#quite small and suffocating in many respects

[patrice-bergerons]

Boston is just. A city, huh?

[yandere-wishes]

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡Acolyte⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

𐙚Yandere! Qimir/The Master x Reader

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Plot: Your loneliness is suffocating, engulfing. Qimir is the only one who seems to subdue the pain. But every forbidden fruit has its price.

⁀➷Warnings: Yandere behavior, gore, angst (at the end), author having an anxiety attack over this fic  

🪐Note: Why is the longest thing I've ever written for a fandom that barely exists? Anyway, here's the long-awaited Qimir piece!

⁺₊𝄞₊⁺ : Disturbia - Rihanna, Dark Vacay & Motion Picture Soundtrack - CAS

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆🍓⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Your master's anger is tangible. You harbour it stubbornly on your tongue. Relishing in the frustration. You aren't sure how many times you've cut out your soul to place at a master's feet. Gnawing on perfect lips to keep quiet during another scolding. Your new master's disappointment reverberates through the room. Thick and oozing like an infected wound.

You messed up again.

"We do not injure other padawans during training. We do not lash out and attack, especially when your training partner has fallen. How have you trained for so long without comprehending these basics?"

The rage that boils inside you is not Jedi in nature. It's something else, a bizarre second, something ancient, ghoulish. An all-consuming fire that burns inside your veins. It shouldn't feel so welcoming, so familiar.

You roll your eyes.

"With all due respect master. How is one to win, if they do not strick when given the opportunity? That too should be a basic notion, no?"

You see the anger snake across your master's face. A defeated, disgruntled, glance that you've become a bit too acquainted with. This is the look that all your previous masters give you. And yet none have yet to master its eeriness quite as well as your first master. Master Sol.

Your master sighs, a piercing noise, deflating every ounce of his willpower. You are exhausting to be around, his annoyance is becoming discernible. "Master Sol is coming by the temple to check your...progress. He's requested a few items to take back with him. Please go fetch them from the apothecary."

Progress is a gentle word and Jedi love using gentle words. It's easier to say than the full truth. Sugar-coated things always taste better.

But the sugar refuses to stick to you.

It burns away in your bitterness.

Coruscant is a distant memory, it was never your home to begin with. But the high bustling volume is something that is hard to forget. Here things are quiet, you slip through the bazaar undetected. Small basket clutched tightly. You wonder what's dragging your former master halfway across the galaxy. You wonder if it's really just to see you.

You gaze blankly at the holographic list. A few rare herbs and some medical roots. This planet grows them in abundance, and the local apothecary carries more than its fair share.

The apothecary is an old, disheveled thing. The older Jedi say that its presence is as old as the temple itself. Odd how some things have a will of iron. You gently rap at the worn metal door, waiting for an invitation to enter. The hinges cry as the door opens ever so slightly. You squeeze in, surveying the cluttered den. Careful to avoid the half-empty bottles and neon puddles scattered across the floor.

"Excuse me" your voice holds an urgent annoyance. Where is the pharmacist? What kind of store owner abandons their shop in the midday? You run your fingers across the strange bottles, letting your nails pick at the murky glass. The colors flash, begging to be freed, strange space pinks, and summer oranges all trapped inside square prisons. Baby poisons dying to taste the world, burning it if they must, but experiencing it nonetheless, tasting their own form of freedom. Funny, they almost remind you of yourself.

Trapped and fatal.

"Hello?", the voice behind you is languid, dozy. Mirroring a late afternoon nap. When the man next speaks you notice a lyrical lint "What brings you here little lady?". You turn to see it, the voice, or rather the man harboring the voice. He's loosely robed and shaggy in the way that only the most spirited vagabonds are. He smiles tenderly upon seeing your face, strange red fruit caught between his teeth. "I um...I" you click your tongue anxiously against the roof of your mouth. Feeling around for those pesky words, in the end, you just shove the hologram holder forward, hoping he'll understand.

"Oh, I see, out here doing some chores?" You nod, mind preoccupied with the otherwordly fruit. "what's that?" you ask, schoolgirl curiosity lacing your voice. "What, this?" he asks holding the freckled thing between his fingers, it's only in the mild light that you notice the shimmering gold scattered across its red skin. The stranger laughs, walking closer, he places the hologram base on the black table, clicking it on as he studies the list. "They're called strawberries. They're from the forest planets, not many grow here in the mid-rims." He's nimble as he packs the herbs and roots, fumbling with the straw ties. "care for a bite" he asks, handing you the bitten fruit.

Hesitantly you bite.

Letting the sweetness erupt on your tongue.

"Thank you" you mumble trying not to moan at the foreign taste. The stranger laughs, it's a cheery noise like birds chirping in first bloom tress. "you're a Jedi, aren't you?" he asks stepping around the table, eyebrows furrowed, caught in a dream he doesn't seem to understand. You choke on the rogue static as he steps closer, eyes half-lidded dreaming of nothing. "Here..."

"Wha-" your voice catches in your throat, it's getting harder to breathe.

"Your supplies" He hands you the brown paper bag, motion a little too phlegmatic to be right.

"Oh, right...thanks" You anxiously shove the bag into your basket and scurry out of the shop. Holding your breath.

"Come back soon." the voice chirps behind you.

Your old master arrives by spaceship, a newer, albeit worn model. The landing pad ejects to reveal a small escort.

Master,

Knight,

Padwan,

Apostate,

You stand still watching as they descend. Bits of envy bubble in your throat watching your former master and his band of little heroes. You wish you had their belonging. Forgoing the loneliness to find kinsmanship with your coterie. You swallow down the bitter thoughts as they finally approach you.

Master Sol's smile reaches his eyes. Gentle and wise. The true epidemy of a Jedi in every sense of the word. Funny how he now has two failures under his belt. None of which are capable of scratching his shining repute.

His hands are on your shoulders, bright smile. "My padawan, it's been too long." You try to bow, awkwardly and stiffly. "Mater Sol, I'm grateful you've come to asses my progress". If he hears your doubt he doesn't show it. Instead, he reintroduces you to Yord, Jacki, Osha.

You try to be polite. Gulp down the awkwardness

You imagine the taste of strawberries on your tongue.

Remember their stiff sweetness and prickly tasteless freckles.

You smile. Easier this time.

They'll stay here for some time. Hunting assassins and documenting progress in their free time. Jacki seems more invested in your training than you are, trying to teach you everything she knows. At least she doesn't mind the rough play, the violent strikes, and sloppy prideful defenses. She speaks in pointers and parries. She's the one to drag you along these assassin hunts. Welcoming you...or at least trying to.

But there is something else at play. Darker, broader, Sol and Jecki welcome you into the fray. Yet you still feel your old master's hesitance, he's still wary of you. Worried about your anger, your defiance.

The distance grows, some icy void.

Sol used to tell you fairytales. This was back when you'd been young and bright-eyed. Freshly welcomed into the order and still overflowing with artless hope for a colorful future.

But even back then, he had known there was something wrong with you.

Looking back it was evident.

Every story started and ended the same. Little princess against the big bad world. Holding out until her prince came along. Only problem was the morals never registered right in your little messed-up brain.

Why didn't the princess fall for the dragon, the wolf, the tyrant king with a crown of bones? Why didn't she swoon and sigh over someone rousing, compelling? A paradox wrapped in black ember? Why settle for a sun-painted prince, with no complexities, no mysteries to unravel?

You would have married the dragon, or the wolf, or the tyrant king with a crown of bones.

Even back then, it was evident something was wrong.

The temple's roof isn't restricted per se.

It's rather abandoned as opposed to forbidden.

Maybe that's why you find solace here. The abandonment feels familiar, similar. The chipped cement kisses the soles of your feet, you imagine it's something like walking upon the rough terrain of a star.

You breathe in the night air deeply.

Expecting the fragile scents of moonshine and star glitter.

Instead, you choke on heavy mist and blood-drenched air.

The thing standing in front of you isn't human. It can't be human. It's created from the blackness, ebony in all the ways a living thing shouldn't be. For a second you think you're staring at a black hole. No doubt this creature crawled out of one.

What sheer willpower one must need to drag themselves out of endless nothingness?

"Little Jedi should not brave the night alone."

It speaks

"There are far too many monsters roaming in the dark"

Its face never moves, statue in all the ways the figures towering over the entrance aren't. This statue is something else, a lost page to some forgotten epic. Carved from gems born in darkness. Evil and rotten.

"What are you?" your voice susurrate, quivering in this surreal scene. The air is thicker now, overflowing with raw static.

Your fingers itch for your saber. Only when the cold metal kisses your palm do you regain some semblance of reality.

The hiss, the green light.

The figure chuckles.

Its voice bouncing from every direction. Everywhere all at once. When it speaks the air cackles, raining as if it were a frightened child.

"I am something akin to you, another child of the force" His voice comes out distorted, uneven in tone. "I am what's birthed when one learns of the true strength of the force."

Your body moves on its own, feet kicking the ground sprinting faster and faster before the final leap. You aim for the helmet, for the morbid toothy grin permanently etched within steel. In a flash the word stills, floating around you like fluorescent bubbles, the rain tumbles around you, curving and diving for the wet ground. It dares not land on something within his grasp.

You feel the slithering across your body. They start from the ground, summed from the unknown depths. Clinging firmly to your ankles before inching up your knees, your hips, your neck.

long, slipper tendrils curling around your body. The figure watches, bare arm outstretched. You should probably be focused on how the unseen things are inching closer to your mouth. Not on the toned muscles and limber fingers of the monster. Not on how, for a fraction of a heartbeat, his smile appears genuine, caring, aimed straight at you.

Only You

They finally reach your lips, prying your teeth ajar and flooding your mouth. Sinking deeper and deeper into your soul, your mind, you.

The smile grows.

In a blink you're suspended in the space between worlds, dark damning thing cradling your body.

"The dark side once belonged to the Jedi, yet they chose to discard it. Deeming it malignant, ungovernable."

Your weightlessness unnerves you. You're malleable in this void.

"Those few who embraced its calling were dubbed Sith." He says the word with such fervent pride. Devoted to it's weight and all it carries. You try to roll the word off your own tongue only for it to burn the roof of your mouth.

The stranger stalks closer, lethal and lithe.

The void vibrates, the darkness bends to his will.

He reaches down to cup your face. His fingers feel warm, welcoming. You nuzzle into his palm, fighting the urge to kiss each finger and suck on the dark force they emit. "You..." he starts, his voice shakes you to the core. Its horror amplifies with the proximity. You wonder if it'll cut through steel, armor, flesh.

your flesh.

"You aren't like the other temple dwellers. You have potential."

His thumb presses your lower lip, demanding entrancing. You comply, needing to feel something solid.

Something you've been denied your whole life.

"They keep you locked away. Trading you between craven masters. Seeing who can tame you first."

He nicks his thumb on your teeth,

Pressing bone into dentin.

His essence drips into you.

He tastes of power.

Of dark, dreadful things you can not name.

"They do not know how to train you. How to use your power..."

The world crumbles, ebony midnights giving way to reality. You feel yourself fall, plunging through the air like a comet bent on destruction.

"They only break you further"

Your knees collide with the harsh ground. Skin splintering in the aftermath giving way to bruises and bloodmarks.

The ground feels too solid beneath you.

A poly, a ruse.

You all but expect to melt through it. Slipping and falling into the vacuum, into him, once more.

He hovers above. Absolute in his strength. You're beginning to believe that blackholes birth divinity. Eyes shimmering with fanatic fidelity, staring up at the holy creature commanding the storm.

"Teach me..."

You've never begged for anything so terribly in your life.

But you need this.

this power

this control.

him.

Sol never told just how the princess met the villain.

He never said it wasn't love at first fright.

Sol insists that the local apothecary knows the truth behind the Jedi-killer. Definite that the unseemly man can tell you something important. He sends Osha inside to play Mea. To get the man to talk.

You crowd around the communicator urging back giggles. Yord's chin is placed upon your shoulder and Jecki's cheek rests against yours. Their touches come so early. And yet they are utterly alien.

"He will be so pleased." No sooner have the words chime from the corroded speakers that Sol is ushering you all towards the small metal hut.

Yord entwines his fingers with you as he runs.

Jacki wraps around your arm.

You feel at times they are trying to tame you.

Befriend the feral puppy they found in the backyard.

The apothecary's face is utterly stunned. He's stammering over his words fear glistening in his eyes as he stares at Sol. "Please, please don't wipe my memories. Or whatever it is you Jedi do." A rosy blush colors your cheeks, at his terror. It's terribly amusing seeing someone so carless, anxiously list off everything he knows. You almost feel bad for the poor scared man.

There isn't anything important here. But Sol decides that you will all return at midnight. The Jedi-killer will be back. Apparently, Qimir -that's his name, that the strawberry-eating, disheveled pharmacist's name- is holding something of value for her.

There's a tug on your wrist as you go to follow the others. Gentle and firm as he pulls you to his chest. "Come by tonight. I'll have some strawberries waiting for you." why does he feel too genuine? When you turn to look at him, he's painted in his usual sweet carefree smile that tugs at your heart.

He looks so innocent...

Starlight really brings out his eyes. He's laughing with a nervous smile,

School-boy crush on full display. You're licking strawberry juice from your hands as you listen to him talk. Backs pressed against the rusty wall and bodies half sprawled in the dirt. He's telling you about the first time the Hutts made him retrieve a plushie for their son from another solar system.

Qimir's voice feels like rose peddles melting into your skin. Sweet, jejeune, free. You offer him a berry from your pile. Watching tentatively as he submerges the red fruit into his mouth. Missing your fingers by an inch. He's laughing after the fact, head thrown back as if he's about to engulf the stars. You decide to laugh too.  

"Are you really that lonely," he says in a voice that's almost not his own. You're not expecting the invasive question, although you guess he means well. The words still cut deep. Piercing through the laughter, stunning you for a breath too long. "No...I'm a Jedi, we do not-"

"Form personal connection. I know...But you just look so lonely." He shuffles closer, the dirt particles almost look celestial in this light. Your fingers pitch a civil war. Pinching and clawing at each other. "No, yes. I don't really get along with the others." He rolls his eyes, bored and amused in the same breath. "Yeah, no wonder your money." He's picking at another strawberry, letting the crunch fill up the silence. You're beginning to think he just likes having something to chew on. Gulping down the anxiety with something toothsome.

He's a little closer now, fingers gingerly tucking back your hair. His fingerprints reverberate across the shell of your ear. Lips gliding against yours. You swallow as his lips fall across yours, pushing sweet stars past parted lips. He tastes of odd things, whimsy things. Everything you'll never come to understand. Xeno fruits and asteroid fields. His fingers glide up your arms, leaving moondust in their wake. He slowly parts, holding you softly with his soulful dark eyes

"You taste so sweet"

Strawberry, Starberry, You kiss him a little too deeply.

Maybe your new master is right.

Maybe there are other ways of being a Jedi.

The movie playing is doused in shades of rose and lilac. Gentle in all the ways. Everyway. The twi'lek girl is in love with the zabrak boy and their families do not approve. You think you remember Sol telling you a similar tale.  

The makeshift auditorium is cozy. Brown couch housing the three of you and your armada of blankets and popcorn buckets. Jacki's head is in your lap, you're playing with the end of her braid imagining the hair to be the lace of a Love-sick girl's ballgown. Yord's arm traverses the length of your arm, absentminded as he studies the motion picture, poking holes in the lose rose-tainted plot. Your head rests against his broad shoulder taking in his new cologne.

Maybe you really did miss them.

Jacki reaches for the popcorn, offering you some before shoving a handful into her mouth. You think the little symmetry-less kernels would taste better with a strawberry glaze. Qimir flashes across your mind, smiling sweetly as he tilts his head.

You think you're a little too similar to the star on screen.

Pinning after forbidden love,

Forbidden power.

Master Sol is growing acutely aware of your drastic improvements. He's noticed the betterment in your offense, your defense. To the way, you wield your saber, your techniques, and yourself. There is esteem in the way he smiles. In the words of praise, you've longed to hear. But you notice the lingering glances, the undertone of skepticism and worry when he asks about practice. He doesn't need to know of the black-glad creature that trains you in the unholy hours.

He doesn't need to know how beautifully your new master sculpts your rage into lessons. Teaching you how to wrangle the force and control it. How to use it to make the world bow.

These things will remain secret. For you fear Sol and the others will strip them of you. Strip them of the new master you've come to worship.

"Do you think people glow when they fall in love?" Jacki's voice is filled with sleep. Eyes closed as she murmurs remnants of movie memory. "No, I don't believe they do" you answer. "too...bad" There was a yawn there darling and vigorous like the rests of her. She looks so sweet like this, infantile in all the ways she can't be. Little girl dreaming of something impossible. You wonder if Sol's told her the fairytales too. You kiss the crown of her head, your baby sister you think. And big brother Yord, snoring with his head thrown back.

Maybe you should test her theory. rising softly from the couch you make your way to the door. Throwing one final glance at your sleeping siblings. Before going to find Qimir.

His lips ghost over yours, spilling star-clad secrets between each kiss. The apothecary has never been so dark, so secret, so secluded. Qimir's lips glided across your neck biting the flesh and licking the little diamond droplets of blood. Your nails rack across his spine, the wool of his throw-over itching the backs of your hands. "So precious" he mumbles, voice ridden with want, need. it's criminal how desperately he needs to feel you. You writhe under him, "Qimir, kiss." you whine. His lips feel like a lifeline, something keeping you sain. He pushes fireflies and lava pearls inside you, carving you open and enjoying you

He always enjoys you.

It's foggy outside when his tongue clashes against yours. A thick unsettling mist banging against the darkened window. "You're custom-made for me" Qimir mumbles against your lips. "Custome tailored" you boldly correct. "ummm, sure" his hands pinch at your hips, clawing mindlessly and leaving tails to your thighs. But the sensations are growing distant, you hear the heavy hum of saber activation. You psyche cracks

The world is dark,

He alone is absolute.

Your master's mask flashes dangerously across your mind. "Master Sol would be disappointed". You've heard that line a million times. Still, the words cut a little too deep coming from your demiurger. "Gullible" you don't understand, what have you done to earn his rage? He's gone, leaving you in the emptiness, you taste the charcoal from the landscape under your tongue.

Still, you long to call after him.

"Master"

The darkness subsides with the feeling of softness across your muscles. A breeze stirs you from the clutches of slumber. "Good morning" Qimir chirps, soft smile greeting you as you open your eyes. "Qimir, when did I?" he laughs, it's such a pretty sound this early in the morning. Sweet like caramel tea. He kisses your forehead. His quietude is commendable, he tries to calm you with feather-light kisses. You laugh pushing the covers away and still. Frozen.

What's this

The nightgown is lacy and short. It drapes expensively against your skin. Marring it with its tenderness. "Qimir, what's this!" he chuckles, "I couldn't let you sleep in those robes, they looked uncomfortable." You want to argue, to scream, and be angry. But the rage boils down slowly as you notice something dangling around your wrist. A bangle, and an anklet you notice later, black and gold entwined in patterns mirroring lighting stricks. "They're from Korriban, I had some relatives there." oh, why does that planet sound so familiar? "Thanks, but ask me next time before you go playing dress-up doll with my sleeping body" He pouts and can't help but trail a string of mouthy kisses across his neck. Qimir shuffles pulling you onto his lap. Pushing his nose under your chin. His eyes are honey-deo, adoring and scheming. "But you're mine." The possessive ness that flesh across his face is alarming. So is how tightly he grips your waist. It's only in this state of half-undressed that you begin to notice the taut muscles of his arms.

During your most recent lesson, your master gifts you a ripe juicy strawberry. He says it'll focus you, replenish your wither strength. You eat it a little too quickly, forgetting to savor the pink blush within. You believe too ferociously in everything your master says.

He can never be wrong.

You love the way your new master splatters blood across your sleeves. Be it yours or his enemies. He's started taking you out on his kills, having you watch as he hacks and mauls. His enemies must die, no one who doubts such marvels should be granted the privilege of life.

He's only ever spoken in half-riddles.

"Unfortunately legacy is a fickle thing. Tenacious, fervent, yet frail and erratic. No matter how hematological, we all read our bones differently."

The rain falls to your ragged heartbeat. Fast one minute and slow the next. You stick out your tongue desperate for a few drops. Your body is on fire, every muscle pushed to its limit. But the Force is screaming inside you, thumping dangerously between your fingers. You're ready for the next round. Saber ready and only half mesmerized as your master pulls out another blood-red saber. You charge, rage pumping deliciously through your body.

You forget to ask him where he got the berry from.

The next Jedi to die will be Kelnacca. That's why Sol is dragging all of you to the forest planet of Khofar. You think the name is utterly hilarious, the others don't understand the mirth.

Between briefings and Jacki and Yords packing quarrels. You sneak out to say goodbye to Qimir. Scribbling a half eligible not to leave for your master. But the apothecary is deserted upon your arrival, only a taped note on a half-full mortar.

'Gone to get more Strawberries.

Be back soon.'

You wonder if Khofar has strawberries.

Strawberry, Starberry, you're falling between the cracks of so many.

The Sun on Khofar is red, barely breaching the thick canopy. Maybe it's for the best. This scene is not one to remember, but how can you make yourself forget?

Death looms.

Permanent, Eternal

The fighting began in twilight.

The sky has grown two shades darker since.

He had floated in from the high reaches. You'd almost called out to him, 'master', the words die bitterly on your tongue. His saber ignites in the carnage, light growing redder after each kill. The bodies fall haphazardly stirring the quiet night.

Your saber falls onto the woodchip ground. No sound. He has followed you here. Yet it is not you, he seeks. Your master mask is haunting, in the dark the silver mouth glows bright white. Even against a massacre

the smile never relents.

He twirls the red saber with lethal accuracy, red arc severing another life. 'Take the right!' Jacki screams through the force, her eager voice bouncing inside your cranium. 'Don't' you scream but she's already attacked.

Saber sings saber.

Golden light flickers.

Forward. Backward. Lunge. Parry. Flunge.

Just like you practiced. Back in the quiet of the training room. Is it too late to return to the matted ground and wooden swords? Too late for safe comfort?

You won't take it for granted this time you swear.

Your master attacks with vicious zeal, cutting through the light. His black robes bleeding into the night. Jacki, scurries backward, trying to block with every ounce of strength. In one swift move, she spins freeing herself and assaulting his head with the metal of her weapon.

The mask clutters to the ground.

You scream.

He looks every bit the villain here. Blood drenched, water drenched. Smiling like the wolf in a child's picture book. Qimir's face stares back at you, hair matted to his forehead. He's panting, spent. You've never seen him toil. Dreaming him incapable of harm.

Yet he stands above the corpses. Wolf's teeth bared as he slices through the little girl.

It's been years since Master Sol tucked you into bed. Years since he's read you a story and listened to your baseless questions about romances.

You've finally gotten your answer. Painted in a shade of red indistinguishable from black.

Because the villain is too vile to be loved.

You run, catching the limp corpse before it joins the rest, you cradle her close. Tears landing on the orange of her face. There are no strawberry romances here. No sweet forbidden fruits. Just pain, hollow, empty, rotten. "Jacki" your voice muffles into her robes, rain-soaked, tear-soaked.

"Was that its name?" his voice doesn't sound right. No cheerful hellos or drowsy laughs. It's all menacing now, grating and hollow lilt. "Qimir" you wail, sob half caught in your throat. "It can't be you." He shakes his head, smile crooked and maniacal. "I'm afraid so, little one." The force pushed you up, pulling you to him. Qimirs head tilts, his fingers dancing around your throat. Squeezing squeezing squzing. Your glossy eyes take in his unruly appearance. Even now your master looks utterly perfect. Muscles relaxed as he steals your breath. "Master" you whine, your heart shouldn't be hammering like this, leaping through beats like something lovesick.

"(Y/n)" golden light fills the clearing. Yord runs, Prince Charming in every way you should have loved.

Qimir releases you, only to nestle your neck in the crook of his arm. "Don't worry darling. I'm almost done." He blocks the first attack.

Second, third. Yord scrambles to pull you away, missing each time. "Let her go" The urgency in his voice rattles you. He did love you.

Little sister, little princess.

Why is only starting to make sense now?

There's a crack, so loud it echoes across the woods.

"NO"

Yord's body joins the rest.

no no no

"Where were we?" Qimir is every bit the villain.

The dragon, the wolf, the tyrant king with a crown of bones.

"You lied to me, you killed them. Why, why would you do this."

"Because the Jedi say I can not exist." Sith, right those things were supposed to be evil. Hailing from Koriiban, the evil Jedi forced to flee. And here you were having so readily given yourself to the enemy.

The blood flows free in the rain. Dozens of bodies drained.

There's a river of blood. You kneel by the holy thing, dipping your cupped hands into the crimson. You drink deeply from the massacre thinking it'll taste sweet. Qimir pulls you in holding your throat as he submerges you.

Baptized in blood

The world flashes red.

It feels so free here. Floating weightless, letting everything be. The rage can not find you in these depths. Free like an adrift astromech. Free to float amongst the stars.

When you emerge again. The world has grown brighter. You see the wide-eyed bodies, even Sol is among the dead, you swear you see disappointment in his lifeless orbs. You gulp, swallowing the euphoric faint. You see your new master before you. Swimming to him carefully, following the gentle tug of the force. Prey meets predator. Qimir chuckles, the water is shallow by the banks. He sits awaiting, on his makeshift throne.

There is no sympathy here you should know better

"You took adorable" Qimir rasps. Hot breath fanning your ear. "Master Qimir" you mumble shifting as he pulls you onto his lap. He laughs this is submission, a breath away from grasping his desire. He cups your cheeks, drifting his hands to your shoulders. Pulling you closer, bodies melting into one.

His kisses still taste like strawberries. Sweet and metallic. All possession and domination. Biting lips and tongue and flesh. Spilling fresh poison with each snip of your neck. He licks the blood from your fingers with feral pleasure. Swirling his tongue around each digit and pulling it further down his hungry mouth. You swallow the darkness from his tongue, letting him snuff out the little embers of light. The stars are burning away bit by bit. He pushes you under again.

Mornings on Khofar are dark, caught in a perpetual twilight. Qimir wraps his robes around you letting the midnight sink into your bones. "The ships a bit of a walk. But we should be there before noon." You paddle after him. Fingers lashing awkwardly at his hand. He turns and offers you that tilted smile once more, mask bouncing in his free hand.

"Master qimir" you confess, it feels so light on your tongue. Like clutching dying white-dwarf-stars behind your teeth. He chuckles, snapping a berry from a nearby bush. His smile sings of triumph, victory, earned in blood. He places the fruit amongst your teeth. You, his little war prize.

"My little acolyte"

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[burningcheese-merchant]

Silent Salt's countenance is... a unique one. Not hideous, not quite, but not conventionally attractive by any means. Coupled with a cluster of scars and other ancient forms of injury further marring his face, he was never an easy one on the eyes, so to speak. He always wore the helm because it was his deeds that mattered, not his identity - or that was how he once thought, in his distant, heroic past. But, in painful, unfortunate truth, it was also partially because he simply didn't want to deal with the staring. With the shock. With the thinly veiled disgust. The forced politeness angered him the most; he knew they were lying, he knew his face perturbed them. He would've respected them so much more if they had just spoken plain.

There had always existed this shallow element of self-loathing within him; never more so than it does with regards to White Lily. She's so lovely, so captivating, and he's... he has to wear a mask all the time, just for some semblance of peace of mind. Hers is a sweet, delicate, almost ethereal beauty. He is grim and gruff and all dark, sharp edges, inside and out. If by some miracle his personality and status as Beast of Silence doesn't drive her away, then his face will. Like it had so many others.

He has never allowed anyone to remove his helm. Not even his friends and colleagues, both then and now (especially not now. Shadow Milk's petty jabs are insufferable even with Salt's face obscured; revealing it again would only escalate the jester's mockery). Even just trying to touch it sparks a terrible rage. It's his security blanket, in a way. Something that grants him a modicum of control over his supposed destiny. He cannot change how he looks, but he can at least hide it. And hide it, he will. From everyone he can, for as long as he can. From her most of all.

Perhaps he could've been more... polite in his refusal of her touch, the first few times. He saw a hand wrapped in green floating towards his face and he responded. The regret that washed over him at the sound of her yelp - startled and pained, an accessory to the tremor in her wrist born from him grasping it so tight - was overwhelming, almost suffocating, and yet... he did it again, the next attempt she made. And the one after that. And the one after that. Nevertheless, for reasons unknown, she persisted.

Must've been that morbid curiosity of hers.

The one time she asked him why he never rid himself of the helm, he answered her simply. "Because I don't want to." Five words - six, technically - conveyed to her through the curling of his fingers and the rattle of his gauntlets as he signed them to her. And she took it well, all things considered. No disappointment, no rebuttals, no further inquiries. Only a slow, thoughtful nod and nothing else. It was a mercy and a relief he didn't think he'd feel so thankful for, until he did.

Something told Silent Salt that she already knew the answer that hid behind the first one. Intuition? Their Soul Jam connection? That glint in her eye that resembled sympathy more than he would've liked? Whatever it is, it hardly matters in the end. She asked once. He answered once. She didn't ask again. That was the end of it.

With time, she grew more bold. No more reaching for his helm; it took a few tries but she learned her lesson there. Instead she let her hands rest on his cold shoulders. Trail along the dents and grooves in his chest. Take one of his gauntlets prisoner, turning it into a test subject, the apple of her curious eye as she studied the metal plates big and small encasing his fingers.

"Your hands are quite large," she remarked one day, some of it to him and some of it just to herself, her eyes still fused to the black sheet of his palm as she spoke. "My friend, Golden Cheese... She once told me that your comrade has large hands, too. Twice the size of hers, in fact. Are they bigger than yours, too?"

Yes, he told her, if his memory served. Once upon a time, Shadow Milk had tried to draft blueprints for armor that would actually suit Burning Spice's brutish proportions, and used Silent Salt's own as both a model and a controlled variable in his design experiments. Spice was as much a foolhardy thrillseeker then as he is now, charging into battle with his beads and bracelets and little else on his person. Whenever the five of them reconvened - and those meetings became fewer and fewer with time - Shadow Milk would nag him incessantly about it. Clucked at him like a mother hen would at an unruly chick. It was once his way of showing concern. Once.

The gauntlets were dirty and must have felt quite cold and unpleasant to the touch. But if White Lily minded, she made no sign of such. In fact, she showed the opposite; if he dared to believe what those slender, linen-wrapped fingers weaving through his own ironclad, mannish ones told him, she even seemed to find comfort in them. In him.

She grew bold, and he let her. A time eventually came when he could no longer help himself - but it was a hard-earned victory if there ever was one. Despite their bond, be it the one forged from their shared divinity or the one forged from their tentative friendship, his old habits and reservations still bound him in chains; memories from a time long gone, of men and women shying away from his sight. Of children rudely gawking. As darkness descended upon his soul, he came to resent them and their harsh reactions, for it was because of them that he looked like this in the first place. Every blade that carved into the flesh of his cheeks. Every creature with terrible claws that sought his eyes as trophies. Every gauntlet that looked just like his own that punched, slapped, poked; whatever the owner could do to leave behind their mark of conquest and shame. Silent Salt endured it all for their sake, and all the thanks he ever got was being gazed upon as a freak. A cautionary tale. A garish art display.

The world branded him a monster long before he ever became one. What reason did they have to be so distraught when he finally did? Is this not what they always believed him to have been anyway?

But White Lily took no part in this wholesale rejection. How could she, when deep down, she was hardly any different? And who would he be to continue mimicking his persecutors, like he has been for far too long?

One day, he found himself under a microscope again. It was cute, how her brow would furrow the slightest bit and she would start to purse her lips the stronger her single-minded focus became. A strand of snow white hair escaped its place atop her head and came dangling, teasing the tip of her nose; yet still, it went ignored in favor of the knight looming past it. Few questioned Silent Salt's bravery, himself included, but now... now he can feel his accursed face growing warm at the thought of tucking that rogue strand of hair behind her ear. Such a deceptively simple thing.

He stood still as a statue as her hands traveled up the metallic expanse of his torso. Up, up, up, along plates that had long lost their smoothness and shine, dipping into scratches and dents left by friend and foe alike, those old scars he wore on the outside. Sneaking past a familiar silhouette, just barely grazing the tips of that fabled fleur-de-lis. He never envied Burning Spice and where his own Soul Jam resided, but in hindsight, perhaps Silent Salt was never much better. With how seldomly he removed his armor, it may as well be his flesh by now. And within his flesh the Light of Silence nested, glowing brighter and emitting a faint pulse upon White Lily's brief disturbance. A broken heart, still as death, woken from its eternal slumber. Dared to beat again by she who held onto its missing half.

Her hands rose to his neck. Some ancient warrior's instinct demanded he take action against this would-be assassin, but he paid it no mind. He knew better. Not that White Lily wasn't capable of such barbarism; she has proven differently a thousand times over by now. He simply knows what an assassin looks like, and what a liar feigning innocence looks like, too - and now, in this moment, White Lily was neither.

His breath caught in his throat when those hands grasped at his head and he felt his helmet begin to rise. Slowly, carefully, betraying their master's hesitation. There was a slight tremor in her wrists - was she expecting him to suddenly reach up and grab her again? To try to stop her?

...The former came to pass, that much was true. But instead of pushing her away, this time, he found the courage to do the opposite: with his hands eclipsing her own, he guided them up and away, taking his helmet with them.

He loosened his grip just enough to let her hands go free. From there, he lowered his helmet and held it tight - so much so that that telltale rattling filled both their ears.

It felt strange for the wind and sun caress his skin again after so long. Once upon a time, he welcomed their embrace; once upon a time, they were a beloved respite, the only reward he ever wanted for himself after a long battle. They never ran away or judged him for this unfortunate face of his; in fact, once upon a time, he might've said and thought that they were the only ones in the whole world that ever believed he was handsome.

White Lily did not run away. She did not veil her disgust behind false politeness. She did not judge that unfortunate face of his.

All he could behold in her own face and eyes was that same old curiosity, adorned with that familiar glint of sympathy and shadowed by sorrow.

She gave her hands back to him. Cradled his face as he cradled his helm, albeit more gently. Ran her thumb over a faded gash in his cheek. Ghosted her fingertips over the claw marks crisscrossing over his eyes.

Silent Salt wondered if she'd already guessed his eyes are purple. He didn't ask. She probably did.

"It must have been terrible," she murmured, some of it to him and some of it to herself, as she observed the scar that threatened to split his hairline.

He nodded. She said no more, but there was no need; he understood what she meant. "It must have been terrible, how you earned each of these." "It must have been terrible, how others would shun you for what you endured." "It must have been terrible, how you felt compelled to hide behind a mask all this time, for lack of remembering any other way to exist." Only White Lily could say so much with so little. He always cherished it.

Through her quiet, endless searching, he could sense that she wanted to know more. In her eyes were questions that she wouldn't let out of her mouth. She wanted to know where the scars came from. What caused them. Who. How. Why.

Despite that morbid curiosity of hers, she did not ask. Although it likely pained her, she held her tongue and gave him peace. This was something else Silent Salt admired, something else that made him favor her above all others. For unlike others, her politeness was real.

He caught her stealing a glance at his lips, the faintest shade of pink tinting her cheeks as she did so. Gone were her sorrow and sympathy, leaving curiosity behind. In their place came... something else.

Perhaps the wind and sun weren't the only ones who believed he was handsome anymore.

She grew bold, and took a step closer - the only step left to take, with how close they already stood. Placing her feet atop his own in a small, adorable way to compensate for her height.

Only now did his supposed bravery return, and grant him the strength to tuck that strand of hair behind her ear. She seemed surprised, more so by his sudden gesture than she'd ever been by his face, the warm color in her cheeks turning more vibrant. He wondered if she could see that he felt just as bashful. She probably did.

She stood on her tiptoes, inviting him to tilt his head down with the soft nudge of her palm against the nape of his neck. He did so without resistance; now it was her turn to guide him.

She grew bold, and pressed a kiss to his scarred lips. And he let her.

[empty-fantasies]

Lament

In which Capitano realizes that he is simply a fool in love

Character(s) Included: Capitano

Knight AU, Knight!Capitano and Royal!Reader, slight fluff to angst, possible one-sided love/unrequited love, hurt and only slight comfort (if you squint really closely)

Regal, elegant, refined. It is almost comical to the knight who has witnessed all your clumsy moments behind closed doors.

Gone were the times of youthful adventures and endless mischief. From sneaking into the nearby village and avoiding supplementary lessons to facing the reprimanding of exasperated tutors, Capitano and you were inseparable since the day the king assigned the former as your personal guard.

To be honest, it was quite the feat to have Capitano even entertaining the idea of skirting duties. A young boy then, temptation was easier when you spun a tale of needing to run errands and that it was more training to prepare him for the many dangers you’ll both face in your later years. Yes, that’s how it would always go. You, with a cunning tongue, taking advantage of that growing need to uphold justice and to become the epitome of a true knight was a rather common sight then. Something that also turned into a small prickly thorn as Capitano and you matured. And, the only memories in which Capitano knew more than to be disciplined and how to simply be nothing more than a young boy indulging in childish curiosities.

Fleeting days of joy have ended for both you and Capitano have grown into your respective roles upon coming of age. A poised royal diligent in their studies, committing to their promise for prosperity and wielding their intellect for sake of security. And Capitano, an honorable and just man who became your most trusted knight—unyielding against the daring few who swore to harm the crown and the astute voice you needed when guidance of others was nothing more than false reverence. That is what you and Capitano were. A royal and a knight—bound by the strings of fate and duty to your roles.

Still, Capitano was but a man. And a man he was, coming to the realization that his heart too can yearn for another.

It’s in the way that the feather quill swiftly glides across the parchment in front of you that day. Jet black ink sealing away your future that had long been decided before either of you could comprehend it as a possibility. For duty and for honor, he would have said in moments of doubt and hesitation. It is but a necessary move to protect all those that you cherish ever so much.

And yet, it’s the almost inaudible sigh that has him second guessing himself. Then again, perhaps it is no longer impossible to pretend that he isn’t a fool for believing that fate would give him one small chance. How could he do such a thing when his throat was constricting? Every objection to this arrangement died like a candle reaching the end of its wick. Every letter received and sent was another dagger to his armored heart. Fury, frustration, guilt; a well of emotions dragged him down to the depths below.

The fateful day eventually reared its ugly head around the corner. All preparations were finished ahead of time and it was Capitano who was selected to escort you to be received by the neighboring kingdom so that the ceremony can finally commence. It made perfect sense for why Capitano was chosen. Having been there through thick and thin, growing into the fine knight that he is as you an empathetic and respected ruler, encouraging you that what you are doing is only right despite his clenched fists. Constantly reassuring you that you are more than prepared even though he was not ready to accept a cruel reality.

It made perfect sense. To everyone but Capitano as he stood at the gate, silently toying with the idea of asking you to run away with him. With each step forward, the regret became more suffocating. So much so that all Capitano could focus on was the increasing distance between you and him. Armor too heavy, throat too parched, mind far too distracted. How long would he have to endure this?

“This is Capitano. Knight Commander and my most trusted guard,” your voiced echoed.

Capitano remained silent, regarding the soon-to-be-king with respect that was expected of him. The man was loyal through and through to the sword wedged in his heart he so readily handed over and all he could do was peer up at the wielder at the end—you—who he swore to when he bent the knee that fateful day.

He could only nod in the end, bowing his head and biting his tongue to save the remnants of his heart. He was but a sword at the end of the day. Hardened and shaped to cast aside what distracts him. Merely a knight commander who so happened to have grown up alongside you and has been the shoulder you weeped on in times of need. An extension of the crown and soon-to-be the other man who would stand by your side once the marriage takes place. It was selfish of him to think that he’d escape his role so easily with just a few words. He knew it from the day he walked into that long corridor alongside the former commander, all but naive to the image he had to uphold. He was a knight commander. A swordsman who so happened to have the right tact to earn his spot and acknowledgement from the crown.

Nothing more, nothing less.

[mondaymelon]

₊˚ෆ 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 | lyney, neuvillette, wriothelsey x gn!reader

( i am fully aware snowfelt is not a word. shhhh just please. ignore it. let's have another silly year together, yeah? )

⤷ they confess to you! reader has liked them for a while beforehand, fluff to start off the year ~ (psps i kn o w its the 23rd but writer's block whammied me against a wall and held me hostage for that time so. its really not my fault /lh)

[ in the dying light of fireglow, hands intertwined below a blanket, they turn to gaze into your eyes, speaking three words... ]

"Cold, are we? Shall I warm you up?"

Ah, but the playful grin tugging at LYNEY's lips already provides you with a sufficient, kindled warmth nestled deep into your chest. The snow cascading beyond the windows, curtains half-drawn over the glass, revealed the picturesque scenery, the land that had grown familiar to you dusted with white… your thoughts were dispersed with a light shake of your head just as the winter breeze swept over the snow. 

The male smiles as you nudge yourself closer to his side, and with a swift snap of his fingers, sparks heat in the fireplace, a blaze whose flames licked the bricks of its ensnarement. Unfair, really, simply unfair, how with such an effortless movement he swept you into your arms, reddened your already flushed, cold-bitten cheeks. “Warm yet?”

“...Too warm,” you manage a complaint, voice barely audible with how tightly you were pressed against him. “You’re suffocating me, Lyney.” At your words, his seemingly unconscious vice-like grip loosened, allowing you a breath. 

“Better?”

“Better.”

The world was quiet. Silent, for not even the wind dared utter a noise. No, that couldn’t be true, for if that were the case, then what were you to make of the persistent flutter of your heart? It was the way his gaze drunk you in that allowed you to dream of such a misunderstanding that he might share the sentiment, with the sight of you cuddled tightly in his arms, your slightly messy hair after he had ruffled it and the rosy cheeks that could possibly bring the most minuscule warmth to his face. 

“Thank you.” Your voice was quiet, it felt small, too small for your liking. Why were you even thanking him? What had he done for you? A lot. Simply too many to count. With his playful demeanor, certainly someone like you wouldn’t be well suited to him. Perhaps it was just a haphazard coincidence that allowed the two of you to meet, or perhaps just a cruel twist of fate that had decided to toy with your heart before discarding it. Either way, these feelings are safeguarded, nestled along with the warmth in your chest… they were quiet.

“For what?” Lyney’s jest of a smile tugged at his lips. “Why, have you finally realized that I’m quite the respectable person after all this time?”

“No,” you playfully hit his chest. Ever since the first encounter, the male had chased after you with reckless abandon, somehow managing to find you in just about any situation you were in. Watering the flowers that lined the streets, discussing work matters with the civilians, he’d appear out of thin air beside you, almost like magic. With a boyish grin on his face and a word or two whispered into your ear, “So this is where you were~” ...You shook your head, ears only growing redder at fortunate past thoughts. “You still remain a stalker, it’d be foolish to hope for anything more.” 

To hope for something more… what a hypocrite, you were. Your own words burned your tongue, the consequence of such a sin.

“Is it wrong to hope?” Lyney’s smile remained, but his tone grew serious. The faint twinkles that shone in his lavender eyes evidently bore his “wrongful” hope. “To wish that perhaps one day, I’ll mean more than just a ‘stalker’ to you?”

Your breath hitched. Say, didn’t these words… sound familiar? Didn’t they resemble lines read from those light novels from Inazuma, covers decorated with roses and sparkles? “Lyney, you-”

“I love you.”

Your words have escaped you. Countless, countless words. Each of them grow wings and flit away. 

“Ah, would it be too cliché to call it a love at first sight?” Lyney let loose a sigh, grinning sheepishly with a shake of his head. “But that was exactly what it was. The second I saw you… my, how generic I sound. Would it be too much to stomach if it was from that moment that I knew?” He paused, pursing his lips. They pressed into a tight line. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “I won’t be hopeful. I know better than that, and you’ve said it yourself. Let’s just… would I go too far if I wished to remain by your side? Not as a lover, surely, but a companion, or a mere acquaintance-”

“Lyney.”

His name is familiar in your mouth. It rests easy on the tongue.

“As a lover. That. That’s what… I want.”

The curve of his lips says well enough before he even opens them.

“Then, as your lover… may I kiss you?” ₊˚ෆ

“Are you feeling alright?”

His words were soft against the cold air, and NEUVILLETTE’s pale-eyed gaze even softer. Fontaine had had its first taste of snow, and with it came its cold finger tips that thoroughly dusted whatever it touched, the streets and tops of buildings painted a brilliant white.

“Yes, it’s just… Aren’t you cold like this?” The male, upon seeing you give the slightest shiver at the sudden drop in temperature, had immediately rushed over and taken off his coat for you to wear instead, where it was now draped comfortably over your shoulders. Warm, and it carried his scent. “I’d feel bad if you were to feel unwell because of me, so please, take it back?”

“Now, that’s something I simply can’t do,” His lips drew the slightest smile, a rare sight you were delighted to witness - the way his eyes crinkled at their corners and twinkled all the more was a pleasant one to experience indeed. “I’ll be fine, I can assure you. It’d take more than just a winter breeze to incapacitate me.”

You furrowed your brows, puffing out your cold-flushed cheeks before making a cross with your arms. “Nope, no can do! We’re heading back to my place, and I’ll brew some hot tea. No complaints, we’re going!” Before the man could utter another word, presumably a word of protest, you took him by his gloved hand and started running forwards. Full well, you knew Neuvillette was certainly at a better physique than you were, but you really just needed an excuse to hold his hand.

Why, exactly? The answer was rather simple.

While you weren’t enamored with him to begin with… after all, how could one be like that towards the respectable iudex of Fontaine, your curiosity got the better of you the moment you realized the stoic man suspiciously resembled one of Fontaine’s many creatures, the otter. The colors, the mannerisms, truly, it all paired up in an uncanny fashion. Somehow, along the line of approaching and getting to know him, you had caught feelings. It was almost funny, how they could sneak up on you like that while your guard was down. Except, now that you had them, what were you supposed to confess? “I started to like you when I realized you were practically an otter, love!”...Ugh, how embarrassing would that be? Imagining his handsome features scrunched with displeasure at your offense is one thing about Neuvillette you wished not to behold.

"...Ahem." Curses, you had been holding his hand for far too long to just laugh it off. You blinked yourself out of your past reminiscence, finding yourself faced with a rather concerned Neuvillette. "Apologies, you weren't responding, so..."

"No matter, are we here already?" You coughed into your first awkwardly, quickly letting go of Neuvillette's hand, however warm his touch may be. Unlocking the door, you swiftly swung it open, letting Neuvillette enter and then shutting it behind you. If you’d known that he’d be coming over - you had unconsciously invited him to your residence - you would’ve cleaned the space up a bit more. Nothing you could do about it now, you supposed. “There’s nothing special, you can make yourself at home while I go fetch some refreshments for us.”

“There’s no need for that.” Neuvillette held up a hand to stop you. “I’m quite alright, and if anything, I’d be delighted if you allowed me to brew your tea for you.”

“What? No, you’re my guest, you shouldn’t possibly-!”

“Ah ah, no complaints. I held mine back, so you should do the same, no?” Great, since when had he started getting clever with his words? “What I need you to do is to go get a blanket and sit at the fireplace. Where do you keep the tea?”

You let out a begrudging sigh. “Fifth cabinet.”

“Thank you.” You did as he asked with less than an enthusiastic self, and managed to light the fireplace before Neuvillette returned from the kitchen, carrying a tray that held two cups and a steaming teapot.

You raised an eyebrow at him as you took your cup, warm to the touch. “My, I didn’t expect you to have any complaints, dear Sir Iudex of Fontaine.”

“...Complaint? Ah,” Neuvillette’s eyes rounded when he realized what conversation you were referring to. “Hm, it’s rather embarrassing to say, however… well, since it was a precious day off, I figured I’d take you somewhere special, to the Opera House or wherever, but instead I’m here interfering in your home… it’s certainly not ideal, is it? My apologies.”

There was a moment of silence, accompanied by the crackle of flames. “Archons, is that what you were thinking with such a downcast expression?” You laughed, seeing his expression brighten. He was perhaps a little too predictable. “I don’t mind, Neuvillette. I was the one who invited you here, so there’s no need for you to feel ashamed that you accepted it. Besides…” you inched closer to him, grinning. “Every moment with you is special enough, it doesn’t take somewhere ‘special’ to make it so, hm?”

The man remained silent. Had you gone too far with your reassurance? His pale cheeks were flushed, had he become so enraged that his face had gone red? Certainly not, for he whispered your words like an echo. “A special moment, you say?” A tilt of your head was enough of a response. “Then…”

“I love you.”

“...Pardon?” The smile on your face slipped, and your ears rung with the gravity of his words. Perhaps you had grown so desperate that the only way to appease that mind of yours was to form auditory hallucinations? You had surely dropped to new, unprecedented lows.

“I love you.”

There’s just something about that gaze of his that makes you want to cry in his arms. Something about it that makes you want to be held by him, to feel the warmth that he holds in the way he simply looks at you, to bask in it like sunlight, to feel loved.

“I love..”

“There’s no need to say it again, Neuvillette.” His face falls, and his beautifully damned eyes grow wide. “I heard it the first time.” You can sense that he’s bracing himself for a response, with the way the smile on his lips draws tight and his stance grows rigid. “To think that you’d be the one confessing to me, why, this was certainly not the vision I had imagined a thousand times over in my head.”

You can see the hope in his eyes. You would never dare crush it, your heart beats for him. “I love you, Neuvillette, so repeat it just one more time, would you?”

And just like that, he melts in your arms.

“Yes, darling. I love you too.” ₊˚ෆ

“My, I didn’t expect to see you here!”

Standing up from his desk, WRIOTHESLEY’s eyes are bright with excitement. 

“So surprised, aren’t you?” You lean on his doorway with a fond smile as he embraces you in a quick hug. You smile as he draws back, “Why, am I not allowed to visit the poor duke, cooped up here with nothing but paperwork to satisfy his boredom?”

Your words were true, and they’d struck a note inside him. The Fortress of Meropide was quiet, almost too quiet these days. Sure, there was the persistent, eternal sound of turning gears and bursts of steam, and the never-ending crinkle of paper under his hands, but with most of the prisoners turning in a little earlier due to the cold, the hallways that were usually filled with chatter that he’d proclaim as “distracting” were no more. Monotonous was the crackle of the flames in the fireplace, but the sound of your eager footsteps rounding the hallways was a welcome sound indeed.

“Certainly not, I wouldn’t lie through my teeth and say that your presence is unwelcome.” His lips were curled upwards in a grin, his husky voice bearing the melody of delight. 

“I’d imagine.” That sneaky smile on your face is almost alluring in the pale light. “Stuck in this office of yours doing tedious tasks for the foreseeable future is not the ideal form of entertainment for most Fontainions.” 

A scoff, a playful one. “Then, have you come to help me with said paperwork?”

The shake of your head was instant, so much so that the man could’ve sworn it came out of instinct. “Most definitely not, Wrio. It’s rather unfortunate to say, however…” You let out a great sigh, one foreboding terrible news. Even your eyes began to tear up at their corners, and your expression became dramatically crestfallen. “I’m afraid this empty head of mine has suddenly become illiterate!” 

Wriothesley swallowed a laugh that almost dared surface and instead feigned a dramatic gasp, a hand over his mouth that had widened with shock. “Oh, dearest me! What a predicament… Then, what have you come to visit me for, pray tell? To sit and stare at me?”

You shrugged your shoulders, expression blank. “To be fair, I don’t exactly know either. I wanted to see you, and my feet just brought me here.” It wasn’t a complete truth, but not exactly a lie either. You had wanted to see him - partially to admire his strikingly handsome features, but also just to, well, exist in his presence. As much as he’d deny it, Wriothesley hated the idea of being apart from you, and his unchanging situation as the duke of the Fortress of Meropide didn’t aid that information. That, and the fact that ever since you had seen him simply strolling through the city, the slightest wind ruffling his dark locks and that sharp gaze of his staring ahead of him, you’d been utterly captured. While clichés weren’t exactly your forte, you had to admit that he was a case of “love at first sight”. And while you had fallen for his looks, his disposition wasn’t something to simply brush aside. Funniest thing? He’d been the one to approach you, striking up a conversation while you were merely having a drink at a nearby cafe, asking if you’d seen a certain wig-wearing dog.

“Excuse me, I’m so sorry to bother you, but have you seen a dog around here? He has a top hat, brightly colored hair, is wearing a suit covered in stickers…”

After joining him on the chase around just about the entirety of Fontaine, the two of you managed to find the missing dog, who was actually a stray being taken care of by a melusine Wriothesley was familiar with, and return it. One thing led to another, and the two of you grew from strangers, acquaintances, and now to friends. Surely, it’d be terrible to wish for something more, wouldn’t it?

“Just tell me you missed me.” Wriothesley’s grin had returned, and he chuckled. “You’re not doing the greatest job of hiding it.”

“So what if I missed you?” You pouted, finally moving past the man and into the office, eyeing the papers on his desk before making yourself comfortable next to the fire. “And who said I was hiding it, dear duke?”

Wriothesley paused for a beat before continuing in his regular fashion. “You’re being rather bold today, aren’t you? Your words… they’re making it easy to misunderstand.”

“Misunderstand all you want, does it matter?”

“Yes, it does.”

“N-”

“Let’s stop speaking in riddles. Make yourself clear, hm? What’re you trying to pull with all these questions?” Wriothesley crossed his arms over his chest, leaning closer. “What, are you trying to be a flirt?”

“Aaaand if I am?” You smiled at his actions, not exactly sure what was spurring you onwards. 

“...Damnit, you… archons, you just won’t listen, will you? No matter, it just makes things easier for me. Hey, flirt, you won’t get all flustered if I say this then, yeah?”

“Say what-”

“I love you.”

That was certainly a way to catch someone off guard. “... the fuck-”

“No need to react that badly, all right?” Wriothesley let out a sigh of defeat, leaning his head against the wall as he sat down next to you. “I didn’t say it for the sake of saying it. It’s true. I’ve been wanting to tell you for some time now, but..” He chuckled, a laugh that was void of what a laugh should have. “I’m rather a coward.”

“I-I didn’t mean to answer like that, you just caught me by surprise-” You shook your head, cursing at yourself for sounding so pathetic, with your trembling voice and words that stuttered every syllable. “...And by your definition…” You drew your knees closer to yourself, hugging them to your body. “I’m a coward as well.”

It takes him the count of three to respond, eyes blown wide. “...Wait, you-” The flush on his face was undeniable.

“I like you too, Wrio.”

“Archons, I… give me a moment. I’ve been wanting to hear that for so long, I think my heart has stopped beating.” ₊˚ෆ

(a/n) greetings my beloved melons. hello. ive risen from my grave to presumably and hopefully be alive for the next couple months. my reqs are all still full so i will be tryna get through em but at the same time i will be doing self indulgent fics. so udhaofjsdlf yeahd ahhahahahaa thats pretty much it on daily melon talk im going to answer my plethora of asks tomorrow because i know your dashboard wont be able to handle it if i post this and then answer 15 miillion asks. you are ever so welcome. also i always hate the way i write wriothelsey and this time was no exception this was so painful blegh ajlfksdmc

໒꒱ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open! send an ask or a comment ��) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife, @lupicalbestwolf, @justyoureader, @fiannee, @aether-darling 

reblogs are appreciated! line up for a smooch. mwah!!

[nakaira]

 . . . (🍷) ֶָ֢ 𔓘 I WANNA BE YOUR FAVORITE, THE STAR OF YOUR EYES ; a nakahara chuuya fic.❞

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍷 ꒱ . . . bahahaha. smut.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍷 ꒱ . . . tw ; nsfw, getting it from behind, anxiety and fear of replacement, um semi public in a sense?, angst if you wanna.

suffocating.

the walls feel as if they will crush you and the floor looks like it'll crumble beneath your feet to let you fall for eternity into your own mind filled with doubts and insecurities.

have you ever been someone's favorite yet at the same time never had the position secured only for you as you know there exists many others who are better then you and who can take your position from you with ease?

this is how you feel as you fist your palms yet keep them placed on top of your lap while your makeup artist scanned your face to see if you needed any more touchups or make up done before your shoot starts ; a lingere shoot.

and you tried to focus on preparing yourself to put on a good show for your dear photographer yet how can you when the other staff talked not so discreetly about him? how they mindlessly blabbered about him being a gentleman to one of the other models he was shooting with some days ago where he had helped comfort her as she got overwhelmed due to lord knows what.

it irritates you.

you are his favorite, not that random model who needed comfort and he offered.

yet it irritates you more on how you are letting the harmless gossips of the staff get to you.

you were about to get lost in your thoughts again had it not been for the staff immediately straightening themselves and getting back to doing their respective tasks. he was here.

he had to be. you knew since you've worked many times with him before and every time he stepped inside the studio, the casual air would shift into a more professional one as everyone tried to impress him directly or indirectly.

"is she here yet?" the steady and calm voice which flows like ocean waves yet has a firm undertone reached your ears.

you immediately perked up as you looked at your makeup artist and made sure she was done with you and seeing how eager you looked, your makeup artist sighed before she smiled. your makeup artist nearly laughed at how eagerly you hopped off from the chair, fixing your robe while you rushed towards the camera setup as you are sure he will be there.

there he was.

you slowed down as you grow self conscious and try to adjust your hair even if there was no need to due to as you just got your hair and makeup done almost ten or less minutes ago.

you felt yourself grow timid as you stare at his back. he wore a maroon shirt tucked in black slacks which only seemed to flaunt his small waist.

"nakahara." you softly called as you stood behind him and the man turned to face you, his face immediately brightened at the sight of you.

"my angel. how are you?" chuuya asked and his tone from before lost the authority and firmness, rather he addressed you softly yet you did not reply. your jealousy taking lead and acting for you instead.

"do i look good for you nakahara?" you nearly purr as you step towards the renowned photographer, hugging his arms so your breasts could push against his arm while you did so. you looked up at him with half lidded eyes and moistened your bottom lip with your tongue.

chuuya looked down at you at this question even if he already knew what his answer was going to be, he was not going to let an excuse of checking you out again go to waste. he deemed himself to be quite a opportunist after all.

the way the white thin lingerie hugged your body and flaunted your curves, the way your revealed skin begged him to mark it with his mouth and the way you seductively looked up at him with half lidded eyes -- it all reminded chuuya of how hard it is to control himself from pouncing at you right now.

he is a professional and so are you. the renowned photographer who is sought after the most in the industry and who has made a name and a empire for himself so big, that even with just the sound of his name ; brands and models drop to their knees as they wish for him to handle them.

though what king did not get swayed by a seductress?

no matter how big his empire is, how big his ego and professionalism are, he always found himself bowing down to you ; the little darling who was known in whispers to be his favorite, his treatment towards you being revealed to the others in the industry in secrets.

"divine. like an angel but that's what you are. aren't you angel?" chuuya smiled down at you as he carassed your chin with his knuckles and the way you gulped!

oh, no angel who fell for the devil had experienced a graceful fall from the heaven!

but they say below the heaven is hell anyway and if chuuya is the one who promises to catch you in his arms when you fall, who even cares about the impact?

"oh angel." chuuya breathed out as he looked at you when you smiled, leaning down to kiss your cheek in what would be a friendly gesture but when he leaned up and stared at you so intensely, you knew it was far more then a friendly gesture.

you stare at him after finding him doing so to you as you cannot look away or rather it's as if you don't want to look away, staring into his eyes. you wondered if he shows the same fondness to other models he gets along with though you hope he doesn't.

the small staring contest you two held had come to a halt when one of the staff member yelled and informed you two that the photoshoot will start soon.

"gonna shine like you always do, right angel?" chuuya asked and you nodded. he seemed satisfied with the reaction as he smiled and patted your cheek before he walked past you to meet with the staff and greet them.

you stood for a few moments in absolute stillness and wondered why he made your heart beat in excitement to the point you forgot the reason you rushed to meet him ; to ask him about the incident with the other model a few days ago.

you sigh and turn around to walk towards the set for the photoshoot. you stop as you stand next to chuuya who was busy giving instructions to the photographer who will be his assistant for the entire time, it looks like you won't be getting to converse with him anytime soon.

you look at chuuya before looking ahead at the set which consisted of a king sized bed covered by grey silk bedsheets and curtains behind the bed which were the same grey as that of the bedsheets, the colors were chosen by chuuya himself as he kept you in mind the entire time while he was planning for this project.

that should have been enough to tell you of his fondness towards you but unfortunately it isn't.

"take your position." chuuya ordered and you nodded, immediately sitting on the bed and feeling the cold bedsheets below you which provided a comfortable and soothing sensation when they touched your skin.

chuuya watched with great interest when you placed your palm flat on the bedsheet to let the coolness of it travel all over your palm. he licked his lips when you looked at him and waited for his instructions.

"take it off." his demand sounded lewd enough to make you gulp. you looked around to see if anyone else noticed it but you concluded that it must've sounded normal to others as they didn't have chuuya staring down at them with a glare, looking so focused.

you slowly raise your hands to hook them around the lacey thin robe and you slowly push it down till one side hanged by your elbow.

"good, give me a good pose now." chuuya told as he immediately got ready to click a picture upon getting the desired pose he was imagining. you saw the staff behind him adjusting the light on top of you and you titled your head back a bit, staring at the camera -- no, staring behind the camera at chuuya -- with half lidded eyes.

you heard him mutter some praises but you were more focused on focusing the way he bit down on his bottom lip while clicking pictures. he looked up again and nodded as to tell you to strike a new pose now.

you feel a bit more calm now at his praise and at how he approved of your poses, looking behind him to see some of the staff members as you hoped they heard him and realised you are his favorite but they weren't even looking at you. rather at the screen which displayed your photo taken and they discussed if this is good enough or does it need to be retaken, deciding on the former.

you remove the robe completely, sitting on the silk bed in the white lingere. you climb and take your position on the middle of the bed, sitting on your knees as you cover one of your breasts with your hand in a sensual way yet chuuya pursed his lips, he didn't seem satisfied.

"angel. you can do better then this." his words may have been soft but they still made your heart thumb loudly in your chest in panick, what if he stops favoring you now? does he think you are getting too cocky and not giving it your hundred percent in shoots anymore?

you quickly think of a new pose and straighten your shoulders as you stop covering your breast and rather use that hand to place it on the mattress as some kind of leverage. you lean forwards on on hand as you smile seductively at the camera.

chuuya hummed as he nodded in approval as he began to click a few shots of you again before he told you to change your pose again though you can't help but look at the staff as you see one of them leaning towards the other, are they going to talk about chuuya and that model again?

this time, you leaned back on both of your arms as you spread your legs a bit and you saw chuuya leaning to the side to look at you from behind the camera again, "spread your legs more."

again, you felt yourself getting a bit too excited and bothered at his instruction. you spread your legs apart more but chuuya didn't stop looking at you as if he was searching for some kind of error, when he found it, he approached you and crawled on the bed.

with his knees near your calves, chuuya leaned towards you and adjusted the waistband of your panties. chuuya took this chance to whisper, "you look a bit out of it angel. everything okay?"

you wanted to nod and say everything is fine to see pride flashing in his eyes at how professional you are, you want him to feel proud at you being his favorite yet none of your thoughts become a reality as you shake your head.

chuuya sighs, "knew it. angel eyes, do you want a break? or perhaps it's the staff bothering you?"

chuuya assumed as he had seen the way your eyes would fall on the different staff members every time as you tried to prove your point to them, a point which chuuya isn't completely a stranger to as the man knew of your intense liking to being complimented, especially by him.

you look down to see your hands grabbing the silk bedsheet anxiously as you do not like the small frown on his face while he thought of a solution. though chuuya sensed your sudden melancholy and patted your head, muttering, "don't worry. it's okay. would you perhaps be fine with doing a personal photoshoot with only me or do you want a break?"

you pondered for a while on both the options and settled on the former one. chuuya looked a bit doubtful at your decision but didn't bother speaking out his opinion. he nodded and turned back to signal the staff to leave, even the men who were controlling and adjusting the lights were told to leave. it will be hard for one person to manage everything but when it comes to his work, chuuya can go great and deadly lengths for it.

once he made sure the last staff member left, he walked over to lock the door before he approached you again and sat on the edge of the bed. he sighed before looking at you over his shoulder,

"what's wrong? you are oddly disappointing today angel." chuuya's words stick deep within your soul and wound your heart. you part your lips to speak but no sound leaves your mouth and seeing you in this state, chuuya tsked.

he grabbed your ankle and pulled you closer, turning his body so you would be caged between the mattress and his body.

"what's wrong? i won't ask this again angel. you are really disappointing me because i know you can do better then this half assed shit." chuuya nearly growled as he grabbed your chin with his lithe fingers, his fingers were rough and so was his grip on your chin though that only made you release a shuddering breath.

"you know what you do nakahara. making women fall at your feet and relishing as you know women will spread their legs for you at one comment." you whisper out and chuuya tilted his head as he chose to stare at you for a while before he spoke again.

he might need to motivate you it seems.

"yeah? let's test it." chuuya smirked as he nudged at your thigh with his knee. "spread your legs f'me angel."

he ordered. taking a shaky breath, you slowly part your legs to let him see the damp spot on the panties and chuuya tsked.

"you got this wet by my voice alone?" chuuya mocked. the shame you felt from his words only aroused you more.

"angel you ruined the lingere." he cooed mockingly and pushed his leg towards your pussy and watched how you rocked forwards to feel his knee press against your clit or folds and chuuya sniggered at the pathetic sight. yet he oddly found it alluring.

"nakahara please." you nearly whined out as you support yourself on your arms, leaning near him and wll chuuya did to let you know that he heard your pleas was to pull back his knee before he pushed it against your crotch again.

you let out a loud gasp as your hands desperately grabbed his collar to pull him down and slam your lips against his and with the way chuuya wrapped his arms around the underside of your thighs, it seemed that he is pleased with your action.

chuuya grabs the fat of your ass and turned you around so he would be sitting on the mattress and you would be on your knees, between his legs. you were still tightly holding his collar as you titled your head and moved your lips against his. chuuya's hands came to wrap around your waist and he played with the waistband of your panties while he kissed you.

one of chuuya's hand grabbed your jaw to tilt your head better as he pecked your lips a few times before parting his lips to let his tongue enter your mouth, he licked the roof of your mouth which made you squirm and then began to push his tongue against your own.

his other hand slipped inside your panties and grabbed your ass, squeezing it. he let out a low hum of approval.

you pulled back from the kiss as a string of saliva connected your lips with his. chuuya didn't let you move back much as he grabbed your nape to keep you within close proximity -- the tip of your nose bumping into his -- and he whispered out,

"were you feeling a bit bothered angel face? hm?" chuuya asked in a soft tone as he rubbed your throat with his fingers (as he was holding you in place by your nape). you wanted to shake your head -- you are bothered but not for the reason he had been thinking of -- but you couldn't as chuuya's hand (the one groping your ass) slided lower to feel at the wetness dripping out of your slit.

the tip of his index finger hovered above your slit and he forced you to move down by using your nape to control you. you pant as you feel his finger enter inside you, the strech of his finger on your walls burned as you didn't have enough wetness to ensure his smooth entrance.

"it's okay angel." chuuya whispered, he had noticed your eyebrows furrow in pain and he stopped gripping on your nape to place his palm against your hip, he rubbed your hip in comforting circles as he waited for a bit before he began to pull his finger out of your cunt, pushing it back in.

his hand left your hip to grab your ass again and he pushed you down to spread your legs even more as he gently thrusted in and out with only one finger. afraid of someone finding out if he did use more due to the moans his two fingers will emit from you.

"sir --" the voice of his assistant made chuuya to immediately pull his finger out of you and you quickly moved away from him.

"what?" even you nearly flinched at the low growl that emitted from his throat so you couldnt even imagine how his assistant, the one at whom this angry tone is directed at, must've felt.

chuuya hissed through his nose and looked at you as he sat at the edge of the bed now. he mumbled a curse under his breath along with complaints of his perfect time getting intrupted. he got off from the bed but approached you. he placed his hand against your thigh and leaned down while he used his other hand to lift your chin up, kissing you softly and ordered, "don't make any noise. and wait."

you nodded and he patted your cheek. as he stood up, you saw the evident bulge forming in his pants and you let out a breathless chuckle as you fall behind on the silk bedsheets, this man will be the death of you.

as you wore your robe again incase the staff decided to enter, you made out somewhat of chuuya's conversation with his assistant.

his assistant informed him of a new project with the same model who he has baseless rumors with and you grab at the lacey fabric of your robe, jealous of how often you hear her name whenever it has something to do with chuuya.

chuuya uttered some words which you didn't hear as you are too deep in your inner turmoil to care for your surroundings. though if you did, you would have seen how hard it was for chuuya to conceal his eagerness.

"i need some time alone with angel face over here. take this," chuuya handed his credit card to his assistant a bit too hurriedly as he lowly added in a tone which could be perceived as a partial threat while he leaned near him so his words could be heard loud and clear,

"try to keep everyone out for atleast half an hour and if anyone comes back before the half hour had passed --" chuuya grabbed his manager's wrist to pull him closer to him as he whispered, " -- then not only will you loose your job and won't be able to work anywhere in this industry but i'll also make sure no one from your family can as well. you understand right?"

chuuya leaned back a bit to raise his eyebrows, watching his assistant nodding frantically created some kind of satisfaction deep in his heart. chuuya nodded and with a hum, dismissed the manager and he waited by the door after closing it again.

he waited.

for approximately ten minutes till all the staff left. he turned around with a sigh yet immediately grinned as he watched you saunter towards him as you swayed your hips from side to side while doing so, as if forcing chuuya to acknowledge you and your body now that there isn't any other soul left here.

"angel what's wrong?" chuuya smirked as he asked, watching you stop infront of him as you take off your robe and let it fall by your feet.

"am i your favorite chuuya?" you ask the question that had left a bitter taste on your mouth as they hanged from the tip of your tongue and slipped down only now. you watched chuuya gulp as he had a difficult time in deciding whether to look at your body or your eyes which watched him with a certain nervousness.

a certain nervousness of being replaced.

"of course you are angel, any doubts?" chuuya voice is soft and perhaps this is why you were so lost in it, not realizing when the man took a step closer to you and placed his hands on the waistband of your panties.

"what's troubling your pretty mind angel?" he spoke next to your ear while his hands laid flat against your sides, one of them slided down to caress your hip.

his voice had been so soft and comforting, so gentle that you immediately began to spill your troubles and sadness as you narrated the torturous conversation the staff was having regarding him and the model he offered a bit of humanity to some days ago and of your doubts and fear of being replaced, of him finding it way more fun and pleasurable to work with her and forgetting you and what not.

you spoke so nervously and in such a shaky voice that it made chuuya pout a bit as he continued to listen to you, nodding every few seconds to let you know he was listening attentively. he felt pity and sympathy bubbling in his heart.

he sighed when you finished and raised his other hand to cup your cheek, pulling you closer to him, "such a little angel and such big fears she has." chuuya pouted some more as he pecked your cheeks a few times.

"of course you are my favorite angel, no one else. angel face, how can you even think that someone else can ever take your place huh?" chuuya asked softly as he pulled your face towards his to peck your nose and you wrapped your arms around his neck. "you know no one will amaze me the way you do, right?"

chuuya wrapped his arms around your waist and turned you two around to press your back against the door and he leaned down to kiss your collarbone. "gonna show you just how much i love my favorite angel. my only angel."

chuuya leaned up to peck your cheek and from there his kisses traveled towards your ear. he kissed your earlobe and then gently bit on your ear shell. his hands slided down your sides and rested on your hips, he digged his nails into your hips and used the grip to turn your around. he immediately stepped forwards to press himself against your ass while his hands moved up to hook under the waistline of your panties and he slowly pulled them down, your panties bunched around your knees.

the cold air of the air conditioners hits your bare and wet cunt, it made you shiver but you shivered more when you felt chuuya's hand slide down and push your folds apart as if to make you more vulnerable to the cold air.

"nakahara don't tease. give it to me. you don't know how hard it was for me to sit here and listen to people talk about someone else being your favorite."

"you say it's hard for you yet with the way you --" chuuya slapped your cunt, you jolted but soon calmed down when you heard him unbuckle his belt and pull down his zipper. "-- kept on teasing me says otherwise. but this is why you are my favorite, right? you know how to keep me on my toes for you angel."

chuuya whispered next to your ear before he backed away a bit to take his cock in his hand, he began to stroke himself to get himself more hard so it would be easier to penetrate inside you. he gather a glob of saliva and spitted on his dick as he knew your natural wetness isn't enough lube to enter you without you feeling the burn of his dick stretching his walls.

"tell me i am your favorite again nakahara." you nearly purr out as you wiggle your ass, eager for him to enter. his words served as a confirmation for you to continue acting the way you do with him without worrying about any unnecessary consequences as he made it clear that he likes it. and chuuya laughed softly as he wrapped his arms around your stomach to pull you closer.

"you are my favorite angel face. now bend for me." he hummed as you placed your palms against the door while bending down and with his other hand, he slowly inched his dick closer to your slit. he pulled his hand -- the one wrapped around your stomach -- back and placed it on your back to make you bend more and arch your back.

his teased you by inserting only his tip inside and he pulled that back quickly too, to watch you whine as you look back at him with a pout. you pushed your hips back as you wiggled your ass. chuuya chuckled at your eagerness but he would be lying if he said he wasn't feeling the same and so, he quickly positioned himself at your entrance once again and entered you slowly, letting out a low groan while doing so as your walls seemed to restrict his movements.

he slowly pushed himself deeper till he was bottomed out in you, he allowed you to get used to his familiar stretch. you relaxed soon and moved your hips slightly back to let him know he could move.

there is no time to talk and for foreplay or anything as none of you know when someone from the staff may enter so everything needs to be done quickly but luckily for you, chuuya always had a liking for quickies.

both of chuuya's hands rested on your hips as he pulled your ass up a bit, slowly beginning to pull out and push in his dick due to the lack of lubrication. this wasn't a problem for long as arousal dripped out of you and past his dick at his slow thrusts.

chuuya sighed in relief at this and began to pick up his pace. his fingers pinched the skin of your hips as he gripped them hard. he gradually quickened his pace even more, each thrust making your body jolt forwards. your palms began to get sweaty and nearly slided off the door but chuuya leaned in, he pulled you closer by wrapping an arm around your stomach again.

chuuya looked down to see you biting your lips as to not let your moans spill out and he grinned, he raised his other hand to push you down even more, then he grabbed the back of your thigh and pushed your leg apart as much as he can in this position.

the tip of chuuya's dick rubbed against that one gummy spot, he knew it by the way your breathing came out in quick pants and so he didn't pull back. rather, he tried to push himself deeper into you and moved his hips up and down to rub the head of his dick against your spot. it made your jaw slack open as you let out wheezes and pants.

"everytime you crumble like this in my arms, i can't help but shiver. don't you see how hooked you have me around your little fingers?" chuuya rasped out as he felt his hips twitch, the rubbing of his dick made your walls contract around his length, so even the slightest push and pull felt really good.

you did not speak, your head lowered as you closed your eyes and grabbed his strong arm wrapped around your stomach. you raised his arm towards your neck and chuuya got the hint, he immediately grabbed your nape and pulled you back to let your head rest on his shoulder as he thrusted in and out at a fast pace again and switched it with thrusting till he is bottomed out in you, moving his hips up and down to rub his dick against your g-spot.

chuuya looked down to see your fucked out expression, your eyes were closed and lips were parted to let out silent gasps and pants while a bit of your makeup began to get ruined due to the way you two kissed. the consequence of the kiss stayed in the form of your lipstick smudged all over your mouth.

chuuya dipped his head low to suck at the spot where your ear connected with your neck with an intent to leave a hickey on your skin.

"nakahara. nakahara please make me cum. wanna cum -- only for you and by you." you cry out quietly, your voice came out as a bit raspy and breathless, this made chuuya to gulp as his sucking intensified.

chuuya's other hand came to rest at your thigh, he pushed you back using your thigh and thrusted in again. when his dick touched your g-spot and he began to rub the tip against it again, your breathing went violent. chuuya raised his head, he kissed your nape before he nibbled at a small portion, sucking on it.

he pushed your thigh deeper, his dick abused your spot more frequently. the forces made the knot in your stomach and lower abdomen to tighten. your walls contracted even more against his length, you whined out his name and a feeling of glee traveled down chuuya's chest and towards his stomach, passing by his lower abdomen and in its journey, it pulled down on one end of the knot and said knot snapped.

you jolted a bit as thick and warm ropes of white painted your walls like the waves of a tsunami, chuuya breathed hard and quickly through his nose behind you yet didn't once stop sucking on your nape till he made sure it left a stubborn hickey which won't come off for atleast a few days.

your walls felt warm and sticky yet there was no fear of getting impregnated as you always make sure to take birth control pills, knowing of chuuya's habit of liking to finish inside you -- whether raw or not.

the sticky feeling due to his cum and how he clumsily thrusted in you to ride off his high felt hot, the sudden attractiveness of hearing chuuya grunt isn't new to you yet this is what pulled on your knot and made you cum.

chuuya rested his forehead against your nape, he thrusted in you slowly and lazily till you stopped shaking. he slowly pulled out and looked down to see both of your cums mixing and dripping down your thighs.

"what a pretty sight you are angel." chuuya breathed out and turned you around, he cupped your jaw and tilted your head up to peck your lips. he worked quietly yet it didn't feel shameful to watch him clean you and the floor as your and his cum dripped down on the floor. he had ordered his assistant to get you the same piece of lingere with a excuse that he accidentally tore the one you are wearing now while adjusting your pose, telling he would pay for the 'damage' he inflicted on the one you are wearing now.

"you really are my favorite though." chuuya told softly as he sat on the edge of the bed, next to you. you nodded as you smiled, crawling towards him and sitting on his thigh. chuuya smiled and carassed your nape where he left a hickey on you and bumped your nose with his.

"i want to remain as your favorite -- your only favorite." you mumble out as you lean in to peck his lips again, chuuya hummed as he leaned in to kiss you again, "you are the star of my eyes angel. my only pretty angel."

"you know how to use your tongue in many ways and somehow you are a expert in all of them, aren't you nakahara?" you murmur as you lean in to softly kiss him again.

"yeah? let me take you out for dinner tonight angel and i'll show you just how good my tongue is."

"you are asking me out on a date?" you tilt your head with a amused smile, chuuya grinned as he nodded and how could one say no to him under whose steps many bow, hoping he would cast just a few seconds of his attention to them.

and luckily for you, you always sat at the throne chuuya prepared for you himself. always the first and perhaps the only one to get his attention and affection.

"you either say yes or i'll pick you up forcefully and take you out." chuuya nuzzled his nose against your jaw, smiling as you snickered. he pecked the underside of your jaw when you muttered a yes, his hands wrapped around your waist tightly yet gently as he did not want you to get up and get away from his vicinity.

[parkerloves]

MIDNIGHT SAVIOR || PG10 x Fem!READER

paring: pierre gasly x gn!reader

type: strangers with tension¿

request?: nope

summary: On a trip to Paris, you meet Pierre Gasly by chance. A simple favor triggers a series of unexpected situations that force you to spend more time with him than planned.

word count: 1,3K +

fc; n/a

warnings: use of y/n and... that's it, lmk if i missed anything!

note: this is based on a dream i had so... bear with me.

[masterlist]

If there was one thing you hated about your job, it was the constant traveling and the suffocating crowds that formed in airports. So, as soon as you were told it was time to land, you let out a small huff and began to absentmindedly play with your phone between your fingers. The moment the plane doors opened, you rushed out as quickly as possible, weaving through the people coming and going from their respective flights, completely overlooking the presence of a young man who seemed to have just received some bad news.

But your main concern at that moment was getting some fresh air. As soon as you stepped outside the building, you took a deep breath, taking in the sight of Paris before you. However, that brief moment of calm quickly faded, replaced by your work instinct kicking in—you were already contacting someone to come pick you up. It was then that you finally noticed the same young man from before. This time, however, you realized who he was.

"I’ll call you later, okay?" you said to the person on the other end of the line, though your gaze remained fixed on the French pilot—the one you watched race at every Grand Prix, the one you deeply admired. That initial moment of panic, however, quickly disappeared when you noticed his condition. He had no visible luggage, not even a phone in his hand. After a few seconds of hesitation, you decided to approach him, gently tapping his shoulder.

"I'm not in the mood for pictures right now, sorry," the blond responded in a soft tone as he turned around, coming face to face with you for the first time. But you simply shook your head a couple of times in response to his words.

"Actually, I wanted to ask if you’d like to use my phone to make a call." You had learned to be extremely professional, even when dealing with people you admired, so your response was undoubtedly unexpected for the Frenchman.

However, he didn’t even have time to reply before more people started approaching. Instinctively, the pilot moved to hide, seeking a moment of peace—and in doing so, he pulled you along with him.

"Sorry for that, I don’t think I can deal with that many people right now," the Frenchman apologized, and from his expression, you could tell exactly what had happened to him at that moment—because it had happened to you countless times throughout your career. "And I don’t want people to start talking, it happens a lot. I’m Pierre, Pierre Gasly, by the way."  

"I know who you are, I’m quite a fan. My name is y/n l/n, nice to meet you," you introduced yourself with a kind smile, offering him your hand. He quickly reciprocated the gesture with equal politeness, though Pierre had to admit he was slightly surprised by how calm you were. However, he didn’t even get the chance to bring it up, as you were already handing him your phone with the ride-hailing app open.  

"You’re giving your phone to a stranger? I know I’m hot, but that’s dangerous," he joked with a small smile, taking the device and looking up the address of his hotel while leaning against the column he was hiding behind at that moment.

"You try to leave, and we’ll see if it’s worth it for you," you replied with the same playful tone before receiving your phone back. For a moment, you glanced at the Frenchman’s destination, realizing it was the same hotel where you were staying during your time in the City of Love. But then you noticed that the trip was now under his name, paid with a different card, and there was only a single charge. Pierre smirked when he saw you had figured it out by the way you lifted your gaze.

"It’s my way of repaying the favor—if you don’t mind sharing the ride," he said. You bit the inside of your cheek slightly to keep a smile from forming on your lips, as this was certainly the last thing you had expected from such an unexpected interaction with the driver.

"It’s rude to refuse a gift, right?" you responded, causing Pierre’s smile to remain intact as his eyes subtly roamed over you. However, you didn’t notice, since your gaze was fixed on the road ahead, knowing the car would arrive at any moment. Instead, you gently tugged on his wrist when you spotted the vehicle.

"Come on, Gasly, let’s see if you can make it to the car properly."

For some reason he could never quite explain, he instinctively attempted to take your hand. But realizing his own actions, he quickly pulled back—a gesture that, fortunately, went unnoticed by you, much to his relief. Instead, he simply waited for you to let go of his wrist once you both got into the car, which had been sent by the company you worked for.

"Good evening, sir, ma’am. You’re heading to the hotel I have on screen, right?" You simply made a small sound in response to the driver’s question, who smiled and started the engine again, glancing in the rearview mirror at the two of you. "I’ve heard it’s a great place for a romantic getaway in Paris," he added, trying to spark a conversation, though he raised both eyebrows at the non-verbal reactions he received from you two.  

"We’re not a couple, sir. I’m just helping him get to his hotel," you quickly replied with a small smile, pressing your lips together to stop yourself from laughing—until you felt the driver move slightly closer, his breath brushing against your ear.  

"Ouch, my ego," he whispered, earning a sharp look from you, as if you were scolding him, followed by a light smack on his chest before you turned your gaze back toward the driver. The man seemed to be enjoying the interaction, clearly sensing something more than what you both were admitting.  

"In that case, whatever it may be, I hope you enjoy your stay here. It’s a beautiful place, and time alone always helps a lot," he responded warmly, a small smile on his face, before stopping the car in front of the hotel entrance displayed on his GPS.  

The ride was already paid for, but you decided to leave the driver a generous tip, bidding him farewell with a soft smile before heading toward the hotel entrance. The pilot followed just a few steps behind, making sure not to lose sight of you completely—something he knew could easily happen if he wasn’t paying full attention.

"Good evening, is there a room under the name Y/N L/N?" you asked the receptionist, cutting off any chance Pierre had to start a new conversation with the young woman. Still, he couldn't take his eyes off you.

"We're sorry to inform you, but I can't find any reservation under that name in our system, Miss y/n." A small curse escaped your lips, knowing this wasn’t the first time your company had forgotten parts of your stay. Just as you were about to speak again, another voice interrupted.

"The room under Pierre Gasly," the Frenchman addressed the receptionist in his native language, making sure to capture his attention. "Would the bed be comfortable enough for two people?" he asked, receiving nothing more than a nod in response, which made him smirk before turning back to you to translate—though it wasn’t necessary.

"I'm not staying in a room with a stranger, Gasly," you stated firmly, cutting him off before he could even make his proposal. No matter how much of a fan you were of the man standing in front of you, you weren’t foolish enough to fall for a trick like that. "And I’m definitely not sharing a bed."

"You can have the bed if you want—there’s a couch in the room," he offered, holding out one of the two key cards he had just received. "But I guess it’s my turn to save you from a slip-up too, right?"

After receiving a message confirming that fixing the issue would be impossible, you let out a soft sigh and took the key card in defeat, which only made Pierre’s smile widen.

"I don’t bite, I promise."

[simpingforbots]

Big scary Grandpa - part 4

Humans are really easily hurt, but also very resilient, watching as Rob play brawl with one of terrans, Jawbreaker, having fun of his life, playfully bumping heads. Letting a heavy sigh, not with heavy spark, Megatron scanned aorund, mentally counting all the kids and feeling proud at their slow but steady development, yet it still felt like someone was missing. Crossing his arms on his chassis, big bot wondered to him self what were you up to today, knowing well that you will brag about your activities, smiling to him self.

Its been a week and a half now and he’s been diligently visiting small human every night, this time not scaring you half to death. And slowly started running out of stories to tell about Cybertron, now speaking about recent events and just how his day was, and you happily sharing your daily events, particularly proud of earning coins and able to fish. Though so far you did not managed to catch anything, but not giving up, a good trade to have. Makes him proud. And he can not wait to bring you, just needs to find right timing to take you here during the day, grumbling about the plan. He can try to sneak you away during one of “free time” where kids are let loose to do what ever they want in camp, yet it is a short window to be able to accomplish it without alarm.

“Something on your mind, big guy?” waking up from his thoughts, Megatron looked down, smiling at Dorothy, who was enjoying her morning coffee, wrapped in a soft blanket, enjoying watching kids play fight as well. She is an amazing person for adopting all five terrans and handling things well so far, and the kids respected her in return. He almost fainted from laughing form that one time when Nightshade attempted to upgrade her prosthetic leg in mothers day.

“Something like this” bot tilted his head from side to side, still keeping eye on kids to make sure non will get hurt, though Terrance knew well about humans and their fragility. “How things coming along with young once, they do not give you to much trouble, do they?”

“Non at all. In fact they help around. But I do wish they did not” a snort escaped her and Megs let out a chuckle as well, knowing well what she meant by this. Bee was now trying to get their attention for another training, or a play-training, just to keep kids attention on him, getting all worked up “So, how things going so far? Heard you disappear of to somewhere every night now?”

“Let me guess, Prime is concerned and he is asking you to enquire about my whereabouts?” big bot rolled his opticks.. he can already picture the text filled with emojis. Why is he using so many emojis?

“He is concerned about you, Megs. You’ve been disappearing off to somewhere without telling anyone. I am worried as well.”

“I can asure you it’s nothing to be that concerned about, Dorothy” Meg sighed, shoulders dropping “Say, do you know by any chance what young ones like?”

“Well they do love soft and cute stuff, poor fluffy ears is now getting pampered with all the love I am scared they will spoil them rotten.”

“Hmm”

You yanked on fishing rood, able to feel hook dig in to flesh and something started to fight back. Glee spreading though your body and able to feel your heart pumping like crazy, you started riling the catch in as fast as you can, feet digging in to the splintered wooden planks of an old pier, grunting as the fish fought quite hard. For weeks now you came here during the free time, throwing in line after line, coming empty handed and with less bait, making you angry and curse all that lived in water for not daring to be caught in a hook. But finally your work paid of and you managed to pull out quite a big  yellow perch that you knew for sure thanks to animal crossing. Letting squeals of excitement, you struggled to unhook the fish, getting scratch in prosses, you tossed the fish in to bucket of water, letting it suffocate slowly while you will fish for it’s bodies, leaving it to a cruel death... yeah, not a good way to go, but you did not care, tossing another hook with bait in to water after hours in grilling sun, hiding beneath shadow of your cap and sun-cream protection, you manage to rill in more fish and now were running to kitchen to show of your catch to cook, who ruffled your hair, praising the skills. You grinned, posing for the photos with the catch as to show your proof to Megatron about your successful catch. You honestly looked forward to seeing him every day now, even if the first time scared you so much. The big bot felt more like a grandpa to you now, someone you can go to yap about your day and get treats, a big scary grandpa that was in interspecies galactic sized war, and being a redeemed war criminal. Yet you felt safe and secure every time you were held by big bot, cradled and called something in strange alien language.

With photos on your phone, you skipped out, skipping over to the shop to get something nice on coins you got, trying to think on what yoou can spend it on. So far you spend the coins on useful things and fish bait, so a little treat will be nice. Walking in to the building, you happy to see that the arcades were free of people, leaving you to play them alone, which you will do. Shoving in the coin, you watched the black screen blink in to life, colorfull character showing up on set of metal bars and a huge gorilla climbing up with lady in it’s hand. Classic, smile spreading on your face, you pushed the joystick, forcing character to move, venturing on dangerous journey to safe the lady. Eight-bit music played along, deafening your perception of reality and failing to hear footsteps approaching from behind and only reacting to touch when your small handmade coin purse was yanked of your hip, forcing you to abandoned your noble quest and spin around, shooting daggers out of your eyes at a very familiar bitch.

“Give it back Dupeng!!!” you barked out, swiping at the little pouch, which were easily pulled away. You knew well that you are not be able to fight them, not because you were outnumbered but because who they were. This was a team of your school cheerleaders, one of the best and because you dared to get your hair done on colour, after begging your parents for it, you were suddenly a target. You got shoved, lunch stolen and even one time got locked in toilet. You tried telling teachers but they turned blind eye because Dupeng was Principals daughter. You hated how she got away with so much where others would get punished for vaping in restrooms.

“Well well well, look who it is. How are you doing?” trying to act all sweet, Dupeng flattered her huge fake eyelashes at you, hiding your purse behind her back while other girls giggled as if they knew something you did not. “So, you know, me and the girls are wondering, where is it you sneaking of every night? Are you like, dating someone here?”

“What?” you frowned, cocking one of the eyebrows on confusion. “Pardon?”

“I mean with your ugly face it must be Dave, huh? Are you two like ugly ducklings couple?” girls chuckled “did he give you this?”

Your eyes grow wide as your little secret is pulled from behind on of the girls back, passed to the front with disgusted expression. Every person seeks comfort for the night, it’s normal, but being surrounded by mean teens made it difficult, but you just could not get any rest unless you are hugging mr. Teddy – a generic looking teddy bear that once had soft fur, now curled from all the love you gave him. Blood boiled inside your body, fist tightening up and ready to jump pink haired bitch that held Teddy by the foot with two fingers, making faces as if she was holding a bag of trash instead. You were sure you hid it well, even zipping up your tent, going as far as being placed on the edge, yet those fucks still went out of their way to get it.

“Dupeng. GIVE. IT. BACK” you snarled out, eyes focused on her and venom sipping in to the tone. You can take all the bullying just fine, you are used to it, but Teddy was a step to far overt the line. “NOW”

“I would, but it will be so boring JUST to give it back, you know” Dupeng snorted, hooding plush to the side “I mean I went though all the rouble to get it, right girls?” the group nodded and hummed in agreement “So it will be un-fare to give it back without something in return”

“You can have the coins” you blurted out quckly. Money here was one of necessities for her type and you hade enough to pay the fee to free your toy, plus you can always earn more, just need to think of ways to keep your night comfort even more well hidden, maybe getting a small lock and shoving him in to bag?

“Nah, that is to easy” She snorted and a wicked smile slithered on her face.

---

“FUCK fuck fuck fuck!” you swore under your breath, quietly making your way though the forest, flashlight of your phone acting as the only light once more, only this time there is no path to follow, no safety of predetermine path and knowing that Megatron will be there. The task you were given to complete in return of safe return of teddy was to go to an old abandoned out post and bring something from there. It was of limits and further in to the forest, out of bounds of legal camp site, and surpunded by scary rumours. Ghost, ghouls, homeless people, cannibals, killers – it had every thing and now you had to go in to the tall building and bring something from it. Shuddering, you cursed even more jumping at every frogs croaks and owls hoot, cursing your self for not being tough enough to fight back, yet with how your parents raised you it become difficult to. And it just had to be fool moon, shining high above the dark forest. Slowly making your way though the forest, you strated catching corners of warning signs pooping in your light, meaning you were on the right track, keep pushing though. The warning increased with every step and soon enough the old post showed up on the horizon, the old wooden building standing proudly above the ground and towering over the forest. You shivered, pulling jacket over your self and climbed through the hole in the chicken wire fence, over-grown with greenery and weeds, getting closer. The wooden beams were long time plagued by moss and rot, bugs eating in to it, making nest and spiders webs in the corners of the building. Old metal stairs creaked loudly beneath your weight, cursing to bend and drop you down any second you were not carful and the fear bit at your ankles.

“Fuck you Dupeng!!!!” you screamed out once you finally reached the top, able to have a little break and look aorund. The old building was covered with planks, shards of broken glass scattered around and covered with leaves that were miraculously blown up here. Light zapping around, you can see some letters, rusted metal dish and some other stuff. You can see a crack in one of the boarded up windows, allowing you to peek inside. Right it looks like every thing was left behind in a hurry – the old bed was right there, still unmade and pillows tossed around, grey from all the time and dirt, table still had some plates on it and what ever it was molded and rotted long time ago, old radio was covered in spider webs and dust bunnies. Right this place clearly have not been touched by human hand for a very-very long time, meaning you can grab something quickly and leave. Pulling away from dirty wooden boards, you scanned the area, hopping to find some way in, prying on the door, which creaked loudly and screamed, but did not budge. Right, okay, walking all around the small mini house, with wood sinking in a few places, making your heart skip a beat, you managed to find a hole big enough to crawl in, with skin getting scraped by wood and leaving a few splinters in palms, which you removed with a hissing pain, shocked at how huge they were. It did not smell to nice inside the old building, making you cough immideatly and cover mouth with fabric of your shirt, glansing around for something small to grab and leave, really not wishing to extend your welcome here.

There was a lot of things here – old gramophone, old radio, plates, books and many other things, all is needed to be done so grab smallest thing with a date on it and leave quickly. Walking a bit around, circling the table, eyes shifted aorund the place, spotting an old calendar with date and year, perfect proof that you did visited the cursed place, finally taking a step back and just look around, chuckling at them self. The place, even if abended, did not look that scary, just getting the bad rep like any other old building left to rot and to it’s fate, with teens covering walls in grafity. Though it still smelled bad. Crawling back out, you took your time to enjoy the view, inhaling fresh minty air and leaning on old rail, ignoring all the voices inside your mind screaming about danger. The view from here looked better – the huge full moon shine now pleasantly from above, hanging in the vast space of star filled void, the soft pale light of moon shined gently on the forest, reminding you of one of the famous painting you once saw in museum – Moonlight night on the Dnieper. The way artist perfectly manage to depict light reflecting from the river made it look fascinating and the small moon seemed to glow in the dark it self. From this height you can see the small glitter of fire form the camp, the only indignation people were there. Letting a heavy sigh you grumble a bit, hand clamping on the old calendar, listening to the natures orchestra. It was nice to see something like this, maybe it was not to bad that you were forced to come here, taking out your phone and taking a picture of the scenery, knowing well that the phone wont depict the moon just as glorious as you see it. Suddenly the whole forest went quite – no longer hearing he croaks, crickets no longer sung and the owl went silent, the only noise was the howl of the wind. Your skin prickled with worry and goosebumps run down your spine, getting alert immideatly. Its not a good sign how quickly it all went quite and you knew that it was not Megatron, because by now he did not scare the life in to silence. A quite rumbled echoed somewhere behind and out of curiosity, you circled the building, eyes peering in to the darkness. You can see trees shake valiantly, and the movement to quickly getting closer to the tower.

Okay, never mind, this place is cursed, with bated breath you ran towards stairs, wood creaking loudly and it gave under, dropping you to the floor. You yelped in pain as old wooden floor scraped your knees and you can hear your jeans getting torn, thankfully it was one that you did not regret tearing up, but still. Sucking in the air to ease the pain, you crawled up, back on your feet, the booming getting louder and a clear sound of metal clashing forced your heart to beat faster. Yet seemed luck was not on your side as the loud sound of crashing rattled the entire building and a loud creaking and splintering of wood echoed though the forest with building shaking and slowly tilting, you screamed, rushing to grab on to something for support, eyes wide as the building started falling down with you still in it, lungs burning with scream. You can feel guts shift and blood going cold, wind whistling in your ears and eyes tearing up, watching line of trees getting closer with every nanosecond. You can see life flashing before your own eyes, from childhood to the last second, regretting every thing that you were not to brave to do, the building slamming in to first of trees, wood splintering loudly and you flying out, despite dead mans grip, flying through the forest and hitting the gorund with quite a force to knock the air out of your lungs and you swore you could hear something crack in your body. Immideatly the pain flooded your body, tears swelling up in your eyes and painful lump threatened to choke you, but you did not had time for self pity, able to hear scuffle just inches away from you. Rolling on your stomach, you crawled away cus every time you got up the legs would get all jelly and just fall down. You kept crawling, feeling gorund shake from the fight and actively looking for a way out. Yet it seemd like luck was not on your side ever since Dupeng had her sights on you, huge metal hand wrapping around and pulling you swiftly, air whistled again in ears, world going dizzy and you felt like you were about to hurl.

What is Mandroid and his bugs doing here!? Megatron grumbled, tossing another bug to the side and sending an angry field blast after it, making sure they will not get up back again. He was coming over to see small one, bringing something for them as well. It was difficult to obtain and even harder to leave the base as Prime seemed to go out of his way to talk to him, trying to figure out just were ex decepticon was heading every night, with Elita-one not to far behind with her own questioning. Yes, he had respect for both of them, but had no reason telling them about his privet life, let alone where he was going and got a bit heated about Prime involving Dorothy in to it. It was decided to just let him be and on that note he left to the camp, fuming a bit about the talk. Landing further from the camp then he ususaly does, Megatron slowly started walking towards it, the faint light aiding him with directions what he did not expect is to hear something cliking behind, turning in time to swat flying at his helm metal bug creature, legs spread and screeching. Just what he needed, because if there is one of those things surely the other swarm was not to far behind. And he was not wrong, those things immideatly swarming and forcing him to fight. Blasting at them, forced to fight and praying to Primus that the camp wont hear the fight. Moving around, he was a bit overwhelmed when they combined in to centipede, sending him flying through forest and though some structure, breaking poles and support in process. A blood curdling scream filled the air and something slammed not far behind him, his head snapping to side and opticks growing wide at small little form landing not far from were building collapsed and crawling to get away. There was no good place for you to hide here and you already looked hurt, so he had to quickly grab you and roll as centipede slammed it self. You screamed louder, prying his fingers, propably to confused to even realize it was him, banging on his fist and kicking legs. It made him feel incredibly bad, but now your survival depended on him fully. Blasting at the thing, he manage to break it apart, finally, and stood up, quickly pushing you to his chassis, glaring at surrounding him spider-bots, jumping up to his peds.

Are they seriously gonna attack him with an injured youngling in his servos? It really did not surprise him as dr. Meridian was not above hurting Malto’ kids just because of their mother conection, so hurting another human in order to save humanity form his kind sounded a lot like him. Growling, big bot bared his sharp denta, his plasma gun warming up as one and only warning to the creatures, servo tightening just a bit aorund the small body, his digits pressing just a bit tighter in to small body, able to feel little spark inside your chest flattering like a bird inside the cage, earning for freedome. The creatures did not heard to his warnings, immideatly jumping at him only to get blasted. It will be hard to fight with a human in his hand, but he head to as to run away right now will out him in easy spot to get captured, so fighting was the only way.

Warm fingers tightened around you, you kiked and yelled, to blinded by panic, fear and pain that still was in your back. It felt like a fire and every breath hurt, so you could not speak at all, only clinging on while the huge bot let a deep growl and started fighting again. You just clung, eyes shut tight and waiting for the outcome it seemed like big bot came victorious and let a sigh of relief, you finally opening your eyes one by one, staring around, trying to see what will happened next. The ground was littered with broken bodies of huge spiders made out metal, some twitching time to time, but not functioning at all. The rumble from inside the big bot slowed down a bit, calming down and you finally were pulled away from the chest, eyes staring at familiar face, who you were more then happy to see now. Without more words, you let a heavy sigh of relief, feeling every thing finally hitting you and eyes growing heavy, slumping down, last thing you hear is Megatron worried call or you.

[sammyay]

Aaand I’ve finally played around enough to make up my own Jekyll and Hyde background (I NEED TO GIVE THE CHARACTERS BACKSTORIES)

Hence, my favorite repressed, shady, self-loathing and suffering old man, Henry Jekyll

Henry Edward Jekyll was born the second child and middle of the Jekyll family in Central London. Almost immediately after his birth, his poor mother Florence had to bear a devastating loss: His Father, Charles Jekyll, back then a somewhat respected, even though not entirely famous apothecary had perished in an unfortunate carriage incident, leaving his wife alone with two children. His death did draw attention initially, but the young widow together with her parents did a quick work of covering up and hushing away the loss: The body was found with a prostitute’s corpse, as well as several bottles of wine and quite a severe percentage of cocaine in his blood. Should the London society have gotten even a whiff of such scandal, his mother later would say, their reputations would have forever been tainted.

The main attention of his grandparents on mother’s side, (all further contact with his Father’s side was avoided since the incident) therefore shifted onto two children. The first, one year old son, Albert died when Henry turned just half a year old. The infant was placed in his crib incorrectly by the grieving and enraged mother by accident, and suffocated. There remained only Henry for a while, and for a few years that didn’t change. But then, his mother somehow got pregnant again, (who the father was, Henry never found out, she always avoided that topic), and when he was four, there came another boy into the family, Cyril. He didn’t last long too, as if by some sort of curse, he was born with a heart defect, and died mere hours after the birth. Henry was alone again. During most of his childhood, he was alone, as his grandparents, who were supposed to care for him quite often were distracted by his mother’s troubles and worries.

His many Nannies from the working class raised him, and once he learnt how to walk and run around the too empty house of his grandparents, he spent quite a bit of time in the kitchen and servant’s quarters. That was where he picked up a cockney accent, one once that his grandparents found out, tried to “set right”. The small manner of speech wasn’t the only thing they intended to fix once his mother got her wits together, his grandfather got thoroughly invested in his education and manners, arranging several strict teachers and governesses. Hence, this was the origin of his intelligence and good manners. After his homeschooling and improving of manners, Henry attended school with other boys from middle class and later went to University to study medecine.

In University he met two of his closest friends, John Gabriel Utterson and Hastie Lanyon. The former was studying law, the latter medecine with him, and it was most likely at University, to the former’s fault when Jekyll first realised what he believed to be “a general flaw” in his nature. All his childhood he was raised to be polite, kind, unassuming, charming and overall a gentleman befitting society, pressured by the expectations of his devastated mother and grandparents who hoped for him to make up for his father’s and lost two children’s missed chances and mistakes. And now, he realized that not only was his temper short and explosive, not fit for a gentleman, but he also felt attraction to fellow men like a sinner? His self-image shattered, and the strong self-hatred began. He finished University College with Lanyon and Utterson successfully, despite the drunken and dangerous fights he would get in his spare time, being an easily aggravated, emotional and violent mess, he still kept his grades on top.

He didn’t marry, neither did his friends, and a life of bachelorhood, company of fellow men, work and studying began. He saw no interest in pursuing a life with another woman, far too dedicated to dig deeper on his extraordinary research in what nearly bordered on alchemy, certain he could affect a soul with just mere chemicals, something he often argued about with the far more traditional Lanyon, and before he knew it, he was the last remaining member of the Jekyll family. To make up for what he felt was disappointing his mother and grandparents even in grave, he turned to philanthropy, partly to lessen the guilt, partly to make up a respectable facade for him in societies eye. And over time, he became known as the famous doctor Jekyll, respected scientist, scholar, gentleman and kind man, known for his social gatherings and impressive achievements. That was the furthest from how he felt in the inside and saw himself, but he was glad to pretend. He felt insecure and hateful, but pretended to be proud and confident. He was kind and polite when sometimes his mind was haunted by violent thoughts of all kinds. Perhaps that was why he spent hours and hours of his free time working over chemical formulas, hoping he could split his soul in two, to end this excruciating duality.

[littlest-w01f]

Chapter Three

Series Masterlist

Cw: None

It was around 5 bells in the evening, from the last time Novali had heard the loud ringing as she made her way to Sailas' home in Hewn City, the faerie lights the only thing eliminating the place, she smoothed out her dress, her face expressionless as she walked the busy streets.

Novali, clad in a simple yet elegant dress, strode through the crowded market square, her head held high despite the anxiety gnawing at her insides. She passed by stalls laden with products and wildflowers. Every now and then, she would catch sight of familiar faces, acquaintances who greeted her curtly before going about their day.

As she neared Sailas' house, a sense of unease crept up her spine. This wasn't just another visit, this was different. This was important. The Night Court's inner Circle would be arriving today, and she had little to prepare for the cold welcome they would most likely receive. She hated not being in control, and Rhysand's possible arrival tensed her.

She looked up to see Aleks trailing beside her on the rooftops of the homes, his hair a fire-like beacon. "I'll be watching your back." He had said, not looking for her to deny him, not waiting for her to ask him.

Novali felt warmth in her heart when she saw Aleks looking her way, she'd

Novali nodded faintly, trying to suppress a small smile that threatened to appear at Aleks's constant vigilance. "Thank you," she whispered under her breath, not bothering to disguise the fondness creeping into her tone.

Despite herself, Novali could not ignore the warmth spreading within her heart, it seemed as though everything she felt for Aleks was magnified in those uncertain moments.

Finally, the quaint row houses came into view, the richest parts of the city, Sailas's residence nestled amidst them, bathed in the twilight glow of magical lamps. A few steps away and she could already hear voices echoing within, presumably Kier. Her stomach twisted nervously, but somehow, knowing that Aleks was right behind her helped to steady her nerves somewhat.

Novali masked her nervousness and knocked on the doors of Sailas' house

Sailas, standing at the threshold, eyed Novali warily when she knocked. His gaze drifted towards the empty street beyond her, a clear indication of his suspicion. Nonetheless, he opened the door and gestured for her to come inside.

The moment she stepped foot into the grand foyer, the scent of old magic enveloped her like a suffocating shroud. Sailas closed the door behind her while Kier emerged from one of the many corridors, his sharp gaze scanning every inch of her person.

"You're late," Kier commented without preamble, crossing his arms over his chest in typical fashion.

Novali stayed quite still Sailas placed a hand on her lower back, "Answer him." He demanded.

"I'm sorry. I got held up." Novali replied, her chin dipped in a show of respect, not looking the males in the eye.

Sailas's grip tightened momentarily on her back, his fingers digging slightly into her skin as a silent warning. But his voice remained even, betraying none of the annoyance he must have been feeling. "You should know better than to keep us waiting."

Kier's lips curled into a smirk, clearly amused by her apology. "And why is that? Because we hold your fate in our hands?" he asked rhetorically, taking a step closer to her.

Novali shifted uncomfortably under their combined scrutiny, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. She wished desperately for Aleks's presence, his steadying influence and his quiet strength were sorely needed at that moment.

But there was no sign of him anywhere, and she knew that he was likely keeping watch from afar.

"Yes... Sir." Novali replied, trying to make her voice as pleasant as she could. "I will not be late for tonight."

Both Sailas and Kier seemed to relax ever so slightly upon hearing her promise, but it didn’t take much to notice the underlying severity in their expressions. “Good,” Sailas murmured approvingly.

“Make sure you keep that vow,” Kier chimed in, a hint of sarcasm dripping from each word.

Novali stayed close, doing her best to keep her composure intact despite the simmering rage boiling beneath her calm exterior, rolling her eyes when the males looked away from her. She dreaded what tonight might bring, confrontations, arguments, perhaps even violence. But whatever happened, she couldn’t afford to let any of it get to her. Not here, not now.

Novali sat in a room in Sailas' house, a black dress laid out in front of her, it was quite a scandalous outfit. Novali studied the garment laid out before her, her heart pounding in her chest. It was unlike anything she'd seen before, revealing, provocative. A part of her wanted to reject it outright, but she knew that would only lead to further consequences. So instead, she swallowed hard and reached out hesitantly to touch the fabric.

As she did so, memories flooded back: her mother dressing her up in similar outfits for feasts and gatherings back when life was simpler, how proud her mother had been when people would compliment her daughter's beauty. Suddenly realizing what she was doing, Novali jerked her hand away from the dress as if burned. Tears pricked at her eyes, blurring her vision momentarily as she clenched and unclenched her fists at her sides.

Her mother, the monster of her nightmares, the female who despite her own abuse sold Novali to suffer the same fate the second she bled for the first time. marrying a young 14-year-old to a male as old as Sailas, then turning her back on her after she was forced with child.

Novali's mind swirled with conflicting emotions, torn between past trauma and present dread. Memories of her mother flashed through her mind like images from a disturbing dream - her face contorted in anger or disgust, always looking away from Novali as if ashamed of what she'd done.

But reality snapped her back to attention when she heard Sailas's voice echoing down the hallway outside the room. "Hurry up," he called out impatiently.

With trembling fingers, Novali began to undress, discarding each piece of clothing with increasing speed until she stood naked before the dress. It seemed so foreign against her bare skin – heavy satin clinging to curves meant to please rather than serve. And yet, it also brought back echoes of childhood innocence, moments stolen before her world turned upside down.

In the blink of an eye, Novali's expression hardened into a blank mask, devoid of all emotion. The transformation was almost eerie, one moment she was lost in painful recollections, and the next she was a statue carved from stone.

Slowly, deliberately, she lifted the dress off its perch and slid it onto her body. The fabric clung to her curves like a second skin, accentuating every dip and swell of her form, making an elusion of it, because she had none, no dips or swells, it was the fabric and the wat it clung to her body, cuts on her sides and a deep V down her neck, that made it appear she had. She felt exposed, and vulnerable, but she could never let anyone see it.

With a final tug at the hemline, Novali stood fully clothed once more. There was something about this outfit that made her feel vulnerable, it was something her mother would've praised her for putting on, even if she would tutt at her breasts, pulling at them, commenting how they were too small, but at the same time be proud of the fear-filled look Novali used to wear.

Novali found herself staring back at someone else entirely reflected in the full-length mirror before her. The dress hugged her curves tightly, drawing attention to areas that had previously been hidden under layers of modest clothing. Its plunging neckline revealed far more cleavage than she was accustomed to showing, while the skirt flared out around her hips before tapering down to just above her knees.

Her eyes went to the high heels that were for her, being her size, as she went to put the heels on, Sailas barged in the room, a maid beside him, "Ugh, could you make that dress any less flattering?" He taunted Novali, "Do your best you can with her," He motioned at her for the maid

Novali's heart skipped a beat when Sailas suddenly appeared in the doorway, his harsh words cutting through her thoughts like a knife. She bit back the instinctive retort rising in her throat, knowing better than to antagonize him. Instead, she held his gaze steadily, refusing to allow him the satisfaction of seeing her flinch.

Her hands hovered over the high-heeled shoes sitting neatly on the floor, their reflective surfaces reflecting back the chaos swirling within her. But she couldn't afford to show weakness, not now, not when Sailas was watching her so closely. She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and then bent down to slip on the uncomfortable footwear.

The maid standing obediently beside Sailas stepped forward, her eyes darting nervously between both figures.

Novali sat down on the chair of the vanity in her room was the maid began her work, lathering Novali up with make-up, on Sailas' command, going as far as putting some on her exposed chest to give the illusion of a heavy cleavage as Novali stayed as still as a lifeless doll.

Novali walked with Salias, in the depths of the throne room in Hewn City, a place she'd never been before.

Sailas led Novali through the grand halls of Hewn City, their steps echoing eerily in the vast expanse of the throne room. Despite its impressive size and opulent décor, Novali couldn't shake the feeling of unease that clung to her like a second skin. She glanced around nervously, taking in the towering pillars adorned with intricate carvings and the massive chandelier that hung ominously overhead, casting long shadows that danced with every flicker of light, giant statues of beasts on the pillars.

Her gaze was drawn to the dais at the far end of the chamber where the throne sat empty, a stark reminder of the power dynamics at play. The realization sent a shiver down her spine, causing her to look for Aleks' presence.

Her eyes widened seeing Cahira in the dark, she shouldn't be here, the thought ran through Novali's mind but Cahira gave her a simple nod, she was her back.

Novali's heart pounded in her chest as she noticed Cahira standing in the shadows near the entrance of the throne room. Her eyes met those of her friend, and for a brief moment, she allowed herself to believe that everything would be alright. But then Cahira gave her a simple nod, acknowledging her presence without breaking character, and returned to blending into the darkness.

Novali's stomach twisted uncomfortably at the sight, a wave of guilt washing over her. Here she was, dressed up like a doll for Sailas's amusement, while Cahira risked her life to help her. It was a stark reminder of the precarious position she found herself in and the sacrifices others were willing to make for her sake. But then she forced herself to remember Cahira didn't like being treated with delicate hands, she was capable of staying some time outside of her comfort, all she hoped for was that Kier didn't see the girl.

As uncomfortable as it was, Novali forced herself to focus on her role. Cahira didn’t need her worry clouding her judgement. She had a mission to complete, and Novali needed to trust that she would succeed.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself as much as possible, reminding herself that she wasn't just doing this for herself anymore, but for everyone. The thought provided a measure of solace amidst the chaos swirling within her. She held her head high, walking tall despite the anxiety coursing through her veins.

As they continued through the throne room, Novali began to notice more and more people gathering, their gazes turning towards her as Sailas led her through the crowd. She could feel their eyes on her, appraising her like a piece of meat at market, and it only served to fuel the fire of indignation burning within her. She clenched her fists at her sides, forcing herself to keep her composure despite the rising tide of anger threatening to spill over.

They reached the center of the throne room, where Sailas stopped and turned to address the gathered crowd. His voice rang out clearly, commanding attention and respect. Novali remained silent, standing dutifully at his side as he announced their engagement to the room full of nobles and courtiers.

"The scume that call themselves are rulers are coming tonight, let's show them they can't take back our city after a century of abandoning us!" His voice roared, and Kier also joined in rallying up the Court of Nightmares. The worst of the worst was easy to describe it, especially when they killed the kind ones, the innocent ones to show what would happen to those who went against them. Anyone who spoke up ended up in the dungeons that the spymaster hadn't visited in years.

Novalie only hoped Cahira didn't die tonight as she found her in the dark again, hoping she'd stay hidden.

{General - @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot}

{Meeting in Grey - @sleepylunarwolf @achaotichuman @sarawritestories @bakananya @sheblogs @anuttellaa}

[vikwrites]

Money, Money, Money - Tony Stark

CHAPTER 1 Summary ➣ Starting off as simple, transactional love during the height of Tony’s alcoholism, devolves into something real. Pairing ➣ Tony Stark x Reader Word Count ➣ 1.2k words Warnings ➣ Slow Burn, Power Imbalance, Enemies to Lovers, Large age gap, Mildly Pretentious Narrator. Author's Notes ➣  The first, full-fledged Tony Stark series, so excited for this! I've always wanted to write a Materialistic!Reader so here it is! Happy readings <3

On the 86th floor of Stark Tower, atop a mini-bar, sat a delicate glass of Vodka Martini, 3 fluid-ounce Yamazaki, 1 fluid-ounce dry vermouth, with 3 small olives minutely pierced onto a thin gold-plated skewer. 

The thin stem of the crystal glass was passed to your gauzy, manicured fingers, in exchange for a crisp stack of ten dollar bills surrendered to the bartender, you didn’t bother to count. 

The plump skewer of olives swirled freely in your nearly full martini; minute drops threatened to spill over the edge of its fine rim. Luckily, you had caught the droplets before they had been discarded onto the carpeted floor.

Figures adorned in hues of gold and silver flitted about the lavish parlor, each mirrored the twinkling lights of the Manhattan skyline outside in their respective shimmering gowns, each one more expensive than the last. 

The atmosphere was lively, yet the main attraction has yet to arrive. You had heard mentions of the infamous Stark around; his name carried a certain mystique, spoken under hushed whispers amongst the attendees. You had never really met him face-to-face, considering he was the CEO of the company, but your position at Stark Industries held up a pretty good reputation, earning you enough, and granting you an invite to the party.

“Do you think he’s seeing anyone?” You picked up on the conversation between a few women sitting next to you on the barstools. The woman in question, doused in the overwhelming scent of Chanel No. 5, was dressed in a form-fitting Valentino dress. Her voice carried through the air with a thick New-Yorkean accent, a bleak resemblance to her flashy, ostentatious appearance. 

“Quit it, stop trying to get into Stark’s pants. You never will.” The blonde next to you responded, patting the other on the shoulder playfully. You caught a glimpse of her manicured nails, adorned with a glossy velvet finish in a similar fashion to your own. However, unlike yours—which were neatly trimmed, the cuticles of her nails were a bit messy. A detail that wouldn't normally matter, but for some reason stood out to you in that moment.

Is she wearing a Cartier bracelet? Your jaw clenched at the sight of her bracelet, sparkling with diamonds and catching the light in a way that made your own bracelet pale in comparison, it was obviously more expensive than yours. The fact alone pissed you off. 

The room was filled with a swarm of pretentious individuals, each one flaunting their wealth and superiority. It was suffocating, being surrounded by so many egotistical assholes with their holier-than-thou attitudes. They may have money, but it didn't make them any less shallow or arrogant. You had this sixth-sense of being able to tell how much of an asshole specifically by what adorned their money-laced wrists—whether or not they wore a Patek Phillipe or a Jaeger was enough insight into their entire persona. 

“I’ve got a better chance than you at least, Stark would love me!” The first woman's voice snapped like a taut wire, dripping with disdain. Her eyes narrowed and glinted with malice as she shot dirty looks at the others, her loathing almost palpable.

Holier-than-thou attitude, as you had said.

You thought their behavior immature, not wanting to pay attention anymore to such infantile arguments. Fighting over some uber-rich billionaire who could give less of a shit who you are after you had warmed his bed for a single night? 

Pfft, fuck no, you were just here for the cocktails.

You brought the crystal glass to your lips, and took your first sip. The alcohol burnt as it cascaded down your throat, leaving your mouth with a spicy aftertaste, you could never really get used to a Martini. 

A part of you was contemplating asking for more, but the sensible side knew that ending up slobbering drunk at a party and waking up at the ungodly hour of 2pm with missing jewelry and a killer hangover was not exactly your idea of a good time.

The smooth sip of your drink is abruptly halted by the sharp sound of glass shattering, followed by the shrill voices of the ladies engaged in a vicious argument. Their heated words and swinging arms in-turn send glasses crashing to the ground, littering the once-pristine carpet with sparkling shards of broken glass. 

“Did you just call me a bitch?” The blonde's voice rose to a screeching crescendo as she yelled, her face flushed with anger. With a loud thud, she slammed her purse onto the table.

“Yeah, I did—bitch!” Another responded, her voice a bit more high pitched than the other, yet still carrying the same sanctimonious attitude, standing up and facing her with a smug smirk on their face. 

“Now, ladies. Must we really be resorting to calling each other names?” A voice echoed from atop the stairwell. The women’s dispute had been abruptly quelled, the whole room seemed silenced, and all eyes seemed to be glued onto the figure.

There stood Tony Stark, dressed in a perfectly-styled, deep-burgundy suit, no doubt Tom Ford, the barchetta pocket gave it away. His hair was styled in his signature quiff, slicked back to a T. And of course, he topped off the ensemble with a pair of red sunglasses, which you’d always found amusing since he'd wear them indoors. 

“Welcome, everybody. I would introduce myself, but it seems that you know who I am.” Each step he takes down the glass staircase, each time his Louboutin boots hit the glass stairs, resulted in a loud, echoed clap, which resonated across the room. “I’d personally like to thank all of you for attending. As you know, it happens to be my anniversaire today, so I thought to myself, why not throw a party?”

"What's with all the staring, is my suit on backwards?" Tony joked, his eyes scanning the room as he flashed his signature smirk. You knew, however, he thrived on attention, as if it were fuel for his larger-than-life persona. Flamboyant was practically his middle name; Tony Flamboyant Stark does have a nice ring to it, you chuckled.

"Jarvis," Tony’s voice carried a hint of excitement as he spoke to his AI, "let's crank up the music and get this party started." The monotone response did as so. 

After Tony made his grandeur entrance, you retreated to your lone seat at the bar, grateful for the temporary escape from the chaos. The previously bickering women had vanished, leaving a few neighboring barstools conveniently open for your solitude. You took a deep breath and savored the cool air conditioning and the soft murmur of conversation floating around you.

But just when you thought you had some peace and quiet, you heard the shuffling of a chair being pulled out next to you. Expecting one of the argumentative ladies to return, you turned to find Tony  Stark himself settling into the seat beside you, nonchalantly pulling out his wallet and fishing out a few bills.

"So, could I buy you a drink?" 

⎊ back to masterlist

[artficlly]

hi wonderful mootie!! i wanted to ramble you about “[lessons in love-making]” part 4!

(i thought a reblog may be too long, so here is a hopefully observant essay about the things i really liked and enjoyed)

firstly, the reader herself is fascinating, with her background as a widow and the way her steeled behaviour, plus attitude seems outwardly cold to other people. i really love the way she is written and portrayed, someone who has shelved all of their trauma, someone who is strong and shielded but truthfully quite alone. the change of her actually being quite isolated from the avengers is a dynamic i never thought i needed, but i do! she can’t connect, and their perceptions of her in turn are wrong.

and it’s heart breaking but in such a good way, because those perceptions and assumptions are the same she’s always faced, it probably seems to her that she can’t be anything different, that she just has to be this ‘thing’ instead of a person. i can’t sing your praises enough when it comes to dialogue, i’ve said it once before but i need to reiterate it!! the way you write and craft arguments feels real and raw and hurtful (but in a good way, your art is moving, it is making others truly feel), both sides have sensible reasonings and conflicts.

it’s been interesting because as much as bucky has been healing, becoming more comfortable, a bit more lighthearted, the reader has been too, both of them letting go of their past self destructive behaviours. bucky with his complex past couldn’t let anyone in, she managed to manoeuvre past his walls and help, and he without her knowing made her start to truly feel. we see her care, her empathy, her vulnerability come more to light with each chapter, and i can’t imagine the hurt she feels from the prospect of him being embarrassed by her, because it’s always the same right? always the shame and disdain and these opinions about her, that she will never be able to break away from because SHIELD uses her in a similar way the red room did.

i adore steve thawing a little bit, realising through a glimpse of what he’s now seen of her, that she cares about bucky, and may not be cold at all inside. steve scheming was funny and amusing, i love when the reader finally snapped at nat, i would’ve done the same in her position. the way her heel got stuck and she was just frustrated, the imagery of her pressing the heel of her palms against her eyes out of being overwhelmed ughh, there’s so many thing i love in this story and this chapter alone.

finally, i’m going to go over that more sensitive scene (the one with themes of SA). as someone who has been through that awful thing, it is so meaningful to see the lingering trauma and stress captured. it was written in a really realistic way, these things, their triggers, can just come out of nowhere. you can be fine in everyday life and then it’s a small thing and suddenly you’re back, in that memory or in that feeling.

her almost emotional suffocation, the way she still tried to communicate with bucky, reached out and trusted him, and the way he respected her by instantly getting off. i can’t imagine the guilt he must’ve felt, piecing it together and knowing exactly why she panicked. the way he dropped everything, any anger or resentment etc melted away and he was just concerned, worried, not even caring about a petname slipping, not even caring when sam picked up on it. but back on track, that scene and its descriptions, it was honestly quite healing for me personally to read. that pain and panic is so intense and visceral, the way she felt she couldn’t escape, that her mind went black and just transported to the times she truly couldn’t escape. quite plainly, you’re an amazing writer, you set down scenes with the perfect undertones, you can insert humour and angst and devastating pain and it all translates.

thank you for writing, for making these amazing journeys for other people to explore and experience. i can’t wait to see what you do in future, have a wonderful day <3

OH MY GOSH??? okay before i even say anything i'm just gonna attach this screenshot of my reaction from the sebstan/chrisevans discord to seeing this in my inbox. (okay so when i started writing this you hadn't seen the message, but now you have but i'm gonna leave this screenshot up anyway bc its funny)

it is now the next morning and i'm still freaking out. holy shit. let me reply to all of this and it's gonna get yappy because ??? oh my god.

i feel like i've yapped about this multiple times but the reader in this is very much built around my headcanons of the red room. with marvel being disney-ifed i feel like they just aren't able to go as dark as we all know the red room has the potential to be. there is just something... so unsettling to me about the whole thing. just using women specifically in the red room has so many horrific undertones that i feel is kind of glossed over by the fandom. idk, or maybe i just haven't been looking in the right places.

i just generally have a lot of feelings about the widows as a whole. there is so much discussion in the fandom about bucky and his trauma, the speculation and headcanons. i just feel like the widows trauma and bucky's trauma are so interlinked, but the widows is just so specific to the horrors that is the female (or female presenting) experience.

it was always really important to me that the reader is lonely, but of her own making. that she has self destructive tendencies born of necessity. that she has attachment issues. with bucky, he has steve, someone he knows he can trust entirely (same with nat and yelena), so my desire always was a character who is entirely dependent on herself to the point where it becomes almost a form of self-sabotage. the reader was always supposed to be a bit of an unreliable narrator and assume everyone is out to get her. the reader presents herself as this very in control figure, when in reality she is terrified. i'm sure she would get along better with the team if she didn't allow her trauma to consume her to the point where she prevents any kind of connection.

but we can see with her connection with bucky, she sees parts of herself in him, and he sees parts of himself in her. the reader deep down is very empathetic and kind, she just doesn't know how to express that without that fear of it being exploited. she very desperately wants to form relationships, to be wanted and loved, but there is always this fear within her that she is being used. or she purposely puts herself in positions where she is being used so it doesn't surprise/hurt her later down the line.

also i'm glad you liked the argument :) i was really proud of it and work-shopped the dialogue for days until i felt it was right. i think you'll notice that near the end steve softens up a lot as he realises how genuine she is being, and that she's honestly trying to help.

i won't get too deep into my thoughts of bucky's perspective on all this cause i'll be touching on that in the next chapter. i just think he has a lot of internalised shame, after his own experiences and also the shock of going from the culture of the 40s to modern day. he worries a lot about how people perceive him and his actions.

finally, i’m going to go over that more sensitive scene (the one with themes of SA). as someone who has been through that awful thing, it is so meaningful to see the lingering trauma and stress captured.

i'm so sorry that happened to you. the amount of people i've had approach me while writing this series and say that + how they relate to the reader in that regard is honestly heartbreaking.

a lot of the trauma scenes are kind of inspired by real-life feelings and experiences but they are a whole bunch of stories someone will have to pry out of me another time lmaoo. i do feel like a lot of the readers worst qualities is just from me projecting myself into the character lol.

anyway that's a fucking sad note to leave it on so i'm just gonna sit here and gush about how much i appreciate you! thank you so so sooo much for taking the time to write all this and support me?? best freaking moot in the world holy shit. <333

[crimsonvictory]

Dance Partner

MINORS DNI

Word Count:

Tags: simon riley x reader, ghost x reader

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, CONSENT IS IMPORTANT, jealous!Ghost

Notes: just been thinking of you dancing in a crowded club and Ghost getting jealous of all of the attention you’re getting :’)

The shrouding darkness of the closet you were currently occupying was becoming stifling. The warmth from both of your bodies was radiating out and upwards, causing sweat to form at the base of your temple. Your breath comes out in short pants, panic starts to set in. You squeeze your eyes tight, trying to control your breathing. Simon is as calm as ever – still as a damn gargoyle as he keeps an ear close to the slatted door. Shadows of absentminded people move back and forth, muffled voices of the ongoing party outside.

Your hands are balled into fists at your sides, squeezing imprints of crescents into your palms. A hot flash of irritation prickles at your skin, making your silk dress stick to you in an almost suffocating manner. Time seemed to slow, dragging each second out to the point of almost madness. Being stuck within this small space, especially next to Simon, was the last thing that you had expected. The night was going smoothly, everyone playing their respective roles – until your Lieutenant decided it was best for the house of cards to crumble.

The green-eyed monster made his appearance rather early in the night. Rearing his ugly head whenever someone sauntered within your small bubble. You had managed to keep ignorant of its’ existence for the better part of the evening, distracting yourself with many sparkling flutes of champagne and dancing with any available partner out on the floor. Johnny being your latest victim. You feel his large hand rest lowly on your waist, pulling you close to his body as the both of you sway to the pulsating music. It’s extremely loud out on the floor, music vibrating your sternum. Johnny flashes an intoxicated grin your way, yelling something over the thumping bass.

“What?” you yell, trying to read his lips with a laugh.

He yanks you closer, tilting his head down and cupping a hand over your ear to try and direct the conversation.

“We’ve got an audience,” he all but shouts, alcohol making his accent so thick it’s almost unintelligible.

Johnny’s words are followed by a fit of drunken laughter. You grin mischievously, the previous partaking of alcohol giving you a confidence boost. That is, until you lock eyes with your audience, noticing the utter rage burning within the irises. He’s been watching you for quite a while. A familiar set of eyes, but for some reason your synapses aren’t firing right – can’t put your finger on who they belong to. It’s hard to make him out, he’s somewhat lurking in the shadows and the alcohol has made your thoughts clouded. You swallow, looking away sheepishly and back at Johnny. The awkwardness dies away for a moment, swallowed up by comfort as your friend pulls you close again, rolling your bodies fluidly together as the music slows to something more sensual. You pant softly at the change of pace, finally able to catch your breath. The sea of bodies creates a wave of heat. Skin slick with sweat, pools at your lower back. You let your eyes flutter closed, enjoying the change of pace and following Johnny’s lead. The two of you needed this. Hell, the whole force did. That’s why everyone came out once a month, to blow off steam and relieve the very much built-up stress that stored itself on everyone’s shoulders.

Johnny was your best pal. Platonic soulmate you called him. He had been your day one ever since you joined the 141. Instantaneously matched and really was one of the only bastards you could stand to be around. You couldn’t have wanted a better partner. Others joked about your closeness, the relentless flirting between the two of you, but both of your feelings were mutual – platonic and planned on staying that way.

Your senses bristle at a change of environment. Eyes fluttering open, you notice that your audience has disappeared. You scan the floor, looking into the dark corners and coming up with nothing. Focusing back on Johnny, you flash him another grin, in an attempt to hide your nervousness. Where did he go?

“Audience is gone now,” you fake pout.

You watch his face change, apprehension sobering him up. Hesitance floods his irises.

“Don’t think so, Lass,” he mutters, eyes fixed behind you.

You turn your head at his words, watching the dancing sea of bodies part as your audience makes their way over to the two of you. A whole foot taller than most of the people there, rigid in a state of constant motion. Your mouth goes dry, eyes unblinking as a large hand circles around your waist, yanking you from Johnny’s grasp. Stumbling backward, you fall unwillingly into a solid wall of black.

“Hey!” you huff, placing your small hands over a somewhat familiar beefy tattooed forearm and trying to pry his bruising grip from around your waist.

You try to turn in his grasp, looking at Johnny for some assistance. He steps forward, only to stop in his tracks by the look he gets. You watch him swallow and avert his eyes, mumbling out something you can’t hear over the roaring music.

That’s the last you see of him as you are enveloped in the moving sea again. You struggle, huffing as your foggy state of mind leaves you pretty much helpless. Pulse rushing to your ears, you feel yourself start to panic, breath coming out in short pants as you cannot see where you are going. You faintly hear the opening of a door and then are lost in the darkness as you are roughly shoved inside. Reaching out blindly, you feel for a wall and slide down to the floor, the cool wallpaper relieving the overheating of your skin.

It's only then that your alcohol-fueled brain realizes who has snagged you from your night of fun.

“Simon, let me out of this closet right now,” you huffed, keeping your voice as low as possible.

Absolute radio silence.

You shift, trying to reach for the doorknob but his large hand reaches out and stops your attempt.

“What is your fucking problem?” you hiss.

He turns sharply to face you. It’s hard to see him due to the low lighting. You can barely make out his face, the amber lighting from the hallway trickles in through the slatting of the door.

“You,” he hisses right back, venom laced on his tongue.

Your lip pulls up in a snarl, irritation flashing hot down your neck.

“What are you fucking jealous?” you pant out, trying your best to look in his direction.

Simon suddenly crowds your space, masked face appearing right in front of your nose. You gasp softly, the sudden appearance taking you by surprise. Your anger fades quickly, slowly being replaced by something else. The light filters in from the other room, illuminating how dilated his pupils are.

“Careful, bunny,” he warns lowly.

“Admit it,” you press. “You don’t like me dancing with Johnny.”

You watch the mask contort as his jaw clenches. A funny gesture, something you see quite often when working together. Simon’s fist slams beside your head and you flinch, deftly moving your head to the side. You try not to let it intimidate you. He’s crouched on his knees and still towering over you. Your breath catches in your throat and you keep your eyes on him – silence near deafening. A sly smile pulls your upper lip up and a laugh escapes you. It only makes him angrier.

“You’re so fucking dense,” you laugh. “Johnny’s platonic.”

“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” he growls softly, irritation lacing his voice again.

The green-eyed monster makes an appearance again. You play into his game, knowing you have him wrapped around your finger.

“You’re always getting yourself into matters that don’t concern you,” you tell him calmly.

You make a risky move, resting your hand on his bicep, and giving it a light squeeze. His eyes are unblinking, flicking down to wear your hand is resting. He’s got the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, exposing the splattering of black ink crawling up his forearms. You and Johnny have had many conversations (mostly drunken ones) about the tattoos you were currently looking at. Breathing through your nose, you let your eyes close, thumping your head against the wall in frustration. The current situation befuddling. Your alcoholic buzz slows to molten honey in your veins.

You try your best to avoid the drunken thoughts rapidly appearing in your head. Try your best to avoid the fact that Simon is less than a foot away from you and has you locked in a dark closet. Try your best to avoid the fact that he is on his goddamn knees right now. You can smell a faint hint of whiskey (bourbon?) on his breath. You suck your bottom lip in between your teeth, letting it go with a soft “pop” as you speak again.

“Simon.”

He’s silent, the only notion of him still within your reach is the legato rise and fall of his shoulders. You had no idea of his plans, never sharing a flirtatious encounter with him before. Most of your interactions with him were brief. Racking your currently lagging brain, you come up emptyhanded with any exchanges that prompted his behavior this evening. Both are too busy and too closed off to have anything romantic. That’s why you liked your relationship with Johnny, being able to play pretend and not having to be emotionally involved. You knew nothing of Simon, except for now, you knew he had a horrible bout of jealousy.

You squirm uncomfortably, trying to pry yourself away from his unrelenting gaze. Your body betrays you, arousal pooling confusedly in your abdomen. His hand unfurls itself, brushing your hair away from your damp neck. Your breathing picks up again, soft pants falling from your lips as your heart rate peaks. You squeeze his arm again.

“Let me out,” you plead.

A soft tsk falls from his lips, breath fanning your face. You’re starting to lose the grasp on your control, being in his presence is starting to get to you. You hear a soft rustle of fabric – the shaking of his head. Can’t tell if he’s shaking no at you or something else.

“Can’t be pleading like that, bunny,” he coos softly, voice deepening.

“Don’t call me that,” you huff, squirming against him again.

Forced proximity has you nearly in his lap. He sneaks his left hand out quickly, wrapping it around your lower back and pulling you against him. The angle he’s holding you forces your right arm to loop around his broad shoulders.

“Wanna dance?” he quips.

You can hear the smirk in his voice. The question takes you by surprise, brows furrowing upwards. He rolls his hips towards your own, causing you to yelp softly. It jostles your position, causing your thighs to cushion themselves snugly around his broad ones. A soft rustling and you feel his breath near your ear.

“Saw how you danced with Johnny,” he rasps, voice thin with wavering restraint. “Show me how you roll those hips of yours.”

Your eyes roll back at that, a soft whimper bubbling up your throat. His hand that isn’t on your waist slides up your back and rests at the nape of your neck. Simon cards his thick fingers through the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling your back into a small arch.

“Don’t be shy now,” he huffs, smirk apparent now by how fucking giddy he sounds.

Your skin is buzzing with excitement (nervousness?). Taking a deep breath, you listen to the faint rhythm of the thumping bass outside. Slowly starting to gyrate your hips to the music, you let yourself relax against him. You don’t want to give him everything just yet – not wanting to relinquish all of your control. Keeping your hips just inches above his own, the silk of your dress bunches up around your thighs, exposing the lacy underwear you wore this evening. A blush burns into your skin and down your neck. You thank the Gods that it’s nearly dark in here – easier to hide your embarrassment.

“Not shy,” you huff out, irritation still lingering from your current situation. “You’re the shy one. Got me locked up in this dark closet all for your own pleasure.”

You dip your hips down at that, relishing in the fact that you take his breath away – even if it just is for a moment. His arousal is present, tenting against the zipper of his black dress pants. His hand slides from your back to the fat of your hip, his bruising grip possessive.

“That’s right,” he gasps hotly. “All for me.”

You slide your hand down his broad bicep, mirroring the grip he has on your hip. Arousal licks at your spine as you dip your hips down again, dragging them for a moment longer over his own. Simon moans, surprisingly loud for where the both of you are. You realize you cannot be heard over the thumping of the club music. Both of you are in your little bubble of pleasure. A familiar heat pools at the apex of your thighs.

As much as you don’t want to admit it, his words affect you. Your heart’s racing, mind trying to keep up with what’s happening right this very second. A small laugh falls from your lips, incredulous.

“Somethin’ funny?” he asks, voice surprisingly calm.

You hum, tilting your head up and repositioning yourself. Your full weight resting on his broad thighs. Blood rushes back down, settling from your previous position. You feel him still, calculating your next move in the inky room.

“Somethin’ got you nervous?” you question.

You reach up, tugging him close by his mask. A soft gasp falls from his lips, surprised by your sudden change of action. His breath puffs softly against your wrist, hot pants making your skin damp. Simon squeezes your hip again, a silent warning to not push it any further. You oblige, leaning in close to mouth at his clothed ear.

“Can’t read your mind, Simon,” you coo in a sing-song tone.

He laughs then – a pretty noise. Something you don’t hear very often. He’s smiling, you can hear the way his mask contorts. You wonder how he looks under the mask. Handsome, no doubt.

“Could say the same for you, lovie,” he croaks softly.

Simon shifts, hard length deliciously bumping against your folds. It has your thighs squeezing together. You feel him shudder against you, repeating his motion yet again.

“Simon-,” you whine.

He hums, a comforting noise as he takes his hands away from your body, leaving you essentially floating in the darkness. It has your senses on high alert, trying to piece together what he’s doing. You lean forward, ears working overtime to listen. A soft rustling of fabric and then you feel his soft breath on your cheek. But this time, it feels different – cooler. Almost as if –

The mask is gone.

You feel yourself clench around nothing, mouth watering at the thought of being able to kiss him.

“Did you-?” you ask incredulously.

“Shhh -,” he hushes, lips brushing against the side of your neck.

His tongue darts out, causing goosebumps to erupt hurriedly over your body. Simon’s lips are surprisingly soft, pressing kisses into your damp skin. He makes his way up your neck, mapping the route to memory. A soft nip to your jaw has a soft whine leaving your lips. You feel a smile against your skin. Motherfucker.

Slowly, agonizingly, he finally reaches your lips. He’s hesitant, almost teasing as he barely brushes his own against yours. You test the waters, darting your tongue out to swipe against his bottom lip. A soft rumble fills the barrel of his chest, vibrating against your own.

The soft rise and fall of your bodies synchronize, the rhythm comforting as you explore within the dark. You slowly slide your hand up his neck, pausing when his breath catches. Blood rushes to your ears, embarrassment creeping hotly up your neck.

“Overstepped?” you ask, lips brushing against his.

He barely shakes his head. Almost - uncertain.

“Simon,” you huff softly. “Use your words.”

“Never,” He surges forward, kissing you hotly on the mouth.

With a clash of teeth and tongue, he slides his hands down your sides, squeezing your hips. He’s in control now, guiding yours to start rolling against his clothed cock again. You whine softly, the silk of your panties becoming soaked with the friction.

It’s hard to focus with the building pleasure flooding your thighs, but you slide both hands up the sides of Simon’s neck, attempting to map out the outline of his face. A mystery to nearly everyone in the 141, you were curious to piece him together. Your fingers flutter over the scarred skin - years of injury and close brushes with death.

He has a strong jawline, you feel a small tic when your fingers brush along the bone. You soothe him with kisses, nibbling on his bottom lip. A hairline scar splits his upper lip, traveling upwards to the bottom of his nose. His nose is crooked, broken at least twice, you think. A smile appears on your lips, he feels - human. Your fingers slide up and into his hair. It’s longer than you imagined, thick but super soft to the touch. You give it a soft tug, reveling in the soft moans that fall from Simon’s lips.

“Pretty,” you pant out.

“Hm?” he questions.

“You’re pretty, Simon.”

He stills at that, hips stuttering upwards involuntarily.

“You like being praised?” you joke halfheartedly, a laugh bubbling up on your lips.

He grunts you feel a crooked grin plaster itself on his face as he rolls his hips rather harshly upwards against your own.

“Love anything that comes out of your mouth, bunny,” he confesses, voice thick with lust.

You moan softly at that, sliding your hands down to his broad shoulders and squeezing. Your panties are soaked, sticking to your folds. His lips find your own again, licking inside your mouth and exploring. He tastes like chamomile and cigarettes. Soft sounds keep falling from his mouth. Little hums and sighs of contentment.

Simon’s hand slides down your thighs, brushing against the delicate skin there. You feel goosebumps rise, shivering in delight. He leans down, snuggling in the crook of your neck as he asks,

“You wet for me, lovie?”

You nod, shifting your hips up in an attempt to get his fingers closer to your cunt. The bridge of his nose bumps against your collarbone and he brushes his fingers over your panties. You feel anticipation building in your stomach - a wretched thing - butterflies of anxiousness making it flutter.

“Please,” you beg breathlessly. “I’m so wet, Simon.”

The pad of Simon’s middle finger brushes against your clit as he pulls your panties to the side. The cool air hits the slick pooling in your folds and you shiver. He brings his middle and ring fingers to his lips, pushing them inside and swirling his tongue around the pads to make them wet. Simon shifts slightly, hips jutting upwards and then back down into their original position. Then angling your hips up and sliding his fingers through your folds.

A moan of yours floats throughout the closet, the feeling of his fingers relieving the built-up tension between the two of you. Simon slides his fingers up and down a few times, collecting your slick before pushing his thick fingers inside. You gasp, inhaling sharply as he thrusts his fingers in and out. A low whistle from Simon, left hand a vice on your hip.

“Tight little thing,” he expresses out loud, almost in awe.

You arch up into his touch, wanting to take his fingers deeper inside. Sweat pooling at your lower back and thighs at the position you’re holding yourself in. Your thighs begin to shake with exertion. Simon’s fingers stretch you open, brushing against a spongey spot deep inside. It has you seeing stars.

“O-Oh!” you gasp, eyes rolling back into your head.

“There we go,” he coos, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.

You’re squirming in his lap, pleasure building rapidly in your abdomen. Slick absolutely drenching his fingers, the sound filling the small closet. You feel your cheeks heat as the pleasure bubble pops, pulling a loud moan from your chest as you hit your climax. Simon’s fingers still thrusting deep inside. He never changes his pace, continuing to fuck you as you come down from your high.

Soft whines fall from your lips as your hips slowly still as you try and catch your breath. Your shoulders brush against the cool wall, one strap from your dress resting against your upper arm. It’s hot in the small room. Especially sharing with another body. Simon’s fingers brush your lips. You can smell your arousal on them.

“Have-a taste,” he says.

You slowly wrap your lips around the pads of his fingers, sucking them clean before letting them go with a “pop”. Your arousal is sweet, with a slight tang. Something you weren’t expecting. Another thing you’re not expecting is Simon shifting again, pulling you close to his body as he stands up.

You yelp, wrapping your legs around his waist instinctively. The cool buckle of his belt burning into your thigh. He walks forward until your back hits the cool wall, relieving your heated skin. Simon kisses you again, slower this time. Takes his time to taste you and the leftover arousal from just moments before. You feel his fingers tangle themselves in your hair, tugging gently.

“Taste heavenly,” he praises, deep voice sending a sharp sting of arousal straight to your cunt.

His large hands begin to roam your body, pulling and manipulating your dress to get most of your skin available to his touch. The hem of your dress is pushed up and over your hips, leaving the bottom half of you exposed. You feel the head of his cock bump against you, straining within his pants. He keeps you up with one hand, using the other to free his cock. You feel it spring up and against his stomach.

Simon’s hand wraps around his length, stroking upwards a few times before tapping the head of his cock against your folds. He’s burning hot, the tip slick with precome. You squeeze him closer with your hips, trying to angle the head to your hole by rocking your hips against his.

You’re desperate and don’t even feel embarrassed about it. Alcohol and one orgasm racing through your bloodstream. You feel invincible - high stakes of your secret endeavor pushing your limits. You create your rhythm on his hard thigh, pressure feeling incredible against your pussy. Throwing your head back, it hits the wall with a soft thud. Moans wantonly falling from your pretty lips.

“Gonna get yourself off like this?” he pants against your temple, having to squint in the darkness to see the outline of your body.

His left-hand squeezes a handful of your ass, urging you to reach your climax. The other slides up to your breast, tweaking the hard bud through the silky fabric. Your thighs begin to shake, pleasure ripping down your back and pooling at your core as you tip over the edge. It’s lightning hot - sweat pooling on your brow as you glide your sopping underwear over his thigh over and over again.

“S-Simon,” you cry out, big tears falling down your face and pooling on your chin.

Simon shushes you, gently wiping them away and placing soft kisses to your cheeks.

“So good. So good for me bunny,” he croaks, voice wavering. “Give me one more.”

You cry at the thought of trying again. Body spent and shaking against his big frame.

“I can’t-“ you whine, trying to push him away.

“Relax,” he coos, sliding your ruined underwear to the side and slowly pushing inside your warm heat.

You tense up, the girth of him stretching your walls thin.

“Fuck,” you both groan out in unison.

He’s fucking huge and knows it. Simon goes slow though, aware of his large size compared to you. He’s gentle, doing all the work as you slump against his chest, babbling almost nonsense. The angle you’re currently at has tears pricking in the corners of your eyes. You feel so fucking full.

Simon’s murmuring soft praises against your skin. He slowly pulls back out before snapping his hips back against your own. Involuntarily noises bubble up and out of your lips, soft “ohs” and moans sounding like music to his ears. With the wall supporting your upper back, Simon angles your hips more towards his own, targeting that same spongey spot from before.

The mushroom tip of his velvety cock brushes deliciously against your walls, causing you to clench down around him. Of course, he would be fucking exceptional at this. Your body is pliant against his own - allowing him to do whatever he pleases. You’re along for the ride, gasping against his neck.

“Fuck Simon,” you pant against his damp skin. “Feel so fucking g-ood.”

His thrusts falter, a hoarse moan falling from his lips.

“Don’t fucking do that,” he huffs, thrusting quickly up into your cunt. “I won’t last…”

You clench around his length, murmuring praises into his skin. You revel in the fact that your words have him coming apart. He’s close - you can tell by the way his thrusts are erratic.

“Please,” you beg. “Come for me, Simon.”

His hips stutter again, his grip on your own like a vice as he huffs a laugh. “Don’t fucking start- not fair.”

You thrust your hips down to meet his own, clenching on each downward roll that has you practically mewling. Your lips press against his neck - and then you get an idea. A smile forms on your lips as you kiss up his neck, making your way up to his ear. Last chance, you murmur in his ear again.

“Come for me pretty boy,” teeth nipping at his earlobe.

His hips snap upwards then, stilling as he shouts hoarsely. You feel the warm spill of his cum painting your walls and whine at the feeling of being so full.

“Fucking cheater,” he huffs, panting against your sweaty skin.

You feel him smiling. Your orgasm is still burning, pending at the small of your back. He’s still hard, resting inside as you start to squirm again.

“Not enough for you bunny?” he coos, almost condescendingly.

You pout, forgetting he can’t see you. He taps the side of your face, getting your attention.

“Words,” he copies from you earlier.

“No,” you whine pathetically, cheeks burning with shame.

He laughs then, a melodic sound as he pulls out, leaving you feeling so empty. Your cunt clenches on nothing, a soft whine escaping. He sets you down on the floor, wobbly legs attempting to keep you standing. Simon next does something that you weren’t prepared for.

Drops to his knees and starts lapping at your cunt like a man starved. He’s got one of your legs hooked over his shoulder, right hand placed under the meat of your left thigh. A strangled moan leaves your lips and you curl your fingers into his hair, pulling him impossibly close. His expert tongue has you trembling in no time, lewd sounds of him messily eating you out has your blood boiling.

“F-Fuck,” you warn, grinding your pussy onto his chin.

He’s fucking grinning, enjoying every second of this. Simon’s thick fingers slide into your cunt again, thrusting forwards and sealing the deal. Your third orgasm of the night has your thighs squeezing his face, trembling from overexertion. A hot gasp brushes against your folds and you feel Simon rocking into his own hand. The image has your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“Oh my fucking god,” you moan out, absolutely exhausted.

“Did good, bunny,” he praises, pressing a kiss into your inner thigh.

You’re panting, absolutely spent as you slide down the wall and into his lap again. He holds you close to his body, letting you reset. Absolutely ruined, there’s no way you can go back out on the dance floor, legs too wobbly to hold you up. You laugh, a high-reedy sound, as the events that unfolded catch up with your foggy brain. Blood roaring in your ears, drowning out the sound of the music outside.

Simon’s fingers squeeze your hips lovingly, petting the silk of your dress. It’s calming, and soon, your breaths match his own, content and relaxed. He speaks then, a rumbling voice muffled by your ear against his chest.

“I’d say I’m a pretty good dance partner.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh, hitting his chest lightly.

[theamberplumbob]

~ Prologue ~

Life had always been hard for Ellery Loriel and Kieran Cyrus. Spellcasters born in the wake of the vortex that pulled the magical realm apart, they were raised in small, isolated fractions of their ruined homeland.

While the center of their realm was preserved by the Three Sages putting aside their differences and working together to keep what little remains of the magical realm intact, their respective families remained isolated, out in the void. So stuck in their bigoted ways that they’d rather remain alone then coexist with spellcasters that were different from them.

Ellery’s family came from an ancient line of spellcasters deeply devoted to the ways of Practical Magic. They were traditionalists through and through. They were sickened by the Practical Sage’s decision to join forces with the other schools of magic, and cut all ties to other spellcasters.

Ellery was raised in their lonely corner of the void, roaming around the few, lush islands that comprised what remained of their family’s land. Food was hard to come by, and being pulled into the void was an ever present threat, but they relied upon their magic to provide them nourishment and keep them safe.

Ellery felt suffocated, both by the very small world she was confined to, and the hours upon hours of rigorous training she was subjected to. She was always told what to wear, what to say, how to act, and what to think. She couldn’t stand it.

Her only reprieve was sneaking out at night on her mother’s broom to explore the other outer islands. That is where she met Kieran.

Kieran also belonged to an ancient family of spellcasters. They too were highly traditional, and refused to accept the idea of co-existing with the other schools of magic. The difference being that his family followed the Mischief School of Magic, although a very ancient, very dour sect of the practice, very different than the one most go by today.

Their land remained mostly intact, and was quite expansive, providing all the resources they needed to live comfortably. However, his family was comprised of cruel, self-interested people, who had become bored of life in isolation and decided to take it out on each other. Their actions went far beyond pranks, and it often drove Kieran to running off into the void, often for several days at a time. When he’d come back they’d simply accuse him of being too sensitive.

It was on one of these many trips Kieran took into the void that he met Ellery. She may have been from a rival family, but unlike his own, she was kind. The two soon found that they had very much in common, both free spirited dreamers who longed for something more than what their family had settled for. They were also both very, very lonely. The two became friends, escaping their respective homes to visit each other in secret.

Kieran had a very playful attitude, however, he was much fonder of comedy than mischief. Having grown up in such a strict, serious household, Kieran made Ellery laugh like no one else. Ellery was thoughtful and kind, and also an incredibly powerful spellcaster. She was so unlike the people he’d been raised around. He could be vulnerable around her in a way he never could be before. Soon, their excursions to see each other turned into trysts, as the two fell in love.

Sick of their home lives and only living for when they got to see each other, the two decided to run away together. Sick of the magical realm altogether, the two decided to escape to the human world, where there was more land than they could ever roam and more people than they could possibly meet, not to mention it was far, far away from their families. In her seemingly endless training, Ellery had grown powerful, and had learned an incredibly ancient and complex spell. It could give them shelter, food, and a means to provide for themselves, anywhere of their choosing.

They had to make sure that their family’s could never find them. While the alleged only way out of the realm was the portal located in front of Magical Headquarters, Ellery had learned through her studies of an ancient temple built in the human world worshipping the nature gods via practical magic. The temple was built on a magical lay line, and it was said that Druids were able to summon magic, and even magical entities, from the portal into the human world. If they could find a way to escape through there, they’d be untraceable.

It took months of researching and honing their skill in order to figure out how to open the portal. In that time they learned about the place they’d be thrown into. By scrying on the location they found that they’d end up in the little town of Henford on Bagley. It was a charming village surrounded by vast fields and greenery the likes of which neither of them had ever seen. They could live there peacefully in that quiet little community, surrounded by nature. It was like a dream. It was perfect. Their resolve had only hardened.

The time had finally come. With nothing but the clothes on their back, the two left their respective homes for the final time. The two pooled their magic together and were able to open the portal to the temple from the inside, and just like that, the two young spellcasters were thrust into the human world.

[bulletproofscales]

august heat day 4 - dynamics (2seok-kook)

honestly more of a drabble situation happening but i liked this one a LOT! (╯✧▽✧)╯  not everything has ot have a plot ! specially if im meant to pump these out once a day .(￣▽￣*)ゞ  enjoy this horny stream of thoughts. 

tags: established married 2seok , omega x omega , omega seokjin , omega hoseok , work couple , alpha jungkook , recepcionist jungkook , weight gain , unconsious gain , oblivious gain , chubby jungkook

1.2k

Hoseok and Seokjin knew omega and omega relationships aren’t easy. 

Not so much because of hormones, or the heats. Like most people like to assume. 

The stigma was quite tiring, though. 

So many alphas, convinced they’re the ones to make the married couple knotcrazy. That they’d be able to score two omegas. Hoseok can’t hide his disgust and Seokjin can’t contain his laughter as smug alphas make their way to them whenever they go. It's humiliating enough to make anyone flee. 

But… The looks they both exchange shows they’re thinking the same thing. 

This one is different. 

Big, puppy eyes. A tone that's too sweet to be an alpha. But it's obvious, the way his shoulders stretch his poor button up shirt, chest stretching the poor buttons a bit. And scent musky enough to seep through the office. 

“Introduce yourself.” Their boss instructs the alpha. 

“Hi everyone, I’m Jeon Jungkook. I’m the receptionist here and—and just let me know if you need help with anything!” A full 90 degree bow, and the way he has to adjust his big glasses afterwards is all it takes for the Seokjin and Hoseok to know. 

It wasn’t intentional, the couple didn’t talk it over. But it must've been instinctual the way they both gravitated towards the reception desk to personally introduce themselves. Getting a closer look at the alpha’s cute demeanor, bowing to Seokjin and Hoseok, who had since long stopped trying to hide the fact they’re a couple in the office. They could see Jungkook’s eyes navigate to their linked hands and the rings on each of their fingers. It's so cute how the gears turn in his head. 

A test if you will. To see if Jungkook’s respectful junior employee facade went beyond subgenders. And it did, in that same conversation the blush-cheeked alpha congratulating them both; albeit a little embarrassed, but that's okay. It only enticed the two omegas more. 

They don’t know who started it. But they formula became simple enough:

Bring extra sweets to work, to offer their receptionist. 

Hoseok and Seokjin live together, so it was easy enough to find Seokjin making an extra serving of the lunch they will bring to work the next day. Or Hoseok driving them to stop at a bakery before work. Unspokenly aware of who all of this food was for. It would be too embarrassing to bring up. 

Gifting an alpha food. That’s such primitive and backwards omega courting strategies. Hoseok and Seokjin are nothing like that! They're above instincts. And certainly above looking out for an alpha. 

But how could they resist, when Jungkook took everything they brought him so gratefully. It was perfectly convenient when he forgot his lunch the first time and Hoseok was quick to offer to buy him some. Though most times, the alpha had dutifully brought himself something to eat, yet he always made sure to scarf down the servings that the omega couple had brought for him. They could see him from their desks the way he determinedly forced himself to finish, and the way he leaned back on the office chair afterwards; a little bit short of breath from just how full he is. 

That's a satisfied alpha right there. A thought that fueled them even more. 

And their efforts paid off. The couple knew their spouse was also ogling the alpha as his work clothes began to fill out. His already tight button ups, looking suffocating, not in muscle but chub. Pillowy to the touch in the unflattering fabric. Belt of his dress pants created a muffin top that sat over the waistband. Otherwise muscular and small butt looking rounded out and bubbly; jiggling when he brought out copies to their manager. Or came back with everyone’s coffee order. Seokjin could not have been less subtle when, with the exclusive view of his desk, he saw the way Jungkook sat down and subtlety undid his belt and pants just when he arrived from work. 

He was plumping up, from them. Their doing. 

It should've been a stop sign. After all, doesn’t anyone want a strong chiseled alpha? Guess Seokjin and Hoseok aren’t that succumbed to instincts. The first sights of progress motivated them even more. Jungkook had to force himself to finish out of politeness those first weeks. But afterwards, it seemed like the alpha couldn’t get enough. 

And who were they to deny him? 

He whined so sweetly when lunch time was arriving, restless as his stomach grumbled. In the more quiet moments of the office, you could even hear it. In meetings where Jungkook was taking notes, the blush rose all over his rounded out face. Burying his head into the notepad as he scribbled away, hoping nobody would have heard. 

Probably the entire table did, but Hoseok quietly slid down the little tray of snacks that Jungkook had prepared himself. Mostly untouched, maybe that’s why he can see hesitation in the alpha’s eyes. Jungkook could never resist though, not when one of his two favorite senior employees was offering. A warm smile he knew Jungkook couldn’t say no to; if the last 4 months are anything to go by. The entire tray was eaten by the receptionist who put it there, and Hoseok’s hand pats the alpha’s thigh under the table when he feels Jungkook shift uncomfortably full. 

Their alpha has no self control. 

Hoseok and Seokjin swear it was a coincidence when they saw Jungkook hurriedly rush to the toilet. Right before lunch. Wouldn’t have thought much of it if it wasn’t for the quiet ‘fuck’ that came from one of the stalls. Once again, the couple share one of their knowing looks. 

“Jungkookie? Everything okay?” Hoseok asks tentatively. 

“Oh–Yeah yeah, I’m fine. Just.-- ugh!” His grunt is more whiny than frustrated. Adorable in every situation it seems. “Is it just you guys?” His tone is quieter. It's lovely how he already knows the couple is together. 

“Yes, puppy. You can tell us.” Seokjin says an endeared smile already on his face. The pet name that's been slipping out of both their lips lately. But they made sure to keep it for private moments like these. 

Jungkook doesn’t answer, instead opening the door. To reveal the sight of his fully unbuttoned pants, with a pudgy bottom roll that pushes between the flaps. A curved cute belly with naked pink pudge along his hips. 

“I–I snacked all day and now I can’t get them to button.” He confesses. “B–But I got a meeting after lunch and I–I can’t skip lunch but they definitely own’t button then!” He whines, eyebrows cutely scrunched up in worry. 

“Aigo… You should’ve bought a bigger pair a while ago, Kook.” Seokjin comments without malice. 

“I didn’t think I gained t–that much. Until now.” He becomes more and more shameful, trying to shrink into himself. 

“Let's go buy you some new ones!” Hoseok interjects. “Our lunch break is long enough, plus we can invite you to lunch, like we’ve been talking about.” He eyes Seokjin. A bit of a shameless advance, but the couple has been talking about it for months. 

Jungkook smiles a bit, knowing but still timid. “O–Okay, let's go.” 

Not only is this one not like the others. This one is theirs.

[hearthandhallows]

- - - leon park, a roleplay blog for cardinalhq

Walking through the picturesque streets of Cardinal Hill, you find Leon Park, the 27 year old taxidermist originally from Providence, Rhode Island. Living alongside them in such a small town, you know that they're kind-hearted and nervous, but what you might not know is that they are a witch, and that they’re hiding something… ― jungkook, bisexual, male, and he/him.

I guess we'll never know, if when we're gone there's a place to go, or if we don't see anything at all, is that what we're supposed to call faith?

tw: death, taxidermy

✿ Description

Age: 27. Gender: Male (he/him). Species: Human, witch. Skin Color: Fair. Hair Color: Black. Eye Color: Hazel. Height: 5'10". Birthday: Feb 19, Pisces.

✿ Personality

Favorite color: black. Likes: Terrariums (he has a terrarium with 7 different types of moss,) antique tools, obscure horror movies, warm tea in big mugs, D&D. Dislikes: Bright white lighting (it makes everything too sharp), cilantro, when people assume he's weird or unapproachable. Strengths: Gentle, patient, creative, thoughtful, curious. Weaknesses: Hesitant, avoidant, obsessive, self-doubting, insecure.

✿ Trivia

❀ He’s not squeamish at all, but gets a little faint around needles when they’re used on him (and yes, his best friend had to hold his hand when he got his piercings and tattoos). ❀ Has a soft spot for raccoons. Like, would probably cry if one ate out of his hand. ❀ Writes in teeny-tiny script; his notes look like spell scrolls. ❀  Keeps backup gloves, hand warmers, and snacks in all his jackets “just in case”. He's always very cold. ❀ Has a familiar - a tiny, fluffy rat named Thimble. ❀ Smells faintly like cedarwood, old paper, and tea.

✿ Relationships

Friendly: TBD :)

✿ Biography

Leon Park grew up in Providence, Rhode Island, in a house that always smelled faintly of old books and bergamot tea. The son of a librarian and a quiet, often-absent entomologist, Leon spent most of his childhood surrounded by silence, curiosity, and things with wings. He was the kind of kid who lined his shelves with carefully labeled rocks, drew beetles in the margins of his math homework, and cried over a bird with a broken wing in the driveway.

He discovered taxidermy in his late teens, not from a teacher, but from a tattered book and a desperate desire to keep something beautiful from disappearing. What started as a morbid curiosity quickly bloomed into a quiet devotion. For Leon, taxidermy isn’t about death, it’s about preservation, memory, and care. His pieces are small, precise, and deeply respectful, often posed in peaceful, almost dreaming positions. He talks to them while he works.

After years in Rhode Island, a failed relationship, and the slow suffocation of being misunderstood, Leon packed up his life, specimens, books, tools, and his rat familiar (a clever little creature named Thimble), and moved to Cardinal Hill. It’s been a year since then. He lives alone in a small trailer, where he keeps his lighting dim and warm, filled with jars of dried flowers, pinned moths, and too many tea mugs. People still don’t quite get him, but he’s used to that.