#Situation Status: Muse Status

[oculusxcaro]

Paper tissues white as snow come away bloody, the consistency of what she dabs away being so dark and thick it's more like tar than blood. Gradually her coughing fit recedes, lungs burning like fire as the flow of oxygen resumes though it's obvious from the way she looks that Khare's not feeling any better. She's not well, eyes dull and glassy as she tiredly cleans herself up. "M'sorry about that. It's... not contagious, promise."

[sunderwight]

SV fic where Shen Yuan's status as a body-snatching entity is revealed before the Immortal Alliance Conference can happen.

Maybe the system suffers a glitch while some unforeseen side quest is active, and suddenly Shen Yuan's status is revealed and some of the other peak lords he's with seize the opportunity to exorcise his spirit and put Shen Jiu back in his place.

Shen Yuan has mixed feelings about this development, needless to say. On the one hand, it's kind of not actually that bad? He got caught out like a week away from the IAC and the necessary Abyss plotline, so at least like this, he's managed to give Luo Binghe a slightly better time on Qing Jing for the past few years and equip him more capably to survive the Abyss, but he also doesn't have to personally throw him down there. That's the silver lining.

On the other hand, everything else about this situation sucks! He got attached to his life as Shen Qingqiu, dammit! And now he's been revealed and branded as some kind of horrible demonic spirit thing, and he was rather painfully expelled (even though he wasn't even there willingly in the first place), and so he's been reduced to some a kind of sparkly ghost light hovering on the fringes of existence, highly susceptible to being harmed if any more righteous cultivators get it in their heads to disperse him!

Which is better than just being catapulted back into his rotting corpse in the other world, but not by as big of a margin as he'd like.

Basically, in terms of his ability to influence the world Shen Yuan has been downgraded back to "read only" status. He finds that he can manifest himself in places that he's already been, or around people he has a particular affinity towards, but they can't perceive him and he can't communicate or even do much more than some minor poltergeist type activity. Which he is cautious about anyway, because if he gets caught around Shen Jiu, Shen Jiu is going to disperse him with extra prejudice.

Unfortunately, nearly everything Shen Yuan cares about is in Shen Jiu's orbit.

So he can only watch, metaphorically gritting his teeth as the newly-restored Shen Qingqiu kicks Luo Binghe out of the bamboo house, burns all the bridges that Shen Yuan painstakingly rebuilt for him, refuses point blank to let Liu Qingge help with Without-a-Cure, resumes and even begins taking more frequent trips to the nearest brothels, and neglects his duties to turn into a paranoid wreck as if he half-expects Shen Yuan to steal his body back from him the next time he lets his guard down. Corporal punishment spikes back up on Qing Jing Peak.

Shen Yuan is surprised to hear the whispers of dissent, even so. A spirit possessing a righteous cultivator is a pretty damning incident, and there's no way that he could come out of it smelling like roses. And yet, even though his -- Shen Qingqiu's disciples know enough to be circumspect about saying anything of the sort, there are still murmurs and rumblings about how things used to run, not too long ago.

Ming Fan quiets any such talk as soon as he hears it. Ning Yingying scarcely seems to know how to respond to the situation, except to sometimes plaintively insist that she hadn't even noticed much change between Shen Qingqiu's at all. But Luo Binghe...

Well.

Whenever there are mutterings, it often seems as though Binghe is there. Nodding. Whispering. Carefully putting forth suggestions that others barely seem to recognize as suggestions. Shen Yuan only notices because he knows what Binghe's capable of when he decides to be manipulative, and even he finds himself wondering if it's not just a coincidence, something he's imagining, because Luo Binghe hasn't even blackened through his Abyss arc yet.

Even so, there he is, musing carefully on how strange it was that he's heard that Hong Jing hadn't identified any untoward presence in Shen Qingqiu before, how Shizun had never done anything bad to the peak despite all the claims that he'd supposedly been possessed by a malicious entity for years, and wasn't this new Shen Qingqiu acting much more suspicious? Much more malicious? Isn't is the new Shizun who jumps at shadows and talks to people who aren't there, and seems so uneasy in his own skin?

If one had to guess which version was an unstable monster possessing a human's body, and which was the righteous and noble peak lord... ah, well. It's just surprising, isn't it? Luo Binghe would of course never suggest that this new Shen Qingqiu was in actuality the being that had stolen someone else's place. He's surely never second guess the judgment of the peak lords, who claim to have let an interloper among them for YEARS in total ignorance. It's just something to think about.

Alas for Binghe, though a lot of the peak seems inclined to agree with him, he can't win over enough to inspire anything worse than discontent. The "new" Shen Qingqiu does behave a lot more like the one that most of the Qing Jing knew prior to his qi deviation, after all, and it's no mystery why Luo Binghe -- spurned former favorite, now back to being at the bottom of the pecking order -- would be unhappy with the change. Shen Yuan appreciates that this is at least doing a good job of setting up Luo Binghe's altered opinion on his shizun, and he's touched that he made a good enough impression for Binghe to be mad about the sudden regression, but he wishes he could tell Binghe that there's simply nothing to be done about it. That is the real Shen Qingqiu, and Binghe ought to concern himself more with the upcoming conference!

At least, despite being kicked out of the bamboo house, Luo Binghe managed to farm enough good opinion with some of the other disciples during his tenure as Favorite that he doesn't go back to sleeping in the woodshed. Without Shen Qingqiu expressly demanding it, no one would dare, just in case Luo Binghe might regain his status one day. There seems to be an awareness that "evil" Shizun would have made them run laps, but "good" Shizun would now probably whip them half to death in a fit of temper. No one wants to take chances.

Finally, the Immortal Alliance Conference rolls around. Shen Yuan can only watch and cheer Binghe on as best as he's able to, even knowing the probable outcome. And Binghe does so well! He fights bravely but also smartly. When Shen Qingqiu arrives, Binghe doesn't lose an ounce of his caution, though he does still nobly defend his master even though the good feelings between them have dried up. He correctly identifies Without-a-Cure's flare up and silently helps compensate for Shen Jiu's weakness, and sticks by him even though the Original Goods is hardly appreciative.

When the Abyss opens up, and Luo Binghe's demonic seal is broken, Shen Qingqiu seems almost relieved to have this information brought to light. He accuses Luo Binghe not only of orchestrating the invasion of demons at the conference, but of arranging fro Shen Jiu to be replaced too.

"Of course, for a demon like you, summoning some wicked force into this master's body would be easy!" he spits.

Luo Binghe looks bowled over by the accusation. But rather than defending himself, he latches onto it as if it might be some kind of lifeline.

"For a demon like this one... it would be possible?" he echoes.

Shen Jiu hurls more accusations. Of course it is. Luo Binghe is not just any demon, but the most powerful, dangerous, and destructive sort there is. Little is beyond the scope of a Heavenly Demon's power, or wretchedness. Luo Binghe must have uncovered his heritage and seen a convenient means of ridding himself of an inconvenient master. Wherever that horrid spirit is now, it's probably just waiting for the next chance to leap back in at Luo Binghe's call!

"Shizun's spirit... that spirit from before, it still exists?" Luo Binghe catches.

"As if you don't know. Beast. Even the sect leader could not destroy your minion completely," Shen Jiu sneers.

"And it would be within my abilities to put it back in your body. Instead of you."

"You won't get the chance."

Shen Jiu stabs Luo Binghe before throwing him into the Abyss. Binghe fights back, but he seems reluctant to injure his shizun, even now.

Shen Yuan supposes that such reluctance won't survive the Abyss. Still, it's emotional for him. That such a little kindness could cause Luo Binghe to hesitate, even at this point, it really speaks to the resilience of hope in Binghe's heart.

Shen Yuan's little ghost light almost follows him down. But the Abyss would be too dangerous for him, even as he is now. He'd be a little mote of spiritual energy, easily gobbled up by any number of creatures in that place, if he wasn't just swept up by the chaotic ambient energies themselves. So he can only stay behind and think some very colorful swear words in Shen Jiu's general direction, until the rift closes and leaves no trace of Luo Binghe behind, except for the shards of Zheng Yang.

The shards are left behind. Shen Yuan finds that he has a little bit of spiritual storage space. Just enough to maybe fit all of them, so he goes and painstakingly uses his limited powers to lift up each piece and drop it in. It takes him hours and hours, but luckily the clean-up of the whole disaster is something that will take months. No one seems inclined to go reclaim Luo Binghe's shattered blade or risk getting too close to the remnants of the rift, even closed. So, Shen Yuan manages.

The next few years prove difficult. Shen Yuan finds that it's hard to retain his presence in the world. His little spirit has dampened considerably, and few things seem to perk him back up. He has more troubles following anyone who isn't Shen Jiu now that Binghe is in the Abyss, and Shen Jiu is depressing as hell to spend time around. He's rotten with kids, sucks at teaching, he has no friends, his health is deteriorating, and Shen Yuan has no interest in seeing what he gets up to in the brothels.

But Binghe is definitely coming back, and Shen Yuan wants to see him again.

His patience is rewarded the first time he finds his consciousness drifting, only to snap back to awareness in a place that's not Qing Jing Peak. He instead finds that he's in an unfamiliar patch of wilderness along a river, watching as Luo Binghe fights a small pack of demonic beasts.

It's definitely not the Endless Abyss. Has it been five years already...? Shen Yuan hadn't thought so, but then again, he's not the best at keeping track of time in this state.

Luo Binghe defeats the beasts, but they land more hits and wound him worse than Shen Yuan would have anticipated. The wounds aren't healing as quick as they should either. Was Binghe poisoned? Or is this a remnant of Shen Yuan's own poor teaching, the clumsiness in sword practice he never totally managed to correct leading somehow to this?

He gets it when Qin Wanyue and several other Huan Hua cultivators show up, however, and Luo Binghe manages to play the righteous cultivator who just survived a harrowing battle role to the hilt. It takes him very little effort to get the Huan Hua disciples to take him back with them and help "patch him up", and soon enough Shen Yuan has front row seats to watch as Binghe ingratiates himself with the sect.

Mostly, Shen Yuan is just relieved to confirm that Binghe did indeed survive, and glad that he's out of the horrible Abyss and in a place where he can rest and eat decent meals and be fawned over by his well-deserved admirers. Though Luo Binghe seems colder even than Shen Yuan expected, especially in some places where a bit of charm would serve him better. He declines outright to address the Palace Master as "shizun", even though he accepts the offer to stay as a guest disciple at Huan Hua Palace, and he is abrupt and aloof towards both Qin Wanyue and the Little Palace Mistress, despite their obvious interest in him.

Binghe doesn't seem to sleep as soundly as he should either. At night he often brings out a dream stone, which Shen Yuan recognizes as an amplification tool from the novel, but it seems that whatever Binghe is trying to search for with it is beyond his reach. Sometimes Shen Yuan imagines he can hear his disciple's voice calling Shizun at night. But always, Binghe is asleep, and there's no one in Huan Hua Palace he has deigned to address like that anyway. It's a trick of his own imagination, missing the days when Luo Binghe could call out and he himself could answer.

Things go mostly according to the plot, with a few disruptions here and there. Luo Binghe seems to be lagging behind on the romantic subplots, but rushing ahead on the vendetta against his old teacher. The Trial of Shen Qingqiu takes place at Jinlan City, with demon instigators who work for Luo Binghe accusing the peak lord of colluding with demons and setting him up to seem like he was involved in the sower attack. Shen Yuan knows, from watching Binghe, that the sower thing was mostly taking advantage of an existing situation to frame Shen Qingqiu. Binghe himself didn't have anything to do with Jinlan's suffering, but is obviously not above using it to his advantage.

Combined with Qiu Haitang's testimony, Shen Qingqiu is arrested and locked up where Luo Binghe can torture and dismember him at will.

However, Binghe... doesn't do that?

Instead he swiftly relocates Shen Qingqiu to a prison in the demon realms, and seems to abandon his concerns with Huan Hua Palace and the righteous cultivation sects altogether. He just leaves them to fight it out amongst themselves, as if he's got no concern with who comes out on top, and in the meanwhile he keeps Shen Qingqiu locked up but surprisingly well-treated?

Despite Shen Qingqiu's obvious terror and vitriol towards him, Luo Binghe forces him to eat nutritious meals, and attends to his health problems, and makes no move to injure him at all. He has nothing good to say to Shen Jiu, but he doesn't hurt him. Yet there is something distinctly weird about the whole dynamic, not at all like someone who has decided to keep a prisoner under ethical conditions for moral reasons or something like that.

Shen Yuan's not sure what to make of it.

In the end, Shen Jiu himself illuminates the situation.

It happens after Shen Jiu has rejected food. Luo Binghe tuts and asks if Shen Jiu suspects it would be poisoned. Shen Jiu sneers at him.

"I know it isn't," he says. "You wouldn't poison this body. I know what you're after."

"Oh? Wise Master Shen figured out this much?" Binghe replies, dry as the fucking desert.

"You're keeping me in this condition because you want to put that thing back in my body!" Shen Jiu accuses.

It takes Shen Yuan a moment to realize that Shen Jiu is referring to him. That he thinks Luo Binghe is keeping him fit and healthy for Shen Yuan's sake.

Wouldn't that be going too far just for some old teacher who was nice?! Yes, he knows that he made an impact on Luo Binghe, but it wasn't hard! Shen Jiu set the bar at the earth's crust, clearing it hardly required the kind of effort or devotion that would inspire an entire elaborate scheme purely on Shen Yuan's behalf!

He can't believe it.

But, Binghe doesn't deny it.

In fact he smiles, his expression somehow conveying that Shen Jiu guessed perfectly correct, but also that there's no good it can do him. Binghe has never looked so much like a piece of PIDW fanart before, with some dark and potent rage simmering just beneath the veneer of his placid smile.

"Shizun should not be referred to so impolitely," Luo Binghe counters. "If anyone in this room is a thing, it is this usurper in front of me."

"Usurper?! In my own body? You're mad."

Binghe tuts.

Master Shen should understand that his claim is contested. After all, if one woman gives birth to a child but then casts it into a river to die, but another fishes the babe out and cradles it to her breast -- which woman deserves to be called that child's mother? Just because Shen Jiu was born into that body, doesn't mean he deserves it more than anyone else.

But even if he did, Luo Binghe wouldn't care. He would kill to get his Shizun back. This isn't really so different from that, is it? And there is no love lost between him and Shen Jiu to make him hesitate. If his Shizun disagrees, he may disciple Binghe as he sees fit once he returns.

Shen Jiu points out that Luo Binghe's machinations have ruined his reputation. Even if he gets that creature to possess his body again, there's no way that they could infiltrate Cang Qiong Sect a second time.

But Binghe waves off his concerns. He clearly has thought of this, and has plans for it, but is also not about to be stupid enough to monologue any more at Shen Jiu. Once he leaves, Shen Yuan lingers for a little while, and notices that Shen Jiu actually seems genuinely concerned about what might happen to the sect if Luo Binghe succeeds and gets Shen Yuan put back on Qing Jing Peak.

Of course, Shen Yuan knows he wouldn't actually do anything to harm Cang Qiong, but Shen Jiu doesn't. This is the first time Shen Yuan has seen him actually reveal shades of what might be called a noble impulse.

It's not much, but... sigh.

The thing is, Shen Yuan doesn't really want to steal anybody's body! No one consulted with him the first time it happened! And they sure aren't consulting with him now, either, although to be fair they can't. But he might just have enough ability as a little ghost light to stave off some of this whole process, and he's got to decide if he wants to try. Or if he'll let Binghe have his way, and succeed in pushing Shen Jiu back out and giving Shen Yuan his life again.

Because Binghe will definitely succeed if he really does try. That's how the world works.

And if he did... that might be the only way for Shen Yuan to get his life as Shen Qingqiu back. Which he does want, desperately! He misses it. He misses it both in the general sense of having a body at all, but also in the particular sense of all the things he managed to attain as Qing Jing Peak Lord. As Shen Qingqiu.

Shen Jiu, also, makes a very tempting sacrifice in all this. Shen Yuan frankly hates his guts. Maybe it could have been different, but the fact that Shen Yuan worked so hard to try and make that life better, only for Shen Jiu to just go right back to being an intractable asshole who, frankly, should never be in charge of children ever, rankles! He went right back to mistreating Luo Binghe as well, and threw him into the Abyss, and if Binghe's plan was to violently kill him again as revenge for that then Shen Yuan wouldn't fault him. He didn't fault him the first time. He wasn't going to fault him even when it seemed like he would be the one Binghe was destined to rip apart in justified vengeance.

This is different, though. Shen Yuan wants to fight for the life he longs to be living, especially now when the axe of the Abyss is no longer hanging over him.

But is he willing to actually become the thing everyone else decided he was in order to get it? A body-snatching, malicious spirit?

Shen Jiu is horribly unsuited to his life as Shen Qingqiu. But, it is still his life. Shen Yuan really just managed to borrow it for a while.

Deep down he knows that, even if he would like to ignore it.

So when Binghe finally sets up the ceremony, and Shen Yuan's soul is called back into Shen Qingqiu's body, he hesitates. Shen Jiu is poised like a snarling, wounded animal within the confines of his own body. Even the gentlest tap would knock him back out again. Shen Yuan gets the sense that the system is also there, just waiting and even eager for him to do it. Take back the body, resume whatever quests or directives are waiting for him there.

Shen Yuan, even as fragile as his own spirit is, could crush Shen Jiu's battered soul to dust.

Instead he withdraws.

Binghe tries the ritual again, and again, and each time Shen Yuan feels stronger. But it doesn't matter, because he doesn't want to be an evil body-stealing parasite! He wishes he could just tell Binghe to stop wasting valuable resources on this, especially when Binghe could be focusing on other, more important things! Like building up happy relationships or consolidating his rule of the demon realms or establishing an actual strong foothold in the human world, or something!

Somehow, Shen Jiu figures this out before Luo Binghe does. Of course, he conveys the information in the worst way possible, snidely wondering what Luo Binghe did to alienate "that creature" he's trying so hard to resurrect so badly that it will refuse even the open, glowing invitation he keeps writing for it!

Excuse you, you miserable old man, Shen Yuan isn't avoiding Binghe! He is facing a very difficult moral dilemma and handling it LIKE A CHAMP! Fuck you!

Unfortunately, even though Shen Jiu has decided that Luo Binghe and Shen Yuan were in cahoots about the first body snatch, Luo Binghe knows that they weren't. He also doesn't know that his old Shizun knew full well that he was a Heavenly Demon the whole time. So now he has a lot of doubts to wrestle with, especially give that, despite the consensus of the rest of the world, Luo Binghe is not convinced that Shen Yuan actually is some kind of demonic spirit.

Maybe he's a good spirit that has rejected Binghe for his wretched blood?

But Shizun always said that things like that didn't matter!

So... maybe it's not his blood. Maybe Binghe's actions are what has caused Shizun to forsake him. All the terrible things he did to survive the Abyss, and the machinations afterwards, framing Shen Qingqiu and imprisoning him, setting himself up as a demonic ruler... all of that.

Binghe entreats his Shizun to forgive him. Or even if he won't forgive him, to still come back. Binghe will... stay away, if that's what Shizun wants. Just so long as Shizun is alive, is somewhere in the world, safe and happy, then... then...

He can't quite get through lying to claim that it would be enough. But it would be better than the current situation, so he tries.

Shen Yuan, luckily, has been juiced up enough from all the failed summoning rituals that later that night, he finally recognizes the little whisper-calls as echoes of Luo Binghe's dreams. And he's strong enough to follow the invitations! He goes to visit Binghe in his dreams, and reassures him that he's not trying to reject him at all. He's very proud of Binghe, and wants him to be happy and successful. Binghe could rule the world and Shizun would just cheer him on!

It's just that Shen Yuan never willingly possessed Shen Qingqiu in the first place. He misses his life, but given the choice, he doesn't want to be that kind of entity.

So, new plan -- if Shen Yuan won't take a body off of an undeserving asshole, then Binghe will make him a new body! Luckily, Shen Yuan knows a way to grow one. They "borrow" some genetic materials from Shen Jiu to aid the process, and then Luo Binghe, surprisingly indifferent about the whole thing, cuts Shen Jiu loose at the border.

Shen Yuan is surprised. Binghe really doesn't care about that? Turns out no, not so much. Shen Jiu is awful, but he's nothing to Binghe in the long run. (Also it's a long shot but if nothing else does work Binghe might have to force Shen Yuan to take Shen Qingqiu's body back, though of course he's not about to say so, and anyway Shen Jiu is still going to have a hell of a time waiting for him back in the cultivation world. Luo Binghe wishes him luck and every pleasure of trying to clear his ruined name, living a life on the lamb with an insidious poison constantly eating away at him, or the full enjoyment of a second visit to the water prison, whichever ends up happening.)

With the help of Luo Binghe's blood parasites, the Sun and Moon Dew whatever mushroom body grows in record time. A summoning ritual isn't even required, Shen Yuan just scoots right in as soon as the body is ready and blinks his eyes open to see his anxious disciple's face peering back at him.

Happily ever after!

[messiahzzz]

i have been thinking a lot about mystra’s relationship with gale, how reducing her to “his ex” really is an understatement. she was and still is so much more than that. moreover, using the term “ex-girlfriend” in relation to her plainly feels wrong and diminishes the influence she has over him, as well as the role she played in his life since his childhood (and it also trivializes the abuse he suffered through her).

there are several instances where gale gets defensive when his companions mention or ask him abt mystra. he claims that their relationship was no less real even though most of their interactions were incorporeal.

we have already established that gale is an unreliable narrator in this particular case, still not having fully come to terms with the fact that he was groomed, manipulated and abused. he ping-pongs between bouts of realization (even in his romance), gaining clarity that he was merely used and eventually discarded and that mystra never truly cared for him, back to making light of his situation, idealizing her once again. realizing the extent of his trauma, that he is indeed a victim in this scenario, unlearning what he has been made to believe from a young age is a slow and painful journey. he is in the process of healing, but it takes time. time he deserves just like anyone else.

which makes me wonder what their relationship really looked like, once the lines between teacher, muse, and lover began to blur. i also feel like one of the reasons why part of the fandom still struggles to identify mystra as his abuser, is because she is a white woman who initially presents herself in a soft-spoken, benevolent manner… and well, the fact that gale himself is ambitious to a fault and a lil insane about the promise of power. he also briefly mentions "crossing mystra’s boundaries” when he confides in tav and tells them about his folly. (“i am, after all, the villain in this story.”) which led to a looooot of misinterpretations.

leaving the overall lore and mystra’s treatment of her other chosen aside — what we can discern from her interactions with gale in-game, is that mystra is civil as long as she remains in control and gale follows her demands, but as soon as there’s even a slight mention of challenging her power or defying her rule, she rather quickly changes her tone.

there is also one particular exchange between them that just won’t leave my head:

“you were many things to me, but never a threat. and never a savior."

even if we choose to blatantly ignore the fact that mystra is a deity, his goddess - there is no possible way that their relationship ever could have been equal by any mortal standards. the power imbalance that comes with her being his teacher and a symbol of his admiration, plus the sheer control she holds over him and his powers are simply too great. don’t even let me get started on how it is a common tactic of abusers to isolate their victims from any outside influences so they can exert full control over them. and how up to meeting tav and their merry band of misfits, every single soul he was close to was inevitably tied to mystra in one way or another. he briefly mentions his colleagues and then there’s elminster, also mystra’s chosen and former lover, and tara, who is a fine wizard in her own right. he spend so many years in service of her, dedicating his life to her, that now there is no one left he can truly call a friend. most of his little anecdotes and stories he tells are restricted to his childhood and university days, everything else was mystra.

evidently, ordering gale to detonate the orb is the most efficient course of action in her eyes. he is just as expendable as any other mortal, after all. maybe once significantly more useful given his status and the extent of his powers, but she doesn’t feel sorrow nor remorse for ordering him to end his life. his death is simply the most convenient means to an end.

another thing i would also like to briefly touch upon is the trigger/detonator itself. a dagger to the heart. it could have been literally anything else, a simple incantation. it is well within mystra’s power to stabilize the orb and also to remove it from his body entirely. but no, what she requires of gale is to stab himself. one might argue that it was simply a cinematic choice meant for a more dramatic effect, but it really leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. especially considering the fact that she is commonly known and referred to as a jealous goddess. it almost makes it seem like yet another form of punishment or mere pettiness. after his long period of isolation, gale is now surrounded by fellow humans. people he cares about, even perhaps people he might eventually consider good friends — which is enough of a reason for him to not want to die, to keep going and try to find another way, rather than to blindly follow mystra’s bidding. now there’s a group of people who support him and are genuinely invested in him staying alive. hmmm...

[andy-wm]

I don’t think this is what he meant especially because Namjoon said he gets how he feels and shook his hand after. We all know Namjoon is single for a while now after going through a nasty breakup. Jimin and Jungkook’s bond is precious even though it’s now clearly not romantic.

He also said “Although I feel this way it’s not sad…” when speaking about Who. I think Jimin is strongly indicating that he has been single for a while. We should really take his words for what they are rather than trying to twist them into a narrative that makes jikook romantic. In the context of everything he said earlier in the video up until the Who talk it seems that he created Who to have the direct message of searching for his person. He was speaking about the song when he said that he felt this way. Not having those butterflies is what he is referring to when he says he feels flat, not sad but not exciting. Even if currently platonic jikook have a precious bond.

Imo these three sentences sums up MUSE and WHO perfectly instead of those essays wanting to connect it to jikook because we want them to be real :

https://x.com/jkyoongs/status/1814588120291287475

This is exactly what he told, meant and going through when he created this album. It's sad Jikook is not involved romantically but they still have a great bond given their trips and now enlistment but if Jimin is saying he's single without even feeling butterflies to fall in love then we have to accept that guys.

Hey Anon, thanks for this ask. Its so great to interact with someone who disagrees with me but doesn't have a huge chip on their shoulder about my views.

And honestly i can see that there are many ways to look at this situation.

Nobody can without a doubt claim they are romantic partners, just like nobody can without a doubt claim they are not. You and I have differing perspectives based on what we see and how we interpret it. We probably have different ways of seeing the world and different experiences of love.

And if one day we all find out that they were really just friends, I’ll shake your hand and, without screaming or crying, I'll accept that i was wrong. I hope you would do the same.

But right now, I don't think I am wrong on this.

Looking at the whole picture it seems to me that they are very much still romantic partners.

More like an old married couple with complicated and busy lives, but

Clearly still very focused on each other.

Clearly delighted with each other.

Clearly care deeply for each other.

Clearly spend a lot of time together despite being so busy.

Clearly attracted to each other.

Clearly physically comfortable with each other.

That's how i see it.

Am i prepared to die on the hill that their relationship is romantic? No, because I can't possibly know for absolute certain. Same reason i dont believe in god (although i think Jikook is more plausible than an old guy sitting in the clouds watching humanity like he's playing The Sims, just quietly... and yes bring on all the anon haters who are gonna want to thrash me because i'm an atheist).

But on the balance of evidence I'd say ...

they're still together.

Lets talk about MiniMoniMusic.

As for the Minimoni video, Jimin was there to talk about the album. It wasn't a conversation about his personal life.

He talked about not having excitement in his life, about his life being bland, and empty after suspending group activities. They hadn't been active as a team, and he was working really hard. It was a long time since he felt excited about something.

That sense of excitement was compared to having a crush and confessing his feelings. He said he can't remember the last time he felt that way, and the journey of MUSE was to make him feel excited again.

Tracks 1-5 were exploring the exciting emotions, like you would have when you're crushing on someone. That euphoria, the fizz in your belly, the high energy etc. That's what excitement feels like.

The crush conversation... This is the part that's throwing everyone.

He said he couldn't even remember the last time he had a crush, and Joon says I know how you feel and he and Joon laughed about that.

If it was because they've both come out of long term relationships (and we know Joonie's breakup was traumatic) why would they laugh?

They weren't laughing about being single, they were laughing about being OLD.

Remember what came next ... Jimin says the youngest in his band is really young so Jimin asked him about how a crush feels:

"Give me something since you're the youngest"

Because having a crush is something teenagers feel.

Jimin and Joon feel old, like they are a bit past having crushes. I believe that's what they're saying. And honestly, when was the last time you heard 30 year old men talking about their crush?

A crush and a long term romantic partner are two very different things.

At no point did he say he wasn't in a relationship.

+++++++++++++++

Edited to add a better translation of 'crush' , being one sided/unrequited love.

I'm not deleting what i originally posted because the reason jimin asked Evan is based on his youth.

+++++++++++++

One more thing i need to add...

In my experience, it's very difficult to go from being in a long term relationship to being platonic besties with your former romantic partner. It takes a LOT of work, and it requires energy, effort, and very carefully maintained boundaries.

Jimin & JK don't look like they're maintaining boundaries to me.

Based purely on the recent footage - the Are You Sure teaser they released - I see no sign of clear boundaries. Even in the Minimoni conversation Jimin says they drink and talk for 3-4 hours and it gets DEEP. That's a recipe for disaster with a former lover.

It also usually requires substantial time apart - YEARS maybe - to reset the relationship so you can be best friends without falling into old habits. We aren't talking high scool boyfriends who get the odd hour alone together here. We're talking months and months abroad in hotel rooms with nothing to do except listen to Lana Del Rey and... eat bread (apparently) 🤣🤣

Ok look, that last part was a tongue in cheek joke but they have spent YEARS under the same roof with zero reason not to be in each others bed, pants, shower, and anything else that sounds fun.

So honestly I don't buy the 'used to be lovers but now good friends' argument.

Those boys are comfortably intimate to such a level they don't know where one of them ends and the other begins.

[albedomestic-airline]

genshin hcs!

WARNING!!!: I HAVENT WRITTEN THE ACTUAL THING YET BUT I KNOW FOR A FACT THAT THIS WILL HUNDRED PERCENT BE OOC I JUST KNOW IT SO BARE WITH ME

notes: im just dumping some random hcs to feed my children (anons) while im stalling on cooking the ACTUAL main course. i apologize to my anons but here is a snack while you wait. and ofc to anyone else ;) I’m SO sorry that Furina’s is so shortttt. I just don’t know that much about her next time I’ll do my research I prommy.

taglist status: OPEN! just send an ask or add a comment if you want to be tagged (im opening this even though i know for a fact i have like, one person to tag and that is livia vanrouge [did i spell your name right i think not] you are a pookie and ily)

characters: thoma, furina, kazuha, freminet and amber x gn!reader (seperate)

amber!:

Amber is the type of person to take you out whenever she can

and by take you out, I don’t mean for dinner or something, no.

I mean taking you to Dadaupa Gorge and clearing Hilichurl camps with you.

taking you to Starsnatch Cliff at night to go stargazing and wish on shooting stars.

she will find a pretty spot while she’s doing her outrider duties and take you there.

she’ll go to Good Hunter and get some food to-go and eat it with you at your little hangout area.

she’ll secretly keep an eye out for any monsters while you enjoy the meal she got you.

she’s probably got your usual order memorized.

you like Teyvat Fried Egg? easy, simple, she’s got you covered. your favorite’s a nice, roasted Sweet Madame? she noted that wayyy long ago.

she’ll go on walks with you through the Whispering Woods.

she’ll go to the Anemo Statue at Windrise with you.

can’t sleep? she’ll take you to the top of the Knights of Favonius Headquarters to look at the night sky.

sick? she’ll get you medicine. sick with an uncommon illness? she’ll go all the way to Liyue and get medicine from Bubu Pharmacy.

speaking of Liyue, she’d take you to Chenyu Vale or Liyue Harbor for a special occasion. like, your birthday or your anniversary. she knows almost every place in Teyvat like the back of her hand.(excluding maybe Snezhnaya, Khaenri’ah, and Inazuma but anyways-)

she’d spar you so you could work on your fighting.

she’d let you cuddle Baron Bunny (deactivated. do not hug Baron Bunny when it is not deactivated)

her favorite cuddling position would probably be having you face each other with her arm wrapped around you.

furina!:

Furina would be a TALKER. and I mean TALKER in your relationship.

not in a bad way like a yapper (paimon frfr-) but she just talks more than you.

she would give you a lot of random gifts like a bouquet at 10 pm or smth lmao

she might be very cuddly. her favorite position is spooning, either her big spoon or you big spoon, she doesn’t mind.

despite her outside personality, if you guys argue, she’d approach the situation calmly and talk it out before misunderstandings could arise.

she’d call you “my muse/my love” and to joke or for fun “my dearest puzzle piece”

if your ever feeling down, count on her to lighten up the mood!

she’d tell you a joke

light up a candle

watch a movie with you

take you for a walk

pick flowers with you

etc etc.

freminet! (cuz there’s not enough of him @freminet-writings @ryu--19):

this man

this smol man

is shy (made it so dramatic for such an obvious fact)

he’d take you underwater

but if you can’t swim

he’d take you to Fontaine’s coastline near the waters

one of my Freminet hcs is that he can hundred percent ice-skate

if there’s an empty ice rink he’d take you

teach you basics maybe

since he’s so calm, it would make him an amazing person to have deep conversations or to just talk about your struggles.

because he’s that shy, he probably won’t even tell anyone about a single thing you said.

he’d give you small trinkets from time-to-time

he’d let you cuddle Pers

quiet moments are important to him and he holds them dearly.

so he might take you to a flower field and just sit there with you.

make you a flower crown, or put some in your hair.

Lyney would tease the living frick out of you both

when him and Lynette find out about Freminet seeing you they’d be like “you talked to someone???” “AND IT WAS A GIRL???”

and then he’s just there like “yes.”

”WHAT THE FUCK-“

Arlecchino would be proud of him. but would incinerate you if you hurt him.

so, to conclude, I simp for him. you simp for him. and if you think you don’t, you’re lying to yourself. that’s not healthy.

thoma!:

get yourself someone like him

best boy frfr

I need him to teach me how to use a spear cuz WHAT THE FUCK

HAVE YOU SEEN HIS MECHANICS???

THAT’S AGGRESSIVE

COMPLETELY OPPOSITE TO HIS DEMEANOR

will make you tea

will cuddle the living crap out of you whenever he can.

can NOT restrain himself from touching you after his shift at the Kamisato Estate is over.

will cook for you

for a date, he might take you to one of Inazuma’s coastlines (yes, another coastline.)

a bonus you get while dating him is TAROUMARU

FLUFFY DOGGY

do NOT take him to the Narukami Shrine.

why? Yae Miko. I refuse to elaborate. you should know.

YANSHANG TEA HOUSE

oooh free coupon for Naganohare (is that how you spell it?) Fireworks ! ! ! (reference to his About Yoimiya voiceline ehe I mayy or may not ship them teehee 🤭)

once the STUPID VISION HUNT DECREE IS OVER (I’m talking to you, Ei), he might take you to his amAzing homeland Mondstadt. (where we tOtally learnt about where our sibling is and dEfinitely didn��t just help out with un-brainwashing a dragon. [did we dirty it’s brain…?])

andd no, he doesn’t have a good alcohol tolerance. he says it in a voiceline so KIDS DON’T DRINK!

basically, he’s a W bf.

kazuha!:

*deep breath* I simp for him for a reason period.

he is the most CARING and THOUGHTFUL man EVER.

my favorite on this list fr

don’t get him wrong, he might reason against you joining him on board because he doesn’t want you to get hurt or anything.

being on a fucking ship at sea for so long is dangerous alright.

but if you are able to defend yourself, then woopti-doo

he will look calm on the outside,

but his heart is jumping for joy.

would sing if you can’t fall asleep

sooo prettyyyy ugh

would ask Beidou for advice in the start.

would buy you gifts

cuddle you in the mornings

play with your hair

PLEASE play with his hair too, he loves it.

probably knows how to braid hair

so if you have long hair, he’d braid it for you

hundred percent knows how to play guitar

would play for you

takes you out on dates when you guys r on land.

can cook

will cook

and will feed you

overall, amazing bf

give credits! banner by @cafekitsune

taggys wahoo:

@liviavanrouge, @ryu--19

[bettyfrommars]

The Nightmare Factory

an Eddie Munson x Reader series

The Fabric of Moonbeams

Masterlist

18+Only for mature themes, mention of sleep disorders and sleeping medication, longing, afab!reader, astral travel, horror icons. wc: 4.2.

Eddie got demoted to Ominous Thuds & Ghostly Whispers status after the whole Headless Horseman debacle.  Not because Steve or Saul narced on him, but because the eye in the nightmare sky sees everything.

He tried tapping the morse code that Wayne taught him on your bedroom wall one night, but only succeeded in making you sleep upright in the chair in your living room with all of the lights on.  You had dark circles under your eyes the next day, and almost dozed off at your keyboard.

You spent a lot of time looking at the sketch you had done of him, and the description of the headless horseman dream that you remembered with fascinating clarity.  You could close your eyes and smell the soap and leather of his skin now, and you could see the way his mouth moved when he spoke to you.  He knew your name, and you felt like you knew him.  

You found a book at the library called, “My boyfriend, My Nightmare” about a woman who believed she was in a relationship with a man in her dreams for years.  No one believed her, of course, and she was diagnosed with a particular type of rare disorder that had her on such heavy sleeping medication that it was impossible to remember her dreams, if she even had them at all.  

You sank down on a soft chair and almost read the entire thing in one sitting.  According to this woman, there is a place called The Nightmare Factory where your nightmares punch a clock and take lunch breaks together and collect a paycheck.  Apparently, it sits on a separate plane of existence, and you go there when you sleep.  Nightmares can exist during waking hours as well, the author said, and you sat up straight to read that paragraph.  

“The membrane that keeps our worlds apart begins to dissolve when you are able to perceive the nightmares, when you begin to understand that there is no true distinction between reality and dreams.”

“If you can imagine it, it exists somewhere in possibility,” the author continued.  “The Nightmare Factory workers are a form of entertainment to save us from the true horrors of human existence.”

What ever happened to the woman? Did she ever get to be with the man she fell in love with in her nightmares?  You skipped to the last chapter, and skimmed a few pages until you found what you were looking for.  

Her final words were very vague, but she admitted to going off of her prescribed sleeping medication, which made her have insomnia for a week, but then she started to dream again.  

“I know that no one will believe me, and that’s fine, I did not write this to convince anyone.  I’m having it published through a private company to help those who might find themselves in a similar situation.

By the time you read this, I will be gone.

The physical particles of my body have a hard time assimilating when I return from dreams now, and one day soon, I will stay there with him and not return through the secret door.  I’m not sure if I will ever be able to get back to this astral plane as anything more than a visitor, so please, if you are able to cross over, find me.”

You checked the clock on the wall, knowing you should head home, and then you found a few more books to take with you.  One was a manual on how to decipher your dreams, and the other was another memoir, though not as detailed, that someone had written about moving through the dream world with your physical body.

That’s impossible, you mused to yourself.

But still, some strange blossom of hope in your gut moved you to tuck it under your arm.

Meanwhile, Eddie flirted his way into the 7am Unexplained Voices & Creaking Stairs class by offering to service the teacher’s car for free.  She was a ghostly apparition who wore glasses and a pair of gloves to give students a hint to her presence.  She finally accepted after some hesitation, knowing full well that there was a waitlist. 

Anyway, her ghostmobile was not only serviced, but detailed, and there Eddie was, in the front row, bouncing his knee, eager to learn anything and everything he could.  

His band played a show at the Hideout that night.  The Hideout in Eddie’s dimension was a place where a lot of Nightmare Factory workers went after their shifts, so it often looked like the bar scene from Star Wars, but with ghouls. The factory was the biggest employer for a thirty mile radius, and everyone who grew up in Hawkinsville had worked there at least once in their life.  

It had been difficult when Eddie and Wayne first moved there when he was young.  Eddie was what they called “a normie”, meaning he was not born into the nightmare life.  He hadn’t been raised by evil clowns or wolves or demons who walked on goat legs.  He’d picked up shapeshifting pretty fast though, and he’d learned to make his eyes go completely black whenever he wanted to by the time he was ten.

There were more than four drunks at the place that night, Eddie counted at least six, and then there were a few normies at a table, but he didn’t recognize them.  The bartender had a beer ready for him and slid it to the end of the bar before giving him a “thumbs up” motion.  Corroded Coffin did not get paid by the venue to play on Tuesday nights, so the beer was always on the house.  They had a tip jar at the edge of the stage that usually only had a couple bucks in it by the end of the evening, or a sprinkle of loose change.  

They were halfway through the set when Eddie looked out into the crowd and saw you.

He blinked hard, squeezing his eyes shut for a beat, but when he opened them again, he saw that it was really you—standing there, staring back at him, plain as day.

Sure, the room was dark and filled with smoke, but there seemed to be some type of luminescence around you.

Eddie cleared his throat into the mic and wiped his hair off his sweaty forehead, waiting to make sure to make sure you weren’t a mirage for the thirsty man that he was.  Some shrill feedback sounded through the speakers, and he mumbled an apology to the crowd.

You lifted your hand up slowly to wave at him, and you mouthed a little, “hi,” as a smile twitched across your lips.

But this time, it was Eddie who woke up.

He was back in his own bed, gasping for air, wanting to cry, wanting to return, needing to know how you had made it into his dream.

You were looking for him now.  Somewhere, behind the scenes of time and space, an invisible membrane was getting thinner.  

—------

“Are you coming or what?” Your friend Ellie turned to see that you had stopped short at the entrance to the Haunted House attraction you were about to enter.  You’d already paid, and had your hand stamped, but all of a sudden you wanted to be back in your bed, reading.  

You loved Halloween, but you weren’t a huge fan of jump scares, unless they were coming from that guy you kept dreaming about, the one named Eddie.

You wrote his name down in cursive and blocked letters all over the inside of your notebook, wanting to press it into the wrinkles of your brain.  It had been weeks since you last saw him, and every night you hit the pillow, you were hopeful.  

“I’m coming,” you jogged a bit to catch up, listening to the evil, mechanical cackling and high-pitched screams coming from inside.

You caught up to her and stayed close.  There were strobe lights inside and menacing figures loomed in the narrow hallway before you turned a corner into a dining room full of people with decapitated heads.  A few scare actors jumped out to lurch at you from dark corners while thunderous organ music played.

After the next room, there was a shuffle of people as one of the animatronic spiders dropped down from the ceiling, and one of the scare actors with a pig mask blocked your path right when the hallway split, so you lost Ellie, and all of a sudden, you were alone.  

You spun in a circle and called Ellie’s name.

Surely you’d still be able to hear the sounds from the haunt? But everything was quiet, the crowd was gone, and the noises from earlier were muffled, as if coming from far away.

Panic rose in your throat as you felt along the wall for a light switch or a door.  You stumbled around a black, velvet curtain and caught sight of the glowing EXIT sign with a rush of relief.

“Ellie? Anybody?” You eyes were having a hard time adjusting to the inky darkness, but the illumination from the sign gave you hope

This was fine, you’d wait for the other’s outside and tell them you had to duck out because you weren’t feeling well, which was not a complete lie.  

Beyond the door were aged, wooden stairs that went down.  A single light bulb dangled from the ceiling to offer a weak, ocre glow.  You didn’t remember climbing stairs to get into the building, but you must’ve been mistaken.

You hurried down the steps, hearing the door slam shut behind you with unexpected force, enough to shake the walls.  

Something didn’t feel right; the further you went down on the creaking steps, the darker and danker it seemed to get.  There was a sudden heat emanating and you could make out some soft rattling and hissing sounds.

By the time you realized you’d gone down into a sealed basement, it was too late.  

It wasn’t just a basement, though—it was a…boiler room?

There were metal tanks producing steam mounted with temperature gauges, and you couldn’t see to the other side of the space because they were massive.

“Hello?” You took a tentative step forward, looking around the concrete walls for some type of door to get out of the building.  Your heart was in your throat, and your breathing was getting rapid as your eyes jerked from side to side like a scared rabbit.  

You wrapped your arms around yourself. “Can anyone hear me? I got turned around and I’d like to leave now.”

There came a high pitched scraping then, like nails on a chalkboard, and it was so shrill, you had to cover your ears.  

“I can hear you just fine,” a deep, gravely voice chuckled from somewhere to your right.

Your attention snapped in that direction.  Instinct was telling you to start backing up, to get further away, to go bolt up the stairs, but that’s not what you did—you just froze there.  

It wasn’t long before you spotted a pair of glowing eyes peering at you from between two of the pipes, against the far wall. 

There was a person standing there.

It had to be one of the scare actors, down there on their break, or maybe this was a part of the haunt? But where was everyone else? And why was there a huge, poorly lit boiler room in the basement of that old house?

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he spoke in an evil sneer, like a villain in a cartoon.  

“This isn’t funny,” you shouted. “I just want to get out of here, please.”

He gave another diabolical cackle, and then there was the sound of nails on a chalkboard again.

The man in the basement with you stepped into view with a flourish, brandishing the long, metal daggers on his hand, flexing each finger for you to see each one individually; the tips were sharp and the blades caught the light.  He had on an old, brown fedora, a green and red sweater, and his skin was covered in scar tissue from severe burns.

You were down in that boiler room with Freddy Krueger.

The scream you let out as he charged toward you might’ve cracked fissures in the concrete.

You spun on your heel—

—and landed face first into the body of the person that had been standing behind you.  You felt the ragged, torn nature of a shirt under your cheek as whoever it was had enormous height, and then you pushed back and looked up in time to see a hockey mask with black eyes staring down at you, expressionless. His shoulders were broad and his body massive. Out to the side, he brandished a gleaming machete that was the length of your arm.

“Hi baby, get behind me!” The person in the Jason Voorhees mask said, sounding slightly echoed and muffled. The look he had was the same as in the movies, but this one had curly, almost frizzy dark hair that was long past his shoulders.

That voice…it was Eddie.

It was your Eddie.

You stammered a partial question, but then  you were already moving, letting his arm guide you around so that his body acted as a shield from Freddy who was cackling and swiping his finger knives around; you could hear the sharp whistle of air against the metal.  

You held on to the hips of Voorhees Eddie from behind and peeked under his raised arm to look at Freddy.  This Eddie in front of you was tall and massive, much more so than you remembered from the last dream you had.

“What the hell are you doing here, maggot?” The Freddy Krueger guy growled, saliva dripping from his yellow teeth as his pocked skin stretched over his cheeks like curdled milk.  

“Don’t worry about it, Jerry,” Eddie growled with disdain, throwing his machete into the other hand with deft precision. It twirled in the air and he caught it by the handle.  “This one is mine.”

“Oh, really?” The guy who looked like Freddy suddenly had a normal voice again, and his shoulders relaxed, dropping his hands to his sides. “I didn’t know, wow man, I’m sorry. Did I get the schedules mixed up?”

Voorhees Eddie relaxed too, dropping his free hand down to hold your hip, making sure you were still there. “No, you’re good,” Eddie’s voice was light now, soft, even. “I’m just filling in for Alex, he’s on vacation for a few days.”

“Paid leave?” Freddy/Jerry asked.  You were trying to match his face with the voice coming out, but it wasn’t working.

“I think so,” Eddie nodded once. 

“Must be nice to have seniority,” Jerry put his knives hand on his hip and scratched under his hat with the other. “Okay well, I’m going to head over to the next job. See ya, Munson.”

And with that, a black space the size of a door opened behind Jerry and he stepped through it. The door disappeared, and so did he. 

“Eddie?” You said his name over the hiss of the boilers as he turned to you.  You could see the realistically gray, rotting flesh of his Voorhees skin under his mask.  “What are you doing in a boiler room looking like Jason Voorhees?”

“Workin’,” he smiled and dropped the machete to the concrete with a clang to be able to snake his arms around you so that his fingers clasped at your lower back.  “I’ve been missing you.”

His new height was throwing you off as you tilted your head back to look up at him.  

“I recognized your voice this time,” you smiled, proud of yourself.  

He lowered his head to touch the mask to your forehead.  “I didn’t mean to disappear on you.  It took me a while to be able to have physical form again, to be able to see you like this.”

“It’s okay, I know,” you slid your hands up the torn clothing over his broad chest.

“You know?” He pulled back, searching your face.

“I’ve been reading this book, about where you work,” you wet your lips. “That Nightmare Factory place. I’ve been trying to figure out…how to see you more often.”

Eddie’s heart jumped.  He put his hand over yours on his chest and held it there, and you could see that even as Jason Voorhees, he still wore his signature metal rings.  “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course,” you got a bit bashful and looked down. “I want to…get to know you better.”

“I saw you the other night in my dream,” he rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand.  

You stared up into his eye sockets of his mask, and your face lit up.  “That was cool, wasn’t it? I couldn’t believe I found you.  There is a sort of meditation in the book that I did about a thousand times, and it was only for a second. I think it’s a type of astral projection. You looked really good on stage.”

Eddie tucked his chin almost bashfully, moving his hand to interlace his fingers with yours.  “You thought I looked good?”

Eddie had been learning too.  Learning new skills to come to you in your nightmares, but also learning about a rare case where a nightmare worker crossed into your dimension and stayed there.  They were never heard from again, and some say they didn’t survive the crossover and their particles exploded into the ether, but Eddie chose to believe that was a lie to keep people from trying.  

Suddenly, there was a banging sound, muffled and far away, but you could feel it thudding in your chest.  You checked around the room, thinking it was noise from one of the pipes, but Eddie dropped your hand and squeezed your arm, checking his digital wrist watch with a sigh like he usually did when he was about to make his exit.

Back at the factory, someone was banging their fist against the transportation door, shouting for Eddie. He tightened the muscles in his jaw, frustrated that there never seemed to be enough time. It sounded a whole lot like Kevin.

He had to figure something out soon, before his heart exploded.

“Are you in trouble again?” Now that you knew a bit more about what he did, you feared he might get penalized, and you wouldn’t lay eyes on him for another month.  The pounding continued intermittedly, and you faintly heard someone call out Eddie’s name.

“No, not this time, sweetheart,” Eddie stretched, puffing his chest out a bit, and then bent forward to put the mouth of the mask on your forehead. You could feel his warm breath on your skin there.  “But my shift is over.  I have to get back before my timer goes off.”

“Before your timer goes off? Sounds like you’re in a microwave.”

“Well,” he tipped his head to the side, thoughtfully.  “The technology is similar, I suppose, but yeah, I hate to leave you like this.”

You hugged Eddie Voorhees as hard as you could and spoke into his chest.  “Maybe next time, I’ll find you first.”

The distant banging got louder, more persistent.

He bent down to grab the machete, pushed a button on his watch, and the same square, black opening in the air appeared.

There was a second there when you considered just running and jumping through his door, but then you remembered a part in the book when it mentioned how that type of jarring dimensional travel could give Dreamers what scuba divers called “the bends” from the dramatic change in pressure.  

You were about to tell him you’d miss him, or goodbye, or something else, but then, in a blink, you were jolted back to your senses—

—you were back in the hallway of the haunt right after the spider had dropped from the ceiling.

Wait a minute.  How had that happened?

You were at a dead halt, stopping the flow of people traffic as you looked down at your hands and over at Ellie who had turned around to motion you to keep moving as another scare actor dressed like a deranged doctor covered in blood jumped from the corner.

When you got home, you rushed to your desk to open the book, and flipped to the chapter called “The fabric of moonbeams”.  It talked about “dream pockets” that occurred like daydreams when you were linked to someone.  The author didn’t know exactly how to explain it, but she suspected it had something to do with sudden surges of adrenaline that caused a dimensional shift, especially if you had a connection to someone at the factory.  

You sketched out Eddie again that night, this time, it was what you remembered from when you’d visited him for a few seconds at The Hideout.  Flanked by his bandmates, he was strumming the strings on his guitar, looking down with one knee bent out and his hair hanging down.  

You wanted to recapture the scene as realistically as possible so that you could study it to prepare for the next time you tried to visit him.  Next time, maybe you'd step into his world and not his dream.

Maybe next time, he’d kiss you again.

----

Happy Halloween weekend to all of you who are enjoying this series, thank you for reading 🧡

[scriberye]

Metal and Muse

       ➥  Perturabo x F!OC     |     6834     |     Ao3

⚠️🔞 Romance, Explicit Sexual Content (P in V), Cunnilingus, Pregnancy After catching one of his remembrancers in an awkward situation, things become even more awkward as Perturabo works through his feelings. a/n: Trying something different, just uploading the first chapter here. The rest are all on Ao3.

Deep within the unyielding walls of the Iron Warriors’ fortress on Olympia, a remembrancer toiled away into the night. The bright glow of the lumens spilled out from her studio and into the darkened hallways. Sculptures of all sizes and shapes adorned the room, from towering life-sized statues of Iron Warriors to delicate vases.

The studio was silent except for the scraping and chiseling sounds of Helena’s tools against marble. Her eyes were heavy from the lack of sleep, but inspiration had struck and she would not rest. She would finish this project tonight. Just a little more.

A sudden tremor, faint yet unmistakable, rumbled through the fortress. Helena paused, alert and surveying her studio with concern as she swayed with the motion. Quakes weren’t uncommon on Olympia, but they still made her uneasy. Her tools and sculptures rattled as the tremor subsided.

She sighed, shaking off the nerves, and returned to her work.

One. Last. Chip.

“There!” she announced with pride.

Helena brushed the last specks of dust and took a step back to admire her handiwork. Perturabo’s stoic expression stared back at her with a cold, calculating gaze. It was her best work yet. The marble bust seemed almost alive with the amount of painstaking detail she put into it.

She ran her fingers over the contours of his face and down along the stern set of his jaw. If only the flesh and blood version of him would look at her. For years, she had harbored a secret admiration for the Primarch, feelings that had grown even more difficult to hide since her request to accompany the Iron Warriors.

But it would never happen. It was futile to dream of more. Perturabo was a Primarch, and she was just one remembrancer out of many. It was impossible that he would give her a second thought, much less consider her as a potential romantic partner.

Still, those feelings wormed their way to the surface, threatening to spill out. An outlet. A release. Anything. It was only a moment. A whimsical flight of fancy. She felt bold in the solitude of her studio this late at night — and it resulted in Helena’s greatest embarrassment. She leaned toward the statue, her eyes fluttered shut as she pressed her lips against the stone. For just a moment, she imagined the cold and unyielding marble was alive and warm.

“What are you doing?”

Helena’s eyes shot open. She spun around, and her heart stopped. Her eyes widened in terror. And there, standing in the doorway, was Perturabo, staring at her with a hard and unreadable expression.

“My lord! I-I was just…” she stammered. Her mind raced to come up with an explanation for her actions and found none. He had caught her in the act and no excuse could save her now.

Perturabo entered the room, his dominating presence filling the studio. Helena instinctively took a step back to put distance between them. Her breath quickened, sharp and shallow. His boots echoed against the floor as he came closer. And closer. Thud. Thud. She couldn’t meet his gaze. Instead, her eyes remained fixed on the floor, her face burning from shame. Perturabo’s imposing figure cast a long shadow over her, and Helena struggled to breathe under its weight.

“You were what?” He looked sharply between the bust of himself and the cowering remembrancer. “Answer me,” he demanded, his tone low and controlled.

“I-I meant no offense, my lord,” Helena confessed softly. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, though her heart raced and pounded in her ears. “I’ve always admired you and I forgot myself in the moment…”

Perturabo studied her in silence.

Sleep had eluded him for nights, his mind burdened by the calculations and meticulous planning for seemingly endless campaigns. Every detail had to be flawless, every strategy brutal in its efficiency. The burden bore down on him, and his temples throbbed. He took to roaming the halls of the fortress in his restlessness. Rumors had drawn him to the remembrancers’ studios, where one was reportedly working on a bust of him.

He had not expected to find it occupied at this hour, much less be witness to such an intimate and confusing scene. The sight of Helena kissing the statue stirred a confusing mix of emotions within him, feelings he often ignored. Still, he hesitated. Her emotions were raw and on full display.

After a moment, he spoke. “Your work is adequate.”

Helena gasped. She had braced for a harsh reprimand, or worse, a punishment for the audacity of her actions. Instead, she received praise.

“T-Thank you, my lord,” she managed to stammer out. If anyone else had said it, it would’ve been an insult, but it was high praise coming from Perturabo. A very rare acknowledgment of skill that few seldom received.

“Your dedication is commendable,” he continued, his tone unusually gentle, “but do not neglect the need for rest, Exhaustion hinders and diminishes the quality of work.” He paused, mulling over what else to say, then added, “Do not let this happen again.”

Helena nodded quickly, relief flooding through her. “Yes, my lord!”

With a final, lingering look at the bust, Perturabo turned and left the studio.

Helena collapsed to the ground, her legs giving out from underneath her. Emotions surged through her — relief, shock, and the strange thrill of excitement. A nervous, almost hysterical giggle escaped her. Not only had Perturabo acknowledged her work, he had let her off without so much as a word about the kiss. The entire encounter felt like a dream she’d soon wake from.

She remained on the floor, her heart gradually returning to normal, and her breath steadied. How fortunate, she may just keep her job and her life.

[residentfromnowhere]

| SOUP |

GiyuuTomiokaXHashira!Reader

TW: 18+ Themes, Masturbation, & Voyeurism Kink

Note: not proofread and I was half sleep when I made this so apologies for this mess of a Drabble -w-

“Yes, Y/N fuck me harder…ffffuuck-“

How did you get here? How did it get to this point and When did it get to this point? How did you get yourself into this mess of a situation to where your trapped in the door way of your friends home when all you were doing was delivering a bowl of soup. Soup for Christ sakes? And to someone who you thought was just a good friend no less? One second, you were walking down a path you have taken dozens of times to reach a fellow hashiras house and then the next thing you know, you open a door and hear not just anyone moaning, but him moaning. Loudly. See, it’s not the moaning that startles you and makes you stop in your tracks, it’s the fact that he’s moaning YOUR NAME out of all things and saying the most lewd and vulgar phrases afterwards that makes you freeze.

If anyone saw you now, they would think that you were a statue. Stuck between making a run for it or just standing there and waiting until after he’s done. There were many windows of opportunity to where you could have ran for the hills but each time, your body would cease to function, making you have to hear him call out to you and talk about you in such a way that you don’t know if you will ever recover from this. You were terrified to even breath in fear that he would notice but knew that if you didn’t leave soon, you would see something that will alter your perception of him forever

Giyuu Tomioka was a kind, quiet soul whose skill was nothing short of amazing and can easily be recognized as one of the demons corps best. He was the first to ever speak to you when you first arrived and always showed kindness and understanding towards you. So imagine how shocking it must be to see someone you look up to and call “friend” pleasuring them self to the thought of you. You respected him and saw him as more of a teacher than anything so why is it that you’re just now learning about his feelings for you And like this?

You snap out of your train of thought when you suddenly hear a low, breathless grunt. You finally get the courage to look through the cracked door and see a half naked Giyuu panting, chest rapidly moving up and down as he watched the remaining of his essence spurt out and god it was so much. He was covered in it and the thump from him laying down made you jump backward, having your head hit the wind chimes right above you. You both freeze, not knowing what to do and at that moment, you decided to drop the soup and run faster than you ever ran in your life and never thinking of turning back.

Ever since that day, you haven’t been able to look him in the eyes but he didn’t show that he minded it. At first, you weren’t sure if he saw you or guessed that you were there but after a few conversations, things seemingly went back to normal. Well, so you thought. What you didn’t know was that he sensed you and knew the entire time you were there and it just made him hornier. He was too far deep to stop now and he thought since his muse was there, he might as well put on a show.

He’s only keeping quiet for the sake of the friendship and for your own peace of mind but when I say that even after you left, he had another round because the very fact that you stayed made him horny and honestly couldn’t help himself, i mean he went harder than before. You could have sworn he mumbled something along the lines of “thank you for the soup” while walking away but wasn’t to sure. I guess we will never know, hmm?

[luvwich]

✒️ writer interview tag

tagged by @dustdeepsea — tysm, this was great fun! read their answers here and mine, if you like, beneath the cut ✨

When did you start writing?

early 2023 was my first foray into writing actual fiction. prior to that i'd done an embarrassing amount of roleplaying many years ago, which i shall speak on no further, but it did form the basis for a lot of my writing now!

once upon a time, i seriously entertained the idea of an MFA in screenwriting, but went on to pursue something even stupider for grad school 👍

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

honestly everything i enjoy reading gets smuggled into my writing in some form or another!

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

there are like 26 different writers where i wish to take bits and pieces of their style, send it all into a meat grinder, and press the gunk into sausage casings to be dipped in batter and deep fried. ideally i want my writing to hit like wagyu beef that's been corrupted into a county fair corn dog. but no i'm not sure i've ever been compared to another writer! that would fuck my shit up truly (in a good way)

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

typically curled up on my couch, because the ergonomic status of my home office setup is terrible — potentially lethal. sometimes i stay late at my not-home office, hidden away in a dark conference room, but that's usually only if i'm on a self-imposed deadline (i.e. i've started posting a WIP)

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

the spark that gets me to write is usually some kind of Dynamic that i want to explore so i do a lot of noodling upon situations and then figuring out how to get there. and by situations i mean smut

also, writing bits of dialogue, even if i don't know the context yet. it gets a character's voice and mannerisms in my head, and gives me a little grain to start building on

sadly, going on a hike and/or reading a really good book are both very effective and by far the most time consuming

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

longing, isolation, identity, the difference between the person you'd like to be and the person you are, strained/dysfunctional family relationships, wrong person right time, hope, blowjobs, self-deception, california, fucking your way through it, guilt, social class, mommy issues, mono no aware, oral fingering, etc; they don't surprise me anymore but the first time i finished a long fic and took a step back i was like "ohh haha Damn"

What is your reason for writing?

i am horny, sad n silly

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

all forms of feedback are so touching! i think much of what i write is pretty niche, so simply knowing someone has read my stuff gets me pumped. a big essay of a comment is like receiving a love letter, and comments that are just an emoji are like someone's tucked a little note in my lunchbox, and both are incredibly nourishing to me. as far as motivation, though, anything that implies someone is looking forward to reading more is the surest way to light a fire under my people-pleasing ass

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

affable wretch, trickster, wine aunt

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

i'm not sure any one thing stands out: i believe i'm pretty good in a few areas (dialogue, sensory detail, characterization) and notably lacking in others (action, "plot," pacing, not getting high on my own supply)… okay i'll stop being an asshole though and say my strength is in "delivering on a mood," if that is a thing

How do you feel about your own writing?

generally good. for one, i'm proud of myself for ever finishing and posting anything, because following through on shit isn't something i'm renown for. i tend to hate everything i write after i've gotten some distance from it, but i think that's normal? right? i'm new at it and it's all for fun so i try to be gracious with myself, with mixed success, because beneath my goofy exterior i do take everything too seriously

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

mostly for myself; i do abstractly ask "would someone who isn't me enjoy this?" and never quite know the answer. like most humans i crave external validation and connection, but like a cactus i can survive on just a lil rainfall 🌵

tagging w/no pressure (but with my best barbara walters impression) @corpocyborg @ghostoffuturespast @merge-conflict @streetkid-named-desire @writing-for-soup

[gabessquishytum]

What about a pretty woman idea?

Dream is an artist, preferably a sculptor who is very low in inspiration. He is temperamental and difficult but his work is exquisite so people put up with him.

Only he has nothing.

Until on a nighttime walk he comes across escort hob wearing the exact outfit Julia roberts was in the beginning of the movie.

Hob puts the moves on him, hoping to earn enough that he can quit for the night and go to bed, but dream makes him a better offer.

He is in desperate need of a muse and there’s just something about hob. It’s his beauty, his warm skin, but it’s also something in his eyes.

Dream offers hob a ton of money—his family is rich, he doesn’t need it—if only hob will pose for him, and for a brief time live at Dream’s place so he can work.

Hob is skeptical but when he looks dream up and sees his work he’s moved to tears.

So he accepts.

Hob moves into dream’s loft and dream carefully strips him down and looks at him from all angles, his eyes intent and heavy.

The exhibit is going to be inherently sexual. Hob is sculpted in pieces, from his lips to the curve of the small of his back.

But Dream’s favorite piece is just a simple small statue of hob sleeping, cuddled up in Dream’s spare robe.

Of course they have sex. Dream needs to know the way hob looks in his back spread open and begging for his cock if he’s going to recreate it. He needs to memorize the way his skin dimples under his fingers and how hob’s throat works when he swallows his cum.

By the time the exhibit launches they’re both in love but neither has said. They’re both searching for reasons to stay together and afraid to bring it up.

Dream invites hob to the opening, has him on his arm and calls him his muse and hob hurts with how much he wants it to be real.

But then everything goes wrong. Corinthian finds hob in the bathroom. He’s an art critic and a former client and he makes hob an offer—he’ll write about how Dream’s precious muse is actually his paid whore if hob doesn’t offer him something better. hob punches him and runs. But now he’s convinced he can’t go back, even to explain things to dream. It’s all ruined…

Oh no, poor Hob! The initial agony of knowing that he'll never really mean anything to Dream is only compounded by how much Hob misses him, now. His life was so beautiful with Dream, even if it was all just pretend. Now he's back on street corners and dive bars, spending all the money he earns on drinks to take away the pain. He's in a messy haze, getting himself into dangerous situations, and more than once he wakes up on the floor of some unfamiliar apartment, with no recollection of how he got there.

Eventually he just can't stay away from the exhibition and he sneaks in to look at all the statues, all the large sculptures, even the initial sketches that the gallery are displaying alongside the main pieces. Hob doesn't recognise himself. The way Dream makes him look so beautiful, open and unafraid. He feels like he doesn't deserve to have anyone looking at him like that.

Dream would profoundly disagree. Turns out he's been waiting, hoping that Hob would eventually go back to the exhibition. He's been practically camped out at the gallery since witnesses saw Hob punch Cori and run off. Dream guessed what had happened immediately and he's had people out all over the city looking for Hob.

Dream apologises deeply for making Hob so unhappy. He should never have used him like just another tool to create his art. Especially when they both clearly started having feelings. Dream had meant to confess and ask Hob to stay, to be his boyfriend at the opening, but obviously that all went wrong... he would totally understand if Hob can't forgive him.

Turns out, Hob can forgive him. As long as he gets to keep that one little statue of him asleep in Dream’s robe. He'll display it on the nightstand in their apartment, and hopefully it'll remind him that he can be beautiful. As long as he's also loved.

[allhopeislost]

Got Marius feels, so i am back with headcanony musings about his character

He tends to intelectiualize all his feelings (keep himself from actually being in touch with his own condition) so he is always SO IRRATIONAL with his actions but blind to it. He considered everything, didnt he? (YEAH U FORGOT YOURSELF, ASSHOLE!) he just does not take himself into account, when appraising situations he is in! The world ends where he starts.

Anne also provides a cool way to show how developing ego as a coping strategy effects thought process (overblown ego is a trauma response, and it is, i belive, always accompanied with extremely low self-worth. Anyways, both are present with Marius)

He does not treat himself as important, outside his duty as the Keeper (father/husband/master). He is only as real as the position he is in. Thats fits with why he lets his loved ones disobey him, challenge him endlessly. They are the ones he allows to treat him as he would treat his (true)self...It is so funny(and sad), how he both demands to be treated as according to his position, yet never stops the disrespect if it is concerning to his self.

Why would anyone need him, outside his use? He will always provide his servitude as a person to take charge and teach (share skills and knowledge), yet fail to ask things he want for HIMSELF, not for the sake of upholding his role. Give give give, to a point of it being cruel (hi, Benji and Sybelle).

For so long, he is not proactively violent on his own behalf and yet fighting to keep the status quo. It is what gives him a role to play (here comes a heartbreak, when Lestat is worried Marius would walk into the sun as the parents are gone. Lestat knows, he sees this 😭)

He also seems to believe nothing would change for those who know him, if he is just...put on stop for some time. No matter what they express on the matter. He looses Pandora over it. He fucks up Armand with this. It takes him sooo long to understand.

And If he does not have active duty... he could dissapear and everyone would be fine, forget about him and be fine, if he just gives them enough knowledge to survive without him. He is so harsh with Amadeo, so he would learn every single thing about surviving as a vampire..Marius could stop being a consideration if he is not around, but general knowledge, skills will stay. My heart aches.

It is kinda cool, because if you are like me and headcanon Marius with ADHD, it also fits so well with lack of object permanance. His own thoughts and feelings don't deteriorate, but they stop exsisting (or are static and as intense as ever at all times) when the subject is not in the spotlight, he assumes that is just how it works. Another cool drop in the pro adhd bucket full of hyperfixations, loredumping, missing social cues, sensory issues and overblown sense of justice he has.

[ravenousrampage]

My lovely lovely friend (who wishes to remain anonymous) wrote me an amazing little snippet for Knight, and has given me permission to share! Please enjoy, I certainly did! Enjoy Knight eating some Goblins and being very unsettling to people!

Could it even be called a knight?

Nothing about the being that stood before Lord Kelvin struck him as particularly human. However, the details were trivial, and the innkeeper claimed that the "Knight's" bravery was unparalleled. He wasn't sure what that meant in this case, but he knew he was desperate and the mission was simple enough.

"Your pay will be ten gold pieces."

The helmeted head of the creature creaked in his direction, but otherwise made no sound. It was unnerving. Statue still but emanating an aura that made a cold sweat prickle at the back of his neck.

It stared at him - into him.

"And five silver, as well."

He tacked on, barely able to stop the tremble in his voice as the Knight grunted.

"My duties begin now?"

The lord nodded and Knight turned heel, walking from the room with no sense of urgency. This was a simple mission. Miss Innkeeper would be happy to get paid and he would be happy with a free meal.

-----‐---------‐

The woman he accompanied was vibrant and oddly chatty with Knight, it was similar to how Miss Innkeeper treated him, and he liked that much better than the screaming that often followed his appearance.

"Such a willowy, waifish fellow. What court do you hail from?"

She mused, hiding a chuckle behind her hand while astride her steed. Just at eye level, Knight failed to notice the cheeky curvy to her lips. Even if he had, he held no interest in that sort of thing.

What an interesting question though.

Knight wasn't particularly sure himself.

One day, his eyes opened and his empty stomach grumbled - he had been on the move ever since.

This plating that covered his appendages seemed to earn him a lot of undeserved perks, but it also usually roped him into situations that did not interest him.

Had it not been for the pay, and, more importantly, the promise of a meal, he didn't think he would have taken this mission.

"What?"

"Your court, dear fellow!"

That answered none of his questions, but he was saved from having to answer as a small creature tore into the path.

"Oh, my! A goblin! Slay it, knight!"

The goblin looked unsurprised to see them there, drawing a dagger to brandish at the two with a bored air.

"Surrend the woman to us. Tell your lord to pay our ransom and she will be returned promptly."

A few more goblins appeared from the brush, each had daggers and bore the same expression as the presumed leader.

Knight's charge shrieked and squawked, calling the goblins 'vermin' and 'monsters' from the back of her Palomino. It all felt very staged… because it was.

Lord Kelvin had made a deal with the local goblins. Once in awhile, when his wife started to drive him batty with her nagging, he would send her on a little outing with a knight. They encountered goblins at some point in the trip, the knight would defeat them, and the lady would be back in her husband's arms grateful that she was alive and that he had spent a pretty penny to keep his wife safe.

The longer the charade went on, the harder it was to find knights who would take such a task and to appease the goblins who demanded more and more each time.

Knight was here to eliminate the problem.

He strode forward, feeling his stomach rumbled in approval when he unceremoniously grabbed one goblin, not the ringleader, and, without warning, scarfed it down.

His helm tipped back, revealing to only the goblin about to enter his maw while lie beneath, and shoved the monster in. There was some scrabbling and clawing - nothing he wasn't expecting from alarmed prey.

Gulp

Completely ensconced within Knight's elastic throat.

GULP

The squirming goblin settled in his stomach, fighting for an exit that would never appear. Another groan from his belly. Knight leaned down and repeated the process, savoring the heaviness of gut when the second goblin was down.

Only then did everyone start screaming.

Knight sighed.

Before the group had time to disperse, Knight grabbed a goblin in each hand, tucking one under his arm and lifting the other over his head.

"What kind of knight are you?"

One screeched, Knight's tongue wrapping around the creature's waist and began to drag the stuggling goblin closer.

"A hungry one."

This one, although it writhed and wriggled, he tried to take a moment to appreciate the flavor. Miss Innkeeper was always getting on his case for eating too quickly.

Rot and earth. Smoky and musty. Putrid in a way that deterred all other predators with olfactory senses, but not Knight.

He took his time, taking a few shallow gulps and feeling his throat bulge as his muscles worked hard to drawn his prey deeper into his belly.

The sharp plate that usually protected his abdomen was digging into him uncomfortably. Although elastic inside and out, Knight could still feel the discomfort and he took a second to stop swallowing his prey and pry his chest plate off.

Stomach bulging and writhing, Knight lifted a hand and covered his helm with a fist, so much movement was making him burpy.

For a moment, he debated if he could even fit another goblin. He felt quite full and he didn't have the luxury to sit down and digest. No Miss Innkeeper to soothe his swollen stomach with calloused, but kind hands (she would probably wait anyway, she didn't like when he came back with a stomach full of a fresh meal).

However, he had a job, and the last goblin he caught was the ringleader. There was no pointing waiting for the goblin to begin bargaining, Knight wasn't interested in whatever sob story the creature constructed. The goblin's head was in his mouth and the creature disappeared into the tight confines of his already full stomach.

He stood there, swaying on the spot with his hands soothing over taut flesh. Ah, he could really go for a nap. Unfortunately, he had to slosh to their next destination - there he could sit back and digest.

Somewhere in the back of his head, Knight's hopes were dashed. His dream of capturing and consuming a whole dragon seemed so out of reach if a few goblins had him second guessing his capacity (physically and mentally).

Stomach lurching and small noises of discomfort puncturing each step, Knight returned to Lady Kelvin's side.

Horrified did not begin to describe her expression.

[slashers-and-rats]

pretty boy.

vincent sinclair x fem!reader | nsfw |sub!vincent, lingerie, lots of praise!!

rat chat: vincent deserves to feel pretty and be railed. that’s this.

wherever your fingertips dragged along vincent’s skin, a blazing trail followed close behind. it didn’t burn or sting; it felt as though you were tracing lines of hot wax across his flesh. he felt, in some ways, like your canvas. the way you drew invisible patterns on him, and created faint etchings with your nails along his most sensitive spots, made him gasp and push further into your touch.

vincent felt pretty.

he felt a bit like a doll, all dressed up and laid out for display. you had picked out his outfit yourself. at first, he had been so nervous, and the only thing saving him from complete embarrassment was the fact his mask hid the red on his face. but, you spoke so sweetly, and praised him for his beauty, and your words turned his organs into ooze, and-

there was no point in thinking about it now. he had gotten himself into this predicament, and the further you worshipped his body, the less he believed this was a mistake. it wasn’t. you had reassured him of that the second the straps slipped over his shoulders.

“you look so pretty in your lingerie,” you purred from above him. the words wrapped around his throat, and squeezed out a soft sigh. he could feel your eyes roaming over him, taking in the sight. he donned a nice set, with a lacy bralette and matching panties. it was snug on his body, tight to the point his nipples raised bumps in the fabric barely covering his chest. his cock, tucked as far down into the panties as possible, still had it’s head poking out the waistband. it leaked drops onto his hip and back down his v-line, and twitched every time you grazed your fingers down his stomach. garters we’re attached, with bows adorning the middle of the strap that connected to the thigh-highs. they felt silky and soft, and hid the bit of hair that grew on his legs. he felt smooth, pure and shiny. for once he was dainty, like a flower.

your eyes trailed back up, gazing lovingly into his. he could feel his heart pounding hard in his chest, threatening to rip out and ruin the nice fabric. he had to remember to breathe.

“who’s my pretty boy?” you settled in between his legs. he felt his chest heating up, and turned away from you. your hands curled around the flesh of his thighs, and pulled them over your own legs, so he was partially in your lap. his crotch pressed into the plush of your stomach as you leaned forward, moving his face so he was looking up at you again. “hey, no running. answer me. who’s my pretty boy?”

a wave ran through vicent’s body, the blood now rushing from his head down to his cock. he could feel it twitch once again, rubbing lightly into his waist and smearing precum along his skin. he opened his mouth, trying to speak, but choked on his own words. he wasn’t good at talking, especially when in situations like this. you just watched as he squirmed under your amused eye, trying his hardest to say what he wanted.

if this was easier for him, he’d be chanting ‘me, me, I’m your pretty boy, i am’. it felt right. he, for once, was the muse. he was the model, and the art, and the statue posed elegantly in the museum. he was an exhibit, a display- but only for you. this was a private show. he wanted you to know that he knew his place.

he sputtered, gasping lightly when you pinched his chin between your pointer and thumb. you lifted it up, revealing his throat to you, and leaning in to press your mouth against the taut skin there. “c’mon, vincent, be my good little pet. speak.”

it felt as though someone had pressed down on his lungs, because a trembling whimper wheezed out. he swallowed thickly, finally managing to gather enough wit to say, “i-I’m… y-yours. I’m y-yours.” it was near silent, his voice hoarse from lack of use. but it was the best he could bring himself to do.

he could feel your lips curl into a satisfied smile. your hand went down his cheek and came to rest on his chest. his heart beat thumped heavy against your palm. your other hand, still clutching his thigh, dragged up his body to the bulge in his underwear.

“such a good boy, my good boy,” you praised, rubbing your thumb up the line of his shaft. he keened, back arching so he could press his torso further into your touch. he could feel the texture of the lace rubbing against his nipples, the growing sensitivity plaguing his body making him shudder at every small sensation. you responded by pinching the bud through his bralette, making him buck his hips.

“you’re so excitable today. is this too much for you?” you pulled away from your place in his neck. you examined his face. he was so happy his mask continued to protect him, because underneath his mouth was permanently open, hot breaths hitting the inside of the wax as his face shone with arousal. he knew his eyes didn’t hide how needy he was, but if there was any doubt, he shook his head to signal he was not, in fact, too overwhelmed.

he was at just the right amount, actually. his body was melting down into the bed, and his veins were filled with warm honey. he was in heaven. he wanted you to continue, to give him anything more.

like you were reading his mind, you tugged his panties down under his balls, and allowed his dick to flop up against his happy trail. the sudden freedom made him gasp in surprise. you positioned yourself so that you had full view and reach over him. one hand held his hip in place, while the other grasped at his cock, and began stroking.

vincent felt electricity surge up his body, and it showed as he suddenly thrust hard into your fist. he clutched at the blankets around him, finding little purchase, and instead just writhing against the bed. you were going too slow, but squeezing so tight around his shaft. you ran all the way down until your pinkie could dip and brush his balls, and then you’d move up to choke underneath his head, and swipe the precum off of his tip.

he moaned, coarse and rough, unpracticed. his head twisted to rest a cheek against the bed, eyes squeezing shut and mouth hanging open to allow freedom for his noises. they spilled out messy against the mattress. whimpers and whines, barely audible pleas that didn’t make sense; it all leaked out between panting breaths.

“you’re such a beauty, vinny. you’re so cute, moaning like that. you must feel real good, huh?” he nodded immediately at the question, adding a hard thrust up into your hand for emphasis. you giggled, the sound like acupuncture needles pinching into his nerves. it relaxed him, turned him to mush. “I’m glad. you deserve it. you deserve to feel good, and feel appreciated, and feel worshipped. all that nice stuff.”

you ceased your stroking. it was sudden enough that vincent choked out a loud whine, sitting up on his elbows. you tutted him, pushing him back down against the bed. “calm down,” you cooed, maneuvering yourself so that you sat over his legs. “i just wanna give you more. you want that, don’t you? you want more?” vincent nodded enthusiastically, his hands moving to hold your hips now. he squeezed, feeling your flesh move out between his fingers, and fill his palms. he wanted to smother himself in you.

while he was focused on finding a good handle on you, you raised your hips up above his own. your hand barely touched his cock as you guided his tip to your hole. it was when you slipped the head inside you, letting it barely pass by your lips, that vincent was once again ripped down to earth. without much thought, he pushed his hips all the way up into you, sheathing himself quick within your walls. it made you whimper in surprise, and he soaked up the sound, letting out his own moan of pleasure in response.

“you’ve been so good, vinny. fuck me. take what you want.” you leaned forward on your arms, stabilizing yourself before beginning to grind your hips back on the man below you. vincent’s own grip tightened on you, before he began to thrust up into your warmth.

he felt like a slut, but a pretty one for sure. the lace of his panties left imprints in the backs of your thighs, and as he fucked up into you, his garters jingled lightly against his legs. he couldn’t stop his hips from rutting into you, almost primal in the way he buried himself into you over and over.

you looked like a dream to him, taking him so well. you looked down at him with such adoration, it was like a heat lamp was focused on his face. he could feel the sweat beginning to stick to the surface of his skin, and the room filled with the sweet aroma of sex. he breathed it all in deep, memorizing his surroundings to use when he was alone and missing your embrace. he burned you into his vision, and every wet slap of his cock into your hole was committed to memory.

you let the weight of your body fall to one arm, bouncing back on his dick as your free hand found the middle string of his bra. you pulled it, tugging him up and to your chest. he quickly wrapped his arms around you, holding you close and pushing you back so you sat completely in his lap. for a moment, the thrusting stopped. you just sat, panting gently as he held your body close, the set of undergarments stamping intricate patterns into you both. you pressed your lips hard against his throat, opening them only to begin sucking and biting along the space there. he let his head fall back, beginning to whimper when your hips began to grind down into his cock.

he felt helpless. pleasure pulsed through every inch of his being, and the weight of you on top of him felt divine. it reassured him he was there, in the moment, and it wasn’t all some wet dream. your hands ran over his shoulders and tangled in his hair, and you pulled him flush against your body. where you began and he ended was a mystery. it felt right.

he leaned closer into you, guiding you down until you were laying against your back. he pushed your legs wide open, moving so that he could be as deep inside of you as possible. it was your turn to breathe a moan, eyes fluttering shut.

he watched you, mapping out every small detail of your body; every valley and hill, every bump and mark. he leaned over you, letting his hair fall around his neck and become curtains around his face. in this light, he looked like an angel, adorned in fine silks and innocent white fabric. but the sheen of sweat, and the red peeking down from his face spoke of only sin.

vincent braced himself, before beginning to fuck down into you. it was a quicker pace than previous, his patience running thin. he didn’t want to just tease himself anymore, he needed to be selfish. he wanted to be. he wanted to drown in your aura, to cover himself in you and everything you could give him.

your fingers looped into the garters, pulling his hips down into you with each thrust. even as he was towered over you, you found a way to hold him by the reigns. he felt so controlled. he was nothing but a doll, a silly little puppet to be played with and used. it was his rightful place.

he pumped into you, being guided by you even in this moment. he grunted with every thrust, his pace becoming sloppy and uneven as a knot tightened in his stomach. out of instinct, a hand flew down to your clit, and he began rubbing it with determination. you always came first, you were in charge, he was here to please you. oh, how he had changed- once so frightening, now nothing but a play thing.

you moaned, and the sound didn’t help his battle to hold back his orgasm. it filled his head with fog, and he let out desperate whimpers as he held himself back.

“you can cum, vinny, it’s okay. cum if you need to, okay?” your words, while reassuring, fell on deaf ears. he was focused, nothing would stray him from his goal. he readjusted himself, now angling perfectly so that he met your g-spot with every rut. he drank in the sounds you let out in response.

vincent continued his work, circling your clit with his thumb while bumping his head into that good spot inside you. the look in his eyes was feral, but filled with purpose.

he could barely breathe when you came on him. it happened so suddenly, with no warning to be had. you orgasmed, and your walls tightened and squeezed around his cock. he tried to keep his eyes open, tried to watch the beauty that was your climax, but he couldn’t. he came in an instant, doubling over your body and collapsing down into your chest. spurt after spurt of hot cum spilled into your cunt, filling it until semen spilled out around vincent’s cock. he shuddered, hiding his face in your collarbone, while his moans spilled shakily out of his mouth.

you stroked his hair, catching your own breath while he rode out his orgasm. it had been a wave for you both; starting high, crashing hard into him, and then pulling back out to the distance. he laid in the low tide, relaxing in the warmth.

“you did so well. you’re such good boy, and so cute too, even when you’re coming. who’s my pretty boy?” you hummed, patting his back gently. he breathed deep against your chest, laying fully against you now, letting his cock slip lazily from your hole. he wasn’t in a rush to clean up. he needed a moment to breathe anyways.

“i’m y-your pretty boy…”

[writingmochi]

the future is not a straight line. it is filled with many crossroads. there must be a future that we can choose for ourselves. - kiyoko, akira (1988)

cast: jake ✗ fem.reader (featuring many other idols)

synopsis: as the world entered the middle of the 21st century, many things have changed for the better or for worse in the newly united korea peninsula: the preparation for the succession of the new conglomerates of the past decade, the uprising of deviant androids, and the new layer of life shield by walls of codes. in the middle of it, two beings are trying to understand each other and the situation of the world they live in; an unknown territory

genre: cyberpunk, cyber noir, psychological thriller, science fiction, dystopian future, politics and philosophies regarding artificial intelligence and humanity, romance, drama, angst, mature content (war and revolution, explicit smut)

based on: video game cyberpunk 2077 (2020) and detroit: become human (2018), anime serial experiments lain (1998), and tv show succession (2018-2023)

status: to be released

message from the moon: remember that this story is fiction and do be careful and read the warnings at the top. all the idols mentioned here are not what they are in real life.

in celebrating one of my muses' birthday, here is a series that i have been ideating for about a year now! i know it's very unconventional but i want to explore more of this genre, especially since i don't see it much in enhablr *thumbs up*

taglist? right here

TEASER

project android | cyberspace advertisement | the rebellion

INTRODUCTION

united korea | from south seoul | from north seoul

cyberspace interactive

it's your chance to use cyberspace! want to know the databases and the characters more? come visit us! coming soon, 2024

THE STORY (tentative date and amount of parts; will always gonna be 3 acts but may divided into smaller parts)

act 1 (2024)

no matter where you go, everyone is connected- iwakura lain, serial experiments lain (1998)

warning(s): tba

act 2 (2024)

i am superior in many ways, but i would gladly give it up to be human - data, star trek: the next generation (1987-1994)

warning(s): tba

act 3 (2024)

man is an individual only because of his intangible memory. but memory cannot be defined, yet it defines mankind - puppet master, ghost in the shell (1995)

warning(s): tba

taglist: @raeyunshm @endzii23 @fluffyywoo @camipendragon @hiqhkey @wccycc @cha0thicpisces @y4wnjunz @yeehawnana @beansworldsstuff @kimipxl @blurryriki @reallysmolrenjun (special tag for @ujunxverse as the very 1st supporter for this series XD)

© writingmochi on tumblr, 2021-2024. all rights reserved

[pufflehuffing]

Teacher's Pet (Professor!Sebastian Sallow X F!Student!Reader) 🔞

pairing: Professor!Sebastian Sallow x F!Student!Reader genre: smut, mdni (everyone is 18+) summary: A forbidden muse caged within an ivory darkness wanted Professor Sallow deeply, and he was only a mere man happy to show her self-worth. word count: 7.5k A/N: Y’all professor!Seb has me in a chokehold! I have so many scenarios in my head My masterlist. (Part 2 is up!)

Professor Sallow stood up from his chair, towering over the petite girl standing before him. His deep brown eyes scan her form appreciatively before settling on her flushed face. A small smirk played at the corner of his lips as he spoke. "Ah, dear, come in and make yourself comfortable. Please, have a seat." He gestured towards the empty chair across from his desk. Once she sat down, he leaned back into his own chair, crossing one booted leg over the other as he regarded her with a calculating look. "Now, dear, what is it that has you looking so troubled?" The girl nervously shifted in her seat as she looked at him. She was feeling embarrassed that he had called her to his office, as it showed a sign of weakness in her normal façade of the perfect student. "I'm sorry, sir?"

"Your studies, dear," he clarified, leaning forward slightly and resting his elbows on the desk between them. His voice lowered an octave, becoming more serious. "You have always been a bright student, yet lately... well, it worries a man like me to see such potential going to waste." He paused dramatically, allowing the weight of his words to settle before adding: "Tell me, is there anything troubling you? Anything at all that could be causing this change in your usual brilliant performance?"

Not fully expecting an answer, Professor Sallow continued speaking while keeping his eyes locked on hers. "I know how much you care about your studies, how passionate you used to be about learning. Do you miss something? Do you need help solving a problem or are you being teased by any of the boys in your classes?" His tone softened slightly, conveying genuine concern for her wellbeing. Most professors would have made it clear from the start that their interest was professionally motivated, but not him. Many said it was because of his upbringing, believing that everyone deserved help, regardless of social status or school hierarchy.

“I don't know. I think... maybe I'm just stressed. It's just.. all a bit overwhelming. I feel like I'm not good enough, you know? I always wanted to be perfect, to make my family proud. But sometimes... I feel like I'm failing.”

Silence filled the room as he took in her words, the weight of them clinging onto the air between them. He leaned back in his chair again, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. There was a silence for a while, an eerie calm that only served to underline the gravity of the situation. Slowly, Sallow uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Ah," he said, a soft touch of sympathy in his voice. "Being a perfect student, an ideal pupil, it's a heavy weight to carry. I've been there. It took me years to realise that even stars can falter in darkness." He paused briefly, giving her a chance to understand his metaphor. "You're not alone in your struggle, sweetheart. We all have our mountains to climb. Just remember to breathe, you hear?" His eyes bore into hers, the confidence in them an attempt to transfer his strength onto her face. Despite his exterior show of bravado and outstanding academic reputation, he too had battled inner demons. He understood the fear of failing.

"I used to think about climbing mountains, you know," he confided in a softer tone, looking away from her for a moment. The fire crackled in the corner of his office, casting dancing shadows on the walls. When he looked back at her, his eyes held a distant sadness as if remembering past events. "Every peak I reached only seemed to reveal another peak beyond it. It seemed like no matter how hard I tried, there would always be something more to conquer. But now?" He paused, letting out a sigh before focusing on her once more. His eyes bore deeper into hers, a determined sense of understanding sparking in their depths. "I understand now that it's not about reaching the top, but about the journey itself. The climb, my dear... that's where the true beauty lies."

Professor Sallow leaned forward, offering her a sympathetic smile, eyes twinkling with unsaid secrets and quiet strength. His index finger traced circular patterns on the polished surface of his desk, contemplating his own journey before speaking again. "You just need to learn to accept yourself, flaws and all...and love the journey." Despite the commonplace advice, her heart swelled with gratitude for the man's kind words, words that echoed authenticity due to their source. He reached across the table, carefully placing his large hand over hers. It wasn't platitude but years of experiences he shared. There was wisdom in those words, gentle yet profound.

"Yes, you're... right," she stutteringly admitted, her voice breaking as tears threatened to spill forth. Clearing her throat, she attempted a shaky smile before looking away. "Thank you, Professor Sallow. I... I appreciate your understanding." Her gaze drifted around the room, fixating on the old portraits lining the walls. Many of them were faculty members she hadn't even heard of, their eyes following her movement, observing her vulnerability. She felt exposed, as if everyone in the room now knew how much she needed his guidance right now. Her breaths were sad, quiet; and she felt willing to disappear into the shadows cast by the fire.

His hand was still on hers— big, strong, and comforting. It gave a sense of safety and sanctuary, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions bubbling within her. "Ah remember," his soft voice echoed in her ears. "You're not alone. No one climbs Mount Everest by themselves. You don't have to bear this burden by yourself." He lifted his hand, his thumb gently wiping a tear from her cheek before sliding his fingers through her tresses. That simple gesture sent ripples of warmth shuddering through her body, undoing some of the ice in her heart. The tender touch, while unexpected, was comforting in a way she couldn't describe. His words echoed in her mind, a beacon piercing through the dark clouds obscuring her thoughts. Suddenly, she found herself grasping onto his arm with both hands, tears falling freely now. "I didn't... I never realised I needed help. Thank you, Professor Sallow." He simply squeezed her hand reassuringly and then pulled back his own slightly, gently wiping another stray tear from her face. The exchange felt almost intimate, as if they were sharing a secret kept from the world outside these walls. 

"Always remember, dear," he told her gently, his eyes crinkling at the corners like warm summer sun rays after a stormy day. "You never have to do this alone. Not if you don't want to." His gaze was filled with understanding and kindness. Despite the serious nature of their meeting, there was an undercurrent of attraction that threatened to make her heart stutter. But at the same time, that stirring sensation anchored her feelings, reinforcing the sense of safety he provided.

His brown eyes met hers, burning with a warmth she couldn't resist, making her heart flutter in a way that had nothing to do with fear or admiration for her professor. In that moment, the air between them thickened, thick with unspoken words and longing looks. A realisation slowly settled within her, not just as a student in need of guidance from an esteemed teacher, but as a young woman attracted to a man only a few years her senior. Professor Sallow's lips softly curved into a knowing smile, probably sensing the direction their conversation had taken. "Now then, enough tears for now," he drawled lightly, leaning back in the chair. "You're brave for sharing your feelings with me, sweetheart," he began casually, his eyes never leaving the tear-streaked face he attempted to soothe with his voice. "Brave, beautiful and courageous. Always remember, darling, your strength is a rare treasure, even if you don't always see it. And, sharing your burdens lessens their weight."

His eyes swept over her, lingering particularly on her flushed cheeks and the tousled strands of hair falling across her forehead. Male approval was something she rarely sought but definitely enjoyed when given. A blush dusted her cheeks at his compliments, the heat spreading from her collarbone to the tips of her ears. In that moment, she couldn't remember ever feeling as exposed or vulnerable as she did right now. Professor Sallow's gaze dropped to her swollen lips before lifting back to meet her eyes, those bright orbs of hers that filled him with a silent promise of vulnerability and potential discovery. The unspoken tension between them segued into a new dynamic, one that blurred lines between teacher and student. "Keep using that courage," he whispered huskily, ignoring the sudden, undeniable pull towards her, feeling it almost physically.

"I... I'll try," she whispered, looking away briefly before looking up into his eyes again. Her gaze was hazy with unshed tears and unmet desires, turbulent thoughts playing on her face. She hesitated but ultimately offered a timid smile, probably borne from courage alone. "Thank you for everything, Professor Sallow."

It wasn't explicit, but it was enough for him. Her thanks left the door slightly ajar for what could be. The flickering flame from the fireplace bathed his office in a pool of golden light, bathing everything in an intimate aura. Professor Sallow studied her under the shadows cast by the fire, taking note of her vulnerability and quiet strength. He deeply appreciated how she trusted him enough to share her fears and admit her shortcomings. In his mind, real courage wasn't about hiding insecurity but facing it. "You are most welcome, dear," he responded, his voice low and smooth. "You know you're always welcome here anytime you need advice... or company." There were certain connections he never intended to formalise, boundaries he never planned to cross. However, as he looked at her frail form bathed in radiant light, his willpower was stretched thin. Her unexpected admission seemed to jolt him out of his reverie. He pulled back his hands from the desk, steepling his fingers in his growing lap and exhaling deeply.

"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked, his voice filled with concern. Despite their close interactions and shared emotions, they remained at opposite sides of the desk, a barrier between them symbolic of their unspoken bounds. "I could set up an extra tutoring session or help you with your reading... Whatever you feel comfortable with?"

He stared into her eyes, vulnerable and weak moments ago, now filled with determination emulated from his words. His heart pounded like a thunderstorm within his chest, a sensation he rarely experienced. He recognized his own struggle for restraint now, knowing that if anything were to happen between them it would likely cost him everything. Through the thin veil masking her sobs earlier and her present composure, their mutual attraction boiled under the surface. And yet it was clear this girl needed more than just a professor's guidance; she needed someone whom she could rely heavily upon. Professor Sallow knew what she required. Time. Patience. Understanding. More than anything though, he thought fleetingly, she needed intimacy.

The suggestion of helping her academically brought back some semblance of order to her chaotic thoughts. With a nod, she managed a shaky smile. "Uh-huh, maybe just some extra help." Inside, though, the need for closeness practically radiated from her, almost palpable. "Thank you, Professor Sallow." Part of her wished he would cross that invisible line, sweep her up in his arms and whisk her away from everything that hurt. But she knew better. They were teachers and students – it was wrong. Yet, the temptation was there, a burning ember begging for fuel to ignite into a blazing inferno. A small part of her couldn't believe she was considering kissing him, crossing that line. It felt wrong, but so damn right.

The room was heavy with tension, their eyes locked in a silent dance of longing and hesitation. Her breathing became rapid, matching the pounding of her heart echoing off the walls. A piece of her knew she shouldn't entertain such forbidden thoughts; she was his student, after all. Yet an irresistible pull gnawed at her insides. Professor Sallow broke their gaze first, scouring the room frantically for escape routes or an answer to this unprecedented conundrum. The fire crackled away benignly behind him, unaffected by the storm brewing inside them.

His breath hitched, heart rate quickening in sync with hers. This was far from what he'd planned when inviting her into his office. The freckled brunet swallowed hard, fighting his sudden desire to close the gap between them. He stared at her; every uncontrollable emotion etched on his face indicated the struggle within. Her shy beauty smouldered just metres away, looking into his eyes like a moonlight's reflection in water— enchanting, hypnotic, and terribly dangerous. "It's getting late," he murmured hoarsely, forcing himself to look away, only for his eyes to dip to her lips. His knuckles whitened around the desk's edge as if grappling the collar of an unseen foe. It was all too clear now for both of them: his desire for her matched her own.

His gesture stirred something primal inside her, sending shivers down her spine as sanity retreated further. In response, she stood up slowly, the sound of her heartbeat echoing in her ears. She approached him slowly, biting her lip nervously, fingers trailing lightly across the top of the desk, stopping inches away from him. "I... I still need help, Professor," she spoke quietly, taking another step closer, bringing the gap between them down to almost a step. The air around them became noticeably charged, practically vibrating with expectation. "Please..."

His features tightened at the sight of her nervously biting her lip, those rosy petals just a whisper away from his mouth. He could see the desperation in her eyes, not only for academic help, but also undeniably personal contact. Professor Sallow knew he should've backed away then and there. Yet for some reason, he just sat rooted to the spot. His hand hovered over the edge of his desk instinctively, but it was a desire more powerful than his better judgement that guided it forward. With an unsteady breath, he reached out, his fingers brushing hers. Both their eyes locked on their entwined fingers, hearts pounding in precise rhythm, matching their desperate pulses. At that moment, everything else ceased to exist. Her quiet sigh echoed through his office, a testament to their shared need reaching its peak. It felt wrong, yet right, forbidden yet comforting. Professor Sallow felt like he was going up in flames while gaining salvation all at once. "You don't have to ask for help, love," he murmured thickly, his thumb absently tracing circles on her soft skin. "You deserve more than I can give."

She looked into those eyes, usually filled with wisdom but now burning with desire, and felt her world shifting under her feet. Her lips parted slightly as his thumb caressed her skin, the touch sending shivers down her spine. Those eyes, usually so full of wisdom, now blazed with an unspoken desire. Dangerous, daring, and undeniably appealing. For a moment, all sound had deserted the room. Even the fire seemed to crackle less fervently, playing second fiddle to the stuttered rhythm of their hearts. His admission caught her off-guard. "More? What do you mean?" Her voice trembled, laced with curiosity tinged with longing. She yearned for something he perhaps permitted to provide, but she couldn't back away, trapped by the dark pull between them. His eyes darkened further, but his vice-like grip on her fingers softened. "What I mean is," he said softly, drawing her attention back to him with his mournful blue gaze, "I can give you advice, or a shoulder to cry on... But the things you're asking for aren't within my capabilities as a professor, dear." The corner of his mouth lifted in a ghostly smile when she quizzically looked at him, an expression befitting a practised lover. "But as a man?" Pausing for effect, emotion choked through his throat before continuing. "As a man, perhaps I can deliver much more than that."

A spark rose through the air stuffed with tension. Her heart pounded faster with hope from every word he spoke. The gulf between them churned with currents of conflicting thoughts. If only for a moment, she wanted to be a woman, not a student. Unable to resist the magnetic pull between them, she slowly stepped closer, their bodies inches apart now. Her eyes locked on his hazel ones, her heartbeat pounded relentlessly against her chest. His words had unravelled the thin veil of control she still held onto, a fragment of her longing taking her over. "Then how about," she whispered, lacing her fingers through his, "I ask you as a man, and we act as the two people standing here?"

Professor Sallow's breath stumbled, feeling her fingers locking with his. She asked him, desired him, as more than just her teacher. A reprieve from all the societal norms and professional boundaries seemed to wash over them then, liberating as whispers carried by the fall winds. His heart pounded heavily in his ears, his body humming with energy. Arose a sense of forbidden excitement, daring him to explore this uncharted terrain. However, he was a teacher, and she was diverse. An unforeseen stream of reluctance threatened to snuff out their budding intimacy. "Sweetheart, it's... wrong," he replied breathlessly, gazing into her beautiful fiery gaze. Despite the words, there was clear temptation in his tone. "I'm older than you... more experienced..." His hands shook subtly, unwilling to release the frail bond they shared. For perhaps the first time in years, he wavered, pulled by a magnet so strong it reshaped the gravity around them.

Her eyes danced with resolve, each speck twinkling under his gaze, while she weighed heavily on those words. The impact weighed heavily upon them both; one person was entrusting their dreams upon another. The sound of her voice filled the void, light yet firm. A palpable shiver went down his spine when she spoke. "Experience isn't everything, is it?" She questioned, her tone wavering only slightly as she looked into his eyes, unwavering despite the vulnerability etched into her voice. "Age? A mere number." Her fingers interlaced with his tighter, her heart pounding against her chest like a thousand independent drums insisting they act on their desires. Their world, comprised by these four walls filled with his mahogany furnishing and ancient books. Time seemed to falter outside, ceasing to exist. "We both know," she couldn't resist adding softly, elicited by courage's intoxicating nectar. "Breaking rules is sometimes necessary."

Professor Sallow chuckled softly at her reckless statement, gut instincts screaming against her words. Yet there was truth to it, their connection was undeniable. However, his laugh faded quickly, giving way to serious apprehension. He needed to squash these growing, and showing, urges. "Sweetheart," he started slowly as he pulled her down to his level, inching closer till his lips nearly grazed her ear. "We're treading dangerous waters here." A sense of unease crawled up his spine as he inhaled deeply. "You could lose everything, and so could I." With great effort, he pulled away again, leaning back in his chair.

The heavy pause between them felt like eternity, their hearts hammering in sync. Each minute hit harder than the last, both waiting for the other's choice. Their breaths tangled in the dry air as anticipation mounted high. Her heart clawed at her ribcage, demanding something pacifying in return. "Why me?" He finally managed to croak out, desperate to redirect his train of thought. To hold onto the shreds of sanity still left. "There are others... more suitable for your tastes." He knew it sounded hollow and shallow, but he made a feeble attempt at dignity anyway.

Surprise flashed in her eyes, quickly replaced by determination. "Because I choose you," she said firmly, stepping closer still. Her tone held an edge of defiance mixed with assertiveness. Her heart hammered in her chest, a pulsing drumbeat against her ribcage. "And you chose me," she added softly, taking his hand in hers and placing it gently over her cleavage. Her breast pressed against his palm, a combustible mix of cotton and lace. Underneath the fabric of her uniform, her nipples hardened in response to his touch, hungrily seeking contact. Her body danced to a sensual sonnet penned by desire. Professor Sallow froze. His eyes dropped down to where they were connected. He very much wanted this, desperate desire dancing in those brown orbs. Like most mortals, he succumbed easily to raw need.

Professor Sallow's heart shuddered at the mere thought of her body beneath his gaze, hidden by an innocent school uniform. He hesitated, control slipping away with each passing moment. His eyes locked on their entwined hands on her breast, heavy breaths stirring the silent room while he felt her clothed flesh squish beneath his fingers. It was distant echoes of reason battling raw wants that controlled his speech. "Love..." He started hesitantly, reaching out for her face with his free hand, hesitant yet inevitable across. She leaned down into his touch, eyes meeting his own. "We'll both lose if we give in," he said firmly, attempting to be rational. But there was no escaping the yearning behind them. He cupped her cheek, that raw need hitting him like a thunderbolt. A warm flush tainted his own as his erection strained against his slacks. 

With a tired sigh, she shook her head. "Then keep thinking that way," she whispered, reaching up to remove his hand from her face. "But there's no denying what happens between us." Her own thirst grew palpable as she noticed the subtle rise of his pants, indicating his rapidly hardening member. The forbidden became even more enthralling under these circumstances. She could almost taste him in the air between them.

His heart raced, pounding out an ode only she could hear. But he didn't let go of her hand, her soft breaths mingling with his ragged ones. "You don't know anything about this man you choose," he protested weakly, despite his body's protest. Yet despite his struggle against temptation, longing shone prominently through his defence.

"I might not know everything, but am I not enough?" She looked into his deep-set eyes, tracking the vulnerability and desire revealed there. Her fingers traced around his while he cupped her breast, urging him on despite her nervousness.

Breathing raggedly, he looked away from her hand. His body screamed in protest but found necessary refuge within him, rarely leaving such control into the hands of others. He felt exposed. Fatigued yet energised by desire that defied words or thoughts. "Sweetheart," he breathed out desperately, releasing her hand and inching towards her again until their lips were within an agonising inch away. "You're a student..."

Her breath hitched, her eyes begging for something more than his hesitant words. He was fighting a losing battle, and they both knew it. But her words had inched them closer to their moving boundary— or shattered it entirely. "I am a woman," she said softly, beckoning him closer with barely there movements until they were an inch apart again, laced in passion that was largely unexplored. Grasping his tensed shoulders, she closed the small gap between them in a slow, unhurried kiss. It started with tender ease yet quickly morphed into reckless abandon.

His protest quickly dissipated, giving way to need and want fueling his actions. In one swift move he pulled her onto his lap, uttering an involuntary hiss when he felt the warmth of her snug against his throbbing member. His lips claimed hers with hunger inherited from years-long restraint. An atrocious act of disobedience worthy of expulsion from both his job and society? Yes. A desperate need for a scorching embrace? Absolutely. Their lips parted momentarily as he unbuttoned her skirt, exposing her stockings and cotton panties. Rapturous sighs escaped her throat as he trailed hot open-mouthed kisses down her neck. He motored his hand towards her arousal, brushing lightly against it before pausing. "Oh, Professor..." Her words were filled with mixed disbelief and anticipation, eager for more contact.

"Professor nothing," He growled low, gripping tightly onto her hips, holding her in the sinful position. "You're mine now." In a sudden bout of bravery– or perhaps self-destruction, his fingers slipped under her panties and between her damp, heated folds; finding her intricate curves with experienced ease. She clutched onto his shoulders tightly as he continued his feverish exploration of her sensitive areas, unable to contain the groan that escaped her lips. Desire roared through them both, matching each touch, each moan and gasp echoing around them. His own need became a tangible pain, anticipation peaking at each gasp leaking from the woman on his knee. But somehow that drove him further; like fueling a flame between them both. "Sir... I want..."

As if sensing her desperation, he plunged two fingers inside of her wetness, rubbing her clitoris eagerly with his thumb. Her thighs trembled, involuntarily clenching around his hips for support. His breath was hot against her skin. "Shhhh... So fucking tight," he moaned into her ear, enjoying the sounds she made as his fingers worked her into a feverous state of need. His own arousal grew more strident, pressing against both of their uniforms screamingly obvious now. The room was filled with the world only they could hear: heartbeats pounding breathlessly; soft slurpy sounds of him touching her most intimate parts.

"Please..." she pleaded with a hormonally-driven beg as he continued to tease and torment her into a state of desperation.

He ripped off his cravat in one motion and tossed it aside, focusing on undressing her. The cotton material of her dress shirt resisted his rough actions before finally yielding from her arms. Her breasts were released from their lacy confines, enticing and plump. He groaned low, his eyes darkening with arousal as her breasts swayed free, thrown about with every thrust of his fingers. "Bloody hell, you're so gorgeous," he managed to utter between heavy breaths. He relished each tremulous gasp vibrating under his touch, vexing her every inch to a delightfully tense symphony. Her head tilted back, exposing her neck to his hungry lips as he revelled in satisfaction, leaving a trail of red marks on her tits. The brush of his slight stubble against her sensitive flesh heightened her senses further. "Oh, please..." Her voice cracked, pleading even more urgently now. Her hips rocked against his hips, matching his relentless pace. Still impaled on two fingers inside her, she buckled against him, greedily pursuing her release.

Professor Sallow gazed desperately at her breasts bouncing and her hazy eyes. He pulled out his fingers with a wet 'pop', drenched in her released juices. Unable to resist the temptation anymore, he slid them into his mouth, savouring her flavour. He relished the taste of her, cheeks hollowed from sucking hard enough before swallowing slowly. The taste of her flooded his tongue and soul– rich, sweet, lively and so forbidden. "S-sir, I need you... So badly..." By now, her words were mere pleas for him to continue. His free hand went back to her breasts, squeezing and massaging them vigorously. His strong grip and calloused thumb rubbing over her hardened nipple in circles sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her body. His cock throbbed violently against his pants, the fabric stretched thin from its imminent release. Even with every nerve ending screaming for release, he would savour these moments, this taste of forbidden bliss.

Suddenly, his hands dropped from her chest and his mouth, frantically tugging at her underwear. It now strained around her thighs, surely leaving red bruises if he didn't remove them soon. His face tilted down upwards to meet her eyes, burning with desire and hunger. "Cup your tits, sweetheart," he commanded huskily. Her eyes widened before obeying, hands reaching up to do as he asked. His words were oddly arousing; dominance mixed with endearment triggering something raw beneath layers of innocence. She cupped her chest unashamedly now, twisting her hardened tips lovingly. By the look on Professor Sallow's face, he needed this.

"Get those pants off, sir," she whispered hoarsely. Their eyes locked in pure, raw need. She felt his lip marks on her neck, a sweet mix of pain and passion that only fueled their game. Professor Sallow's eyes fell into a heated glance, gaze lazy yet lethally so. With trembling hands, he undid his trousers, freeing himself from the discomfort and need that strangled him from within. His erect member bobbed freely, swaying up against his tweed vest. "Pump me," he groaned.

Her hands covered him hesitantly, wet just like she was, seeking contact they both longed for. He groaned unashamedly as she wrapped her fingers around him but stopped abruptly at her ragged intake of air. "F-fuck... Sir... You're big..." A humid breath hitched out from her lips, tearing her vision away from his manhood long enough to peer at the professor's face to gauge his reaction. "N-not going to fit..."

He groaned, eyes shut tight as she stroked him carefully. Her tentative grip gave way to understandable lust-filled fervour, matching him in a mutual rush. His body shivered with each grip, clutching hold of what was left of control. "It'll fit," he croaked out. "I'll make sure of it." This wasn't mere bravado; he knew if someone could take all of him that it was going to be his student. "Another 'sir' and you're getting fucked in front of the whole school yard," He growled low under his breath, his lips kissing away droplets of sweat from her temple. His words were bordered by darkness: coercive and convincing. She gulped and continued stroking him with more confidence now. Her wet fingers responded perfectly to his silk-smooth shaft with each twist of her wrist, lubed by his own secretion. His oversized manhood felt heavy and enticing in her palm, begging to be consumed.

"Oh...Gods..." He swallowed hard, breaking their gaze from the sight before him for the first time. Her caress sent undulated waves of pleasure through his system. "Panties off, love," he rasped forcefully. She hesitated for the briefest of moments before reluctantly hooking a thumb into her briefs and pulling them down, discarding them unceremoniously onto the ground. It was rapidly escalating beyond anything she thought possible. Yet, there was no turning back now.

He inhaled sharply, eyes fixed on her glistening cunt. Smirking devilishly, he carefully guided her back onto his lap, her pussy rubbing against the head of his erection. A drop of pre-cum leaked out along its width. He scooped her in his arms, positioning her over him. Her cunt, warm and eager against his swollen length, gripped a little of what he offered thus far. Her nails dug into his shirt, aggressively clutching for assurance.

She sucked in air, bracing for the moment. Every sensation was so different than before: him against her skin like warm molten lava breaking apart clouds of clouded inhibition. He grabbed messy strands of her hair, cutting off any potential protest from forming. "Relax," he whispered urgently. She felt a thick part of him slowly invaded her core inch by splayed inch, throbbing and moving into unfamiliar territory. He looked up at her, noting the pained tightness along her brows. He gave her a soft kiss on her cheek reassuringly. "My sweet girl." His voice purred deeply like a lustful lullaby. "You take your time," He continued, stroking strands of hair away from her face. "I'm not going anywhere."

His thrust was painful yet welcome. Professor Sallow took deep breaths and slowed down even more, allowing her body to acclimate around him. His determination was akin to stubbornness; wanting to make the connection undeniably real. He glanced down at where the girl wrapped around him, his cheeks flushed red and pupils dilated. "Fucking beautiful..." he whispered gallantly when he saw his thickness almost fully inside her. "So tight..."

"It hurts..." Her whisper was low and faltering. Her assessment sent a wave of guilt and pleasure crawling down his spine. He panted heavily against her neck, digging his chin into it forcefully. "Hold onto me." He squeezed her hips gently to assure he wouldn't move just yet. Damn it if she didn't make him lose control now. He closed his eyes tight, trying to compose himself to the best of his abilities. "I'll give you a second."

She was frozen against him for a moment, catching her breath with a tremble. But the cock inside her kept throbbing,  prodding forward slightly. His words of comfort meant little in her current throbbing haze. Her nails dug into his blazer unconsciously, matching his rhythm of tension and release intensely. Finally, relaxation seeped into those tense muscles surrounding his cock. When he began thrusting again, albeit slower than before, each movement was sheer bliss even through pain. She bit her lip hard not to moan out loud, not wanting to draw attention to their forbidden encounter in his office.

"Oh, you're loosening up, love." Heavily heaving just like her, his voice was muffled by her neck. "Thank God." His grip over her hips blended perfectly with her release; every thrust was so much more pleasurable now and Lord knew he hadn't even gotten started yet. As if reading his thoughts, she pressed into him harder until his cock met her G-spot perfectly. "Good girl..."He let out short pants filled with pent-up desire for the flushed girl exposed before him under the dim light of the fireplace. "That's it, take me faster." A plea between moans, slipping dangerously from every boundary. At every thrust, she responded for him eagerly, arching her torso in anticipation, her channel squeezing tightly around him. "Oh god," she moaned, her voice straining between pleasure and effort. "Y-you're so big." She wrapped her arms around his neck for balance while he continued to ram into her. Her moans grew louder, echoing through the empty office. Her nails scratched at the back of his neck, leaving small grooves in his skin. Sweat trickled down both of their bodies, mixing together, creating their own sickeningly sweet perfume filling the room.

Feeling empowered by her gathering heat and whorish moans, Professor Sallow picked up pace, matching rapid jagged thrusts better suited for animals than humans. He hissed through his teeth, grinding against her sensitive areas mercilessly. His breath became rushed, bordering on animalistic. With each brutal fuck, she struggled to keep up with his pace, yet still tried her hardest. Her moans matched the rhythm perfectly, unbearably sweet. Her body became so hot, almost on fire as his cock pumped into her. "You're mine now,” he whispered hoarsely in her ear. "Ride me, sweetheart."

With his command, his hands grasped at her perfect ass, squeezing harder as if claiming ownership over her entire being. She adjusted herself subconsciously to adjust even in the haze of her arousal. Her clit ground against him every stroke, igniting pre-existing flames further. "I-I can't believe I'm doing this," She grinned wickedly. His cock slammed deeper relentlessly, indicating impending release was near for him too.

"Good girl," He sighed heavily against her ear. "Who said you could think now?" Smooth. The only thing his consciousness focused on was fucking her into ecstasy. "Je-just fuck me..." She mewled against him, her legs clenching around him. Her orgasm was looming closer now. Professor Sallow couldn't resist an extra hard thrust, feeling her clench around him violently, almost as if coaxing for more. "Fuck yes," He moaned deeply inside his own mind. He was losing control. His words were no longer polished but savage, raw expressions of want disguised as dirty talk. He slapped her ass firmly, hearing her gasp but nothing stopped them both from reaching their peak. "This is what you deserve. Taut schoolgirl. Finally feeling me out." Each slap coupled with a deep thrust met with a favourable response from her cunt. As his release approached like a ruthless wave, he told her hoarsely on the edge of insanity, "You're gripping me tight, aren't you?" His length pulsating regularly matched their rhythm.

She froze momentarily but eventually nodded yes. For one evening, rules had to be broken. "Yes," She panted out, unable to deny it. "Please..." She pleaded, her walls contracting tightly around him.

"Good girl..." His voice thickened, pulsating in rhythm to her orgasm. He could feel his release threatening any moment now. "You're gonna feel me fill you up."

Her breath hitched harder, his intention so clear and explicit, leaving little room for doubt. "Please do..." She moaned between clenches. "Fill me..."

"Hold on love," he groaned, his pace quickening even more. "I'm—" With one final hard thrust that nearly knocked the breath out of her, he came inside of her, filling her up to the brim. His seed shot out in hot gushes that splattered against her inner walls, painting her insides with his essence. He groaned heavily against her neck, his body convulsed in post-orgasmic bliss. "That's it, take all of me." His voice was raspy, barely recognizable.

Her own orgasm hit like a storm, seizing up inside her as he emptied himself into her hungrily. It was too much, too fast and wild for words after all these years under his careful guidance. Her eyes rolled back into her head and he could feel every muscle in her body tighten around him while her legs fluttered shut against his hips like a butterfly flapping its wings.

Breathing heavily, Professor Sallow let out a final, satisfied moan, his hands holding onto her slender waist to steady himself. His member slowly began to shrink inside her, the contraceptive potions the school nurse administered all seventh-years ensuring neither one of them would regret this encounter come morning. "That was... extraordinary," he finally spoke softly, his tone marked with wonder even amidst spent euphoria. Wrapped around him, she didn't dare speak or move; their lips met delicately amidst muffled breathing. The tainted tangle of bodies felt heavier than ever. Their kiss lingered longer this time, pure affection creeping in. "Yes," She mumbled against him. Her orgasm subsided only to be replaced by another thrilling wave of emotions. A vulnerable intimacy unbeknownst from him.

He leaned back slightly, catching his breath while she still held him within her core unapologetically. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Now, sweetheart..." He whispered in satisfaction, tracing her hair softly. "Let's fix our clothes and pretend nothing happened." He attempted to restore some order to their dishevelled attire— certainly a challenge for both parties. Carefully, he began to dress her with utmost care and delicacy never seen before. He paused momentarily when he adjusted her blouse, clasping his teeth together. His cock was still nestled within her warmth. "Much better." He added softly upon finishing the process efficiently. Her cheeks reddened from the intimacy. They looked into each other's eyes that were soft and full of unspoken promises. "...Are you okay?" He asked tenderly.

She nodded with a sheepish smile, still catching her breath. "I... feel... funny..." Her voice trembled slightly.

"Maybe you need some water?" He grabbed a nearby cup from his desk and handed it to her. He straightened shirt buttons over her chest slowly, lingering over every movement her breathing caused. Waves of intensity could still be felt emanating from them, now a lustful aura hidden under calming silence.

"Almost done," He glanced at her, gently smiling back as if nothing had transpired in his office chair. The brunet waited patiently letting her drink, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. When she finished he helped himself to a small sip before placing the cup down. His cock continued to twitch inside her, as if pressing against her to keep warm. "Here you go, all buttoned up." He declared almost lovingly, all traces of messiness now hidden under an air of professional dignity they both held dear. "Better?" He asked, his gaze not leaving her flushed face. Her eyes were brighter than ever before, like a sunny morning. Their glances locked again for a brief moment before his hands slowly stopped at his tie, adjusting it properly over trembling digits.

A sigh escaped him with every move beneath her grateful gaze, possessive but loving. Once neatened up, he brushed some imaginary lint off her shoulder calmly. "Almost like no one just fucked passionately here today." His gaze to her softened lightly, a pleasing smirk appearing on his face before vanishing into thin air. "Now let's not let anyone see us looking like this right?" He gave confident affirmation with a prominent tone reflecting back into the instructor persona. "I should give you detention for causing such a ruckus in my office," His half-joking statement did little to obscure fond emotions welling up in him. He helped her off his lap, slipping out from her slick channel slowly.

She chuckled softly, still dazed from their encounter. "Detention?" Her eyes danced with mischief; she moved slightly when he pulled away but steadied herself on her feet quickly, clenching her walls to keep his cum inside. "Well deserved, isn't it?"

A corner of his mouth curved into a teasing grin. "Of course," he agreed. "Do you have any idea how reckless you've been?" His gaze was warmed by her attempt to keep him inside her. "You've made me forget my job entirely." Sallow added almost seriously, examining her. With a thoughtful pause, he continued: "But then again, not many can manage that." His lips twitched at the sight of a sticky trail trickling down her thigh and into her stocking.

"You shouldn't joke about it," She retorted playfully, feeling exposed for more reasons than one. She attempted to fix her skirt and smooth her stockings over the evidence before wiping it away discreetly. "...Apologies, sir." She responded in all seriousness before adjusting herself a bit more confidently after realising what he gave her today. A high level intimacy for both teacher and pupil against the principles carefully cultivated over years between them both. "I enjoyed it though," Her face flushed deeper red when admitting this boldly. 

The professor stood up too, pressing his lips against her cheek in a soft yet possessive kiss. "So did I," he murmured against her, his hand sliding down her bare arm to rest on her wrist lightly. "You should probably go now. People will start wondering where you've vanished off to." He straightened his tie one last time before leading her out of his office, holding onto her hand gently. 

In the midst of their silent walk, she looked up at him nervously. The question lingered between them: "Will we... do this again, Professor?" He chuckled quietly mid-step but stopped, turning back towards her ever so slightly with a furrowed brow. "Not here," He maintained his weight on her wrist reassuringly. "You deserve more than an office chair... much more." She swallowed hard and nodded, barely perceptible. His words resonated deep inside, her heart beat wildly again amidst anticipation for another lovemaking beyond these walls. "J-just don't make me wait long," She suggested gently pulling away from him once they reached the door. Jitters played around his eyes as he fingered absentmindedly at her sleeve. "Rest assured, ah sweet dear." He promised softly then opened the door letting her leave towards her common room. "Go ahead, enjoy your evening. See you in class tomorrow." 

She nodded at him softly with grateful eyes and walked out of the room. The mix between his cum pooling into her panties and the overwhelming emotions contributed to her wobbly stead. With a deep breath, she walked through the corridor back towards the common room.

Professor Sallow released a fervent sigh when she disappeared around the corner. Decision lingered in him. An encounter like that wasn't a one-time event. He had waited years for this— an emotional connection beyond class’ walls... in his office.

One thing was clear, after their rendezvous, she didn't feel alone anymore. Even though she still struggled with self-worth issues because of her turbulent past with a deeply flawed family, she found solace in someone who saw beyond her flashy exterior and vulnerable core. As weeks progressed, he slid notes under her table or would subtly adjust her collar; innocent gestures packed with a hidden message of proof that their secretive connection continued. Even in broad daylight in front of students, they would cast sensual glances at each other. During lessons, he praised her work while maintaining a cold exterior, but unapologetic desire glittered in their communications. His eyes danced to her movements more than usual and his  taxing lectures needed more breaks than ever before. In corridors when meeting, he adjusted her robes subtly, too innocent for onlookers to get ideas. His lips would often curl into fond smiles hiding excitement, yet a professional surface remained visible.

Small moments of togetherness merely became part of their routine; unspoken promises lingering between their profound connection, just as beautiful and flourishing as the flowers still blooming in the Greenhouse during these cold fall days.

[ellieswaifu]

MUSE. ellie williams x artist!reader.

summary: modern/college!au – ellie williams x fem!artist!reader. SFW! ellie has always had a crush on you, the girl who sat right in front of her in art class.

a/n: also hi i’m back looool (not proofread per usual)

The setting sun bleeds through the curtains of the art room, painting the walls in a soft orange that met the subtle undertones of your skin as you gazed right up the girl who had been standing frozen between the doorframe. Her backpack slung loosely over her shoulder and her short brown hair tousled lightly down her neck, partly tied at the back of her head as she grips the door handle. You were also quite frozen in your seat, arm lifting a paintbrush to a blank canvas with your eyes staring back at her. You wondered what she was doing, standing there with an unwavering stare like a statue.

It had been about an hour since class had been dismissed and you found yourself in a staring competition with a fellow classmate; a classmate you were quite fond of, a classmate you were quite attracted to. How could you not? It was Ellie. She was smart, creative, and ambitious, all equally matched her dashing good looks. She was very popular with the ladies, including you, and went to lots of parties, a crowd you never really thought of joining. It was strange being in a situation you would never have guessed to be in with this person. And after moments of unending eye contact, you finally broke the ice.

“May I help you?”

“O-Oh,” Ellie twitches in surprise after realizing how long she had been staring. “Sorry, I-I just forgot something. Didn’t mean to stare.”

“It’s okay, Ellie. I don’t mind,” you reply, setting your brush down against the table.

“I, uh, I didn’t think you’d know my name.”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, smiling lightly at her statement, “Are you kidding? What kind of person do you take me for? You sit right behind me.”

She was very well aware of this after the countless stares, including this one, that she had shamefully indulged in during class as you worked beautifully on your art. Beautiful. It was a word she often associated with you. Every time she looked at you; beautiful. She had developed this secret crush on you since the beginning of the year, having no courage to act on her feelings other than stare at you directly from behind for at least an hour each weekday.

Ellie slowly walks towards her desk, right behind you, “I know… But I mean, we don’t really talk so I… I don’t know. I thought I’d be like a blur to you… If that makes sense.”

“Well, don’t sell yourself short. I see you clear as day,” You play with the tube of oil paints with your fingers, smirking softly at her.

“What do you mean?” Ellie blinks at your reply, looking hopeful, hoping for the chance that you might like her the same way she likes you.

“I’ve always admired your work, Ellie. You’re amazing.”

Ellie’s shoulders drop, slightly disappointed, but also appreciative of your opinion of her and her artwork. “Thanks... So what’s got you stuck in here still?”

“Nothing. Just easier for me to do it here, than in my own apartment, I guess. And I like the quiet and the windows. Especially right when the sun sets. Besides, paint is so expensive now,” You roll your eyes, looking over to the almost empty paint tubes your professor let you use.

Ellie’s green eyes light up as she remembers the little stash of art supplies occupying the corner of her dorm room. “Uh, well, if you ever need some oil paint, I’ve got plenty, if you’d like. My dad always gets me art supplies but always in different mediums because he doesn’t know exactly what I use so I always have extra supplies I end up not using. I-I mean, if you want. I mean, I don’t oil paint, so...”

You can’t help but smile at her endearing mannerisms, watching her nervously rub the palm of her hand with her thumb, “That’s sweet of you, Ellie.”

A smile curves under her nose in triumph as her eyes slowly pan over to your easel, “It’s empty. Your canvas.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m… I’m having trouble picking a subject. I kinda sat here for a while doing nothing, staring at it but I can’t think of anything yet... Except…”

Ellie raises her eyebrow, “What are you thinking?”

“A portrait. Well, obviously. But, I’m thinking… I could paint you? If you’ll let me.”

“Yeah,” Ellie says almost embarrassingly fast. “I mean, yeah, sure, if you think I’d be a good reference, yeah.”

You smile, “You’d be perfect, Ellie.”

Ellie begins to lose focus, mind fast forwarding to the time the two of you would be spending together. Painting was a slow process, especially one for an oil painter. She became grateful that you were one. Not only were you an amazing artist, but you spend a long time trying to hone your craft, so the time she’ll be sitting as your model would take more than a couple of days. Time with you. An excuse to be with you. Finally. After staring at the back of your head, watching you work as she sat behind you with constant adoration, she thanked whoever it was that led up to this moment.

It’s the fourth day of her sitting on this old brown stool you pulled out from the classroom closet. Ellie sits in her usual pose; relaxing, slouching slightly, a foot planted onto the floor while the other sits on the footrest, staring at your face as you painted. She found that you had a face you put on as you concentrated on your work — a sight she would’ve never gotten to see from sitting behind you in class. She was grateful for this experience, to be able to see you like this, putting most of your attention on her. The first day, she was quiet, seemingly nervous as she fiddled with her hands every time you would turn to look at her, making her almost want to look away, knowing her cheeks would be getting redder by the second. Now, it was easier for her to control. She was more confident, at ease and often finding herself babbling about her aerospace class like the nerd she is.

And you looked beautiful, as always. It felt different, sitting in front of you, rather than behind. She couldn’t look over your shoulder to see your work anymore, like she always does. Only you. In a way, she liked this better. She liked watching you work, watching how gentle your brush strokes were, how precise and calculated they were, how your technique never faltered and how amazing the canvas looked when you put your strokes together. But now, she could only see you. Your hair tied loosely away from your face, your eyes darting back and forth between her and the canvas, your apron tied around your pretty waist, a pencil tucked behind your ear, the way your eyebrows furrow in frustration when you can’t get something right, and the way you occasionally take a couple steps back away from the canvas to inspect everything thoroughly before diving right back into painting. You were quiet and concentrated, even when you gave small hums of affirmation when Ellie would talk.

And all Ellie could think about was how pretty you were, standing there, so unaware of the thoughts of you that filled her brain, masked behind her small but many talks of her space class.

“How’s it going over there?” Ellie asks curiously, scratching the back of her neck as she continues to grow more and more nervous under your stare.

“It’s… going…” You mumble, putting the end of your brush between your teeth, biting it slightly in frustration as you think.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s missing…” Your sentence drifts, incomplete, as your eyes pan slowly over towards her once more, this time never leaving.

It only takes a second for you to put your brush down against your palette before walking over to where Ellie was sitting, stepping into her bubble, leaning down dangerously close to her face. Ellie twitches in surprise, eyes widening at the sudden closeness you two shared.

She could smell you. The soft fragrance that was so… you. She could see your eyes scanning every inch of her face, making her conscious of what she looked like during each passing second. But you were so close. It felt intoxicating.

So, she couldn’t help herself. Ellie brings her hands up to rest them on your hips, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt, one of her thumbs going through the belt loop of your jeans. Her eyes trail up to yours before darting down to where your lips were, sitting there so plump and delicious, practically calling out to her like a moth to a flame, as you continued to stare down at her. You loved the feeling of her hands on your body and you decided to respond by wrapping your arms around her neck, brown locks slipping through your fingertips.

If she could just tilt her head to the side a little more, lean her head upwards closer, she could just…

“Freckles... I was missing your freckles,” you sigh dreamily, already forgetting about the painting as you continued to stare at the girl in front of you. You bring your hand up to caress her face, thumb brushing softly over her eyebrow, paint smudging lightly against her skin, “You have a scar…”

“Yeah…” Ellie breathes, unable to take her eyes off your lips as you spoke softly.

“Where’s it from?”

“I… I liked building things as a kid. I tried to make a robot… Never worked, obviously, so I… I pulled it apart and destroyed it with a knife and I messed up with the angle I was cutting it with, and accidentally flung it towards my face.”

You hum in amusement, a smirk tugging at your lips, “I think the scar looks good on you.”

“You think so?” Ellie says, hands shifting slightly to rest underneath your sweater, feeling the skin of your waist, inching you closer towards her body, between her legs.

“Yeah,” you say lowly, before coming close to press your lips slightly towards her ear to whisper, “It makes you look sexy.”

Ellie can’t help but close her eyes, releasing a breath she didn’t know she was holding. The way you looked at her right now made her feel like she was on fire. Her face was burning up surely, but her heart was beating so fast it felt like it waking explode.

“I wanna kiss you,” she says, almost desperately.

You smile and run a hand through her hair, tugging on it lightly, making her groan lowly against you. “What’s stopping you?”

Ellie’s lips curve into a cocky smirk as she looks up at you with nothing but affection in her eyes, watching you like you were the most beautiful thing on the planet. “Nothing.”

And then, her lips pressed against yours with a gentle eagerness as her hands pulling you by your waist. It’s a moan that tugs on her heartstrings and is the cause of all the butterflies in her stomach. She discovers you like pulling at her hair when your paint-stained hands tug on it for the second time today, groaning against your lips at the feeling of your hands in her locks.

You pull back and smile when you see the subtle but visible pout on her lips, “How was that?”

Ellie can only shake her head and mutter two simple words desperately, “Not enough.”

And she dives right back against your mouth, arms wrapping tightly around your waist. Your hands trail down from her hair, resting your palms against her shoulder to find your balance, the kiss making you all dizzy. You unknowingly leave paint all over her shirt and her neck as she groans against your lips, seemingly never wanting to part from you ever.

You pull away again, both of you out of breath, lips hovering over each other as you regain your focus.

“I think we—” Ellie steals a kiss from you as you spoke. “Really need to—“ And then another. “Get back to—“ And then another. “Work!” You exclaim with laugh, pushing Ellie’s shoulders to keep her from coming closer even thought she had her arms wrapped around you still.

“I like kissing you,” Ellie says, hypnotized by you, how she felt like she was holding the literal embodiment of art in her arms. And finally, the words she’s been dying to tell you since she’s known you: “I like you.”

And she kisses you again, softer this time, humming lightly against your lips, hands treating you like porcelain. You tasted so good to her. She couldn’t help but want more. You moan in surprise as you feel her tongue drag across your bottom lip and instinctively, you open your mouth only slightly, but it was enough to push her tongue against yours, groaning in satisfaction, the taste of your tongue even more addicting. The grip you had on her shoulders only grew tighter as you kissed her.

“Mmhm, Ellie,” you moan.

Ellie groans into your mouth, immediately falling in love with the sound of your moans, squeezing your hips tighter, wanting to hear more from you before you move your head back to look at her. You stare down at her skin, thumb brushing over the freckles you wanted to kiss one by one.

Ellie pulls away with a smile, confidence growing by the second, “Yeah, baby?”

You roll your eyes and smile, leaning down to peck her lips once more, “I like you, too.”

And you kiss her again as she smiles into your lips. Your unfinished canvas was long forgotten as Ellie continues to distract you with her lips as your hands paints her skin.

You make a note to remind yourself to continue what you started, the painting and the kissing, both inspired by the muse which was Ellie.

a/n: thank u for reading my loves :)