship when you left," the pink haired man said before again taking a sip of his drink. Ah. Mosh. By the smell of the drink, it was some kind of margarita but bigger.

"No. I was just simply tending to business."

"Uh huh..And would that business be the pretty lady you were sweet talking a few hours ago?"

A grin was all Mosh got back, head settled in his hands. "I don't kiss and tell.~ But speaking of missing people-" Dark eyes gazed momentarily around the room and rose a brow at the missing red headed Captain. "-where'd Kid go?"

"Compo got drunk and someone dared him to stick his head in a bucket. Kid's outside helping him get it off."

His words got Heat to sigh tiredly but otherwise no one else really made a comment on it. "Hm. Seems about right. Honestly I'm surprised no one's done anything REALLY stupid yet-"

"DON'T jinx it, Wire." Heat narrowed his eyes at him. "I don't want to have a repeat of last time everyone got drunk. Killer still can't find his favorite spatula." At the mention of his name, Killer nodded in agreement with the other man.

"Heh. Well I can't say everyone's not enjoying themselves. Except maybe Kid and Compo at the moment. Surprised it's not one of you two trying to help him out."

"Kid actually volunteered for it."

Well that certainly surprised Wife as both his brows rose at his masked companion. "Really?"

Killer nodded. "Said we did a good job so we deserved to have a break tonight. That and he could probably get Compo out of there easier with those magnetic abilities of his."

That got Sore humming. Not in a 'oh ok' hum but a 'Im thinking of something' him. Head in hand allowing his eyes to gaze around lazily, and the other tapping on the table. "I don't suppose he's gotten any breaks himself yet."

"Whaddya mean by that?"

"Well he's doing the damage control tonight and if he's sober enough to do that then I can conclude he hasn't had a lot of drinks either. That's not enjoying himself."

"Well you know Kid. Once he does something he's too stubborn to let anyone, except sometimes Killer, to talk him outta it."

Wire hummed again still looking around the room until his eyes finally locked onto UK. At the moment he was a blushing mess of a man both no doubt from the booze but also because of the lovely lady cooing at him. That's when his eyes slightly widened and a smile graced his features.

"I know that look. What are you thinking?"

"What if we get the boss a gift?"

"Gift?"

He nodded. "Yeah. He's doing so much he should enjoy himself too." He finally looked back to them. "Let's get him a girl for the night."

"A girl?" Heat tilted his head in question.. before shrugging. "That's doable I guess. There's plenty of girls workin' the establishments so it wouldn't be hard to find one."

"I'm not talking about any regular working girl. There's plenty of them around. I'm talking about getting him something REAL special. Something even Kid's never had before."

"What are you talking about now? You want to get him a working guy instead?"

"What if we got him an oirans?"

There was silence around the table as the three stared at Wire before Heat and Mosh exchanged glances and Killer spoke up.

"You want to get Kid an oirans...Do you know the crazy conditions surrounding Kumorasaki? She takes and takes men of all their money and then raises the prices every second you're with her. She's a dam good digging witch and that's me putting it politely."

"Did you forget what District this is? Just because Kumorasaki is the most popular and well known Oiran in the Flower Capital that doesn't mean she's the only oiran here. C'mon, Killer. You still have the key to that chest right?" Killer slowly nodded. "Then what's the harm in surprising him with a gift?"

A long thoughtful him came from the blonde man. The cup in his hand slowly lowering until it says on the table with a light thud, his head tilted at Wire. Mosh and Heat exchanging unsure but thoughtful looks in turn to Wire's suggestion.

".....Which house do you think would have an oiran?"

-One Hour Later-

Lanterns as heaven's echo play above the street, come to the night as if they are our brightest of dreams and forever lighting our way. Lanterns are the stars we make in salute to the black heavens. The red glow shining down upon the masses as they walked the streets below.

It was then that the red glow matched with the red hair of the man walking through the masses, only to stop short just outside the pub of where he was headed. A curious sight to behold seeing everyone drinking outside the pub instead of in. Even more so seeing tables placed on the street where he saw familiar faces that attracted him towards them. 

A number of faces smiled up at him as he exasperatedly pulled out a chair only to plop himself down into it with a grunt. Sighing as he allowed his muscles to relax for once sinking into the hard oak wood.

"There ya are, Cap'n. Where have ya been?"

"Don't ask!," Kid growled out head leaning towards the lanterns and night sky above, "Killer, take a fucking mental note. Compo is not fuckin' allowed near booze again and NEVER in the same room as fuckin' Bubblegum!"

"Got it. Heh."

Immediately amber eyes shot up and narrowed at the blonde. "What's so dam funny?"

"Nothing really," Killer replied genuinely. "Just drinking my whiskey."

Those eyes narrowed more, brows scrunched up as more Snickers could be heard around him. Slowly tilting his head back down, he was met face to face with chuckling and his men not only at this table but a few surrounding tables snickered. Stealing smiling glances at him to which he felt annoyance bubbling up from his chest.

"Alright. What's the fucking joke?" He demanded slowly looking at Killer whom shook his head no. "I'm fucking serious, Killer! Did someone put something on my chair?!" Wood screeched as he immediately stood up and snapped his head around. "I swear if anyone-"

"Calm down, Kid," Killer held up a hand to calm the angry man, "No one's playing tricks." He gestured to the empty chair as if to prove his point.

Kid still stared suspiciously but slowly sat back down. "Then why is everyone looking at me like I'm the but of someone's dam joke?"

"They're excited and grateful to ya for the reward. Like you said relax and enjoy a little. C'mon. Drink and have some food with us!" He motioned for the barman still inside.

A small chorus joined in agreement with Killer. He didn't loose that suspicious look..but soon turned his attention to the new mug of beer and plate of delicious smelling turkey legs brought out and placed in front of him. Not as good as Killer's cooking but still delicious. He soon mellowed out, loosing himself to the tender taste of seasoned meat and butter taste of alcohol. 

The laughter and music around them continued through as he stuffed his face and laughed at a crude joke Wife told him. Meanwhile excited looks and whispers still glanced up and down the streets in anticipation of what's to come.

Slowly the loud laughs and talking with the occasional scream filled down to a murmuring him until it reached a silence. The new slowed silence wasn't lost to the captain who slowly rose a brow at the sudden change. Noticing the way everyone's faces turned down the street behind him. Still chewing on the food, he turned to see why such a change in direction occured. 

The entire middle of the street had been cleared and what looked to be two giant crowds of men and women lined the street on either side. As if something was blocking them from crossing with each other. What was stopping them? Did something happen just now? He then looked up the street and immediately knew the reason why.

Slowly coming towards you was a parade of people. And smack dab in the middle of them all was a woman.The most BEAUTIFUL woman he had ever seen.

 She glowed under the lantern lights like a beacon of beauty, slow steady steps she took gracefully step after step slowly but surely as if she was dancing, by the way she was doing so he knew she must've done this countless times before. Her makeup and hair done perfectly. Her robes the fanciest he's ever seen yet so beautifully matched perfectly with her complexion. But what struck him the most about her was her smile. Her eyes were the most striking beautiful he'd ever seen. Lips pink in lipstick catching onto the red lantern lights shiny with the lip gloss she used. In a way it she was angelic with the way they shined in the light. 

However her demeanor was... Strange. As she got closer he could see the slightly worried look in her eyes. As if she didn't want to be here, but yet at the same time there was something... Powerful almost scarily heavy about her body despite how graceful she moved. Entranced by the new sight he only stopped and stared as she ever so slowly and gracefully walked, continually up the street with her escorts.

"Huh. She's coming pretty close to us." He made sure to note in his head giving a look around at the awe filled looks from men and women alike. Taking special care to note the tackily dressed men that weren't his crew. "Her customer must be one of the rich snobs close by. Lucky bastard."

The moment of silence was deafening with only the sounds of the oiran's parade coming down the street, the red lanterns being her spotlights for the whole district was her stage and her the one glittery star. The rummage of fabric like flowing wind danced amongst her body as her flesh and bone became flowing water, gracefully dancing each step she took up the long stage of streets. 

Her face was memorizing with each flutter of half lidded lashes, the flashing of those beautiful eyes reflected in the reddened lights, her smile warm as she offered a smile as thanks for the watchers standing there. The gold ornaments shining in her styles silk of hair caught the glitter of moonlight and lantern reds, causing an almost uthereal glow around her body as she danced in her silks.

Beauty. Grace. Elegance.

Like a current in the sparkling blue ocean, she flowed.

Amber eyes were transfixed upon her with everyone else as the party of people in front and behind her came closer, but no one paid any attention to anyone other than the main gleaming star herself because..Well he's never seen such a display before. An oiran's procession was always a sight to behold and he'd be damned if he didn't also want to stop and watch her dance to the sounds of bells and her own graceful steps. 

Closer and closer to the end of the street they came. Angelic face coming closer and closer to his eyes, until they stopped in front of them all. And he realized that he was able to gaze right at those beautiful eyes and smile. The air was tense with silence anticipation and awe from everyone awaiting at the dancer's words. Slowly the hand a hold of the pint brought it up to his lips. If he didn't know better, he could've sworn that she was beautifully directed to him. As if a pirate like him would be given the smile of a woman like this.

"Captain Eustass Kid." The voice so calming and sweet carried with it and aura of grace as those lashes fluttered shut as she bowed.  It struck his veins like an icy ghost's hand dipping into his body and seizing his throat. "I'm so honored to have the pleasure of meeting you."

"PPFFFTT-?!" 

The metaphorical ghost hand entrapping his throat clogged up the alcohol going down forcing him to choke it out of him. Back into the mug of all over the table, whichever one was closest. A loud series of coughs and hacks left his throat disrupting the serenic scene and finally bursting that seed filled bubble.

"Surprise, Captain!", someone shouted from the crowd, "WE GOT YA AN OIRAN!!"

A series of laughs, cheers, whoops, and a few wolf whistles filled the air. Amber eyes widened as his face snapped in shock towards the crowd of cheerers. The mug dropping to the ground with whatever was left inside spilling out all over the ground. He sat there in stunned shock only stiffly looking over when Killer reached out to pat his shoulder grinning under that mask he wore.

"Well, Kid. You said you wanted the night of a lifetime."

[erissheiress]

Yours

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Warnings: slightly ooc Rhysand and Cassian, kissing, secret relationship, mentions of objectification, mention of Lucien's past, slight angst, fluffy ending.

Summary: Your hidden relationship comes to light, but you won't allow your mate to be disrespected.

Requested by anon

Word Count: 1911

Taglist: @reetriestbr @pandabiiissh

. . .

You blended in seamlessly into the walls of the Autumn Court, your black attire allowing you to blend in with the shadows. Today, however, there was no need for spying, or sneaking around. As your brother’s emissary, you had access to other courts when needed, when Rhysand needed you to represent the Night Court in his place. You had become quite comfortable travelling between courts, making friends with the nobility of some, such as Helion, yet the Autumn Court still sent a slight shiver up your spine.

Perhaps it was Beron’s cruel nature, or his several sons’ objectifying gaze, that made your job so difficult at times, of course not excluding the treatment of your friend Lucien. Not that you’d ever allow your brother or friends to learn of your discomfort carrying out your job in the Autumn Court, lest their protective natures damage the peace between courts. 

This particular task had been quite quick to resolve, a simple matter of deciding better trade routes between the courts, and you were quite content to finish up early, thank Beron for his time, and make your exit. Quick and easy, just as Rhysand liked it.

“Y/N?” Your brother’s voice spoke in your head. “Are you finished?”

“Almost, Rhys, no problems. I’ll let you know when I’m leaving, alright?”

“Okay, be safe, love you”

“Love you too,” you managed to reply before the conversation was cut. You adored your older brother, but a bit more faith in your abilities as a diplomatic emissary would be appreciated. 

You swiftly exited the house, smiling at passing servants that bowed to you as they passed. As far as they knew, you were preparing to leave, to go back to the Night Court. Taking a deep breath, you let yourself winnow to where you wanted to be more than anything.

The woods of the Autumn Court were breathtaking, a palette of colours filling your senses. Here, in the safety of the trees, you finally focused on the heavy weight on your chest, allowing it to melt away. Before you could take a deep breath, another voice filled your mind.

“My love?”

“I’m here, Darling.”

Strong arms encircled your waist in response, pulling you close. “I missed you.”

Turning in his arms, you looked up into the beautiful amber eyes of Eris Vanserra.

Your mate.

His red hair shone in the sunlight being filtered through the foliage above you, his eyes full of warmth as he looked at you, so different to how he usually was around people. 

“I missed you too… it’s getting so difficult to keep the glamour on at all times… it’s beginning to hurt.”

Eris looked at you in concern. “I know, my love, I’m sorry. The bond isn’t supposed to be hidden like this.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Eris.” Reaching up to stroke his cheek, relishing in the feeling of the bond pulse between you both, waves of love pumping through. “I don’t have much time, Rhys will get worried.”

“I know… are you attending Helion’s ball for the courts?”

You nod, resting your head against his strong chest. “Looking forward to it, actually. Will you?”

“In my father’s place, he has no love for social gatherings. Perhaps… we could spend some time together.”

“We will, no matter what, I promise.”

“I love you.”

The words that ring in your mind morning, noon and night. That come with nothing but sincerity.

“I love you too, Eris.” 

Reluctantly, so reluctantly, you remove yourself from his hold. “Kiss me?”

His lips on yours was his response, as you both tried to mask the pain of having to keep your relationship a secret. “Goodbye, Y/N.”

“Goodbye, Eris,” was all you could muster, before winnowing away, ensuring the weight on your chest had returned before going back to your family.

Appearing in the main hallway, a voice came from your left.

“Y/N? You didn’t tell me you were leaving.” 

“Shit, sorry Rhys. I forgot, I was just eager to leave.”

“It all went well?”

“Of course, brother, some faith would be nice.”

“I just worry about you, sister, the Autumn Court is dangerous.”

“I can handle myself, Rhys.”

“Alright, come, there is food left… if Cassian hasn’t finished it all.” Laughing, you follow Rhysand to the dining room, where Cassian, Azriel, and Feyre sit around. These are your family, you love them, and yet all you really want is for Eris to be part of it, to be accepted as your mate.

As always, his voice rings in your ears. “I love you.”

By the Cauldron, you fucking love him too.

. . . 

With your arm in Cassian’s, you follow Rhysand and Feyre into the Day Court’s gorgeous ballroom. Helion himself greets you at the door, kissing both of your cheeks.

“Y/N, don’t you look ravishing.”

Indeed you did, in a sleek silk dress, a deep forest green, with the jewellery to match. You truly felt confident and beautiful, and most of all, powerful. Only you would know who exactly you were trying to impress.

You felt his eyes follow you across the room, even without the bond. Eris and a few of his brothers stood against the far wall, surveying the room. Eris held a drink to his lips, his eyes on you over the rim of the glass. His gaze was piercing, making your skin feel warm in the best way. His eyes landed on your arm in Cassian’s, eyebrows furrowing in such a slight way that only his mate could notice.

“I’m going to get a drink, I’ll be back.” Unlinking your arm from Cassian’s, he hardly notices as he laughs at something Helion says. Azriel watches you go, but says nothing, unsuspecting. As you intended.

Getting a glass of wine, you let your eyes flicker to Eris, now standing by himself, as many other guests try to avoid him. It sends a surge of annoyance and anger through you. How dare they ignore your mate so easily, he is nothing like his father, as you would learn after nights and nights of whispered promises and tearful secrets, secret meetings whenever you could get away from the Night Court.

Taking a slow sip from the glass, your eyes roam over the room. Various faces you recognised stood out to you, conversing and laughing among themselves. It was your own family that caught your attention. Cassian was by Rhysand’s ear, whispering something that made them both laugh subtly. Then you noticed how their eyes kept straying over to where Eris was standing, still alone. They were laughing at him. Laughing at your mate. A flash of anger surged towards you, pushing you forward.

“What is so funny, brother?”

“”I don’t understand why he would even come, surely he knew he would not be accepted”

“Who?” You asked, feigning ignorance to see what his reply would be.

“Eris. It’s not like Beron is liked, I don’t understand why Eris is here.”

“He isn’t his father, surely the peace treaties have proved that to you.” Unwillingly, the bond opened a little bit, not enough to be noticeable, but enough to feel your mate. Enough for him to feel your anger. Gentle streams of serenity flowed through the bond, slightly settling your nerves.

“We don’t truly know him, Y/N, or like him..” Cassian remarked.

Your fingers tightened around your glass, a sign of how fuming you were. It took an extreme level of self control to bite back the words you wished to say. How dare they make such cruel assumptions about him.How dare they mock your mate, just as much of a loved one as Feyre was to Rhys. Instead, you swallowed them. “Excuse me for a moment,I just need some air.”

You excused yourself quickly, avoiding the slightly questioning looks from your family, walking as swiftly as your dress would allow down the nearest corridor, out of sight from prying eyes. You kept walking, until you found an empty room, presumably a guest room. You sat on the chaise, taking deep breaths, running your hand over your face lightly. 

The door gently opened and closed behind you. “My love?”

“Eris! You shouldn’t be here…” you said, although your actions contradict your words as you wrapped your arms around his chest, holding him close.

“My mate is upset, of course I’m here. What happened?”

“Just my family’s hypocrisy. I love them, I just wish they’d open their eyes. They… were unkind about you.”

“That explains why the glamour faded a bit.. It doesn’t bother me, my love.”

“It bothers me, you’re my mate, you should be as accepted as Feyre is.”

Eris gently kissed your forehead, before tilting up your chin, looking into your eyes.

“Thank you for protecting me,” he whispered, before leaning in and kissing you, holding you close.

“What is going on here?”

Your brother’s voice rang through the room as you and Eris jumped apart, him instinctively pushing you behind him.

“Rhys, I can explain,” you began.

“What did he do to you?” He was fuming, as the rest of the Inner Circle realised what was going on. “What have you done to her?”

“He’s done nothing, Rhysand! Calm down!” This wasn’t your High Lord speaking, this was your brother and you were not going to let him talk to your mate like that. “Eris is my mate, and you will listen to us.” The bond opened, an unmistakable scent that none of the Illyrians could ignore.

“He cannot be your mate, Y/N! I won’t allow it.” Rhysand said, and Feyre visibly flinched, the only one of your family that didn’t look disgusted.

“Won’t allow it?” You said carefully, enunciating each word. His words were the wrong ones to say to a mated female.

“You don’t need to allow anything, my lord. Can’t you feel the bond we have? Do you not realise that I would leave you all to be with him. Like you would for Feyre.”

Your brother flinched at his title being used so bitingly, and at your declaration. “We can’t trust him, what if he’s like his father?”

Behind you, a pang of pain struck down the bond from Eris, staying silent as he knew he could be of no help in this argument.

“Don’t you dare compare him to Beron! You are such a hypocrite, Rhysand, think about our own father. I will not allow you to disrespect my mate, not now, not ever.”

Before Rhysand or any of the Inner Circle could interrupt, Feyre walked forward, taking your hand, your shoulders heaving with anger. “Eris is welcome in the Night Court, as your mate and as one of us.”

“Fey-”

“I am High Lady, my word is law. Y/N, you are my sister, and I can tell that what you have is genuine. It is settled. Come, Rhys, Helion will wonder where we are.”

They looked like they wanted to argue, but a few harsh snarls from you silenced them. Your family slowly left, and you all but fell into Eris’ chest again.

“You were brilliant, my love, truly.”

“They’ll come around, thank the Cauldron for Feyre.”

“I can love you in public now, whenever I want. No more concealing the bond.”

“Never again. You’re my mate, Eris, any obstacles that come we’ll face together.” Pressing your forehead against his, you allowed yourself to relish in the euphoric feeling of the mating bond.

Your Eris. Your mate. 

[s4mu-k41d3n]

“𝐁𝐔𝐖𝐀𝐍”

by juan karlos

TYPE 2 <> YAN!CHUUYA X GN!READER〰️sypnosis: he’s a lunatic for you. you, only you under the glamour of the yellow moon, under the white light that flicks each breezing step he took, so just only he will love you, yet did you hear his screams? your beauty, reaching the moon lurking at the dark soaring above.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 〰️disclaimer: obsessive behavior, stalking, violence, blood, mentions of guns, stalking, bad writing, ooc!chuuya?, sexual themes, not proofread.

౨ৎ₊ ⊹ 〰️notes: I still like have 1 drafts but i have no idea how to start with well ermmm. by the way the song is in a different language/in filipino, i apologize if you don’t understand the lyrics but i can’t think of any more songsD:

He’s yours, you’re his.

You look pretty to his bored sight, the blank eyes deceiving his filthy intentions he discreetly covers your eyes, blinding the rational truth he keeps dead end in his pockets. Are not you his precious little doll? Small words may be spoken, simple acts may be acted, yet it treasures a deeper meaning when he’s along with your bittersweet accompany. Something tingling in his rumbling stomach each time you’re close beside, before, after him. There’s no meaningless difference, merely how his eyes dilate and shape into a beating heart whenever he catches you in his borderline—is a golden routine for every single arise of light and dark. When the moon sets above from the abyss, wherein the sun reflects its glow to light.

He surely adores this part of the day, it never goes out missing in his crumpled calendar. Punctured to his cracked wall. Whether it be the clouds wail, the sun burns, the moon turns to dust—it’s a cycle he would never get tired of despite how many times it repeats in a two’s arrival nor leaving. Who was he to stop loving you? He’ll be the one to chase after you in a zigzag pathway even if led to the below. He’ll sacrifice the world for you, he’ll sacrifice himself just for you. He’d banish from existence just for you and he snaps from delusions.

The moon glamoured your beauty, painting him a canvas of elegance. Chuuya’s eyes shot towards your figure, how alluring you are to trap his heart in your lively aura. An unknown gaze observes, the way your blouse plays with your movements. The way your eyes glimmer in excitement, he watches from afar. He noticed a man in a suit, before you he stands. As if like he’d take you away from his presence, no, no he won’t accept that. Chuuya’s hands slip into his pocket as the glint dies down into envy. Jealousy, arises from his heat. He gritted his teeth, “I’ll break that man’s fucking spine.” His hands clenched, fist forming as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

The ceremony was along to finally cease, yet Chuuya remained vigilant. He pries to search for that man, who’d be the one receive you first before his? How dare he, he’ll acknowledge his efforts once he sees you again. Softening as he captures you sitting from a distance away. The ceremony came to a halt as guests exited the building, Chuuya leaned against the wall as he only bargained his upcoming plan to murder that disgusting man. He was an executive after all, it’d be an easy job. Won’t it? He excused himself in the crowds of passers as he pinpoints his target, silent as he followed the man’s tracks. Drawing a gun he pockets, lurking in the shadows. Blood spewed out of the victim’s head, falling to the ground as red spills the pavements. Chuuya withdraws his gun as he eyed the dead body lying on the ground as he flees from the scene.

Luckily, he’ll move on to the main part of the day. He strode over to your house as he peeks by the window. He saw you, pupils dilate as you sat on the couch. Removing your shoes you stood up, “Fuck…” Chuuya mumbles under his breath as you went into your bedroom. He knew what was about to come as he trailed towards the room, he’s entertained by your show. Breathing heavily as his hands trembled in anticipation. Your fingers pulling your blouse up as Chuuya’s eyes widened. Cloth dropping to the floor as he saw your semi-naked body. Your skin seemed so flawless, your curves displayed so beautifully. Your pants being slid off only to be in your undergarment as you fold your clothes. Little did you know, a shadow piques to stalk your prints. You let out a breathy sigh, stretching.

“You’re really mine, aren’t you…” Chuuya mutters as he looks at you up and down. So bad, his gloved hands desires to claw on your skin—fangs to bite on your flesh to claim you as his. You dressed a loose shirt and simple shorts, too bad now covering your body his thrill wore down. Your features, he just imagines his hands traveling all over your warmth, his lips pressed up yours as he savors your sweet taste. Tongue exploring your mouth as his sight closed, to just run his tongue along your skin, teeth biting into your delicate neck to be filled with his markings. Yet his time was up, he has to get back to the headquarters—now isn’t this fun? He groans in annoyance as he spared you one last glance of lust and obsession.

He’ll be back for tomorrow, he’s sure.

—

[faewaren]

Unsanctioned probably ooc fanfiction of @crimeronan’s ocs under the cut. Inspired by the poll I’m horribly losing in. Thanks guys. Sorry to Kitkat if I got them super wrong. I love you Devin. You deserve better sex.

Warning for like. The general vibes of Kitkat’s fantasy world, Devin being suicidal as always, implications of past grooming, and mid sex that is “sure this might as well happen” consensual rather than enthusiastically so. In the beginning of the book as far as I know the triad isn’t together yet so I’m operating on things around that area since I know less about what’s going on plot-wise and politically later on when they do get together or when that happens!

When they’re done, Nova’s smile is overtly self-satisfied as she puts herself back to rights. The entire time, the faked glow of her, the flawless skin, the too-blue-to-be-true of her eyes — she’d kept it up. Even though Devin knows better. They weren't sure Nova had ever even considered having sex with anyone without her glamours in full force. Devin isn’t sure she's realized it’s a possibility. So much for vulnerability.

Devin had kept her shirt and jacket on, though, barely opened her pants, only allowed Nova to undress her as much as was strictly necessary, so — it isn’t as if she was rushing to expose any unvarnished truths, either.

"Now, isn't that better?" Nova asks, finger combing through her hair. “You’re so picky, you know? No one else ever complains. Don’t you know how lucky you are?”

Devin grunts, zipping her coat back up to the throat. She wouldn't say better. She doesn't feel any more nauseous than she usually does after time with Nova. It's not worse.

That’s why she lets it happen. Why, when Nova reaches for her, Devin sometimes, not always, just — allows it. There’s not much of a difference. She has to see Nova anyway. She can’t escape her. As much as she avoids it, puts it off, she knows she eventually has to come back. She always has to come back. There’s no way out of this life or the leash around their necks. Why not let Nova touch her? She’ll do it anyway, just somewhere else.

“Isn’t that better?” Nova repeats, her smile dropping.

Devin sighs.

“I’m not telling you you’re better than Sol,” they say.

“Why not?” Nova demands, immediately petulant.

Devin and Sol don’t even do this, not that Nova believes her when she says that. It’s not what they are. Not yet. Sometimes Devin thinks — but they don’t.

But Devin doesn’t feel like this after being around Sol. Hollow and faintly sick, worn out from the harsh unnatural light and overwrought glitz, all of it as fake as the honey-platinum evenness of Nova’s hair, no flyaways or strays, always tousled in a way that only professionals can achieve. Feeling like a storm is building behind her eyes to block out the sun.

Just — drained.

She hasn’t had sex with Sol. But she thinks she wouldn’t feel so much like this afterwards.

She’s not sure Nova realizes how fake her own moans sound, even when they aren’t. The way she’s conditioned herself to be conscious of how she looks and sounds and moves, to maximize pleasure for an audience that isn’t there when it’s just her and Devin.

Nova has no shortage of people willing to give her an orgasm and tell her she’s pretty. Devin doesn’t even do the second one. Devin doesn’t know what she gets out of this, with her.

She’s not going to ask.

“We done here?” Devin asks, already on her way to the door.

“Um, I wasn’t!”

“Finish next time,” Devin tells her. They need to get out of this place. They can only tolerate the feeling of the Centerspire for so long. And there’s no events today that can be leveraged to force them to stay. They need — quiet. Natural light. To be somewhere else, alone, or with someone else, or both. Sometimes Devin hates nature, a little, the way the magic of it gnaws on her insides and grinds through her bones and holds her prisoner in this life she can’t give away and can’t set down because at least she knows how to carry it. But she needs it, too, needs the dirt and the grass and always, always hates it less than Nova’s temple to nothing. She needs it now.

“Devin!” Nova yells after her, in a voice that would probably shock the counselors that have spent decades calling her sweet, demure, lovely.

Devin leaves without looking back.

[essence-unlimited]

♡—Welcome!—♡

Ah, good, this is working. Hello, I'm Professor Catherine Nettle, but people in Yufaria just call me the Pokémon Professor! I'm the leading researcher in Pokémon language, helping the world better understand their Pokémon so we can live in even better harmony! —🍃

Alongside me is our Champion, Orea! —🍃

Hello, Rotomblr. —☔️

We were kindly offered to link to the Ferrum League's blog to help boost us off the ground, being one of the lesser known regions and all. —☔️

Other figureheads in the region will also be granted access to this blog. Despite us being connected so heavily with our fellow region, Aclia, they have decided to not participate within the Rotomblr community, so it'll only be us in Yufaria. —☔️

We do not mention Team Trident.

【OOC STUFF AND MORE INFO BELOW】

WOOOOOOO, FAN REGION BASED BLOG!!! This is linked to @【gaia-channel】!

Note, most characters within the region are OCs, the main exception being Rachel, the same one from Pokémon Masters, she's an Elite Four member here!

(Sawyer is also here but isn't as relevant region story wise)

Aclia is the region owned by my partner! Per their request, and because they refuse to join Tumblr, I will not be giving out information about Aclia if asked about it, ONLY Yufaria. Anything mentioned is on my own accord.

Like my other blogs, the cast are all adults so suggestive content is possible.

The protagonists/rivals (Aydan, Lavender and Wez, they're triplets) may be mentioned, but they are minors and will not be given the blog.

The tagging system for content warnings is also the same: cw 【subject matter】/tw 【subject matter】.

The blog itself won't have a unique group tag as there's so many people but individuals will be tagged as 【Yufaria — (name)】 if they speak within the post!

For guests and extra users, they get either 【(Their role) — (name)】 or 【Guest — (name)】!

Due to a certain evil team in the region, there may be mentions of violence and brainwashing. Other cws will be specified where necessary.

Below are the names and respective emojis for the cast:

Miles 🌙 — Shayde City Gym Leader [He/Him]

Cassidy 🔥 — Chuferna City Gym Leader [She/Her]

Justin 👻 — Duskridge City Gym Leader [He/Him]

Justin's Rotom 📺 — Speaks for Justin usually, fluent in English + other languages (I only know English fluently) [He/Him]

Chayce 🩴 — Salrio City Gym Leader [He/Him]

Kendall ⚡️— Kinta City Gym Leader [She/Her]

Saffi 🔮 — Kimitra City Gym Leader [She/They]

Wynter 🖌 — Twinkeesta City Gym Leader [She/They]

Luis 👓 — Roethe City Gym Leader [He/Him]

Mason 🪴 — Elite Four [They/Them]

Caesar 🪑 — Elite Four [He/They]

Rachel 🤜 — Elite Four [She/Her]

Daniel 🌊 — Elite Four [He/Him]

Orea ☔️ — Champion [He/Him]

Nettle 🍃 — Professor [She/Her]

Peyton 🛠 — Frontier Brain [She/They]

Freysa 🎮 — Frontier Brain [She/They/It]

Constantine 💄 — Frontier Brain [He/They]

Maxime 💎 — Glamour Monarch (unique performance mechanic, like contests and showcases) [He/Him]

Oliver 🌌 — Stellar Tamer (A pokémon whisperer pretty much, he also has 71 Pokémon...no I am not joking, he literally has 71. I will pull up the whole list if asked.) [He/They]

Below are any guests and other users that appear on the blog:

Seth 🔒 — Shayde Gym Stand-In (Colosseum Protag) [They/Them]

Spinel 🖱 — Shayde Gym Stand-In (Explorers) [He/They]

[who-knew-a-sheep-can-write]

Gren x GN!Reader NSFW Headcanons

Your comments are delicious >:)

I may have made Grenny boy a little too ooc, my bad

🌙 He's the type to act like a sleeze but he's a pretty caring guy. He doesn't show his emotions on his sleeve at all, and you might not even think he's flirting with you at first, but he is. Gren grew up with tough love in an even tougher environment, but he tries his best. He does have a heart, after all mama's boy, Beowulf didn't extinguish that shit centuries ago.

🌙 However, when he's had a few drinks, he's very forward about what he wants. He's a big fan of leaning against the bar and openly flirting with you like that. He tries to be a gentleman sometimes if he's feeling like it, offering to buy you a few drinks here and there while he butchers pick-up lines like crazy.

🌙 He's the type to be a sloppy kisser. It doesn't matter if he's sober or drunk, things get a little messy. He's a man starved for attention, and you're the kind soul that's gonna give it to him. He's very physical with his kisses, almost always turning it into a makeout session where his hands travel all across your body, eventually leading him right to your sex where he loves to tease.

🌙 He loves making out in the elevator on your way to either of your apartments. Just the build-up alone is enough to get this man rock hard. He's very eager to let you know that is, too, grinding against your backside while his hands trace down your torso as you try to unlock the door.

🌙 He has such a filthy mouth. I hope you like degration and dirty talk, because this man is dishing it out. He says it all in this deep and gravelly voice that sends little electrical pulses right into your sex that it makes your head spin. He even tops some it off with a sickly sweet little pet name to hook you in.

🌙 Loves rough sex. If the headboard ain't knocking, he's not going fast enough. He may be one thin as fuck guy, but under that glamour is a big hulking beast with a firey sex drive.

🌙 He's done it with numerous other fables, even before having to flee the Homelands. He's seen it all, though trolls tend to rank higher on his list. He loves the idea of both of you dropping your glamours for the night and fucking like wild animals, but the fragility of the bed, as well as the rest of the apartment, often stops you both.

🌙 Please be careful of his bad arm. The scar is very much still there and there are often times where it gives out under the weight he puts on it to fuck you senseless. He loves nothing more than for you to massage it afterwards and leave tender little kisses on it. Try not to dig your nails in too much on that one side.

🌙 One of his favorite things to do is to partially drop his glamour enough for that tongue to come out. He loves lapping and licking at your sex with that big, long, wet tongue of his. He makes eye contact the entire time, and if you even think about looking away, he barely grazes his teeth over your sensitive skin to really get your attention.

🌙 He's very much a dom. He doesn't dislike the idea of being submissive with you, he just doesn't feel comfortable yet. The last time someone dominated him, it ended with him dead in some Danish swamp, so...

🌙 He loves deepthroating you. He loves nothing more than to knot his fingers in your hair and face-fuck you until he cums right down your throat. Just the noises alone are enough to get him in the mood. He loves to drag you up by your hair and shoulders and then kiss you, loving how he tastes in your mouth.

🌙 He's not ashamed to lose control, just a little ashamed of the mess that comes with it. He loves the power, but feels guilty about the dents he leaves in the walls from making the headboard bang against it so much. It's lead him to come up with some interesting ideas on how and where to fuck you.

🌙 One of those thoughts being in a crowded bar. He wants nothing more than to take you in some secluded little corner and make it look like you're just sitting in his lap or something when really he's just slipping his dick in you and you both have to play it cool.

🌙 Or fucking in the back of the Trip Trap when Holly is busy up front. The stock room is dark and tight and he loves the feeling of being so close and cramped with you that he has to pin you to the wall and all. Being so close leaves so little to the imagination when it's pressed right up against you.

🌙 He loves to sext, especially when you're at work and he's not. He always turns up the heat to the point he sends you a picture of what he's doing, but it's very obvious what the out-of-focus thing is at the bottom of the picture.

🌙 But if you sext him while he's out? Prepare that ass because you're not gonna get any sleep all night long. Teasing him while he's out is a very dangerous game, and Gren subscribes to the term of: Play stupid game win stupid prizes, and you're definitely gonna get fucked stupid.

🌙 He takes all of the complaints from neighbors with a stupid and very cocky grin on his face. Even when you're ducking your head down to hide your embarrassment, he's proud as hell. He's teasing you about it later.

🌙 Definitely the type to smoke a cigarette after sex. He always offers you one, too. If you're not a smoker and you're not too keen on cigarette smoke staining your walls and smelling up your sheets, he takes it outside. Whether it's a small patio you have, the fire escape or just fully opening a window, he's smoking a cigarette. And he will walk out fully nude with his dick out and all, he has no shame.

[asongofgoldenfireandblackblood]

home — wanted — directory — apply — discord — message — q & a

We are a No-Dance!AU and politics, family, and court-drama focused RP. To join, check out our main site, and find out who our court would like to see most on our Most Wanted page, send us a raven with any questions and once you're ready apply, and then join us for plotting and OOC-chat on our Discord!!

Alla is particularly wanted by her cousin Lady Samantha Hightower and political counterparts Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen and Lady-Paramount Jeyne Arryn, as well as by Prince Aegon Targaryen, Queen Alicent Hightower, Lord Kermit Tully, Ruling-Princess Aliandra Martell, Prince Jacaerys Targaryen, Lady Bethany Merryweather, and Lady Cassandra Baratheon.

Note: Character traits, faceclaim, and details are suggestions and can be reworked to a certain extent if discussed with the current members of the RP!

Character biography under the cut

Born the ninth of thirteen children in the prolific Rowan family, Alla Tyrell (née Rowan) is 24, and the Lady of Highgarden and Lady-Regent of the Reach, following the unexpected death of her husband, Lord Arys Tyrell. She has transformed what many assumed would be a fleeting regency into a role of enduring authority and influence. Armed with a razor-sharp intellect, effortless grace, and an unwavering ambition, Alla has redefined expectations, carving a space for herself as one of the most compelling and commanding figures in the Seven Kingdoms. The circumstances surrounding Lord Arys’ death remain unremarkable on the surface, but whispers linger. Some claim that Alla’s hand guided his fate—be it through a deftly administered poison or more arcane, forbidden means. Her apparent lack of mourning has only stoked the fire, earning her the nickname “The Dowager of Illusions”. Under her leadership, Highgarden has become the place to be. It’s a court full of decadence, intrigue, and beauty, a reflection of Alla herself. She keeps a string of lovers without a shred of shame, brushing off judgment with the same ease she wields her charm. Alla knows exactly how to read a room, how to work people to her advantage, and how to stay three steps ahead. She can win over a rival with a laugh, destroy an opponent with a single word, and look stunning while doing it. Beneath the glamour, Alla is smart, calculating, and fiercely ambitious. She’s not afraid to make bold moves or take risks, and she’s proven time and time again that she knows how to win. Whether she’s building alliances or cutting ties, every decision is deliberate, every step carefully planned. Some call her a widow of fortunate timing; others, a mastermind who played her hand to perfection. But one thing is certain: Alla Tyrell was born for power, and she has no intention of relinquishing it. Highgarden, and the Reach itself, may never know a ruler of her like again. Suggested faceclaim: Rose Williams in Sanditon