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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 4 months ago

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Just us

a/n: This is purely self indulgent because I saw Matt’s story and I’m so tired I will self comfort myself with this. Enjoy!

summery: You’re living with the boys and come back home after the longest day to find Matt in the studio. Watching him work had always been your favorite way to decompress. Being friends for years means it comes with extra perks, ones that make you question if you both are just friends after all.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You were barely standing on your feet as you finally dragged yourself home. The day you had had been excruciatingly long and screw day, the past couple of weeks you had has been insane. It felt as if you had been up on your legs, doing something at every given moment. There was little sleep too and now you had reached the level of tiredness where even if you were exhausted at the end of the day you still couldn’t fall asleep.

The familiar buzzing of the house managed to pull a smile from you as you kicked off your shoes. There were perks of not living alone. Especially on these long days like this. You knew that you at least wouldn’t have to worry about feeding yourself. And some chores that you just couldn’t push yourself to do, someone else might handle. Plus, you got to come back to a place that didn’t suffocate you with loneliness. That was one of the reasons Noah had offered you a place in the house. You had been friends with them for years so you all were pretty good at reading each other without words. So when handling studies, apparent, and part-time jobs with Bad Omens got hard, they jumped in offering you a lifeline.

“Look who is back”, Jolly nodded your way with a smile. “Got you your kombucha so you can get out of my hair now”, you lowered the grocery bag onto the counter. Three sets of hands instantly move to rummage through it. “You are all toddlers”, you snorted. “You usually bring cool shit back”, Noah shrugged, turning over a yogurt box. “Yeah, snacks for my children”, you shook your head, hand running over your shoulders. “Pasta for dinner”, Jolly moved his hand to rub your back, you turned to him knowing that it was his way of asking if everything was fine. So you gave him the best smile you could master, “All in, extras cheese for all my troubles”, you bowed dramatically before moving towards the stairs.

With a deep sigh, you made your way up. Stopping to drop off your blazer and jeans in your room. Frowning slightly at the lack of hoodies in your drawers. Well, there were plenty of them just… not the ones that called your name. So with only an oversized shirt on your body, you once again ventured into the hallway. You knew that not many people understood that but the sound of heavy music blasting from the end of a hallway instantly made you feel better.

You knew that it had to be Matt there considering that you haven’t seen him downstairs. He hated being interrupted when he worked. It was called Matt Sound Kingdom for a reason. You knew that you shouldn’t bother him, especially now that they had been working so hard on creating new music and how easily an interruption could defuse inspiration, yet you still carefully pushed down onto the door handle, pushing the door ajar just slightly.

And here he sat, cap on his head. All windows shut only the mood lights he preferred on, even if you fussed about it not being good for his eyes. Leaning your head on the frame you let your gaze just linger there. You loved watching all of them fully submerged in their element but it was always something about Matt doing his thing, getting all bossy that got you the most. Some people thought he was standoffish or cold at times but you knew better. He was passionate and that sometimes came with the price.

“I made it into your daydream”, his voice startled you, making you bang your head onto the door slightly. “Jesus, Matt”, you hissed, pressing your palm onto the sore spot. “It wasn’t me snooping around”, he threw you a look before pushing his chair back slightly as he turned to you. With an eye roll, you stepped inside, closing the door behind you. Not missing the way Matt’s eyes lingered on your bare legs. His jaw flexed as he licked his lips.

“So, you haven’t seen my shirt, have you”, he mused, making you look down as well. “Well, it was out of service for you”, you shoot him an innocent smile, turning to pull a chair out for yourself. “Don’t need that, come here”, Matt patted his thigh but something about sitting down on his lap with just a shirt and thong made you halt. You two were close. Fuck that, you shared beds on multiple occasions and it was never awkward. He was a total black cat. Not too big on physical touch, only when he was overstated for it did he slip into your room for a cuddle.

“Matt”, you muttered in a warning tone. “Y/n”, he shot back instantly, “Come here, I can tell that it was a shit day”. That completely threw you for the loops and you instantly felt the burning sensation in your eyes. “It was fine”, you tried to make it sound truthful enough. But Matt just shook his head, leaning forward. One hand grabbed the back of your thigh as he pulled you closer to him. Leaving you no choice but to straddle him. Now buried deep in the crook of your neck, with his scent all over you, you couldn’t help but let out the deepest sigh. One that had been pressing on you all day long.

“That sounded rough, do you want to talk about it or nah”, Matt asked, kissing the side of your head. You simply shook your head, not mustering enough energy to give him a proper answer. “Fine, but we are talking about it at some point”, he pointed out, pulling your legs tighter around himself before scooting the chair closer to his sound tech. “You mind if I continue this for a bit?”, it was sweet that he asked, considering that you were the one interrupting him. So you shook your head again, letting the heavy sound slowly drown out all the thoughts in your head.

That’s how you both stayed. Completely losing sense of time. With you lazily twirling the ends of his hair while he worked. And Matt whose hand slipped up and down your thighs, as he nodded along to the sound. Or drumming his fingers over your lower back as he searched for the right beat. You pulled back slightly after a while, wanting that up-close privilege of watching him once again.

“What?”, he muttered, catching your gaze. You just smiled at him, “I love seeing you like this”, you mussed, reaching to put his cap backward, so it wasn’t so much over his face. “Like what?”, his fingers reached out to carefully brush away the loose strands of hair away from your eyes. “Just being you”, you shrugged, “I know not many people step their foot here. I know I have a free pass”. Matt chuckled slightly, “Who told you that?”, “This guy called Matt, he’s really sweet”, you narrowed your eyes at him.

“Is that so, you like him?”, your heart skipped a beat because you doubted that he knew just how much you liked him. “Yeah, I do”, you muttered, watching him watch you. “He likes you too”, Matt hummed. “How would you know?”, you shook your head. “He told me too, we had a conversation about you”, his eyes slowly crept onto your lips before he pulled his gaze back up to meet your eyes.

“Matt”, you muttered, you two had tiptoed the line multiple times. But both of you had always put the band first. You knew that the rest of the boys wouldn’t mind but work and love in one mix nearly always ended in tragedy. “Can I do something stupid?”, he asked, fingers slipping to hold onto your hips, slowly reaching beneath the hem of your shirt. “Not if I do it first”, you breathed, cupping the back of his neck as you leaned forward, brushing your lips over his. He chased the kiss almost instantly, pushing deeper into you. It was equally slow and passionate as it was messy. You felt a shiver run down your back as the realization slowly hit you, making you pull back.

“Shit, sorry”, you grunted, trying to wriggle out of his hands only to have him firmly holding you down. “And where do you think you’re running now?”, Matt mussed, licking his lips. “Don’t do that”, you huffed, pushing his face further away from you. “Do what?”, he churched, “Look so fucking kissable”, you whined, making Matt let out a full deep laugh. “I’ve been dreaming about kissing you ever since that New Year’s kiss”, he admitted, making your shoulders droop slightly, “No, you have not”.

He shot you a look, “Love, I practically sleep in your bed every night after that, how else do you want me to show it to you”, while that was true you never took it as a sign of anything more than him wanting a cuddle. “Start by taking me on a date”, you pointed at his chest. “That can be arranged”, Matt mussed, leaning in to kiss your lips once more. “And others?”, you pulled back watching him. “Considering that you are here in my shirt with only a thong…”, he stared but you quickly hit his chest playfully, “They already know, I think we were the last ones to catch up. We don’t have to tell anyone anything, though”, he reassured you, hosing you high onto his thighs. “Just us”, you muttered. “That’s all that matters for now, baby - just us”, Matt kissed your temple before reaching to pull your head back, a smirk forming onto his face as his lips met your neck.

#matt dierkes imagine #matt dierkes x reader #matt dierkes x you #matt dierkes fanfiction #matt dierkes bad omens x reader #matt dierkes bad omens imagine #bad omens x reader #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens imagine #bad omens x you #noah sebastian x reader

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diamonddaze01 · 9 days ago

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⋆｡°✩ n o t e : thank you to everyone who tagged me in this ( @sungbeam , @petrichor-han , @haologram)! took me forever to finally get around to it, but excited to share my wrapped for this year!

⋆｡°✩ on poetry and homecomings - yoon jeonghan

⋆｡°✩ n o t e s : my first ever fic! based on a quote by the fantastic palestinian poet mahmoud darwish. something about the words, "If I ever see a flaw of yours, I'd say my eyes are the flawed ones" made something in my heart twinge in the most beautiful way. a purely self indulgent fic i wrote after an exhausting work week, and suddenly, here we are, 3 months later.

⋆｡°✩ plan b-day - hong jisoo

⋆｡°✩ n o t e s : my last fic of 2024! a lil drabble for the loveliest boy. no real notes on this, other than i am sure that murphy's law somehow targets me 50000x more than the average human being. again, purely self-indulgent, but also a wonderful way to close out the year.

⋆｡°✩ baby, darling, light of my entire life - choi seungcheol

⋆｡°✩ n o t e s : the idea for this came to me after a crazy night out. though i myself have not gotten to this level of drunk yet, i definitely would scream about how pretty choi seungcheol is any day, any time. i was actually shocked when this blew up - it wasn't my favorite piece i'd written at the time, and i woke up one morning and it had skyrocketed from maybe 100 notes to upwards of 600 in one night. weirdly, i think this was maybe the third thing i had ever posted to this blog and it made me so happy that people actually enjoyed my writing. bdlomel, ily <3

⋆｡°✩ full throttle part i | full throttle part ii - yoon jeonghan

⋆｡°✩ n o t e s : oh, full throttle, what to say about you (i am combining both parts into one fic - the only reason there are two parts is bc tumblr is a bitch about formatting). there are few things that exhausted me, exhilerated me, enraged me, and made me feel as proud as i do looking at this finished fic. three weeks of non-stop writing every day after work, jotting down notes in the cleanroom and during lunch breaks, and storyboarding when i should have been sleeping culminated in most possibly the pièce de résistance of my year. i had so many people who cheered me on as i wrote this fic, battled through witty banter (that i myself could never say irl) and fiery headlines, but none cheered as loudly as @haologram and @ylangelegy. alta and kae were genuinely the wind beneath my wings as i wrote this, and reading their comments in the doc was what kept me going. in the end, i'm genuinely so happy with how full throttle turned out, and seeing the reactions i'm getting from it make me feel so fulfilled.

⋆｡°✩ the somerset affair - lee seokmin

⋆｡°✩ n o t e s : my first forray into longer fic writing (and i'm still battling my way through it, but we don't talk about that). if anyone knows me, they know how much of a Bridgerton fan i am - i quote anthony's speech on the daily, and penelope/eloise are some of my fav romcom heroines ever written (until they both get married, but again, we don't talk about that). i felt like writing this fic was my way to pay homage to this fictional world i adore so much. i have a love/hate relationship with the actual tone of the series - its so hard to maintain the regency tone and also write in a way that's true to my own voice, but at the end of the day it's a challenge i relish. i'm so excited to finish this series this coming year!

⋆｡°✩ 40 fics posted - check them all out in my masterlist!

⋆｡°✩ n o t e s : to be fair, a lot of these are drabbles i did for my 101 drabble prompt game, but fuck it we ball. maybe i'm just insane.

⋆｡°✩ ~133,470 words written

⋆｡°✩ n o t e s : again, i think i might be a bit insane. did a sacrifice sleep to write? yes. did i storyboard at work? also yes. but then again, it's been an interesting year to say the least, and writing was a really good way to blow off steam after a stressful day at work.

⋆｡°✩ some of my fav fics i read this year - please read the warnings on each fic and do not interact with smut if you're a minor! this is in no particular order:

⋆｡°✩ unforgiven [boo seungkwan] - @haologram ⋆｡°✩ catch you when i can [smau] [chwe hansol] - @xinganhao ⋆｡°✩ the first snow [hong jisoo] - @junkissed ⋆｡°✩ what are the vibes? [choi seungcheol] - @daechwitatamic ⋆｡°✩ red card [kim mingyu] - @highvern ⋆｡°✩ an ode to hands and voice [boo seungkwan] - @ddeonghwa-s ⋆｡°✩ take my word for it [yoon jeonghan] - @ylangelegy ⋆｡°✩ prey [choi seungcheol] - @pochaccoups ⋆｡°✩ sit down [kim mingyu] - @gyuswhore ⋆｡°✩ ave, general [lee jihoon] - @amourcheol

these are just a few of my fav fics i've read, but if you want to see all my recommendations - i suggest checking out @diamond-reads !

⋆｡°✩ goals for 2025

⋆｡°✩ on diamonddaze01: i have a lot of collabs coming up in 2025! i hope that i can meet all those deadlines and write things i'm proud of. i've also learned that writing longer fics like full throttle or somerset affair make me feel more fulfilled as a writer, so expect a lot more of them as i further explore my writing style and characterization. i also want to go back to some of my older wips that i abandoned and reopen them, see where i can go with a fresh mindset. ⋆｡°✩ personal goals: i have a lot, but to name a few: read more, laugh more, love more. i also want to focus on establishing a better work/life balance - i know already that the coming months are going to suck at work, but i no longer want to drag the weight of corporate life home with me. work is work, and that's where it will stay. i want to prioritize my mental and physical well-being over all else, and that starts with reprioritizing things like work, my social life, and writing.

⋆｡°✩ final thoughts

⋆｡°✩ i started writing on tumblr because i was stressed from work and felt like i didn't have a community, especially at a new job and a new city. what started as some stress relief turned into a community of its own. i'm eternally grateful that i was able to meet some wonderful people this year that i truly feel a sense of belonging with. to everyone in the networks i'm in, to anyone that reads my work, to all the lovely people i've met: thank you, and i love you.

⋆｡°✩ if you've made it this far, thanks for reading, and thank you for all your support. i love you all endlessly. it's time to sign off for 2024.

with love as vast as the stars themselves, tara <3

⋆｡°✩ tagging (but no pressure): @tusswrites, @chanranghaeys, @bitchlessdino, @ddeonghwa-s , @c-oupsie, @lovetaroandtaemin, and anyone else who would like to do this!

#tara.tagged #tara.thoughts #tumblr wrapped #2024 wrapped #what a way to end the year.#see ya later 2024

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onewomancitadel · 4 months ago

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Major spoilers for Death's End, the final book of the Remembrance of Earth's Past trilogy beneath the cut.

So about that terrarium...

My intial somewhat dismayed reading was that of an uncharacteristic, hackneyed sentimentality: even when the books took such an indulgence, there was always a cynical chaser. You don't get to experience the fantastical sense of romantic love without Luo Ji's understanding of women (or lack thereof) and the belief that people only love imaginations of each other and stay together so long as they don't conflict with reality. (This is probably key to the fact that the star-crossed lovers never meet in Death's End, neither of them being disabused of their fantasies. It's juvenile).

Suffice it to say, I really struggled with the ending. I struggled with Death's End in general; not necessarily the fundamental approach (I don't think undoing the victory was a totally bad idea, since I liked evolving that thesis past what it means to win) but the structure felt less whimsical and more directionless, a series of entries - quite literally - which felt disparate and never quite managed to hit that sense of dispassionate historical observation I think the text was trying to go for.

So the idea that there was this terrarium and message in a bottle left behind in a universe built specially for Cheng Xin was just kind of bizarre tonally. It felt silly.

I get it: the entries about Earth's past is right there in the trilogy title. But it felt very self-important; it didn't cohere with the overwhelming notion that humanity was 1. very irrelevant, 2. very bad at what it does, 2a. its women are very bad at what they do, and its men - if soft and weak - are similarly bad, 3. at every moment anything that isn't about pure survival is cut at the knees. Remembrance seems more like farce. Actually, the entire sequence on Pluto felt out of place, almost like we're meant to laugh at the little bugs trying to save their precious granules of sugar.

I was discussing the ending with my best friend and her family - actually I related all the events of the books to them, somewhat out of chronological order, because I know that they all collectively would fucking hate these books (I personally didn't, glimmers of brilliance make me all the more frustrated) - and she said this amazing thing which was like, well, you say there's all this umming and ahhing over whether the universe might not be able to reboot if there's mass left behind - and it seems alright just to leave something - what if this is Cheng Xin's final fuck-up, finally chosen in an active way?

It's actually her seeming passivity which would allow this final stunt at all. Nobody would dare assume - not her last companions - that she would intentionally do this at all. So far she's damned humanity once, and then effectively twice (at least I think she is implicitly damned), and she is, really sincerely, a complete fuck-up wastrel who never does or thinks anything interesting. Luo Ji gets to be a fuck-up wastrel who thinks interesting things and does interesting things, and fails once, twice, three times, probably more, as a Wallfacer, and has a moment of stunning success because he's a fuck-up wastrel. This is a great idea, which unfortunately suffers in the face of the fact that Liu Cixin is obsessed with strong men.

The idea that Cheng Xin looks at the face of the overwhelming loneliness of her universe, the cruelty and inhumanity of the dark forest thesis, the wars upon wars which ravaged multiple dimensions until they were folded into flatness, and then decides to weaponise a sense of sentimentality to finally damn that universe - to prevent it from being reborn, to escape samsara - when she would never be expected to be capable of such a thing, to finally actively choose this maternality she's passively carried and passively condemned humanity with - is maybe the thing which could redeem that ending for me. It's bleak - and I still don't agree with the overall attitude the books hold - but it is actually a real thesis! It does actually deliver on this threat that's expounded upon and seems like, in any other story, would surely allow for some small space to remember humanity. But how much mass is enough? If enough pocket unvierses all leave behind a few hundred grams, surely it would start to add up.

The alternative interpretation is that Cheng Xin once again fucks everything up but not on purpose, merely through an innocent-intentioned sentimentality. But I think the fact that she acknowledges the threat allows a bit of wiggle room. The argument here would be that Luo Ji's final Wallfacer plan against the Trisolarans is concealed from us until its reveal; this move has been pulled once before. The key difference is that we never see whether the universe reboots. I think this is very meaningful for the argument that it doesn't, and that we wouldn't see the payoff of Cheng Xin's plan, because there is no universe anymore. This really makes it a true twist ending to me which - most meaningfully of all - doesn't go against what the books were trying to do, but actually strengthens it.

But she put the effort into recording humanity's history, and I might go so far as to argue that she did that to explain her motivation to end it all, instead of slipping into it, but actually thinking about it.

The real conflict here, actually with any ending, is the sense of anthropocentrism which it otherwise sought to subvert. But I think reading against that, if we take it seriously that human beings are moral creatures who make moral judgements irrespective of our place in the universe (however small that is), I think that actually pairs better thematically with the idea that a graveyard remembrance of humanity also serves as the final, very small thing - this small living thing - which says 'no more'. The sense of reincarnation and enlightenment here, too, feels fitting, though I'd argue that its overly cynical view of the universe does the argument better.

I wrote all this out and then I went back to reread the last few pages. (I'm using an ebook version, so I don't have page citations). I'm going to see if this interpretation actually holds:

Cheng Xin asks if she can leave five kilograms behind, and then:

As long as the tiny sun inside the sphere continued to give off light, this miniature ecological system would persist. As long as it remained here, Universe 647 would not be a lifeless, dark world. “Of course,” said Guan Yifan. “The great universe isn’t going to fail to collapse because it misses five kilograms.” He had another thought that he did not voice: Perhaps the great universe really would fail to collapse because it lacked a single atom’s mass. [...] Ultimately, the great universe was certain to lose at least a few hundred million tons of matter, or perhaps even a million billion billion tons. Hopefully, the great universe could ignore such a loss.

So the sequence of events is this:

they're going to heed the call of the Returners

Cheng Xin wants to leave behind something to remember humanity by

Guan Yifan says of course she can, so graciously giving her permission

they acknowledge the general fact that others may do the same thing, or maybe even a single atom might be enough to prevent the universe rebooting, so it's a gamble anyway

Holy fuck this is terrible. Anyway, if we go through this with the perspective of the books - that every civilisation is interested first and foremost in survival at any cost, and short of that, to be remembered (survival in memory) - it is near-inevitable that there will be other mass left behind. But the flipside of this is that each individual choice matters; maybe with enough choosing to forego that, the universe could reboot. It's not definite. The ending is left open, the 'science' here is left imprecise. But we are reading between the lines of motivation. I'm not sure that my reading holds as an intended reading - because I do think the thematic compromise of the ending really does feel quite clear - but this is how I would make it more concordant with the series.

I much prefer it for the fact that Cheng Xin uses her contemplation in this lonely, ugly pocket universe to come to a conclusion of leaving mass behind to damn the universe. It would give her something to do. It would improve it tonally - haha, just rereading it, my God, I can't believe this is the ending to these books - and I think I like it just because it subverts that patronising treatment Guan Yifan affords her, like a little child asking for a lolly, concealing the truth of the potential cruelty of nature... which she is actually very well aware of.

I don’t know how much those catastrophes and the final destruction of the Solar System had to do with me. Those are questions that could never be answered definitively. But I’m certain they had something to do with me, with my responsibilities. And now, I’ve climbed to the apex of responsibility: I am responsible for the fate of the universe.

I would like Cheng Xin to abuse the trust in her sweet passivity. This would parallel neatly with Luo Ji's defense against the Trisolarans, the deception within deception within deception, against the ultimate enemy, suffocating it in the cradle.

#three body problem #death's end #remembrance of earth's past #stirring the pot

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cosmerelists · 1 year ago

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My Top 10 Favorite Cosmere Characters

Today is my birthday, so it's time for a purely self-indulgent birthday list! I thought I'd just share my own personal Top 10 Cosmere characters, which will just prove once and for all that I am SUCH a Stormlight girlie.

[Spoilers for Stormlight, Mistborn Era 1 & Era 2 and Shadows for Silence]

#10: TenSoon

I think I almost like TenSoon better in Era 2, when he's, like, an immortal quasi-divine figure who also happens to be a big, fluffy puppy. I like it when characters from different eras interact, so I was quite taken by having Wax meet TenSoon. I was also a fan of TenSoon back in the original series though, especially as his loyalty to Vin developed. And I'm one for a tragic sacrifice, so the kandra trying to kill themselves to avoid getting taken over by Ruin--that was a powerful moment (and I'm big fan of the fact that they did not, in fact, die. It was still a heroic sacrifice!).

#9: Silence

It's hard to say how much my love for Silence is part & parcel with my love for Threnody which, for whatever reason, is my favorite Cosmere planet. I like how Silence interacts with Threnody--the sheer horror and fatalism of living right on the edge of that forest, being a mother and a bounty hunter, keeping your dead grandmother in a back room...

#8: Adolin

I think Adolin is one of those characters I like because of his relationships with other characters. Especially Maya--I really love the relationship Adolin has with his sword, and when he and Maya fight back to back using the kata...that's one of my favorite scenes. I think he and Shallan are cute, and that he and Kaladin are cute, and that the three of them are a triad in their hearts. Also, and this will be a theme throughout this list, I love competent fighters and good fight sequences, so Adolin's duels really put him near the top for me.

#7: Navani

Rhythm of War really made me love Navani, I think. And not only because of that unhealthy yet somehow alluring relationship she had with Raboniel. We'll see throughout this list that I just like really competent characters, and Navani is such a smart and cool inventor of stuff, from watches to pain management devices to flying ships. And knowing what she went through with Gavilar and how she was made to think she wasn't smart or worthwhile only to have Dalinar and Raboniel recognize that yes she was smart and good at things and now she's cracked the code to make god-killing weapons and has bonded the Sibling and she's just so cool.

#6: Sazed

Honestly, I really love Sazed both before and after his ascension. I heard that people aren't always fans of Harmony, but I find him just as fascinating, if not more so--the idea of trying to balance such discordant shards in one being. But Sazed is, I think, my favorite character from the Mistborn Era 1 books. He is so sincere and smart and competent and deals with so much shit all the time. And I think he's doing his best.

#5: Jasnah

Like, Jasnah is just cool. She's so polished. So competent. So deadly. So smart. I think seeing Jasnah through Shallan's eyes for so long really made me respect and fear her as much as a reader can respect/fear a book character. That moment that she and Dalinar bonded over the book after Gavilar's death--very sweet. Kinda disappoited that we didn't get much with Jasnah & Elhokar--hard to remember they're siblings sometimes. In conclusion, I am both excited and scared to get more of her tragic backstory soon.

#4: Leshwi

Listen, I like cool fight sequences and enemies who bear a deep respect for each and duel a lot but never from a place of hatred. So, I was basically made to like Leshwi and how she interacts with Kaladin. But I also just like Leshwi's interactions with everyone. Leshwi and Moash? Awesome. "Hey you killed me once. Respect." Leshwi and Venli? Heck yeah. "I am slowly feeling you out and trying to see where your loyalties lie because they might intersect with mine." Once I am thrilled that Lewshi is joining the Listeners now. I want her to form a Radiant bond SO BAD.

#3: Steris

I seem to recall Brandon Sanderson talking about Steris as a character you don't like at first, but later you grow to love her. But if I remember correctly, I feel like I always liked Steris? Like yes, the marriage contract was a lot, but it was also so thorough and honest (and, honestly, funny). And then she just grew on me from there. As someone who makes a lot of lists, I also feel a kinship with Steris.

#2: Shallan

The first two times I read through the Stormlight Archives, I was all about Kaladin. But the third time, I really started to realize just how much I like the Shallan chapters. I think Shallan is a great character with a great arc--and I love the way she sort of grows into herself and her powers. Plus, I enjoy the slow reveal of how much she's already done--she already has a shardblade. And two spren bonds. And many murders under her belt. Quite the resume. And I really love Veil and Radiant, but especially Veil. The scene during the Oathbringer climax where she holds hand with her alters while constantly creating other alters to let them be killed legitimately makes me cry. She holds back a whole army by herself! She's amazing!

#1: Kaladin

Kaladin was my favorite character pretty much from the very moment I started reading Cosmere books (I started with Way of Kings), and he has never been dethroned in my heart. First, there's the simple fact that I love good fight scenes and fantasy heroics and people who gain the power they need at the very last second...and Kaladin does those things like every other chapter. But also, Kaladin is just such a good character. I love how he's not just a shallow fantasy hero--he has depression, and invents therapy, and struggles with guilt, and doesn't always make good choices. Sometimes the Kaladin chapters are tough--Rhythm of War was downright painful sometimes with just how much Kaladin was suffering--but even so. I will always look forward to the Kaladin parts the most, and like many, I deem Kaladin my #1 Cosmere Blorbo.

#Cosmere #Cosmerelists #TenSoon #Silence #Adolin #Navani #Sazed #Jasnah #Leshwi #Steris #Shallan #Kaladin

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whositmcwhatsit · 2 years ago

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The Gate Girl

Written for the prompt: "What are we going to do with [all of them], [this], [these ___ ]?"

A/N: Pure self-indulgence full of all my favourite things. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.

None of this would have been possible without my muses, my teachers, and my pests: @thatbanditqueen, @vintageshanny, @be-my-ally, @ellie-24, @missmaywemeetagain, @from-memphis-with-love

Word count: 6387

It was a warm spring evening in Memphis and Chrissie was already regretting the knitted sweater she was wearing beneath her corduroy pinafore minidress. She could feel beads of sweat sliding down her spine and resting near her tailbone. There was no relief to be had from the humid heat standing on the worn grass by the side of the fieldstone wall, surrounded by knots of people talking quietly to each other and pausing to take photos with little instamatic cameras.

Chrissie viewed it all with experienced, familiar eyes. She had been coming to the gates ever since she was old enough to nag her parents to drive her and had albums of pictures of the walls, the little guardhouse, the house off in the distance behind the trees and so many blurry shots of expensive looking cars going into and out of the gate.

Even so, she had felt a little twinge of dread when Lori had suggested driving down. The Chrissie who had spent all that time mooning over Elvis Presley felt very far away and she aimed to keep it that way.

Going off to college out of state had been her escape from the old Chrissie, the boring, insecure, people-pleasing Chrissie who let people walk all over her like a doormat. Lori had never met her. No, since they found each other during the first few disorientating days of school, Chrissie had worked hard to become who she had always wanted to be, cool, confident and aloof. She didn’t wait around to be noticed anymore.

“So, the guard at the gate says that he thinks Elvis might be coming out soon,” Lori said, ambling over with a grin. “He also told me three times that he’s really close with Elvis because he’s his cousin. “

“Yeah, he does that,” Chrissie murmured.

“I think it’s wild that you have your own rock star in your neighbourhood. Best we ever got was some crummy band that once opened for Strawberry Alarm Clock at a festival.”

“Yeah, well, around here he’s just Elvis, we don’t think of him as a rock star or anything like that,” Chrissie said. She was jealously eyeing Lori’s paisley nylon blouse. Somehow she’d managed to dress right for the typical weather of the town that Chrissie had lived in most of her life.

“Wild,” Lori murmured, her eyes sliding over to a group of young guys, who were leaning against the wall, hanging out. “Just Elvis.”

Lori being Lori, they were standing and chatting with those boys by the time a frisson of excitement went through the crowd as movement had been spotted up on the driveway. The boys forgotten, Lori rushed over and grabbed her hand, pulling her to the gates where the guard was urging everyone to step back and keep themselves safe, not that many listened.

It was definitely Elvis coming out. Chrissie had learnt over the years that one car could be hit and miss, usually miss, but when you had more cars leaving at once, and certainly a train of them, Elvis was nearly always leading them.

“Stay over this side,” Chrissie murmured as Lori spotted a less crowded area on the other side of the gate. “He likes to drive, he’ll be over this side.” Lori’s eyes narrowed slightly as she took her in, like she was figuring something out, but then the cars arrived at the gate and they were swept forward with the rush to greet them.

Elvis was indeed driving and he put the car in park at the open gate to sign some autographs and let people lean slightly into the window to take photos. Through the silhouettes, Chrissie could see him wearing his dark tinted sunglasses and a black suit with a high-collar red shirt. It looked good against his pale skin and black hair, very dramatic.

“We should get closer,” Lori said, tugging her wrist. “I want to see what the fuss is about close up.” Chrissie sighed and nodded, knocking her hip against the front headlamp as she was dragged. She locked eyes with the front passenger for just as second and then recovered, but not for long.

“Hey, Cupcake, that you?” Her blood turned to icy water as she registered the words that Sonny called out the passenger window. She thought about ignoring him, but he wasn’t quiet and there was still that pull, that twinge, that prevented her from being rude, especially here at home. She flashed Lori a panicked smile and then hurried around the front of the car to the passenger window.

“It is you!” he remarked, pulling his sunglasses down his nose. “Damn, girl, what happened to you?!” She yanked on her skirt, feeling the colour creep up her face as she tried to come up with something appropriate, a flippant, off the cuff remark that would both impress him and put him in his place.

“I grew up,” she shrugged, catching herself trying to flip her hair over her shoulder and forcibly putting her hand down by her side.

“Yeah, you did,” he agreed with a sly grin. “Looks good on you, though I sure miss those cakes of yours!”

“Well, you could always buy them, you know. Santos Bakery over on South Highland, still tastes as good when you have to pay!”

“No, I think for sure it was all that love you put into them.” She giggled, it just slipped out, and she had to close her eyes to calm herself down. When she opened them again a split second later, she was looking straight into the face of Elvis himself as he looked over to see who Sonny was chatting with. He lifted one side of his mouth in a small smile, casual and intimate. Chrissie had no more desire to giggle. In fact, she wasn’t sure she could make a noise at all.

“It’s been a while,” he said quietly. He probably said that to every girl at the gate, she told herself, just in case they were regulars.

“Yeah, I, uh, went off to school… up North.”

“I was just saying, E, that we’ve been missing all those cakes and things she used to bring us. Remember that one with the cream and the strawberries? Makes my mouth water just thinking about it.”

“Mmm hmm,” Elvis murmured, still looking at her, unreadable behind his glasses. He ducked slightly as someone slightly too eagerly waved a record sleeve through the window to be signed and almost thwacked him in the side of the head. “How are you finding school, honey? What is it, March? You home on break?” He paused to scrawl his signature on something and then turned right back to her, eyes fixed on her face.

“School’s great. I mean, the work’s hard, but-“ She stopped, looking to Lori as she bounced up to her side and grabbed her arm. She felt a strange wash of emotions, some pride at being found standing making small talk with Elvis like they were acquaintances, embarrassment that Lori would find out how much of a try-hard she used to be, and a little fear that Elvis’s intense stare would drift away to Lori’s pretty blond head.

“Well, anyway, I guess we better be headin’ on out,” Elvis remarked, absently kissing the cheek of someone’s baby as they brandished it at his window. “It was good seeing y’all.”

“You too,” she managed, smiling so that he wouldn’t know how her stomach had dropped. “Drive safe.” She stepped back and Lori stumbled along with her, attached to her arm, wiggling her fingers in a little wave as she ducked down to look through the car.

The engine started up, but the car didn’t move on, and they watched as Elvis leant across and said something in Sonny’s ear. Chrissie instantly thought that they were making fun of her and waited for the chorus of laughter, but instead, Sonny nodded and his head turned towards them.

“Hey, Cupcake!” he gestured with his head, beckoning her over. Elvis was looking straight ahead, gripping the wheel like she was the one who wouldn’t let him go.

Trying not to meet the eyes of the other people standing around trying to eavesdrop, she stepped back up to his window. “Uh, we’re going to watch some movies over at the Memphian. Y’all feeling like joining us?” The way that Lori squeezed her forearm in a death grip let Chrissie know her opinion on the matter, but she still paused and looked at her so that they didn’t sound too eager.

“I’m not sure, we were planning on going out tonight… I guess it could be fun though.”

Sonny’s wry smile showed her that he wasn’t fooled as he murmured, ‘Uh huh. Well, ask for me when you get there. I’ll let them know you’re on the list.”

“Okay, thanks. Maybe we’ll see you there.”

“Bye Elvis!” Lori called as they stumbled back in time for the car to almost skid out of the entrance and into the traffic. There was a rumble of disappointment from the crowd as they watched the cortege of cars follow him out. Some of the fans, who always tried to chase Elvis when he left the house, ran for their cars; others were discussing whether they were going to maintain the vigil until he returned.

Chrissie finally turned to Lori before the girl’s stare melted her face clean away.

“So, you didn’t tell me you knew Elvis Presley.”

“Hardly,” Chrissie snorted. “He doesn’t even know my name. I just hung around a little when I was younger. I guess he and some of his guys got used to seeing my face.”

“Suuuure, Cupcake,” Lori retorted, sniggering into her cheek. “What the hell was that anyway?” Chrissie flushed, somehow hoping that she hadn’t picked up on it.

“Look, I’ll tell you on the way, but you gotta promise not to judge, because I was young and an idiot.”

Ten minutes later, Lori was cackling so hard that Chrissie thought she was going to pee her pants.

“Shut uuuup!” Chrissie whined. “You promised!”

“Oh, but it’s adorable!” Lori gasped, wiping her eyes. “And actually pretty cunning. ‘Hi Elvis, my family owns a bakery, do you want to sample my goods?’.” Eyes on the road, Chrissie reached over and shoved her purely for the breathy, high-pitched impression alone.

“It wasn’t like that,” she insisted, shifting her shoulders uncomfortably. “One time someone didn’t collect their birthday order and Mama was fretting and saying, ‘What are we going to do with all these cupcakes?’ I was about to head up to Graceland and I knew there’d be lots of people there at the gate- free advertising and all that. Then Elvis came down and he saw the cakes and he took some and it- it snowballed from there.”

Chrissie had genuinely believed that Elvis was simply being polite the way that he always received her care packages so enthusiastically, especially after the time that she had tried to give some brownies to Priscilla and she had demurred, saying that she and Elvis didn’t really like sweet things.

For a while, Chrissie had stopped bringing anything, convinced they had all been going into the trash the whole time. The next time Elvis had come across her at the gate, however, he had demanded to know what other boy she was treating instead of him. That night had been the best night of her life, as he had hung out with them all for a couple of hours, and he kept coming over to tease her about switching her affection to someone else, promising he was going to win her back. It still made her shiver thinking about his arm around her shoulder, his lips pressing little butterfly kisses into her heated cheeks.

However, that was when she was a silly little girl. She was a woman now.

The parking lot next to the Memphian theatre was full of cars, so Chrissie had to park down the street next to a store that was closed for the night. People were milling about outside and, as she approached the main entrance, someone told her not to bother because they were telling people that the theatre was full and nobody else would be let in.

“We were invited,” Lori replied loudly, pushing her on even as she was hesitating. Lori took responsibility for knocking on the locked door, banging with increasingly force as the two men inside the foyer had a conversation and pretended they weren’t there. Eventually, one of them sauntered to the door.

“Sorry, we’re all full. Better luck next time, ladies.”

“We were invited!” Lori bellowed. “Some guy told us to come to the door and ask for him!” She looked back at Chrissie, prompting her.

“Yeah, Sonny West said he’d put us on the list.” He turned and said something over his shoulder, before pulling out a ring of keys and opening the door.

“Okay, girls, you been before? You know the rules? You don’t sit in front of Elvis, you don’t approach-”

“Yeah, I know the rules,” Chrissie muttered, grabbing Lori’s hand and dragging her towards the main screen door.

“Barely know the man,” Lori was muttering to herself. “Elvis who, she said.”

Chrissie elbowed her in the ribs as they stepped into the muted darkness, pausing for their eyes to adjust. The screen was still curtained and there were people milling about, finding their seats and visiting with their friends in other rows. It was certainly pretty crowded and the only available seats were towards the back in what were usually the make-out areas. Not that Chrissie would know much about that…

In the shadows, it would have been difficult to make out Elvis, it wasn’t like he really did have a golden aura, but everyone knew his seat, the one he always chose halfway down the rows at the aisle, the one everyone was forbidden from sitting in. So, they were all aware of his presence even if they couldn’t actually see him.

“Where’s his wife?” Lori whispered loudly as they took their seats. “Isn’t he married?”

“She stays in California mostly now,” Chrissie murmured back. “I don’t think they’re really together anymore.”

She might not have spent much time at the gate recently, but she was still part of the ever-efficient Elvis fan grapevine that stretched from Las Vegas to Palm Springs, Beverly Hills and right over to Memphis, exchanging news, speculation and stories. For a while, there had even been a mimeographed newsletter.

Surveying the rows, for the second time that night, Chrissie locked eyes with Sonny, who was moving slowly up the aisle, running his gaze over the murmuring, fidgeting crowd. He flashed her a grin and pointed at her, before crooking his finger and beckoning. Figuring he was talking to someone behind her, she busied herself with smoothing her skirt and crossing her knee length boots at the ankle.

“Cupcake, hey!” he bellowed across the theatre between cupped hands. She slid down in her seat, wondering when her life had begun to resemble her nightmares. When she peered back over the seat, he urged her over with his arm. Lori was already rising, kicking her feet to get her to move.

“You made it!” Sonny said with a grin. “We saved ya seats.” He indicated to two seats directly across the aisle from Elvis’ usual place, which was empty. Her thoughts swirling, Chrissie thanked him and went to slide into the row.

“Hey, you know what, thinking about it, how about you and me swap places, darlin’?” He pointed across to the seat beside Elvis’. “You can sit over there and I’ll sit here with… What’s your name, beautiful?”

“Lori,” she said, wide eyes sliding from his tall, broad frame and over to Chrissie. Chrissie knew that look; they occasionally exchanged it in bars when they were dancing and teasing and flirting and then realised that they had bitten off more than they could chew.

“I think I should sit with my friend,” Chrissie said quickly, shoving her ahead of her. “She’s not from here and I ought to take care of her. Thank you, though, really. I appreciate the offer.”

Not long later, the lights finally went down, the murmuring faded into silence- another rule- and Chrissie trained her eyes on the screen, trying to ignore the pull of the empty seat alongside her. She clearly failed, as when the mere glimpse of black passed her peripheral vision, she started and froze in her seat.

As the credits played, she counted to two hundred, that seemed a reasonable amount of time, before she turned her head slightly and glanced over. Immediately, Elvis turned too, giving her a closed-mouth smile that curved his cheekbones deliciously even in the shadows of the theatre.

Caught out, she smiled back and turned back to the screen, feeling a strange warm weight settling upon her like someone had tucked a heavy warm blanket over her.

“He keeps looking over,” Lori muttered out of the side of her mouth. “I feel like any minute, he’s going to… Oh shit, I think he’s coming over.” They both seized up, sitting up high in their seats, but though Elvis rose, he strode off up the aisle, followed by a phalanx of his guys. As soon as the fire door opened and slammed shut, the volume of the whispering crept up, people probably wondering if he had left, whether he was just using the bathroom, or visiting the concessions.

“You should have sat next to him,” Lori said, wincing guiltily. “That would have been a great story, wouldn’t it? The time you were Elvis Presley’s date at the movies?”

“Nah, it’s more fun watching… Whatever this movie is, with you. Besides, we can always lie and say it happened anyway!”

Lori giggled and nodded, staring up at the screen as an airplane took off from a night-time runway on screen.

With the main attraction missing, they gradually got into the action happening on screen, so much so that Chrissie was startled when a hand touched her shoulder. She recognised the heavy set, balding man as someone who was in Elvis’ circle.

“You Cupcake?” he asked, his eyes darting between the two of them almost furtively.

Chrissie wasn’t sure how to answer that, so Lori did it for her.

“Elvis wants to talk to you, he’s up in the balcony.”

Unlike Sonny, he hadn’t couched it in a question or flirting, he said it like it was her duty to do as she was told. Chrissie looked at Lori and knew her eyes were sending the same SOS that Lori had sent her earlier in the evening. Lori nodded resolutely, slammed her hand into hers, and rose, pulling her up.

“He, uh, he just wants her,” the man said, pointing at Chrissie.

“Well, sugar,” Lori replied, putting on an awful Southern twang, “he’s gonna have to take what he’s given, cos we done come as a pair.” They didn’t give him any opportunity to reply, but he didn’t seem the type anyway, running his tongue over his slick lips and stepping back out of their way.

In the foyer, a small group of Elvis’ guys were hanging around the concession stand. There seemed to be a competition going on about how far away someone could stand and still catch a piece of popcorn being thrown into their mouths. Chrissie and Lori exchanged looks and then turned towards the door that was marked ‘Private’. None of the guys stopped them, so they pulled it open and climbed the steps in anxious silence.

At the top, there was another landing with doors leading off. The one directly ahead of them had an old-fashioned sign above it that said ‘balcony’. She took a breath, looked at Lori, who squeezed her hand, and then yanked it open, only to be confronted by searing white light.

“Oh Lord, I’m blind!” she mumbled, stumbling back into Lori, who knocked into the door and only just managed to save them both by gripping the handle.

“Shit, I was just fooling around! I’m sorry, honey, are you okay?”

Chrissie squinted, seeing only purple and pink blobs as she felt arms wrap around her waist and lead her further into the balcony. Gradually, the blobs faded and Elvis’ concerned face swam into view above her.

“You okay, Cupcake? How many fingers am I holding up?” She narrowed her eyes at the black leather gloved hand he held up.

“Six?” she half-joked. “What was that?” He flashed a sheepish grin and lifted a black flashlight the length of his forearm.

“I just got it and I didn’t realise it was so powerful. I’m so sorry, honey.”

Being in his arms, wrapped in his warmth and inhaling his scent, she felt a bit giddy as well as still overwhelmingly blind. She frowned slightly and reached up to snatch his sunglasses.

“Well, I think I need these more than you do,” she mumbled, sliding them onto her face. They promptly slipped down her nose and she had to tilt up her face to see through them. She just saw a pink-tinted blur.

Laughing from his belly, Elvis reached out and pushed them back up for her with his finger, brushing a light peck on her forehead that she barely caught before he moved back.

“Well, now we’re the blind leadin’ the blind, darlin’.”

There was the sound of someone clearing their throat from the doorway and they both turned, Chrissie having to look over the top of the glasses to make out Lori standing there awkwardly.

“Oh, you brought your friend,” Elvis murmured, tightening his hold of her waist with one arm.

“Hi,” Lori said, waving self-consciously.

“She’s visiting with me for break,” Chrissie explained. “She doesn’t know anyone or anything… I mean, she doesn’t know where things are.” He fixed her with a lopsided smile that told her she was adorable like a puppy or a toddler and his eyes fell to her lips, before he gently took his sunglasses from her face and put them back on.

“No, that’s okay,” he shrugged, “the more the merrier. Come on in, sweetheart.” He gestured for Chrissie to take the seat to his left, which she did after floundering for a moment at the loss of his arm around her. “Do you ladies want a drink or anything?”

They both declined and sat primly on either side of him, adjusting slightly as he spread his legs so that his knee was pressed against each of them and he took up both armrests.

“So, you’re visiting? Where are you from, honey? What’s your name?”

“Lori, and I’m not really from anywhere- I’m an Air Force brat, spent a little time in a lot of places, but weirdly I’ve never been to the South, so I knew that I had to come when Chrissie invited me.”

“Chrissie?” he echoed questioningly, looking to his left.

“That’s me,” she nodded emphatically.

“Noooo,” he replied playfully, leaning in and shaking his head right in her face, “you’re my sweet little Cupcake.” He pecked her cheek, lingering with his hot lips against her skin. “I’ve known you longer than she has, I know who you are.” She shivered, basking in the tingly warmth of his attention, just like she had that night a couple of years earlier, but then she remembered that she was different, she wasn’t that Chrissie anymore.

Before she had even made up her mind to do it, she turned her head, her lips brushing against his. That was all the encouragement he needed, his hand coming up to clasp her head and he kneaded his lips against hers, exhaling into her mouth.

Chrissie thought that she enjoyed kissing, but she had clearly never kissed anyone properly before, Elvis showed her that. His tongue slid against hers, even as he was sucking on her top lip and drawing her closer, his hand moving from the back of her head to grasp her neck. Every part of her was sparking and humming as she slipped her hand underneath his black jacket into the searing heat at his back.

“You do taste sweet,” he murmured, his lips grazing hers as he spoke. “I always wondered.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that except by blushing and leaning forward over the arm of her chair, trying to snag his mouth again. This time, he ducked back, though his hand was still wrapped around her throat, his thumb rubbing rhythmically against her pulse.

“Wait, honey, we ain’t being fair.” He turned to his right, where Lori was sitting looking at them, her cheeks pink and her mouth half open. Chrissie’s eyes dropped to where Elvis was holding Lori’s hand. “Lil Lori’s sitting here all left out, ain’t that right, honey?”

Lori’s eyes focused suddenly, but not on Elvis. She looked to Chrissie and the look she wore was different from anything Chrissie had ever seen before, but she still knew what it meant. She swallowed and nodded her head slightly.

Lori turned to Elvis and smiled. It was a deadly, sinful smile that usually bewitched and entrapped the boys at school within seconds. Elvis, it seemed, was not immune to that smile and he leant across, not loosening his grip on Chrissie, and kissed her too.

Chrissie got to see what that looked like from a distance, her eyes fixated on the movement of his plump lips, the tightening of his jaw, the way that his dark hair mingled with Lori’s pale golden bangs. It was mesmerising. She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs tightly to answer the tickling and tingles below her belly.

“Whoo, boy, now Cupcake’s bought me some sweet things before, but nothin’ compares to this,” he said, turning to each of them as he spoke like he was watching a tennis match. His lips glistened in the light from the screen and Chrissie reached out her hand to run her thumb across the bottom one, just to touch its pillowy softness. She gasped as he opened his mouth and nipped at it, using his tongue to soothe any hurt.

“You enjoy the show, baby?” he said softly, smirking in that confoundingly innocent, but sexy way that only he could manage. “See, now, that’s not fair on me. Both of you girls got to watch, but what about little ole Elvis? Where’s my show?”

Chrissie looked from him to Lori, feeling strange, like she was being stretched, pulled too far in different directions. Lori winked at her and then turned her blue eyes to Elvis.

“What do you want us to do?”

“Nothing bad,” he assured her in a soft, playful voice. “Just a little kissing, honey, that’s all.”

Lori shrugged and then flashed her dazzling smile at Chrissie, who felt frozen in the glare as Lori climbed onto her seat on her knees and leant across Elvis, who happily leant back. Lori’s lips were soft, softer even than his though not as full, and she lacked his finesse, but it felt nice as they massaged hers. Her eyes flickered open as Elvis pulled back the curtain of Lori’s hair that had fallen across her face and he gazed at them both with sleepy, tender looking eyes. Lori’s hand clasped her face before sliding down onto her shoulder and then lower. Chrissie shivered in anticipation.

“That’s enough now,” Elvis said gently but firmly. “Gonna make a man feel jealous, and I already lost you once to those boys at college.”

As Lori retreated to her seat, he cupped Chrissie’s face between his big hands, the metal of his rings pressed hard into her cheekbones.

“But you ain’t ever done nothing like that for those college boys, have you, sweetheart?” He didn’t wait for her answer, swallowing down her shallow breaths as he kissed Lori’s lipstick from her mouth. “Bet none of them’ve kissed you like this neither, huh.”

His voice was soft, low and kind of hypnotising. Chrissie wanted to shake her head, to gaze at him adoringly and tell him that she would never let anyone touch her the way that he was doing. That was how she knew it was the wrong choice.

“Some have,” she said, her voice hoarse and small.

He drew back, staring at her with his mouth slightly open, his lips ripe and glistening. She watched him reach up and take off his sunglasses, narrowing his eyes. All the better to see you with. Finally, a little too late, he laughed gently and playfully and she felt sure that she had just scored a point in whatever game they were playing.

“All grown up now, huh,” he observed with a twitch of his left eyebrow, echoing her words from earlier in the evening. She very slowly raised her own eyebrows and nodded.

“Well, what else you let ‘em do?” he asked, his voice low and leaning into gravelly. She felt the cool leather of his gloved hand on her thigh, sliding underneath her skirt. “You let them put their hands up ‘n’ under- under..?” She clamped down on his forearm without thinking and earned herself a pleased smile. “Naw, no, you’re still a good girl, aren’t you, sweetheart. My sweet lil cupcake, still a sweet lil treat.”

He tilted his head and nuzzled into her neck, moving so that she could see Lori peering over his back with a look of complete bewilderment on her face. Chrissie twitched her face into an expression that was the equivalent of a shrug.

Hey, uh, Elvis?” Lori murmured, tapping him on the shoulder. He paused and Chrissie felt him exhale a hot sigh into the crook of her neck that swept down through the wool of her sweater. She shuddered.

“Yes, honey?” He pulled back, his fingers sliding between Chrissie’s like they were two kids on a date.

“What’s that?” Lori asked, pointing at the blue-ribbon pendant around his neck, half buried in his jacket and the gold chains. He looked down, tightening his mouth.

“This here? This is a medal I got for being one of the ten outstanding men in America.” He held out the pendant that showed two hands stretched out to touch one another. “They only give that to people that’ve made a real difference, you know, honey, presidents, businessmen, athletes. Scientists. No fooling, it’s a big deal. I had to give a speech and everythin’. And if you think I was nervous standing up there, no script or nothin’, in front of all those people, you’d be right!”

They oohed and aahed over it while he sat with a proud smile, telling them about the trophy he had at home and the pin that was on one of his other jackets.

As he finished talking, the credits began to run across the screen.

“Aw, it looks like the movie’s over,” Lori sighed. “Thank you for inviting us, it was really nice of you.”

“That’s just the first movie,” Elvis returned, frowning slightly. “The night ain’t even getting started. You girls hungry?” He didn’t wait for their answer, yelling out ‘Jaaaaaames’ at the top of his voice. Chrissie peered over the side of the balcony and saw some people looking up.

The short, stock man from earlier came stumbling up the stairs, eyebrows raised in question.

“We need sustenance, man, hamburgers, Pepsis… Unless you girls want milkshakes?” Chrissie bit down a smile at him finally giving them a choice of something and even then it was only which drink they wanted.

While they waited for their food, the second movie started rolling. Elvis sat back in his seat, clasping each of their hands, and squinting slightly at the screen. Chrissie looked at his impossibly long, thick eyelashes flickering as he blinked and wondered whether he wore mascara. She wanted to ask for a recommendation.

“Quit it, I can feel those eyes burning a hole in me, woman,” he muttered, shooting her a sideways look, the line at the corner of his mouth twitching up. “M’trying to enjoy the movie.”

“Sorry.” She turned back to the screen, looking at Charlton Heston’s sweaty face.

“I’m only teasin’, baby.” He tugged her forward by the hand, kissing her again, and she had the same loop-de-loop sensation in her stomach as the first time. “I like you looking at me. Makes me feel good.” He pulled her hand onto his thigh and pressed it down as he kissed her, moaning a little into her mouth.

By the time James returned with their food, Elvis was buried beneath the two of them as they rubbed their lips, their hands, their faces and their bodies over every part of him they could get access to. When Chrissie got worried about how high his hand was on her bare legs, or how he was a little too insistent, he would turn to Lori and she would watch until her heart stopped pounding so hard and her chest loosened. She could feel herself growing wet, the ache intensifying between her legs, and she wondered how far things would go.

The girls picked at their burgers, their appetites directed elsewhere, but Elvis tucked into his hungrily, eyes drifting over to the screen to keep tabs on the action.

“You like movies?” he asked them. “I love movies, ever since I was a kid. All I wanted to do was be a movie star.” He shoved some fries into his mouth. “Be like Brando, or Monty Clift, or James Dean. I’d study ‘em all the time, trying to figure ‘em out like they were a… a.. math problem or something.” He huffed a laugh at himself.

“Well, you got your wish,” Lori observed. “You’re a movie star. I went and saw you in the movies.”

“Hell, I’m sorry, honey!” he returned dryly. “You want me to refund you the money for the tickets?” He shook his head, chewing fast so that he could finish his thought. “No, I ain’t done it yet, made THE movie, the one that’ll change the way everyone sees me, make ‘em see I can be a real actor if- if they just gave me a chance. Not even close. Not yet, but I will.” The girls nodded, it was impossible not to, he sounded so sure. “You believe me, don’t you.”

“I think you could do anything,” Chrissie told him quietly, immediately beset by the impulse to cringe, which was overwhelmed by the sight of his face lighting up. He nodded, a lopsided grin spreading across his face and making his eyes twinkle.

“Well, shit, I probably could if’n you only keep looking at me like that, honey,” he returned, looking down bashfully.

Food finished, they turned their attention back to the movie for at least two or three minutes, before hands started to knead and rub again, lips started to caress and nuzzle, and Chrissie somehow found herself sliding down Elvis’ body as he sat sprawled in his seat, her mouth sucking and licking at his throat, the coarse hair on his chest, the red linen shirt covering his warm stomach. She reached his belt before he reached down and stopped her.

“Not like this, sweetheart,” he said so tenderly and sweetly that her heart curled up at the edges. “It’s not gonna be like this for you.”

Instead, he scooped her back up onto his lap, where she could feel the hard bulge of him pressing against her thigh, and he let the tip of his nose graze slowly across her cheek and down into the neck of her sweater.

With his other hand, he reached over and gathered Lori to his side too and they cuddled up together to watch the third and final movie of the evening. Sometimes, he would turn slightly and whisper silly comments into her ear and press his pout into her pulse point, making her shiver. Others, he’d give Lori a pinch and make fun of how chatty she was.

They forgot, at least she forgot, that they were canoodling with a world-famous entertainer, a rock star, a man who had conquered everything and everywhere by the time he was their age. For a few hours, he was just their dorky, silly friend with the beautiful face and the softest, most kissable lips.

As the sun rose above the municipal building across the way, Lori and Chrissie rose from their seats, stretching their tingling limbs and rubbing their gritty eyes. Elvis stopped them at the door, clasping Lori’s chin and giving her a soft peck on the lips, before turning to Chrissie and taking her hands.

“Hey Cupcake,” he said with a small smile, looking up at her through his brows bashfully. He pulled at her hands, making her sway slightly in front of him. “Thank you for coming tonight and, er, all those other nights too. It, uh, it meant a lot… It means a lot, to have people rooting for you, especially… especially when things aren’t going so well.” She couldn’t help herself, sinking into his arms and gripping him tightly. She was so tired that she thought she could quite easily doze off with her face smushed against his warm chest.

“There’s that look again,” he remarked as she drew back, gazing at him in fresh wonder, unable to comprehend how the night had happened. “You make a man feel bulletproof, honey. And, uh, I promise I won’t ever let you down.”

“I know,” Chrissie replied, frowning slightly. He kissed her one last time, as sweet and needy and delicious as the first one.

“Come up and visit with us again sometime, okay?” She nodded, reaching out to push his sunglasses up his nose. He grinned.

As they wandered up the street in the greying dawn, arms linked and emotions numbed, Lori turned to Chrissie with a frown.

“That felt a lot like goodbye, didn’t it?” she said.

Chrissie sighed and nodded, thinking about how she could grab some boxes from the storeroom at the back of the bakery to pack away all her photo albums and autograph books.

“Yeah, it did,” she murmured. “It was.”

#elvis presley #70s elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis x oc #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fan fic #elvis presley fanfiction #writing prompt game #whositmcwhatsit

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imagionationstation · 9 months ago

Note

*Slams open the door to your inbox very, very loudly*

I HAVE ANOTHER IDEA FOR AN AU

But this one is a little bit deranged.

AU where only Donatello and Karai are raised by Splinter and the rest (Leonardo, Raphael and Michelangelo) were raised by the Shredder. (Or vice versa idk which would be funnier)

It's stupid, I KNOW— but wdnsixjsks—

Just imagine the lone turtle being raised by the opposite side of the other three, accompanied with just as fierce + overprotective older sister who'd drop kick anyone who ever attempt to claim the title as 'Donatello's older sibling'.

Donnie'd be so confused to suddenly have a group of the same species as him suddenly thrusted into his life after spending years of beliving he's the only one— and oh look they're now claiming him to be their brother, how neat.

Karai is NOT happy because that's HER little brother and they have to pry him out of her cold, dead hands.

Leo and Raph would be, "You're our master's daughter and that's OUR little brother", to which Karai would be, ">:0".

Cue to Mikey and Donnie arguing who is older.

I'm not sure about you, but I am also a sucker for (over)protective Mikey. It's a neat concept, one that hasn't been explored much by the fandom— but arhwidnsidnsi.

I just love the purple genius, okay?

This AU is purely crack and self-indulgent at this point hahah.

-Ellestrade

Donnie didn’t consider himself to be a bad son, per say.

Sensei always had a list of rules to keep him safe. Never go down to the ground floor unless the dojo was closed for the day. Never open the curtains because he might be glimpsed. Never go out into the yard unless he got permission or had one of them with him.

And never, under any circumstances, was he to enter New York City.

Sensei was always very careful when it came to his safety. It’s the whole reason that he found a place outside the city for him to grow up, miles away from people, but close enough to the city that Miwa could visit to terrorize socialize whenever she feels cooped up.

Donnie’s never had that luxury, but now he was fifteen.

Fifteen was practically driving age. Fifteen is old enough to be in a high school and get invited to parties that sounded unsafe and rent adult movies behind parents backs and get to buy things at stores or check out books at the library!

He’s definitely responsible enough to borrow some books on his own.

Fifteen is also the perfect age for sneaking out and breaking rules.

It’s not really his fault. It’s the hormone and teenage ritual stuff. He couldn’t help it, probably. That’s what Miwa always says. Sensei buys it sometimes. He goes easy on her. So when Donnie wakes up to a carpeted floor and a splitting migraine, he knows he’s been caught and he’ll need every reasonable excuse that he can get his hands on.

It’s his birthday, anyway. Sensei can’t be too mad.

There are muffled voices around him as he lifts his head, immediately regretting it when pain spikes from his skull and scatters across his forehead. He clutches at his skull, groaning miserably. He’s never had an all-nighter migraine this intense before.

He supposes that this is what Miwa would call a personal problem as remains on the ground, forcing his eyes open to get a read on the situation. He expects to see his father hovering as Miwa goads him into a punishment because the consequences of his actions was never enough for her.

Somehow, his father usually ends up letting him off the hook instead. A perk of being an extinct species that can never see the light of day, he supposes, is endless sympathy points.

Donnie’s greeted with three shells, four blinding overhead lights, five individual weapons, and six eyes, all balanced out by a truckload of confusion. He stares, blinking sluggishly, as one of the turtles announces, “Well, he’s not dead.”

And just like that, this has officially slotted itself to be the weirdest dream Donnie has ever had.

DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT I HAD TOO-

So anyway, feel free to assume that he’s in pain and kidnapped for any number of reasons because I have about twelve different ideas and they are all equal GREAT for the crack AU atmosphere that is in development in my brain.

I’m just imaging a backstory where Shredder fought the Kraang (cause he was hangry or something, who knows) and the turtles (sitting abandoned in the alley, maybe?) are corrupt with mutagen.

Absolutely dumbfounded but not stupid enough to leave the little freaks of nature behind, he (still human) snatches three of them, accidentally leaving one behind.

Hours/days later, Toddler Miwa hear Donnie crying, barely alive and all alone. Obviously, dad and daughter care for him.

Shredder and Yoshi are still human, but neither is on guard for the other. They both think the other remains in Japan.

Their sons don’t grow up hating each other’s guts. They are both trying to leave their past behind. Yoshi is raising his family. Shredder is growing his empire.

So Donnie didn’t grow up knowing he had other brothers because no one knew they existed. Ergo, I imagine Donnie would be confused at first, but after fifteen years thinking that he’s alone in the universe, he’s eager to learn everything about these three fellow turtle mutants in ninja gear. He’s a bit perturbed about the fact that they keep making excuses to keep him from leaving, but he’s not to concerned about it. He has brothers! How neat is that?

And since it’s a crack AU, it would be absolutely hilarious if Donnie seems like this naive, learned soul, who cannot social in the slightest- but the second that the need calls for it, he knows how to use several different type of weapons and can take all the brother down single-handedly. He had fifteen years of no brotherly distractions and a sister who takes training very seriously. Why wouldn’t he?

It’s why he’s not concerned with technically being held hostage. He’s reasonably certain that he can take them. And he proves it when Karai finds him and tries to take him home, only for the brothers attempt to stop him from leaving.

Of course, he always feels bad about his supremely awesome and instinctive skills. He prefers his studies.

No, but your “pry him out of her cold, dead hands” comment made me think that she’d need a reason to feel threatened. If they bond before she finds him, Donnie will begin looking at his older brothers (yes, even Mikey, who adores being able to feel in charge of someone) like, well, eldest brothers, and Karai will sense the change.

And, obvs, be completely and utterly ticked off by it.

Donnie’s spent his entire life admiring her and everything that she does- how DARE she have to share his attention with these three random strangers that literally kidnapped him?!

And his older brothers will all immediately decide that this lost child is theirs’ for one reason or another. And obviously, the safest thing to do when you find a stray mutant like you is to take it home and give it care. Heck, if it turns out to be your brother, even better!

HAPPY FIFTEENTH BIRTHDAY! YOU BELONG TO A GROUP OF NINJA TURTLES NOW, ADOPTED LIKE A LOST CAT! CONGRATS!

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juniorig0327 · 4 months ago

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Thinking about godswap AU (one last time because I already have three AUs I want to write and I need to get my thoughts together.

I had to think a lot about this not gonna lie. Because one thing about godly parents in PJO is that godly parents influence a child's personality quite a bit (which I personally don't like but whatever). And it's kind of limiting on what I could do. I think if I do actually write this it would be following the canon (simply because it's the easiest to do and I don't have to think a lot lmao). So I guess I could go over the cast and what I think their godly parents would be. (Part 1 because I've officially decided).

Percy - Now as for Percy I've been thinking about it as much I lowkey wanted to do Zeus!Percy I don't think I'm going to. I just grown to not like the idea. I think I'm just too attached to Percy being a son of Poseidon lol. I have been recently swayed by Hades, Nemesis, or Hephaestus as his godly parents for some reason.

Now I HAVE been thinking possibly doing like something based on this fanfic I read where Percy was the child of ALL of the big three kids cuz Sally slept w/ Zeus Poseidon and Hades but I don't think I'd do something that crazy. (I also thought about Orion and how he was made and eugh).

I'm so indecisive and it's lowkey showing.

I do have a slight HC I might use to make this work for my self indulgent reasons (godswap AUs are purely for my self indulgence borderline crazy stuff so). Anyways the HC is that the Jackson family is actually intensively connected to the godly world and pantheons (specifically Greek and like Aztec). So he just has a bunch of randomly godly bloodline from like everywhere. So maybe he's like Frank and has a godly gift from Hades.

Poseidon and Nemesis would be his two (mamma mia) godly parents, Nemesis appearing to a bitter Sally after Poseidon just- left. And maybe Percy is just a legacy of Hephaestus (demigod Sally??) and instead of Leo, Percy got his fire (thinking it would be a post Mt. Helens thing after seeing his grandson nearly die he decides to give him a gift and help him out.) That's also him slowly discovering Hades gift on Calypsos island (and possibly staying much longer than expected while he tries to figure out what the hell is going on).

Annabeth - Okay so for Annabeth I actually have two candidates: Apollo and Prometheus. Apollo is the God of Knowledge which makes since and I feel like her godly gift instead of it being a cap it would be like a special bow and arrow or something (not sure).

As for Prometheus, he's the Titan of Forethought and Fire (Kinda?). I feel like it would make the dynamic between Luke and her interesting especially when she gets claimed and everyone's wary of her because of her connections to the titans and Luke. Maybe her being able to see glimpses into the future (in certain situations, maybe only her own plans?) Nothing too ridiculous. Maybe she can only see possibilities or maybe only the forethought only applies to herself and can only applies to others the more she knows them.

Despite this I'm actually leaning towards Apollo (not because I want to make this as easy as possible for me to write). But I feel like Annabeth being shunned and people being wary of her doesn't fit her so I'm thinking Apollo (maybe having her Patron being Athena??)

Grover - Now this one on the other hand idk. Demeter!Grover sounded sort of cool but I'm not sure. I kind of wanted to give him a godly parent but I feel like it takes away from his whole Pan arc which was his main arc so now I'm not so sure. Might keep 'em a Satyr.

Luke - Now I actually got this from a poll of a post but Hades!Luke or Dionysus!Luke is definitely interesting. I feel like it would change the dynamic of Percy and Luke completely, especially hades. It would also require some tweaking of the prophecy which it would not be necessarily the next child of the eldest gods but just the one that fits the mold I guess? Noticing how it also fits the evil hades stereotype for his kid to be the bad guy lol. Hades possibly refraining from claiming him until maybe like right before his quest with a smug look on his face but Luke just ends up doing... nothing. And he's sort of pissed at Luke because "wdym you're not the child of prophecy??"

Ethan - Still going with Zeus for this. I really liked my Zeus!Ethan idea so I want to stick with it for sure (https://www.tumblr.com/juniorig0327/760067385645580289/zeuspercy-and-possible-siblings?source=share)

Nico (& Thalia because I don't really have any ideas for them yet) - Ah yes, Nico and Thalia. Now there's a few reasons I sorta don't have an idea for them.

One, they're godly parents are sort of dependent on Percy. Two, I feel like a huge part of their characters are being big three kids (unless i exploited the loophole in the prophecy and having the elder gods be The Big 3 + Demeter, Hera, Hestia + Aphrodite??)

Hypothetically if I did do that though I'd probably make Nico a child of Aphrodite with slight water affiliation or maybe have him embody the war-like epithet.

As for Thalia, I think if I kept Percy a son of Poseidon, Thalia would have to be a daughter of Zeus. The only other big three kid I could see her being is a Poseidon Kid to be honest.

That's it for my rambling (for now). Just uh, ignore all the other godswap posts maybe? (I kinda dont want to delete them).

Hopefully my last post for today (I've been saying that to myself alot today lmao).

#juniorig #percy jackson #pjo hoo toa #trials of apollo #godswap #greek gods pjo #heroes of olympus #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #zeus pjo #zeus!ethan #legacy percy jackson #demigod sally jackson #godly parent swap

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psalacanthea · 11 months ago

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Blog Nutritional Info

General Content Warning: 21+, marijuana, alcohol, sex (I never post sexually explicit writing without a cut to hide it), blood but not real gore, bones and monsters and bats. Spiders maybe rarely but my friend hates them so I avoid it. I'll talk about what I feel like, and post what I want to.

For Dragon Age Posting, see @thefailguard

Most of my writing is adult writing, for adults. Content warnings are provided in the fics. Don't feel obligated to stay following me just because you read, I post a lot of recipes and random-ass crap, and that's not for everyone.

Bluesky: psalacanthea

I do:

Have an open ask box policy. Its current state is:

every Sunday I do free three card spread tarot drawings through ask, public or private at our mutual discretion.

am currently accepting prompts or requests about OCs, but do not guarantee response

Allow DMs from people who I do not follow, as long as u aren't a dick.

I do not:

Write x Reader or in second person. Please do not send me those prompts, I understand that it's very popular but it's not for me.

Hesitate, bitch. You will be blocked immediately if you act like a fool. My spoons are too low for bs. Treat people in fandom with dignity and kindness, thx.

Currently Writing:

Baldur's Gate 3- Tav x Astarion, Dark Urge x Gortash (and Dark Urge x Abdirak)

Dragon Age- DA:A- Cousland Warden x Nathaniel Howe, Hawke x Varric

In-Progress Fics:

Dissonance and Debauchery: The Drama of an Ill-Fated Bard

Follows the plot of the game Baldur's Gate 3. Tav (Zynatheri Rivati) x Astarion. Zyn is a surface-raised genderfluid Drow bard who habitually hides her own identity with magic. Her past is just as murky as her face, and she clings to her lies with a desperate grip. Much like her friendships, her lovers are all in passing and without an ounce of sentiment. Surely a self-centered, amoral vampire is using her just as much as she's using him, which means Astarion is safe. Right?

Status: On Hiatus

Vampires, Romance, and Other Dead Things

Modern AU of Baldur's Gate 3, vaguely follows Astarion's personal quest. Tav (Zyn) x Astarion. Astarion ends up attacked in the alley outside of Zyn's apartment and she drunkenly rescues him, battered, bloody, and bitten. Neither of them realize that staying the night in her apartment means he's condemning himself to an unlife sleeping on her couch. Zyn isn't thrilled about that, and neither is the vampire that turned Astarion.

Cazador wants his spawn back.

Status: On Hiatus

Belladonna- The Dark Urge

A series of one-shots detailing the past and game story of my Dark Urge. An impulse-riddled, violent murderer hell-bent on appearing untouchable and calm, she dwells within silent halls and is served by a cult of voiceless, cannibalistic maidens tended like flowers in a garden. Belladonna fights the power of her Father not to rebel, but to be capable of fulfilling his Will. For being the flesh of Bhaal is not only a privilege, but a struggle, the constant urge to kill, rend, destroy, and breed nearly antithetical to any real progress.

Orin, her sister, seems not to understand the price, and gleefully indulges all her urges. Enver Gortash, her would-be partner in more than one sense, is no better with his constant tests and suggestions towards rebellion. And then there is the Elder Brain, who whispers in her ear that glory in the end may be hers, so that all the world may see her as a pure, inviolate goddess in her own right.

But she knows that in the end, all things must end in death. Orin, Enver, even the Elder Brain will all die. For she is the Flesh of Bhaal, and although she fights against her Father's gifts, in the end it is all for Him.

Then she gets amnesia. Oops.

Status: Updates Randomly when she forcibly takes over my brain. Chronological status not guaranteed. Next might be a 4 chapter fic. In progress.

Dragon Age

Reforged in Dragon's Fire

Follows the story line of Dragon Age Awakening. After the death of the Archdemon, Phoebe Cousland has been transmuted from the bright, brilliant girl that Nathaniel Howe remembers into something bitter, cold, and hard. Although she's saved his life and made him a Warden, she cannot seem to stop herself from trying to place the crimes of his family upon his shoulders.

Since a young age, everyone knew she was meant to marry Nathaniel's brother Thomas. But the betrayal of war showed his true face, and all of her rage, confusion, and anger has finally found a target in his brother. Nathaniel, for his part, struggles with the revelation of his father's deeds, and the lies his family made him complicit in.

The ghosts of the past must be laid to rest before there is any hope of a future.

Status: On Hiatus Until December. Thanks for your patience! <3

A Sky of Shattered Stars

After five years of running from demons, aided by spirits and rebel gods, Hawke is finally free of the Fade. She's home, back with Varric, but when you're too afraid to sleep and your body has forgotten what reality feels like, recovery is hard. While Hawke fights with her own body and her fear that she'll never truly recover, Varric is dealing with demons of his own.

His unresolved grief haunts them, trapping her in the empty halls of the Viscount's mansion.

But there's a conspiracy in the streets of Kirkwall, whispers of the Viscount's misdeeds. They say he lies, that he uses the dead Champion's name to cover his own grasping for power-- laughable, Hawke knows, but infuriating. How dare they use her to hurt Varric?

Status: Updating, finishing the space between Inquisition and Veilguard

#semi-updated!

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herzblutballade · 2 years ago

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Whumpuary Day 10: Hidden Injury / Blood / Recovery

Language: English Genre: an attempt at whump I guess (the last one is pretty much fluffy tho, I am obviously not good at sticking to my initial plans lmao) Character: my OC Cae (+ mentions of other OCs of mine and two of my friend Soph's OCs)

CN:

[1st drabble] blood, wounds, cuts, bite marks, abuse, manipulation, toxic family, mention of food, character struggling to eat

[2nd drabble] self-harm, cutting, blood, unhealthy relationship/dating habits, mention of food, character barely eating

[3rd drabble] flashback, kissing/hand holding/general intimate moment, mention of food, mention of blood

Author's Note: Gonna be honest, these are some purely self-indulgent snippets of my bby Cae having dinner with different people at very different points throughout his life (from abused youth, to young adult with unhealthy coping mechanisms, to somehow vaguely functioning person with a found family, I guess) and I'm not sure any of it means much to anyone except for me and @marmeltier lol. Also don't mind my weird habit of writing things in 2nd person singular even though they're not meant to address the reader, I know it's unusual, but I like it, so I will probably keep doing it. 🤙 Thought I'd share this anyway bc @whumpuary was the main inspiration. The other inspiration mentioned below is apparently a quote by Brynne Rebele-Henry, from »Autobiography of a Venus Figure« (according to a quick google search). These are 200, 300 and 400 words exactly btw. Enjoy <3

***

Blood didn’t faze me. I could slash myself open and still make it to dinner.

***

You’re sitting at a dinner table with the royal family — your family, technically. Your relatives. Most of them still don’t feel like family at all, even though you have been living with them for years at this point.

You’re trying your best to keep your act together and just eat, table manners and proper etiquette and all, but the food feels incredibly dry in your throat, you barely manage to choke any of it down, and all you can think about are the fresh wounds you’re hiding underneath your clothes: Swollen bite marks in various shades of blue and purple; deep red scab that sticks to fabric, feels like it tears and crumbles with every movement; messily sewn-up gashes that still burn every time you lean back in your chair.

Avien is smiling at you from across the table, and while it might seem innocuous to everyone else, to you, every silent smile of hers is a reminder so clear you can almost hear it in her voice, sending shivers down your spine: Smile for me, brother dearest. Smile through the pain.

You know what happens if you don’t.

So you do. You always do.

***

You’re sitting at a dinner table in your new favorite tavern with pretty girl number three in this city — a lovely girl, really, easy to get attached to, perfect to keep your heart so busy falling in love that you forget you should be falling apart.

You’re playing with your food more than eating it, completely focused on your date instead: Watching her closely, leaning towards her, listening attentively, with such interest it almost feels fake even though it isn’t. Every word from her lips is another chance to wipe your own thoughts away, every sentence a gracious break from the chaos in your head; every single thing she could ever say is better than what you silently say to yourself when it’s quiet. So, you listen. Pour all of your attention and dedication into another person, like you’re so used to doing.

She doesn’t know about the cuts that run all the way down your thigh. Completely unaware of the wounded flesh still trying to heal, she puts her hand on your leg as she throws her head back and laughs at a joke you made. You suppress a wince and smile instead, welcoming the burning sensation of her touch through the fabric of your trousers; it reminds you of the wave of peace that washed over you when you put the blade to your skin earlier that day, the moment of release you had craved so much you were willing to spill your blood for it. That memory alone is enough to make you feel a little bit less tense, a little bit more lighthearted.

Blood doesn’t faze you, and neither does pain. Not if it’s yours.

You just slashed yourself open and still made it to dinner, after all.

***

You’re sitting at a dinner table with the people you love — your dinner table, to be precise. You happily took on the task of cooking for the whole bunch, and now that everyone is full and satisfied — even those who don’t need regular food to survive, yourself included —, you get to lean back in your chair and watch your loved ones enjoy themselves. Everyone is there, except for the kids; they have been sleeping for a while already, so it’s up to the adults to fill the room with warm laughter and lively chatter now, and so far, your found family is doing an amazing job of that.

You watch Nayati and Alyssé clear the table, both so preoccupied with whatever they’re jokingly arguing about they seem to barely even notice they’re doing a chore nobody expected them to do. Cynthia, who has also been watching, throws you an amused smile across the room. You’re just about to smile back when suddenly, a flood of fractured memories takes over: Scenes, smells, sounds, sensations long gone, brought up again out of nowhere. None of the sequences last long enough for you to truly grasp; they pass you by so fast you’re left with nothing but the faint taste of blood and the feeling of a decades-old scream stuck in your throat.

You only realize you were starting to tense and stare off into nothing when Lynire’s voice right next to you brings you back to the present. »Are you okay?«, she asks as she gently squeezes your leg beneath the table.

»Yeah.« You nod and put your hand over hers while you take a moment to look around, remind yourself where you are: Home. You’re home, you’re safe, you’re surrounded by your loved ones. You’re okay. »Just realizing how lucky I am, that’s all.« You turn towards Lynire and press a kiss to her cheek. »Thanks for checking in, mi vida.«

Your eyes meet for a long moment, and when she seems satisfied with whatever she was looking for, convinced you told the truth, her lips curve into a soft smile.

Wordlessly, she interlaces her fingers with yours, hand still resting on your leg, and you can’t help but smile, too.

Honest words and honest smiles — that surely is a lot of luck for someone like you.

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trenchcoat-of-hats · 2 years ago

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we did this based on our own system, and it's purely self-indulgent, but we're sharing it with the world anyway!

TW for lots of mentions of non-specific drugs

Klaus could hear voices in his head. He was used to hearing voices around him all the time, but this was different. Vaguely familiar, but he didn't remember anything like this.

He expected he'd one day lose it, but not so soon. Although it also didn't feel like he was hallucinating voices either; he knew what that felt like because of certain drugs doing it to him.

They were all talking to each other, they seemed confused. As weird as it felt, Klaus couldn't help listening into their conversation.

"I'm pretty sure we're dreaming."

"Definitely not. What did you guys expect when we jumped through that portal in headspace?"

"Not to end up back here. What year is it anyway?"

"We're an adult, so that's neat."

"Not neat. The body feels like shit."

"Well I, for one, am happy. We can actually get high now!"

"Omg, true!"

"Seriously?"

All different voices, but they all sounded like Klaus, apart from one sounding younger, but other than that he just somehow knew they were all separate voices. It was like he could feel other people residing in his mind. But that was ridiculous.

"It's not ridiculous, it's not even as rare as people think."

Oh great, now they were talking to him.

"Look, why don't you just relax, sit back, and let mummy take the wheel?"

"What?" Klaus replied out loud.

"We just want to front properly, like take control of the body."

"Yeah. We wanna. Wanna get high."

"Yeah. What do you have?"

"I'm not just gonna let you take control of my body?? What even are you?" Klaus said, blinking as if it would make the voices go away.

"I'm Klaus."

"They said 'what', not 'who'."

"Sorry, but we are you. Kind of? What are we, guys?"

"We're… copies of you, based on what we saw of the show you're from."

"And fanfiction!"

"Yeah. Lots of fanfiction too." Klaus could feel that voice side-eye another of the voices.

"Since when was I in a show?" Klaus asked, whilst ignoring the part of him that was happy people wrote fanfiction about him.

"Multiverse."

"The show's called 'Multiverse'?" Klaus asked.

"No, dumbass, because of the multiverse, there's a show about you in another universe, and that's where we come from."

"And now you're here to invade my brain. Fun," he said bitterly. Because the universe had decided he needed yet another part of his body taken without his consent.

"No- That's not- We're not here to take your brain. We don't even know how we got here. But now that we're here, we just wanna hang out. Right, guys? And trust me, hanging out while you're in the one body will get more natural with time."

"And might I add that it's way better sharing a body with people than having to be alone all the time?"

"I beg to differ."

"You shut up."

"Sorry."

Klaus sucked in a breath. "Fine. I'll give you trippy fever dream demons a chance. What are your names?"

"Klaus."

"...How am I meant to distinguish you…?"

"I'm Bagel."

"And I'm Keres, and that's Kassian."

"Hi," Kassian said.

"We kinda just distinguish the others by what season they're from, and there's teen Klaus, that one Klaus from a murder mystery AU, and the Klaus who's married to Dave… So he gets a different last name," Keres explained.

"Oh shit," said the Klaus who was married to this 'Dave' person, because Klaus just somehow knew who was speaking. "I have to get back to my son."

"He'll be fine, he's got Dave," said one of the others named Klaus.

"I know, but I can't just be away forever."

"How about we figure this out after we get high?" Keres suggested a little impatiently.

"Fine, do that, but I'm going into the innerworld if I can find it."

Within moments, Klaus felt three of the voices just disappear.

"So you don't know who Dave is?" Keres asked Klaus.

"Nope."

"Don't worry, I don't either," said the 'murder mystery AU' Klaus.

"Same," said the teenage Klaus. "I mean we all know of him because we've excessively–and I mean excessively–watched our source. But I never met him in my source."

"Well anyway, that's interesting," said Keres. "How old are you?"

"I'm-" Klaus began, but before he could finish, his girlfriend opened the door.

"Hey, babe," she said, and then frowned at him, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I just had a bad dream."

"Alright. I'm heading to work. Don't steal any of my shit."

"I thought you trusted me."

"Not when you look that shaken. See you later."

And with that, Klaus was left alone with the voices again.

"Anyone remember her?" asked Kassian.

"'Course not," said Bagel.

"Back to business, I don't actually care how old you are, what drugs do you have?" Keres asked.

"Jesus, you guys are needy. I'm already high, hence the lack of ghosts."

"Oh yeah. We spent so long without them we forgot they're a thing."

"Didn't you just write a fanfiction about yourself and ghosts?" accused the murder mystery Klaus.

"No, that was Klaus."

"Am I the only one concerned about the fact none of us noticed this body is high?" teen Klaus asked.

"I'm not on something very strong," Klaus shrugged. "And can we not call me 'this body'?"

"I'm not talking about you, I'm talking about your body. Our body."

"Fun…"

Klaus felt another of the Klauses appear again. He now knew, somehow, that it was apparently Klaus from 'season two'. "Guys… I have bad news. I have a feeling we're not from another universe. I think this brain made us."

"That can't be true, we remember everything. We even remember our life before we existed in the system. It had to have been real," Keres said.

"We remembered our source life and that wasn't real."

"But we didn't remember it in that much detail."

"How much detail do you remember our 'real' life in?"

"What are you trying to say?"

"You know what I found in that innerworld? The fucking afterlife. You know the one. There was the little girl on the bike, and other people who I'm assuming are other headmates."

"Oh shit…"

"So this guy's brain made its own version of a place they've been to a million times in their life. What difference does that make?" Bagel asked.

"The difference is I don't think we've really died before. l think we've always been a system, the afterlife is our headspace, and we're new headmates."

"What about season 3?" teen Klaus asked. "Those were some pretty solid deaths."

"Please, season 3 was shit, let's not count that as canon. Besides, if this is real life, none of what happened in the show has happened, and it might never. So Dave…"

"...Might not have been real," Keres finished for him.

"That's bullshit," Kassian snapped. "Like I said, we're probably dreaming."

Bagel counted the body's fingers, then pushed on the wall. "Nope."

"Hey, where'd the Klaus who 'owns' this body go?" asked murder mystery Klaus.

"Probably stress switched out," said season 2 Klaus. "Because this is a system that's been functioning for a long time."

"So my boyfriend's not real either?" Keres asked bitterly.

"I guess not. Sorry."

The Klauses were silent for a minute.

Dave's husband hopped back into front.

"Ah. I guess we've all figured it out now," he said.

"Hey, it's not that bad," season 3 Klaus had followed after him. "Might as well make the most of it."

"The most of what? I fucking hated this life," Keres spat, getting murmurs of agreement.

"At least we've got a cock now," teen Klaus grinned.

"Oh, great. Now I can get double dysphoria when I front…" Keres muttered.

"It's going to be okay, guys," Dave's husband said. "We'll find a way to get back to our life, get back to our system. In the meantime… We could try to find a way to make our life here less shit?"

"I wanna see our siblings," S2 said. "We can make amends with them."

"Okay, perfect."

"Can we break up with our girlfriend?" murder mystery asked.

"She's not ours to break up with."

"Klaus won't mind," Bagel said.

"Except we won't have anywhere to live if we break up with her," Keres said.

The Klauses were brought into silence again, realising what all this means.

"...I'm sure it'll be fine!" said S3 over-enthusiastically.

Having no other choice, the Klauses settled into this new system. They tried their best to get everyone to cooperate with each other and live a better life than they had in their exomemories. Somehow, it worked out for the most part. Except they had no idea how to get back to their own system…

Prompt #568

Several introjects of the same being somehow find themselves inside their source self's mind. Now they must adjust them to a new life as a system while adjusting themselves to their new – old? – life as their source.

Bonus: at least one of them is questioning in the background if they still count as introjects if they're back in their original body now.

#idk who wrote this we've been blurry for days #fun fact we're monocon but we only know how to write polycon systems

81 notes · View notes

pedgito · 2 years ago

Note

How abouttttt edging Tom until he's pouty and crying

author’s note: this is purely self indulgence. i tried to mimic some of tom’s dialect in my prose without going too cornish, so i hope it isn’t too terrible. i’m so horribly american that i didn’t want to butcher the shit out of it lol. anyways, love tom grant, he’s supreme boyfriend material.

cw: 18+ (minors dni) strangers to lovers, meet-cutes, cooking for each other, oral (m receiving), edging (to tom), grinding over clothes (sorta), talks about past relationships/cheating (on both of them), tom is a sweetie, if i missed anything lmk

word count: 4.7k

You meet him by chance, out at the market for your daily errands. He’s always dressed in his work uniform, seemingly jumping straight from work to grab a few things for the night or the rest of his week, arms always full of items because he refuses to grab a basket and he’ll pile them high until the food is toppling to the floor. He’s stubborn, you can see it in his face as he squats down to pick up the unlucky can of vegetables that crashes against the tile, denting the corner.

You don’t introduce yourself the first time, grabbing the can and handing it back to him with a smile—he looks a little dejected, pouting at the kind gesture but mumbling a quiet thanks, regardless.

But, you see him everyday for a few weeks and suddenly you’re wondering how someone you’ve never met can be so interesting. He’s kind to the people stocking the shelves, the woman at the counter, but he doesn’t speak a word to you.

That’s why, after a long, dreadful three weeks of tense eye contact and awkward encounters, you finally take that plunge.

He’s reaching for the same box of cereal as you, caught up in his own thoughts so much that he doesn’t even realize you are leaning down beside him—you try to stumble out an apology but it dies on your lips.

“Those are your favorite?” He asks curiously, grabbing the box with ease and handing it over. You stall for a moment, wondering if you’d imagined him talking to you—he could’ve been talking to someone behind you, anyone but you. His eyes are locked on you when you glance up.

“How’d you know?” You ask, clutching the box to your chest with a kind nod. It was the last one.

“You’ve grabbed the same box every Monday,” He notes, pointing at the box of cereal, “but—never any milk?”

You snort a soft laugh, being caught up in your own weird ways of eating. He didn’t seem like he was judging, but it was something he couldn’t help but notice.

“Soggy cereal makes me ill at the thought of it.” You confess, “plus, it’s so much better when you can just eat it by the handful.”

He smiles wide, tongue poking through his teeth slightly.

“I’m Tom,” He introduces himself, “consider that last box an apology for being an ass to you the past few weeks.”

“Thank you,” You reply sweetly, patting the box lightly, “though, I definitely touched it first. I would’ve pried it from your hands if it came down to that.”

Tom laughs, shifting the weight of his groceries in his arms. And like clockwork, a can falls to the floor. You can’t help but take a small jab at him as you reach for it.

“Are you allergic to the baskets?” You ask playfully, “It would squash this whole ‘feeling too awkward to apologize’ when I have to pick up the stuff that you drop.”

Tom shakes his head slightly, a weak and unintelligible answer.

“Unless you’re doing it on purpose.” You suspect.

It had taken Tom a while to get over Ruth, forgive her, allow himself to rid his trailer of her things and move on. The only thing he hadn’t managed was allowing himself to return back to normalcy, talk to his friends, meet a nice girl—when Tom isn’t working, he’s home, unless he’s here and sometimes, the trips were unnecessary, just an innocent hope that he might run into you. But, his nerves constantly got the better of him, the words choking up in his throat. He wasn’t sure why today was different, but it was.

And while he was on that high, he takes a chance before his mind tries to talk him out of it.

“You’ve caught me,” He admits humorously, “there’s probably better ways to ask someone on a date, but uh—“

“Loads,” You interrupt with a hoaky smile, “but lucky for you, I’m interested.”

“Really?” He perks up instantly, nearly dropping his groceries in one giant pile. “Oh, well um—I didn’t think I’d get this far—“

You laugh at his honesty, pointing at his jacket pocket wearily, noting the outline of his phone, “Mind if I—“ He nods, angling his hip toward you to grab it. He rambled off his lock code without question and you entered your information swiftly before returning it back to him.

“I’m a bit rushed but call me later?”

“Uh, yeah—yes, I will.”

He does, which isn’t much of a surprise. You’d been anxious about the call since you left the store, wondering when was the last thing you were this caught up over a boy you knew nothing about. He called you that night, your name falling from his mouth like velvet—he sounds more relaxed, less wound up. You weren’t sure how stressful his job was, or what his life was like, but it’s a difference from the man you had ran into earlier.

“Are you opposed to a home-cooked meal?” He asks, straight to the point. You huff slightly, debating on the question to torture him slightly, the silence lingering.

“Seems a little forward, yeah?” You tease, laughing floating through the receiver and making him smile on the other end. “It’s fine, Tom. I really don’t mind.”

“You sure?” He asks for reassurance.

After Ruth, he doubted almost everything he did—wondering if he was doing too much, or not enough. It was never good enough.

“If I’m being honest, a home-cooked meal sounds much better than dressing up and going out to a fancy place to eat.”

“As if I could afford fine dining on my salary.” Tom jokes, settling into a sense of comfort in the conversation, a lull that felt natural. “But yes—I’m an excellent cook, so you have nothing to worry over.”

“I’m putting my life in your hands, Tom.” You tell him carefully, though the affection is still there. “Don’t be the first boy to put me in the hospital with food poisoning. I’ll never be able to forgive you for that.”

“Fucks sake—I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

The curse sounds too dirty falling from his mouth, tarnishing his rather innocent, boyish looks.

“What time is good for you?”

You hum softly, pondering on how long you should make him wait. But, you were too impatient yourself.

“How about tomorrow? Say, six?” You suggest.

“Perfect.” He responds softly.

The date quickly evolves into something that you and Tom didn’t really plan on—and it’s a silent agreement that settles between you two as that date turns into several dinners over the course of a couple months, either at your place or his, venting about your day and getting to know each other better than anyone else you knew in town.

You weren’t familiar with the place, having only lived there a few months, but Tom had told you everything you needed to know—where to eat, where to shop, even if you always ended up at his place anyways.

And you realize rather quickly why you both latched onto each other without hesitation—there was a weird yearn for companionship, or friendship even, that neither of you acknowledged audibly, but sensed within each other.

Tom has empty pictures frames stacked on his bedside table that he doesn’t mention, even when you two end up on his bed one night after a particularly filling meal, listening to him complain about how much the weather had been bothering him.

“I live right off the beach, you know—it would be nice to go but the water is always freezing.” Tom complains, tracing the outline of your fingers with his own, hands held straight up in front of you as you both stared toward the ceiling.

“So I suppose streaking into the ocean is out of the question for you?” You ask, only slightly joking. Tom turns to look at you, eyes comically wide as his movements still. “Tom, I’m fucking with you.”

Tom looks away briefly, face contorted in a semblance of pain, like maybe you hit a sore subject. It fades quickly, replaced by a flat emotion of content.

“Okay, fess up.” You pester him, turning on your side and propping your head up into your hand. “What’s got you so bothered?”

“Nothin’,” He laughs awkwardly, releasing your hand to replace it with his own as he settles them against his stomach, soft cotton rubbing at his fingertips, “s’just bad memories.”

“Well, whoever it was, I’m sorry.” You tell him honestly. “They’re missing out.”

Tom smiles sadly, looking over at you briefly.

“Piss off,” He says softly, shoving at your thigh with no real strength, “s’not fair.”

“What isn’t?”

“You gettin’ to flirt with me, but you always tease me when I do the same.” He explains, cheeks blushing a faint shade of pink.

It’s the similar pink that happens when he’s out in the wind for too long, settling in the apples of his cheeks and staying for a while.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asks curiously, “M’not trying to pry or anything, but—“

“Think I held her back,” Tom admits, “She loved me in the beginning.”

“And it just faded out?” You try to perceive where the story is going, but Tom shakes his head.

“Nah, it was kinda sudden.” He explains, glaring up at the ceiling, “I don’t see her for a while and then she comes back and it’s like—she hates being here. It was good those couple days but I think whatever she’d been dealin’ with had been there the whole time.”

“That’s not your fault,” You tell him, “her problems aren’t your problems, whatever they were.”

“Took me a while to put it all together, but she thought I was cheating—I mean, who does that?” Tom asks with a strain to his voice, frustration lining his tone. It seemed like a sore subject, but Tom powered through. If he didn’t want to talk about it, he wouldn’t.

“Cheat? Loads, Tom.” You emphasize, “And I’m speaking from experience, it’s not fun.”

“I’m not like that,” Tom insists, “I couldn’t—I didn’t even think about that stuff. I loved her.”

“Did she cheat on you?” You ask carefully, wondering if you're straying too far into territory that wasn’t yours to venture into.

“I dunno,” He shrugs, “She started hangin’ out with this girl and getting teasy for no reason—maybe she expected it to be different here.”

“I like it here,” You shrug, “it’s quiet—people are nice.”

Tom smiles at that, noticing how your eyes trailed toward him. You sit up slowly, crossing your legs in front of you.

“Felt like I was forcing her to love me,” Tom says, voice teetering of sadness that clogged his throat, “some days we’d be okay and then others she would throw herself at me—like she was tryin’ to make up for acting distant.”

“How so?” You ask.

People showed their love differently, so you couldn’t really judge. You were just trying to understand.

“It’s embarrassing,” Tom admits, shaking his head at the thought, “she came home late one night and tried to—“ Tom gestures to his groin vaguely, “I couldn’t get into it.”

“That’s not your fault,” You shrug, backpedaling for a moment, “well, technically—yeah. But, if you weren’t feeling it, that’s not something for you to get upset about.”

“And then sex was,” Tom starts, looking over at you, gauging your expression, “—is it weird if I talk about this? Don’t want you feelin’ uncomfortable.”

“Tom, we’ve talked about everything. You’re not gonna have me running away at the first mention of sex. You thinkin’ I’m some kinda prude?” It’s teasing and playfully in tone, but Tom is straight-faced, sincere. “It’s not weird.”

“We’d kiss for a while, she’d make some excuse to go to the bathroom—brushing’ her teeth or something else, but then she’d come back and she couldn’t look at me.” Tom says, eyes straining slightly as he roamed around the room briefly, blinking the dryness out of his eyes, “anyways, ‘nough that.”

You laugh slightly, rocking in place as you stare down at him.

It’s the most he’s opened up since you met him, part of it feels forced—like he’s trying to clear up for his standoffish behavior, why he comes off a little forward, but it’s never bothered you.

“Got a pretty lady right here and I’m boring her to death over my ex-girlfriend.” He says, taking a stab at himself, “That’s not kind of me.”

“Kind?” You tease, poking at his side, “You? Never.”

“What about you?” Tom asks innocently, turning on his side now, knees grazing his torso. His right hand rests against your leg as he settles in a similar position to how you were earlier, paying full attention to you. “Some bloke break your heart?”

“Break? Not really. He was an ass and slept around on me every week. Took me a few months to catch on. But, there was never anything there.” You explain, “I got a nice job out here, destroyed his ego when I dumped him in front of friends, and never looked back.”

Tom grins widely, “Damn, that’s cruel.”

“He was fuckin’ them in my apartment. That shit was justified.” You tell him, the endearment is a little patronizing on your tongue. “Don’t cross me, Tom. You’ll regret it.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.” Tom replies flirtatiously, letting you drag your fingers through his short cropped curls, eyes falling shut at the touch. “Wouldn’t ever—you’re too sweet of a girl.”

“As far as you know.” You counter, his eyes peeking open briefly to look at you, teeth peeking through his smile. It makes your heart melt, his features soften every time he looks at you. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” Tom asks, knowing full well.

“Giving me the eyes,” You chuckle softly, “If you want to fuck me just say so—I hate dancing around that shit.”

“You’re something.” Tom notes, squeezing at your thigh gently.

The touch had become normal, something you both seeked after long meals and tiring work days. But this, it had your stomach fluttering and ignited a deep, unfurling pit in your stomach.

“What, are you scared of me?” You ask teasingly, flicking at the collar of his shirt as you graze his chin. It had only ever been playful touches, some suggestive touching and the one time that he kissed you on the cheek when you left his place after a late night, delirious from sleep and not really thinking.

Still, you thought about it every time you looked at him. Tom was as honest as they came, open to anything, willing to do whatever to make you comfortable. It was everything you weren’t used to but also everything you wanted.

“I don’t bite,” You tell him quietly, “not unless you ask for it.”

Tom pulls his bottom lip between his teeth slightly, smothering the laugh that escapes, attempting to cover up for the obvious surprised noise that tried to come out.

“And if I do?”

Your eyebrows raise slightly, daring him.

“Because I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t.” He admits, his hand trailing dangerously higher up your thigh, your hands having moved behind you, watching his movements.

“Then I’d say you’re in for it,” You confess, “you may not survive me, you know.”

“Soundin’ like a good way to go.” Tom replies confidently, his fingers dipping past the hem of your sweatpants, grazing the thin fabric of your underwear. “Show me?”

He’s not asking for anything in particular. He wants everything,

You bite at the inside of you check, considering how deeply this could affect your friendship with Tom—and as much as you tried to think about the cons, it was outweighed by the pros. It was a long, endless list that you couldn’t even begin to speak on—the only thing that mattered was that Tom wanted this, just as badly as you did.

You hadn’t been with anyone in a few months, let alone touched in any type of way—the kiss on the cheek was the closest you got to anything in a while. So, even with Tom’s gentle, fleeting touches, you were already willing to do just about anything to prove to Tom how much he deserved to have someone who cared, somehow who wasn’t going to flee from him without an explanation.

You hand grazes over his jeans testingly, the fabric worn from constant use, frayed at the thighs and thinning. He’s already hard under the line of his zipper, jaw clenching at the slightest bit of friction.

“How long?” You ask curiously, undoing his jeans silently.

Tom watches on, turning to his back to give you more room.

“A couple months,” He admits, “got on with a girl out at the bar after I had too many beers, don’t remember much if’m being honest.”

You nod, Tom speaks softly, “And Ruth—Ruth, she never liked to—“

“Touch you?”

“Or I touch her, not really.”

You tilt your head, wondering who could resist someone like him. He was sweet to the core, staring up at you with his hopeless eyes, wide with adoration.

“Let’s fix that, yeah?” You ask, earning a jerky nod from Tom.

He lifts his head slightly, propping himself up on his arms as he watches you tug at his jeans until he can kick them the rest of the way, your hand coming up to cup over the strained tent in his underwear, squeezing gently.

“That’s, fuck—“ Tom sighs, “this isn’t going to last long, ‘m sorry.”

“It will.” You assure him, smiling with a devious intent that should scare him away, but it only entices him further.

You settle over his legs, spread wide on your knees as you pull his underwear down the rest of the way, cock springing free and upright toward his stomach, the tip matching the vibrant blush in his face. He stares up at you nervously, hands dragging up his thighs teasingly.

“You’ve got a pretty cock, Tom.” You comment, watching as he stumbles to find his words. “Anyone ever told you that?”

He shakes his head slowly, your delicate fingers wrapping around the base, the skin like soft velvet under your touch. He’s not nearly as good at keeping his composure as you thought, letting out a small groan as you touched him.

You squeeze gently, hand slipping up to squeeze at the the tip, thumb rubbing over the slit at the head of his cock, rubbing the small amount of precum there, making the slide down all the more torturous.

“Love, that’s so fuckin’—“

You nod knowingly, just as affected despite that lack of touch. Your thighs squeezed together desperately, mouth watering at the thought of him heavy against your tongue, what he tasted like—it was impossible not to think about.

“Can I—or do you not like that?”

Tom doesn’t hesitate, not even for a second as he watches you eye his cock in your hand, licking your lips as you parted them.

“Please, please—“ He all but rushes out, “that’s, yeah, of course.”

You snort at his eagerness, relaxing himself over your lap as you take him in your mouth slowly. First your tongue, dragging it up the line of his shaft, swirling over the head slowly, repeating the process a few more times until you finally decide to take him in your mouth, the moan that escapes him is desperate, noisy, need—his fingers dragging at your hair, pushing it away gently. His hands follow the slow bob of your head, never pushing or pulling, only feeling.

And he’s mouthy, mewling all sorts of noises alongside his words. It doesn’t surprise, given how much he can talk your ear off. Though, this is so much better.

“God, it’s been ages, fuck—“ Tom grunt softly, head falling back against the pillow, fingers rubbing tenderly through your hair, silence filled with the obscene noises of your mouth on his dick, “told ya I won’t last long.”

You lean down briefly, taking his balls into your mouth, tongue rolling over the tight skin and forces and strained moan from his chest, the grip on your hair tightening slightly. You can feel the muscles in his thighs flex, the quickening in his breath—so you pull back, a vivacious grin on your face.

“What?” Tom asks flippantly, his deep cornish accent peeking through, “S’goin on? I was there.”

“I know,” You nod slowly, “It’s the whole point.”

“M’sorry?” He asks, eyebrows falling together in confusion.

“Have you never edged yourself?” You ask curiously. “Got close and stopped? Nothing?”

“That sounds horrid,” Tom admits, “Isn’t cumming the whole point?”

“Well, yeah—“ You squeeze at the base of him gently, punching a huff out of his chest as his eyes roll toward the ceiling, hands clenched into fists at his side, “but this is more fun, don’t you think?”

“Sounds like you want to torture me.” Tom notes, losing the last bit of sanity he had left when your mouth closes over the head of his cock again, tongue swirling lightly. “—N’ here I was calling you sweet.”

You grin darkly, “I can make you cry, if that’s what you really want.” It wouldn’t be the first time, definitely not the last. Most of the time you did it to be petty, bring a man to a primal state of begging just to embarrass them. But for Tom, it was more than that.

He’d never really been touched, not like this. He’s had his fair share of encounters, and his relationship with Ruth spanned a long part of his teenage years, but there was always something missing. There was always a sort of shame behind wanting things for himself and not asking, feeling like an ass for voicing his needs, so he didn’t. You didn’t need to ask him because you saw it everyday, always putting himself second for anything and anyone. Besides, you wouldn’t mind forcing a few tears out of him, a few breathless pleas.

He was already halfway there, it seemed. Tom had his eyes squeezed shut, fists still clenched at his sides as you bobbed your head slowly, eyes flicking up to watch the muscles in his jaw tense, blush traveling down his neck.

“Gotta slow down,” He begs weakly, “s’too much.”

“You sound alright to me,” You tell him snarkily, licking a long slow stipe up his cock, “should I stop?”

“No, no, no—“ Tom quickly answers, hands reaching for your head as you move, “just—I,” He sighs, feeling like a sap for saying what’s on his mind, “I’d rather have you up here.”

Sex wasn’t totally off the table, but it hadn’t been on your mind.

“Do you have condoms?” You ask, earning a slow head shake from him. The last thing you needed was a baby by someone you’ve only known for less than six months.

“You can uh—you don’t have to take your clothes off or anything,” Tom starts, “we could, just like—“

“I haven’t done that since high school, Tom.” You answer with a faint laugh, bubbly and free of judgment. “But, it’s really our only option.”

Tom breathes a heavy sigh of relief as you sit up, slipping your sweatpants down your hips and off your legs, his calloused hand traveling up your thigh as you settled over his groin, hard cock pressed against the thin cotton of your underwear, sticky with the small wet patch that had grown there, much to your own embarrassment. You hadn’t even touched yourself, or he you, and you were already just as needy. You push his shirt higher up his chest, pale skin hot to the touch, fingers dragging through the small trail that led down to his dick, hips heavy against him as you dragged your hips once, twice.

“Oh, fuck,” Tom sighs loudly, fingers gripping your hips tightly, “tits—can I see your tits?”

And no one’s ever asked in such a polite way, you can’t help but chuckle, nodding eagerly. You slip the shirt over your head, breasts bouncing freely, having forgotten your bra at home in rush over to his place. They were all in the wash, thank god.

“Beautiful,” He notes, his voice low and rough, leaning up to mouth the flesh, plush pink lips pressing against your skin, “s’like the rest of you. Perfect.”

“Tom.” You warn lightly, feeling your own face heat at his compliments.

“It’s true, love.” He tells you, eyes connecting with your face briefly, eyes vulnerable as he stares up at you. It’s the most expressive part of his face, mesmerizing, to say the least. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

You nod slightly, “I know, I know.” You respond, “M’not used to people saying stuff like that to me, never know how to respond.”

“Don’t.” He assures you, “As long as you know.”

And you’ve never felt love this strongly, this early—it could be because of the situation, given your heightened state of connection, but those three words rest on your tongue heavily.

It’s a slow gradual rise as you grind against him, pressing against you in just the right way, clit catching the head of his cock with every pull back of your hips. Tom’s a mess, murmuring words that don’t make sense, soft noises, not having the strength to hold himself up any longer as he rests back against the pillow, grip tightening on your hips as you ride it out, stopping briefly when he starts to squirm a little more than usual.

It goes on for forever, it feels like. In reality, it was only about a half hour, watching Tom fall apart every time you denied his release, nearly to the point where he’s gasping at every touch, wicked pleas turning into desperate whines.

“I can’t.” Tom concedes, eyes brimming with tears, face excessively flushed, “Need it—please?”

You nod, impatient yourself as his hands travel up to touch you, thumb finding your clit over the fabric—it amazes you how he has no trouble at all when feeling out your body, despite how new this was to both of you.

“Fuck, you’re just as bad,” Tom notes with a breathy laugh, it quickly dying out with a rough snap of your hips, chasing your own orgasm selfishly, “take it, come on.”

Take what you need. Take all of it. Tom would give you everything if you let him.

It hits you fast, hard, eyes squeezing shut as you whimpered a soft ‘Fuck.’, fingers finding his wrist for purchase as you rocked your hips one final time—Tom watches your face as you come, which does him in immediately. He blinks hard, watery eyes lending a few tears to escape as he finally breathes in relief, coming in long spurts over his stomach and ruining his shirt in the process, though it’s the last thing on his mind.

“Not how I thought this night would go,” Tom admits with a lazy smile, rubbing at your thighs gently, pointing out how ruined your underwear were now, covered in a mix of slick, yours and his, “come here.”

You slump forward weakly, hands sprawling out over his head as you rest on your arms, nose grazing his. “Me neither.”

“You’re really good at that.”

You snort a tired laugh, “I’ve made many men cry—gotta admit though, you’re the prettiest.”

“Fuck off,” He laughs, reaching up to press a soft, gentle kiss to your lips, “shit hurts after a while.”

Your eyebrows raise, as if trying to prove your point.

Tom grins, attempting to hide his face in your neck. He’s never been this shy until now and it melts your heart.

“You can take a shower here,” He tells you, “sleep too, if you don’t want to mess with the drive.”

“Clothes?” You ask curiously, knowing you didn’t bring any spares.

“No, no—that’s where I draw the line.” He jokes, failing to hide his obvious smile. “‘Course, take what you need.”

“This doesn’t change anything,” You tell him honestly, watching his expression blank for a moment, “I still want my dinners, too.”

Oh.

Tom nods fervently, “Got it. Not like you could do without my cooking now, anyways. You get pissy when it’s your turn.”

You gasp slightly in shock, taken back by the jab and slapping his chest lightly.

“Don’t get coarse with me,” You warn playfully, “or I can make it a lot worse for you.” Unfortunately for you, Tom was already diving in head first. He didn’t care.

“Sounds like a challenge.” Tom counters, “I’m sure I could take you on.”

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

#tom grant x reader #joseph quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn #tom grant make up #tom grant x you #tom grant x y/n #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn fic #tom grant smut #my writing

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mutual-monsters · 3 years ago

Text

oh, how the mighty fall in love

Pairing: Steve Kemp x transmasc!reader

TW: dark story!!! (kinda dead dove: do not eat), dark/yandere themes, smut, cannibalism mentions (duh), kidnapping, implied noncon/dubcon, petnames (pet, good boy, darling, pup, puppy, sweet boy, slut, baby boy, baby), very heavy breeding kink, praise kink, degredation, bondage, sir kink, oral (ftm/ftnb receiving), p in v sex, the fic being very self-indulgent, not beta’d

Again, as with all of my dark fics, this work is purely fiction and is not meant to reflect my values, morals, or wants. Please always prioritize consent, and, obviously, don’t go out doing things you read about in my fics.

MINORS DNI !!! 🔞

Summary: Steve Kemp keeps you in a cell for breeding (instead of his usual fare)

Word count: 972

A/N: Will I ever stop writing dark fics? Who’s to say. Anywho, this is based on a prompt I sent to Rhi a few days ago, but I ended up taking a spin on it as well (it weighed on my mind v heavy folks ✊😔)

Admittedly, there are things about this fic that I don’t like. I don’t like how much it looks like it’s first draft. I don’t like how barebones it feels. I certainly don’t like how rushed it was. However, both of the people I usually count on to help me beta were unable to this time, so, I proceeded with what I had. I hope it’s quality doesn’t hinder its enjoyment too much.

The title is from The Mighty Fall by Fall Out Boy and Big Sean

Tagging those who might like this: @strwbrrybucky @navybrat817 @bonky-n-steeb

You can hear him as he unlocks the basement door and descends the stairs and can’t help but wonder, why me?

You had been in Steve’s basement for three days. So far, he’d given you clothes, food, and his kindness, but he was terrifying. You knew what he did, you knew what he was, he made sure of that. What he also made sure of was to let you know that you weren’t there for the same reason as the others. And that, that was what scared you.

His footsteps resound and he walks down the long corridor of cells, past all the others, and directly to yours. The lock beeps and it clicks open, and the door opens to see him, dressed casually, smirking, and ready to see you.

“Hiya, pup.”

“H-Hi, Steve.”

His mouth twitches briefly as he revels in your fear.

“Do you know why I’m here?”

You shake your head “no”.

“I’m gonna tell you but you’re gonna freak out.”

Pangs of fear rack your frame.

“Does that mean you’re going to hurt me?”

He chuckles darkly.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, sweetheart. I just wanna pump that belly of yours full of cum. Can you be a good boy and let me do that?”

Feebly, you nod, unsure of the man looming above you. He leans down, unhooking you from the chain binding you to the concrete below.

“Are you gonna behave for me?”

“Y-yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

He pats your cheek lightly. “Good boy.”

The cell door slides open swiftly in his hands, he peers back at you, ushering you forward. A long narrow corridor, filled with cell doors, one’s just the one that had been holding you mere moments ago.

His hand holds yous and he leads you, gripping you fiercely. His skin is soft, too soft for someone who does what he does, you whimper upon contact. The two of you arrive at a new room, all the way at the end of the hall, what must have been a cell, converted now to reflect his desires. The space is fresh, new.

“I made this just for you.” He says, as if it’s a gesture of affection.

The room, instead of barren, sits filled with a bed, a plush king, but that is not what catches your eye. No, instead you focus on the bearings, prepared to strap you to the thing, leather and silk in here instead of the cold, rusted iron of your former cell.

He seethes quietly behind you, only speaking up after the silence is broken by another prisoner’s scream.

“Say, ‘thank you’, pet.” His teeth are gritted now, his hold on you becoming painful.

“T-thank you, sir. I love it.” He leans down, plants a gentle kiss upon your scalp.

“Good boy. Strip for me.”

You oblige him, slowly taking the dressings he provided you and tossing them to the floor. He looks at you, fully exposed now, as if you were prey.

“You are a delicacy, you know that?” He is brutal, that is a given, but his tender moments balance the scales.

“Lay back for me, darling.”

How could you deny him? On the bed, he adjusts the cuffs on both your hands and ankles gently, careful not to tighten them too much.

“Is it alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

He takes your chin in his hand.

“I promise to be gentle, pet. I just want to make love to you.”

Kissing down your body now, finding his way to your pussy, he licks gently at first, then all at once attacks your clit, sending you into near shock. Your hips buck, he holds them down, feasting on you. Your hands, bound, have nothing to grab. Nails dig into your very palms as pain starts to mix into pleasure. You’re begging now, begging to cum, of course, he allows, flicking his tongue rapidly on your sensitive bud, raising his pupils to stare you down as your orgasm washes over you.

Him crawling over you, allowing your mind to register his presence above you; menacing and dominant. He leans in, forcing his hot breath to seep over the nape of your neck as he whispers in your ear.

“Gonna breed you, puppy. Gonna make you swell up with my bastards again and again and again until you’re fuckin’ useless. It’s all you’re good for, anyway.”

He pulls away, smugly, a smirk gracing his lips.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you, sweet boy?”

Clouded with lust, knowing there is no other choice, you nod feverishly.

A soft kiss to your temple.

“Good slut.”

He thrusts unexpectedly into your hole unabashedly, a squeal escapes your throat involuntarily. His pace is fast and rough, unsteady like bursts of fireworks. The headboard bangs the wall threateningly.

“F-Fuck, baby boy, you’re so fuckin’ tight. Like a damn vice. Such a sweet fuckin’ cunt. So warm and wet.”

Your body fights the restraints, desperate to hold onto him, they do not budge. Steve continues inside you, adding his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles, and whispering praises in your ear.

“Gonna be so pretty, baby. Oh, God. Hmm, fuck. Just like that, puppy. ‘M so close. Want you to cum right with me. Can you do that for me?”

You whine in response, and he understands, cumming deep in your fertile womb, filling you up.

“Oh, fuck. Shit.”

Blissed out, he stays in you, waiting for the moment to pass, and when it does, he pulls a plug from the side table to fill the hole he no longer occupies. He pulls a pillow as well, propping up your hips and covering you with the blanket, but leaving you bound by your restraints.

Before leaving, he turns to you with a small, delighted smile.

“I’ll be back in a bit to try again, okay, pup?”

You smile right on back, accepting that maybe, just maybe, this is where you are meant to be.

#fresh spoilers #steve kemp x reader #steve kemp x transmasc!reader #🌶️#tulip wants french fries #plus sized reader #transmasc reader #nonbinary reader #no beta we die like men

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sukirichi · 4 years ago

Text

acquainted

You had no intentions of becoming acquainted with the clan your family had cut ties with, but when Naoya Zenin himself is willing to teach you a lesson and you’re determined to show him what you’re capable of, it becomes a silly game of power and dominance.

REQUEST. naoya putting reader back to her place

WARNINGS: Naoya Zenin, rough sex, orgasm denial, face fucking, slight voyeurism, degradation, slight bondage, cowgirl riding, manhandling, spanking, hate sex

WC. 5.4k+

NOTES. Because Naoya is my favorite, his fic is the only one I’ve ever edited, LOL. Even though this is requested, this is written out of self-indulgence, purely because I love Naoya and even though he’s nasty, he’s my comfort character. And freaking FINALLY I have written more for this man. I worship this King 👑

There were so many ways this day had gone wrong. First, your shower broke. Second, the maintenance men couldn’t come until late in the afternoon, so you had to drive all the way to school looking like a half-mess. You weren’t a slob, of course, but you were beyond irritable at the thought your hair felt greasier than most.

So when an unfamiliar mop of blonde hair sat at your place, the sight of pierced ears meeting your gaze as you smiled at the young man, you had to clutch your bag tighter. No need to be harsh to anyone; you reminded yourself.

“Hi,” you greeted as politely as you could.

The young man in your seat was handsome — terribly so — feline eyes emphasized with an eyeliner, and stunning green eyes that peered up at you with utmost boredom. He looked familiar, but you couldn’t pinpoint where you’d seen him before.

“I believe you’re in my seat.”

You expected he’d kindly take another seat since the hall was empty, but he only leaned back in your seat, brow raised with a slight smirk. “So?”

Your mouth fell agape, hands falling at your sides. Who was this guy? “What do you mean, so? Get the fuck out of my seat.”

“Women,” he rolled his eyes, “Always so tempered and dirty mouthed,” the words felt like stinging slap in your face, and he easily read through you when he snickered to himself, waving a hand in the air as if he was swatting a fly away. “I’m already sitting here, so go find someplace else. I came here first.”

“You little — who do you think you are?”

“Who do you think you are for speaking to me? Did I give you permission?”

His condescending voice made you lunge at him if not for your friend’s hand wrapping at your arm, shooting worried glances over the guy. His smirk deepened when your friend pulled away, the words mutter under her breath. “Come on, let’s go,” she tugged you away despite your protests, pushing your shoulders down to make you sit. Once out of earshot, she rolled her eyes. “I seriously hate that guy. Don’t you ever involve yourself with him.”

“Who’s that prick anyway? He acts so high and mighty like he’s some rich daddy’s son. Look, he’s totally claiming my seat as his!”

“That’s Naoya Zenin, and yeah, he is some rich daddy’s son,” she confirmed, shivering at the mere mention of his name. “He’s an absolutely big misogynist. Don’t be fooled by his pretty face — he’s the worst fuckboy to ever exist. That dick of his isn’t worth getting fucked over. He’s already made half the women in school cry and run after him like a horde of lovesick zombies,” your friend gagged with a shake of her head, “It’s terrifying, actually.”

“Fucking asshole,” you hissed under your breath, sending side glances at the corner of your eye.

That stupid guy was still in your seat, a bored expression on his handsome face, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks at every blink. He just had to be a sexist pig with that gorgeous face — no good men existed anymore. “Whatever. He’ll get a taste of his own medicine soon.”

“Whatever it is you’re planning, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“I’m doing this for all of us,” you announced with your spine straightened. “I’m not letting a man walk like that acting like he’s got the whole world at his feet. I’ll teach him a lesson or two.”

“You do know he can sue you if you punch him right?”

“Who said I was going to punch him?” a smirk painted your lips at the same time he felt your eyes burning holes at the side of his face, your expression even more triumphant when he tilted his head to the side, eyebrow cocked at your gaze. He must’ve assumed you’d fallen for his looks judging by the satisfied smile on his face, making you laugh because it would be fun to teach him a lesson. “No, I have a much more interesting plan in mind.”

It turned out that Naoya wasn’t that much of a stranger.

You had his reputation to thank for — people spoke his name left and right that it was nearly impossible not to know of him. It had you wondering how you managed to live through university so long without knowing him when the name drowned you; he was a Zenin.

No wonder that name was so familiar.

The Zenin’s were a close business partner of your family, but they cut off ties with their company years ago due to them having an intolerable attitude. Clearly, it ran in the blood, and their heir manifested it so well.

Thoughts of Naoya and his stupid face were soon drowned out by expensive champagne, the golden liquid sparkling in your hands. You had to attend this dinner gala where businessmen and powerful families alike conjoined for a formal opportunity of forming connections and solidifying deals, pressuring you to be at your best behaviour lest you wanted your black card to be cut off.

You made your way through the crowd to get another one of those hors d oeuvres, opting to just sit in the corner while you watched your family plaster on big, fake smiles with even louder, faker laughter.

It was quite sad, really, that people had to do stuff like this, but who were you to complain when it was what fed you on a silver plate all the time?

For now, you just wanted to enjoy the new dress your mother had gotten you, the silk black material hugged around your curves delectably. Pearl drop earrings hung to frame the sides of your face, legs lengthened and accentuated with stiletto heels.

You felt sexy — especially when you got lingering gazes from men who were slightly older and definitely richer, though you made no move.

The last thing you wanted was to become someone’s trophy wife when you could become so much more. Plus, only your parents had the task of befriending people and building trust with others. You were only here to help represent the name somewhat with your pretty face, not really having much of an intention to be acquainted with anyone.

You swiped another glass of fizzy alcohol from the waiter that passed by, glossy red lips pinched around the glass when a sultry voice mused at your ear, “Still can’t find a seat?”

Swirling around so fast that the contents nearly poured out the glass, you weren’t surprised to see Naoya fucking Zenin stood before you, his tall stature draped in only the finest and hand-stitched three piece suit.

He looked absolutely delectable this way, earrings glimmering under the golden chandeliers and eyes lined with kohl, the aura of elegance that perfectly concealed his less than pleasing personality excessively charming.

You were beyond appalled.

“Still can’t find a brain?” you retorted with a roll of your eyes, eyes still narrowed at Naoya’s displeased ones as you dunk your drink in one go. “What are you doing here, pig?”

“I’ll let that comment slide once — only because you look hot tonight,” his predatory gaze ran over your form, the careful pattern of him pausing at the swell of your breasts sliding to the curve of your hips heating up each inch of your skin. “And it’s Naoya for you. Naoya Zenin, the rightful heir of the Zenin Corp—”

“What’s that scent you’re wearing? Baby powder? Fitting for your cute face, actually.”

Naoya’s jaw clenched, clearly unaccustomed to people cutting off his holiness, and you had to bite down on your lip to prevent the chuckles from slipping through. “It’s Tom Ford.”

“Hmm, why am I not surprised? My horrible ex also wore the same scent. Maybe it’s a trademark for all limp losers, huh?” Naoya opened his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it, stepping forward to grab at the space between his tie to pull him down. His face was mere centimetres away from you, close enough that his breath ghosted over your lips, the intense anger flaring through those eyes hot enough to burn you. “You act so smug and defensive, Naoya. Trying to have a big man personality to conceal a small dick?”

“I have nothing to prove to you.”

“You don’t need to prove me anything,” you glanced down at his pants with a smirk, ignoring the heat pulsing in your veins because the sight contradicted your words. There was a noticeable bulge inside those shiny black slacks, though the last thing you wanted him to see was the way your mouth watered in anticipation. “I already know what I need to know.”

“Yeah? You and your shitty girlfriends can’t stop talking about my dick?”

You shrugged sarcastically, “You know women. We’re tireless complainers.”

Naoya’s jaw ticked upon you using his words against him, his hands coming up to caress at your neck, his nails scratching behind the thick silver chain you wore.

From afar and in the eyes of others, people would’ve thought you and Naoya were simply getting a little too heated, his lips dipped to graze your ear while his slender fingers pressed a little tighter into your air pipe. Your positions could easily be mistaken for Naoya seducing you, and you supposed he was, since your body responded differently from your verbal protests.

“You should watch what you’re saying,” he warned, voice low with warning. “I could easily dump your body into a river and no one would even notice. In fact, maybe the world might even thank me for doing them a service and ridding them of a spiteful woman like you.”

“Oh, pretty boy,” you chuckled back and stood to your tippy toes. One of your hands wrapped around his neck to forcefully tilt his neck to yours, nose pressed above his collar to inhale the intoxicating masculine scent he wore. “You’re all bark and no bite. Why don’t you show me what you’re capable of? If you’re as awful as they make you out to be, maybe I’ll shiver enough to drop my panties for you.”

You didn’t miss the way Naoya’s hands gripped at your waist to pull you close, enticing you to continue with your insults because maybe Naoya liked this a lot more than he let on. Could it be his superiority complex didn’t always like submissive women, after all?

Well, it would make sense; everyone always liked a little challenge, didn’t they?

If that was what he wanted, then you’d be generous enough to grant it to him.

“Wouldn’t you like to get a chance to put me in my place, to teach me a lesson for defiling the oh-so-mighty Naoya Zenin?” you purposefully toned your voice down to a more breathy tone, your chest swelling with pride when Naoya sucked in a sharp inhale beside your ear.

God, he sounded beautiful — and you hadn’t even fucked him yet. Now, you were eager to hear what else those disgusting lips could be capable of other than degrading you.

Pulling away from him just to bat your lashes at him, heat pooled straight into your core when Naoya’s gaze had completely darkened, dark orbs pooled with lust and anger. Only he could make such an expression look so good.

“You don’t scare me, Zenin. You’re nothing but a small boy wearing big man pants.”

For a moment, your smile widened, believing that you’d won this time around. Naoya was still breathing hard at each brush of your stomach to his now hardening erection, but then he smirked and gently pushed you away from him. “I’m not fucking you here,” he stated calmly, not even bothering to keep his voice low. “You’re a lot dumber than I thought you’d be if you really think I’m whipping my cock out during this dreadful dinner.”

“This dreadful dinner you speak of is an opportunity for people like us to establish connections. I would’ve assumed you wanted nothing more to impress others but it seems I was wrong. If you hate this event so much, why bother coming here in the first place?”

“Just had a feeling I was going to meet a little minx,” he watched you seductively, his smirk adorned with his tongue peeking out to lick his lips — in turn wetting you in places he promised to make his by the end of the night. Curse him, you chanted in your head, curse him for being so attractive. It would’ve been easier if he was ugly. “And as always, I’m right.”

You tilted a brow, slightly impressed. “So you’ve done your background check on me. That doesn’t explain why you’re still here though. Surely a woman couldn’t be enough for a reason to make a man like you go all this way?”

“You’re right, a woman would never be a good enough reason, but I wanted to put you in your place,” his eyes flickered back up to you, now twinkling with danger and something else entirely. “Bad little girls need to be a taught to a lesson.”

“So what’re you waiting for? Go ahead and show me your ways, Zenin.”

“I will,” he nodded to himself, “I’m about to,” Naoya was nothing but confident as he strode your way until his arms was locked with yours, his breath tickling your collarbones that had unknowingly exposed itself at each heated touch. “You’re not that bad for a slut. You look like one, smell like one — I bet you also feel like one.”

A dry laugh left your lips as you fisted his shirt, mirroring his smirk to show that if a match was what he looked for, then a match he’d find indeed. Only this time, you would be worse.

“Why don’t you go ahead and find out?”

Naoya, despite being an absolutely poor excuse of a human being, was somewhat redeemable for being a man of his words. Find out he did, and he wasted no time into shoving you inside his McLaren, barely able to keep his hands off you the whole way up to his penthouse.

It was a blurry mess from there.

Moans spilled from your lips while he ripped your clothes off, not bothering to apologize that he’d just ruined one of your most prized possessions, his lust-clouded haze mumbling that he’d just buy you another one.

It was the last thing you expected to hear from him, but you couldn’t protest, not when he’d angrily snapped the buttons of his shirt away, a low growl mixing with your breathy whines as he loosened his tie.

Your eyes widened at the sight, legs rubbing together as you imagined what else he could do with that pretty tie of his.

Would he tie you to his bed, fuck you stupid and call you useless? Or perhaps, you could do it?

Naoya cut off your train of thought by pushing you back to his mattress, his hands tugging at his belt before he pulled his boxers down, his thick length slapping at his abdomen. Your mouth immediately watered at the sight. You were beyond wet from nothing but your sloppy make-out sessions, but would he fit?

Just the thought of him giving you that burning stretch made your legs spread beside his sides, the sardonic laughter ripping from Naoya’s lips absolutely disgusting.

“Fucking pathetic. You’re just like everyone else; submitting to me at the sight of my cock, but that’s not true, is it? Moment you saw me, I knew you were clenching around nothing,” he gripped at your jaw to force you to look at him. You glared up at him from his bruising hold, your cheeks squished under his rough hands. “But that’s okay; wanting me is not something you should be ashamed about. Although you should be thanking me I’m even letting you near me like this.”

“I’m so honoured. Come on, Naoya, let me feel you — let me make you feel good.”

Naoya, too lost in his ego, missed the sarcasm dripping in your voice. “So eager to be my cock sleeve, huh?” he grinned, tugging at your hair to push you deeper into his mattress. “Get on your knees. Now suck.”

He was too harsh in his pace, determined to exert his dominance over you. You could feel every ridge of his vein as he continued fucking into your mouth, his abs rippling above you. It felt like witnessing a Greek god come apart, and you took pleasure in being his ruin, prompting you to hollow your cheeks and bob your mouth up and down on his cock harder.

Naoya’s chuckles were broken and often mixed with curses of fuck, you feel so fucking good, his nails now scratching at your scalp.

Soon, Naoya stilled inside you, his hold around your head deadly to keep you in place. Tears flowed down your face as he kept thrusting inside, making sure to hit the back of your throat before his muscles tightened. Spurts of warm cum followed after that, but instead of swallowing it like you expected he’d command you to do, Naoya whipped out his cock and came all over your face, his seed shooting all over your cheeks and lips.

You took it all obediently, just enough to give him the false pretense of submissiveness that he was so willing to force from you.

While he was occupied pumping his still rock hard cock, eyes closed and massaging your scalp almost soothingly, Naoya failed to notice your hurried movements of standing from the bed, fingers looped around his tie.

A small wail resonated from him when you shoved him down onto the bed, knees locked at either sides of his waist before you tugged at the cloth wrapped around his neck. Naoya kicked his legs behind you as you tied his wrists to the bed hard enough that Naoya winced, the tie only forming tighter at each lame grapple of his.

You looked back at how he got more beautiful laid out in front of you like that, chest heaving up and down while he struggled against the restraints, face flushed with anger — no, this wasn’t anger anymore — he was furious.

“What are you doing?! Get this off me — how dare you!”

“How dare you,” you spat back, discarding your lace bra off to wipe his cum away from your face, gagging when the bitter cum left a tang on your lips. “I just got my skin appointment last week and you came on my face like that?”

Naoya kept fighting back before he realised it was a futile attempt, leaning back down onto the pillows, though that didn’t soften his heated eyes on yours. You cooed at how adorable he submitted to you, running a finger down the sides of his jaw. “Aw, don’t look so angry, baby. I’m just starting my fun,” you purred, “You should’ve known better than to mess with me, Naoya. I’m not as nice as the others. And I’ll show you just how awful I can be.”

Naoya’s breath hitched when you shimmied out of your underwear, a dark glint in your eyes as you stretched the elastic into a fake arrow until it snapped into his face.

“You fucking bitch,” he growled, turning his face away from your panties soaked with arousal. “Once I get out of here, I will ruin you.”

“Huh, yeah, sure,” you mumbled incoherently, too lost in the pleasure as you sunk down on his cock. You were right, he was fucking thick, stretching you out better than any of your toys could. Plus, he was warm and leaking with pre-cum that he slid in easily, erotic groans leaving both your mouths once he was finally seated inside you.

Naoya was growling at you to let go of him when you laughed, lifting your hips up slowly before sliding back down on him just as slow, almost as if you made love to his cock the same passionate way you did with a lover. “You do have a wonderful cock, though. I’ve never felt this good in my life,” you leaned down to lick a stripe down to his neck, allowing him to hear the needy pants you graced with him. “You feel so good, Naoya, oh. If you weren’t such an asshole, I might even fall in love with you.”

“Go faster. This is unfair!”

Naoya tried thrusting deep into you, evidently unsatisfied at this torturous pace you set, but you only gripped at his thigh in warning, your eyes no longer sweet as you glared at him.

“Nothing’s ever fair in this world, sweetheart,” you reminded him, shivering every now and then as you bounced on his cock, his length slipping past through your walls magically. “Like how such a gorgeous face and amazing dick is paired with the most disgusting personality ever. No, it’s not fair, indeed...”

You closed your eyes with your head thrown back, placing your hips flat on his pelvic bone instead, fingers rubbing at your clit while Naoya throbbed inside you, desperate for release.

The little whines you gave were nothing but mocking. You knew that Naoya suffered through this position, but did you care? Absolutely not. With Naoya’s cock stretching you full and his tip kissing your most sensitive spots, in addition to your fingers rubbing and tweaking at your clit, this was the most pleasure you’d ever gotten from sex.

You were stimulated everywhere, your other hand reached up to tug at your hardened nipples.

Your walls clenched around him, signalling him that you were close and you let out a broken moan, falling forward to gyrate your hips around his cock to push you over the edge. It wasn’t enough to get him off since you were mostly still fondling with your clit, the sounds of your moans like torture to his ears.

“No, don’t you dare cum, I swear if you—” Your orgasm washed over you comfortingly like a warm blanket. Instead of seeing white, it was like your vision cleared, the sight of the sweat that made Naoya’s hair stick to his forehead in clumps crystal clear. You prolonged your orgasm by thrusting your hips in a sickening rhythm of thrust, pause, thrust, stop — and by then Naoya was losing his mind.

Naoya lost control as he snapped his hips upwards inside you hard enough that you winced in pain, pushing off his dick until he’s left humping the empty air, his body drenched with perspiration. “No, no, no, fuck you! Get back here you useless slut!”

You lay beside him, giggling in post-orgasm bliss. Just to tease him, you rolled to his side to press a kiss to his cheek, laughing harder when your lips came in contact with his flushed skin.

“You’re so adorable like this,” you cupped his face tenderly, perfectly aware that Naoya had begun to growl, his wrists almost bruised from how hard he brawled against his tie. “If I didn’t hate you so much, I would’ve let you cum inside me,” you offered with a pat to his chest, moving off the bed with wobbly legs.

“Well, whatever, that was fun. I would say we both had the most sensual sex of our lives, but that would be a joke for you, don’t you think?” you snorted as you inserted your arms to his discarded suit jacket.

Naoya stayed still on the bed, his cock still painfully hard and slick with your cum. “Don’t look so angry, Naoya. You had it coming for you. Don’t worry, though, as a thanks for letting me cum that hard — though I mostly did all the work — I’ll keep this between us so you at least get to keep whatever’s left of your dignity,” you blew a kiss his way, “Bye, sweetie. At least now I know people weren’t exaggerating when they called you a good fuck.”

Not bothering to slip your heels back on, you looped your shoes into the curls of your fingers, about to button Naoya’s jacket as you made your way to his door.

You never got halfway across the room when strong arms suddenly lifted you off the ground, your vision transitioning from his door to the pads of his feet, your body slung across his shoulder. Naoya gripped at your ass in warning when you kicked your legs, leaving him with no choice but to hug your thighs with one arm.

The next thing you knew, he slammed the balcony doors open with one hand and slammed you on the pool table. His rough hands yanked his jacket away from your body, the chilly night of the air bringing a shiver down your spine as it hit your drenched core.

Naoya had pinned your arms flat on your back in a painful angle, making you cry out just as he kneed your legs open, his free hand that wasn’t pinning you down aligning his cock against your hole. You were a moaning mess underneath him, the pain only an intoxicating addition to the pleasure he was pounding into you. Naoya then leaned to whisper your ear, the sudden movement making his cock slide deeper into you, the pleasure overwhelming.

“Oh, Naoya, fuck—”

“I am not just a good fuck,” he corrected you, “I am Naoya Zenin — and you will do well being silent and submissive while I fuck you, do you understand?” You were too lost in the feeling of him rutting deep into you that he had you seeing white this time around. When you didn’t answer, Naoya slapped your ass, your yelps echoing from the dead night. “I asked you a question.”

“No,” you bit back, “I refuse to—” you were silenced when Naoya hit your sweet spot, laughing at your state that you were too fucked out to give him a proper answer.

Naoya’s pace was merciless as he fucked deeper into you, the hand on your ass moving up to grab at your waist to keep slamming you back to his cock. He watched as your lips sucked him in so tight that he didn’t know whether you were pushing him out or refusing to let go. Turning your head to the side to gasp for air, you opened your eyes, only to be met by the sight of men crowding on the building across yours to witness your undoing by Naoya’s hands.

“I’ve barely started and you’re already so wet for me,” he mocked in your ear. As if on cue, squelching sounds accompanied your desperate moans, hands grabbing at nothing in particular. “Shall I try upping my speed?”

“N-Naoya- there are people looking.”

“Let them see,” he seethed, using one arm to lift your other leg up to the table to gain him more access into your warm, wet cavern. The sudden stretch made your muscles ache until you lay there limp; jaw clenched at the pleasure Naoya drowned you with. “Let them know how much I’m making this pussy mine. Gosh, can you hear yourself? You sound like a dirty fucking slut,” another slap landed on your ass, hard enough to leave a mark there for tomorrow. “You claim to hate me, so then why are you dripping all over me, huh? Pathetic whore. You women are nothing but cum dumps to me.”

Naoya spread your butt cheeks open, laughing at the silly way you clenched around him every time he pulled out, your puffy lips sucking him back again until Naoya buried himself to the hilt. His dick did wonders in letting out the most erotic whines and whimpers you never thought you’d be capable of, leaving you a drooling and panting mess under him.

“You little fucker, don’t even think about cumming inside me, I will literally castrate you and feed your balls to yourself.”

“Such a dirty mouth. Though that’s expected of a nasty woman like you,” he sassed, his thrusts faltering while his hand clenched your flesh tighter. That was enough to send you over the edge when Naoya slammed his hips harder and more desperately this time around, his cock twitching against your walls. “You wish I would cum inside you. But I have a better plan in mind.”

All it took was one rough hand for him to pull you before him, pushing you down into your knees again as he came inside your mouth. You could feel your cum and his dripping onto his dark marble tiles, the white pool of liquid shining.

Naoya thrusted lazily into your mouth, a sickening grin on his face while he kept you down there. His glare deepened when you tried to pull away from him. “Swallow, you slut. Or I’m fucking your face until I break your jaw.”

Furiously, you swallowed around his cock, Naoya groaning at the feeling of your walls convulsing around him. The moment you gagged from when his tip poked the back of your throat, Naoya pushed you off him until you were left choking on the ground. You gasped for air, hands clasped around your neck, sure that you were going to have a sore jaw and a fucked throat tomorrow.

You kept glaring at Naoya, but this didn’t deter him from gripping your chin down, humming to himself upon seeing that his cum was now gone in your mouth. “Hmm, so you did swallow it like a good girl. I’m glad I’ve disciplined you well.”

“Go to hell.”

“I’m King there already, baby,” Before you could retort, his arms encircled your waist until you were heaved in his arms again. You pounded against his back because you were too done, you couldn’t do another round. Naoya sighed as he threw you in the bed as if you were a ragdoll, disappearing in the bathroom for a while before coming back with a wet towel, which he rudely flicked your way. “Clean yourself up and then leave. Take the back elevators. I don’t want the staff to see a whore leaving my place.”

“You’re the one who brought me here.”

“Only because I had a duty to put you in your place,” He stared at you with his smirk now permanent in his face, admiring the bruises he left on your body.

“We’re not over yet, Zenin. I’m going to break you one way or another.”

You rolled your eyes at him, walking to his closet to wear one of his shirts. Naoya was silent the whole time as he watched you button his shirt with trembling hands, his presence hot on your heels as he followed you out the large room.

As you were about to leave, you picked up the towel you used to clean your cum with and threw it right at his face.

Naoya dodged it easily, eyeing the towel with a scoff. “Still resilient, I see,” settling down on one of his lounge chairs like it was a throne, Naoya rested his cheek on his fist as he stared you down. “But fine — I accept your challenge. A true man never backs down from a challenge, after all.”

“Oh, honey, I’m more than just a challenge,” you sneered.

Naoya’s gaze left your eyes to stare at your perky nipples that poked through his shirt, feeling his cock swell all over again. But he was a man of control and dignity — he wouldn’t do anything more with you, not when it was clear you’ve had enough for tonight.

It didn’t bother him though, he knew he’d have more opportunities to put you in your place.

“We’ll see about that. I’ll be the one to decide your worth,” he declared oh so smugly, the mere sound of his voice pushing you to slam a fist to ruin that pretty face of his, though you held your ground, far too tired to move a muscle. Naoya saw this too, and he smiled to himself, head tilted to the side as he studied the mess he’d made of you. “Tomorrow, same time same place?”

There was no telling what pushed you to agree, but the words left your lips far too confidently for you to even wonder why.

“Be ready for me, Zenin.”

“I always am.”

All the way back to the back elevators that Naoya had directed you at, you pondered on how you’d be able to tell your parents you suddenly needed a ride home when they had no idea you left the dinner gala in the first place. But most of all, how were you supposed to tell them you’d acquainted yourself with the Zenin clan all over again?

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aminiatureworld · 3 years ago

Text

Small Bits of Memory

Characters: Scaramouche, gn!reader

Word Count: 1,531

Warnings: None

Premise: Little moments between Scaramouche and the reader.

Author’s Note: Warning, I’m not caught up on the archon quest. I did skim the wiki (which made me kinda sad ngl), but if there are inaccuracies, that’s why. I also may have made Scaramouche a bit sappy because of this.

I took “comfort” to mean “hurt/comfort” so if some of these are a bit melancholic it’s because angst brain does not turn off.

Scaramouche

Scaramouche is well familiar with nightmares. He knows the feeling of opening yours eyes in the dark, not moving, not crying out or sitting up; simply opening your eyes as the latent fear of your dreams finally catch up with you and finally your breathing starts to speed in your chest, as your finally realize how afraid you were. Thus on the first night he wakes to you staring intently at the darkness around you, still to the point of stiffness, he automatically understands what’s going on.

At first he’s too scared to wrap his arms around you, afraid that you’ll find the action frightening, or that you’ll instinctively reject him. He only reaches out his hand, secretly relieved when you entwined your fingers within his. Feeling vaguely sentimental in his tired state he whispers: “I’ll protect you from the dark, so stop staring and go back to sleep.” He hopes that you won’t tease him about it tomorrow, as some small part of him knows that it was a very silly thing to say.

Afterwards he grows a little bolder, inching closer to you, then letting one arm rest on your shoulder, fingers featherlight on your skin. Thankfully your penchant for nightmares isn’t too great, so it’s about two months before he wakes up the next day to his arms wrapped around you, you nestled within his sleepy embrace. Seeing you sleeping peacefully after the look of uncomprehending panic plastered across your features the night before calms him like few other things, and he sighs peacefully, letting his eyes flit closed once more. The two of you sleep in that day.

Scaramouche always panics slightly whenever you get hurt. It could be a paper cut, it could be a bruise, it could be a battle injury, his response is relatively similar each time. You might squirm as he cleans your cut off for the third time in ten minutes, assuring him that you aren’t going to die, but he isn’t truly listening to you. There’s a glazed look in his eyes, and it takes him a few moments to register that you’re calling his name. You worry about it sometimes, you wonder what might happen if you were to truly injure yourself. You hope he wouldn’t blame himself too much. Scaramouche has a surprising penchant towards self-flagellation, when he’s not telling himself that he’s superior to everyone around him.

Scaramouche has never horsed around in a river, never experienced a snowball fight, never watched a sunrise for the sake of it. He was not created for such things after all. It’s hard for him to imagine enjoyment in the little pieces of universal humanity, perhaps because he feels somehow separated from such a privilege. You start keeping a list of these sorts of things, small moments to enjoy. He finds the idea silly at first, but gradually grows to like the experience. Perhaps not the individual activities, but the experience as a whole. He might not understand the “universal human experience” as you call it, but the snow against his skin is cold and clear, and the sun looks like fire in the sky, and you’re smiling next to him, and all is well in the world.

Scaramouche doesn’t have much attachment to Inazuma, considering it a desolate land where the people survive despite, not because of, the land. He has no love for the plains, or the skinny forests, or the craggy rocks and hills. The flowers glow preternaturally, and the electricity that fills the air makes unpleasant crackling noises. Nevertheless he has to admit a fondness for the cherry blossoms that bloom on Narukami Islands. It’s as if a small sliver of beauty managed to scrape its way into the world. He’ll take you to see them sometimes, regardless of his status as a Harbinger and a general menace. Perched amidst the falling petals you remind him of some sort of spirit from folklore. If he could draw well at all he thinks he would make a portrait of you surrounded by those blossoms. Certainly there’d be nothing else worth painting.

The two of you like to read together, Scaramouche going over whatever plans he’s currently focusing on, you curled up with a book. If you find a passage or a quote you particularly like you’ll tap him on the shoulder, and Scaramouche will duly listen to you read it aloud. He likes the sound of your reading voice, the way it varies slightly from when you talk. Unfortunately he made the mistake of telling you that once, and you began to insist that he read for you. Though he secretly enjoys doing so, he still grumbles about it out of habit. The both of you know he’s only doing it for show.

Scaramouche once caught you using a broom like a sword. Though you looked very drunk he secretly found it endlessly endearing. He offered to teach you some basic sword forms (despite his weapon knowing swordplay is a basic requirement for all Fatui soldiers). You accepted eagerly at the time, unaware of how much you’d underestimated Scarmouche’s fervor when it came to training. It took a wooden sword snapped in half for him to lay off a little bit, but at least his troops started dropping hints at you that they no longer feared for their lives. Though you think they were joking, you were still glad for the learning experience. You two still spar every once in a while though.

Living up to his title of “Balladeer” Scaramouche has quite the haunting voice. Not particularly high, his range still has a natural warmth to it that belies his cold exterior. You almost never catch him actually singing. The first time it happened was when you had a migraine. Refusing to leave your tent – you hadn’t actually convinced him you weren’t dying – he seemed torn between boredom and worry. At first it was a mere hum, but soon enough it morphed into a captivating song. He refused to tell you the name of it, claiming he’d forgotten, and refused to bring it up the next morning. Still sometimes you’ll catch him now and then humming out a tune, usually when he’s reading or if you’re sick or upset. His singing is something you associate with comfort.

Scaramouche is a terrible letter writer. If you send him ten letters while he’s away he’ll send you three. Still what he lacks in quantity he makes up for in word count. Curt in his official reports, his letters to you are pure stream-of-consciousness, captivating whatever he’s thinking about at the time. Usually the letters are somewhat sappy (or surprisingly bold) missives on how much he loves you and misses you, somehow more honest than when he speaks to you face-to-face. Still you’ve also gotten quite used to a thousand words on how much he hates his fellow Harbingers. You don’t mind, keeping all his letters to you in a box. Though he claims to burn yours, he does the same.

Scaramouche always tell you the days he’s leaving and the days he’s returning. Sometimes he’ll have it down to an estimated hour. Though he appreciates the pomp and spectacle of appearing around others unannounced – something he does quite a bit when working – he refuses to keep you in a limbo of waiting. Secretly he’s also always afraid you might not show up on the docks one day, and every time he sees your face after a long time away a weight lifts in his chest, the pressure on his soul just a little easier to bear every time.

Scaramouche has always felt most comfortable at night. When the world sleeps, when he has the advantage of being awake, being alert, being more powerful. When there are fewer eyes on him, and he can even tell himself that he is the only one awake in the world, can indulge in those moments of wondering, wondering whether he has ever felt something, whether he is missing a crucial piece. Whether he has ever been happy, whether he wants to be so. He can be vulnerable at night, and thus is the reason it appealed to him so much.

Now the night is his favorite time of day because he can always be near you at that time. If you two are in the same land, then you will spend the night in the same room, the same tent, the same bed. Listening to the sound of your breathing, letting himself revel in your closeness, your arms wrapped around his waist, or his wrapped around you, Scaramouche feels truly content. Perhaps he is even happy, perhaps this is what happiness is, what love is. Perhaps it is something more than that, something undefinable, something too abstract to put into words. He loves you, he realizes to himself, he loves you so much. It is overwhelming, like a tidal wave, yet it does not frighten him. He could be struck by lightning and it would not frighten him. It will in the daytime, but now is the night, and now he can marvel peacefully at the fact that he truly loves you.

#made myself emotional with this #genshin impact #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #genshin scaramouche #genshin impact fanfiction #headcanons #requested #my writing

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