#YOU EVADED MY SIGHT FOR TOO LONG

[vixlenxe]

flOATS AT WITH ILL INTENT FLOATS AT WITH ILL INTENT FLOATS AT WITH ILL INTENT FLOATS AT-

[3rachasdomesticbanana]

Among Strangers | Bang Chan

•Synopsis: A handsome stranger takes it upon himself to take care of you in a crowded subway as you try to evade a man that had been following you after a night of drinking.

•Pairing: au Bang Chan x Female Reader

•Content Includes: smut, stalking, public unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, crowded area, sex with a stranger, biting, possessive chan, brief mentions of bondage and claustrophobia with a surprise ending. (I think that's everything)

an: This was first posted on my Wattpad but it was pretty ass and didn't do well so I fixed it up a little bit (a lot... Like it was so bad lol) and figured maybe it would be better appreciated here.

Part II

Want more smut? Follow the banana 🍌

After a chill hangout at the bar with some friends from work, you all decide to head home. It's been a chill night with not too much drinking. Since you live close by, walking home seems like a good idea for some fresh air. But as you split from the group, you realize you're not alone. You start to get this eerie feeling like you're being followed. Looking over your shoulder you see a hooded figure and the hair on the back of your neck stands straight up. At every turn there he is, shadowing your every move, sending shivers down your spine.

Nervous about the idea of him following you home, you hop onto the subway thinking you could hide among a sea of people. With the size of the crowd there's no way he could find you. You're confident it'll work as you weave your way through the crowd, tripping over your own feet in a rush to lose him. You aim for the door at the end of the car on the other side just to create some distance between you and him. You steal a glance over your shoulder, heart pounding, checking if the man is still behind you. But in a rush, you accidentally step on someone's foot, sending a jolt of embarrassment through you.

“Oh my god!” You exclaim, cheeks reddening. “I'm so sorry.”

When your eyes meet the stranger in front of you, you're met with kind gentle brown eyes belonging to a beautiful man with dimples and perfectly styled hair buzzed slightly on the sides.

“No worries.” He smiles sweetly showing off his perfect dimples while his velvety Australian accent engulfs you and calms down some of the panic in your chest.

Looking over your shoulder again, you catch sight of the man coming into your view. His gaze meets yours, and a smirk plays on his lips before he casually looks away. Panic surges again, your moment of peace gone, sending your heart into overdrive and your eyes to widen in alarm. The handsome stranger in front of you notices your reaction and follows your line of sight to the man in the black hoodie, mirroring your concern.

"Hey, you okay? That guy giving you trouble?" His voice cuts through the chatter of the people around you. His voice, laced with a hint of concern and tinged with something darker, making you snap your attention back to him.

The dim subway lights overhead cast shadows across his young face, highlighting his handsome features more rather than diluting them. You feel a knot tightening in your stomach realizing just how worried for you he is. He glares at the creep and the muscle in his jaw ticks once.

“He’s been following me since I left the bar. I was too afraid to go home so I tried to make a detour to shake him off but he's fucking relentless.” you explain in a quiet hush.

The creep looks over at you again as if to make sure you're still in his eyesight and looks away quickly to not draw attention to his shady acts.

“Maybe he'll back off if he thinks we're together? He looked away pretty quick when he saw me. I'll stay with you for however long you need. Just to be sure that you're safe.” The stranger beside you says sweetly.

You felt fucking lucky to have run into someone willing to help you, to keep you safe. You could've ended up locked in some damp dark basement if not for this man you thought to yourself. You can already feel the mild tipsiness from the alcohol wearing off and you feel more alert and aware of your surroundings.

“Thank you so so much.” You reply and the man holds his hand out for you.

“I'm Chris.” He gives you an award winning smile that lights up his whole face and yours.

You mirror his smile and take his hand. One shake and you gasp at the sudden static shock that you feel spread throughout your whole body rather than just your fingertips. His hand is soft and warm and your body suddenly feels hot all over as if you drank a lot more than you really did.

“Y/N.” You introduce yourself timidly and he gives a small nod of his head.

The train rattles to a stop and opens the doors behind you and Chris, letting on more people eager to get home after work. It becomes increasingly crowded and you're forced even closer to Chris. So much closer that you have to take a couple of steps back in an attempt to have some space, only for your back to hit the glass window of the other doors. Another stop and more people push in, bringing the creep closer to you and forcing Chris's chest to push into yours. He apologizes, placing gentle hands on my arms.

“If you get uncomfortable let me know. I'll try and make space.” He tells you, placing a hand above your head as the train rumbles along.

“Y-yeah okay.” You mutter, feeling the hard muscles underneath the white button up shirt he's wearing.

With the alcohol completely gone from your system now, you realize that the situation you're in is beyond embarrassing. Your breasts are rubbing against his chest with every rock and shake of the train in an almost lewd way. Granted you are thankful that he's keeping you away from being pressed up against some weirdo or worse the guy following you but still, It's awkward. There's no way he can't feel your heart beating so rapidly. The train makes a sudden bump and your bodies are pushed together even more.

“Sorry.” You whisper when your hands instinctively go around his middle. He chuckles and you feel it vibrate through your chest, causing the butterflies in your stomach to flutter awake.

“It's okay y/n. You give great hugs.” He says, the butterflies go mad and your face grows warm.

He's so sweet and so good looking there's no way he was flirting with me just now. No way, he's just a really sweet guy. Yeah… he's just being nice.

As the train continues to go on you feel eyes on you, burning a hole straight into your skull. Looking around Chris's muscular frame you see the creep, staring, lewdly licking his lips and undressing you with his eyes, no doubt. You squirm to try and get out of eye sight but Chris's strong hand holds you still.

“What's wrong?” He whispers. His voice makes you shiver against him and his fingers tighten on your arms briefly.

“That creep is staring at me.” It makes you feel disgusted. Your skin crawls the way his eyes slide over your face.

Chris curses under his breath and pauses. “I'll push up to give you enough space to turn around so he can't see your face. Maybe once these doors open we can quickly get off and lose him then.”

You nod at his idea and he pushes on the door, putting an inch between you two. It's not a lot of space to move but you try your best, turning around facing away from Chris and the creep. Now, at least like this, your breasts aren't crushed into him. Only now, your ass is pressing against his front. From one awkward situation to another…. This is what I get for going out after work on a Wednesday. You think to yourself. I should've gone straight home or at least changed.

The skirt you decided to wear to the office today is now hitched up just barely covering your ass. If you can just keep still maybe he won't notice and the situation doesn't get any more embarrassing than it is.

“So uh what do you do for work y/n?” Chris asks and clears his throat. You can feel every word against your back.

“Uh, I work at CBO. I'm an editor over there.” You feel him nod behind you slowly.

“I heard they're supposed to get a new CEO. Some big shot is what the news is saying.” He responds but you shrug. You haven't heard much about the new CEO except for that he's the son of the previous CEO as well as the new owner now that his father is retiring.

“I'm sure he'll be a great boss. I actually haven't met him yet. I don't even know what he looks like” You utter softly sounding uncertain. Would he be a great boss? Would he take care of you? Who knows he could change everything with just one hand.

══════════════•✦•✦•══════════════

The train enters a tunnel and you watch the lights outside in the darkness flick and zip past in a blur before noticing Chris's reflection. His eyes are on you, studying your face in the glass of the door. Your eyes meet in the all the air gets sucked out of your lungs like a sudden punch to the gut. His gaze is smoldering, far too hot to be on the receiving end of such intensity. No one says a word although his lips slowly form a sexy coquettish smile.

“Do you need me to stay with you when we get off while you call your boyfriend?.” He whispers.

You shake your head no, eyes still on his reflection. “Don't have one of those but I can call a friend to pick me up.”

As you're about to open your mouth again to thank him for the hundredth time, the train comes to a screeching stop and the lights in the car go out. Men and women grumble and some even scream. The force causes Chris to slam into you and your skirt bunches up further about midway up your ass. In a panic you tell him and he curses under his breath.

“I'll try to fix it but I have to touch you, y/n. Is that okay?” Him asking for consent to touch you makes him that much more attractive.

“Yes, please.” You say, just as a voice is heard over the speaker.

“Passengers, please be patient there seems to be some debris on the tracks that is blocking our route. They're already taking care to remove it. We'll be moving on shortly.” The voice is replaced with calming elevator music playing loudly.

That's a smart way to keep everyone calm so that no one panics. Only one panicking right now however is you. The feel of Chris's fingertips against your bare thighs is driving you insane. His touch is hot but you shiver like his fingers are made of ice. Why is it turning me on so much when he's just trying to fix my skirt?. The move is too slow to be legal that's why. His movements feel so sensual.

“Sorry, I'm trying not to draw attention.” He explains as if he can hear your thoughts.

Shit you want to stop him. To say never mind and to leave it as is and pray that the train will be stopping soon to let some people off… but you don't. Instead you hold your breath and squeeze your legs together. Your arousal grows to an unbearable high. It's just a simple touch. Why is it driving you crazy? You aren't inexperienced at your age by any means. You've had lovers before but this man's fingers, they burn wherever he touches.

“The material of your skirt seems to be stuck on my fly.” He says and the urge to crawl into a hole is strong. “I can fix it but I'll have to lower my zipper. Tell me what you're comfortable with y/n.” He whispers leaning closer to your ear.

Loose tendrils of your ponytail flutter around your ear from his breath and you mentally remind yourself to breathe. Would it be selfish to ask him to lower it? What if he's uncomfortable with that? This isn't just about you now.

“I don't want you to feel uncomfortable.”

He places his palm flat against your thigh comfortingly. “Whatever you decide, I won't be uncomfortable. As long as you're comfortable y/n, then so am I.” The conviction in his voice calms you and you give him a curt nod once.

“Lower it please.” You whisper, your voice sounding small with embarrassment.

His hand moves again from your thigh to your ass and you bite your lip hard. His knuckles graze the bareness and you unexpectedly feel him stir from inside his black slacks. Seems like I'm not the only one turned on by the other. Slowly and agonizingly, he lowers his zipper to not be heard over the piano and violin playing through the speakers.

“There. Are you okay?” You don't feel okay. You feel like you’re on the verge of dying from embarrassment and horniness. You can feel the opening of his pants against you and his growing erection pressing into your ass.

“I'm okay.” You lie. “Thank you Chris.”

Out of habit whenever you're riddled with anxiety, you shift your footing which only makes your ass rub against his erection more. “Shit. I'm sorry, I move around when I'm in an embarrassing situation and this takes the cake for me.”

He chuckles softly. “It's okay. I uh, I can't really control it unfortunately. Not when I've got such a beautiful woman like you in my arms. You make it… difficult to say the least.”

You rest your forehead onto the cold glass feeling the blush take over your whole face and he chuckles again.

“If I knew my evening would be like this I wouldn't have gone to happy hour with my co-workers.” Your sad confession fogs up the glass and you close your eyes.

He places a comforting hand on your hip. You're so packed he can't seem to stand the way he was before. His arms are restricted from raising any further than your hips now.

“It's okay y/n it's not all bad. We got to meet after all.” He says, making you smile.

“That's true. I don't know what would've happened if I didn't run into you.” His hands linger and you get so used to the heat that when he finally does move them away you feel cold and shiver under him. He groans softly, sending something like an electric current to the space between your thighs. That sound… you want to hear it more. Biting your lip you shift your weight from one foot to the other.

“Y/n…” Chris quietly says, sounding amused. “What are you doing?”

You shake your head feigning innocence. “My feet. It's these heels, I'm sorry.”

Why did I do that? I've seriously lost my mind but why do I want to do it again? The feel of him hard against your ass must be making you certifiably insane. This isn't right. Your better judgment screams at you. It's just your hormones getting out of hand.

When he places both hands on your hips and leans in, you expect for him to call you out on that blatant lie but instead he whispers, “Do it again.” All while slowly playing with the hem of your skirt.

You stifle a silent gasp, jaw dropping in disbelief, yet you obediently follow his instructions moving your hips just slightly. When you do, his left hand grips onto your hip tight and he sighs. His erection, that's fighting itself to stay inside the confines of his briefs, jerks forward against the fabric. Before you can shift again, his right arm wraps around you and his fingers find the wetness of your panties.

“So I'm not the only one fighting temptation I see.” His warm sweet breath fans across your cheek and your body sags a little in his arms when his fingers begin to dance.

Focusing on your breathing is all you can do so you don't faint from his touch. And trying to stay quiet now becomes a struggle the more his fingers move.

“Is this okay y/n?” You can only nod, too afraid of accidentally moaning and embarrassing yourself anymore today. He just chuckles and stops the torturous tango that his fingers were doing. “Use your words baby girl. Tell me if it's okay or not.” he instructs.

“Yes. It's okay, more please.” You hoarsely whisper, voice thick with lust.

Chris doesn't move, doesn't make a sound for what feels like minutes rather than seconds. Afraid that he might not have heard you, you open your mouth to repeat yourself when his fingers slip under the satin of your thong and into your slick folds.

“Good girl.” He says, his voice dripping with sex.

You lay your head back onto his shoulder as he works you just barely over the edge. Long fingers slipping in and out, massaging your thoroughly drenched cunt with ease. He grinds the heel of his palm against your clit and everything around you begins to blur. Lust, that primal urge, it ignites like a flame inside you, pulsating with an insatiable hunger that courses through every fiber of your being. You're so close to cumming around Chris's fingers, soaking his hand with your desire. You want to tell him just how close you are but if you let up on the hold your teeth have on your bottom lip you won't be able to control the sounds you'll make.

The lights come on just as you're about to come undone and he quickly removes his fingers just as quickly as he inserted them. The train begins to move again and you squint at the sudden light overhead that blinds you, breathing heavily. Before your eyes can adjust to the light and before your core begins to crave Chris's touch, you feel him fumbling behind you freeing his cock and distracting you from the frustration of your denied orgasm.

“Is there anything I should know?” He inquires, sounding like he's in a business meeting.

You don't need to ask what he's referring to. The real question though is do you really want to do this here, with someone you just met? What if you get caught? You both could get arrested. You could get fired. But there's no room in your mind for logic right now with the thrill and your need to cum clouding you. Fuck it.

“No nothing, I'm good. This is what I want.” You see his reflection smile.

“Good. Now, keep your eyes on me y/n.”

You feel the tip of him, covered in precum pressed firmly on your ass and his hands slide under your navy skirt pushing it up further. He hooks his thumb under the string of your thong and pulls it to the side. Your eyes never leave his face.

“No noise.” He warns, situating himself behind you, lining his cock up just right.

His cock feels thick and hot slipping between your thighs. You're so wet that there's little to no resistance as he pushes further and further until he's fully inside you. You let out a shuddering breath and your eyelids flutter close, feeling his warmth.

“No noise, remember? Look at me y/n. I want to see you when you cum on dick.” He tells you quietly, his voice more quiet than a whisper.

Your eyes fly open and stare at his reflection in awe of how gorgeous and composed he looks. He looks calm, like he's doing nothing other than waiting for his stop but his hands tell you otherwise. You feel it in the way he's gripping you to steal himself and to keep from bucking his hips into you at full force like he wants to. Like you want him to.

Instead he has to go at such an aching delicious slow pace so that the people behind him or next to you both aren't aware of what's going on. Your fingers long to hold onto him, to anything really. You're stuck standing still with your palms flat against the glass in front of you. Your breathing begins to fog the glass but you keep your focus on Chris and notice how his eyes go half lidded.

The brown seems to have gotten darker than the warm milk chocolate from earlier. One of his arms snakes around you and he presses his hand flat on your belly giving him more leverage. When he starts to move just a tad faster your heart rate skyrockets. The fear, adrenaline and lust mixing together creates an intoxicating concoction. Every glance, every touch, becomes charged with an energy that enthralls you. Your pulse echoes in your ears, drowning out all rational thought.

Chris's thrusts are covered up by the rocking of the train as it speeds down the rails. Your orgasm isn't far at this rate. Like a slow burn you feel it building up. A simmering that starts deep within your core, radiating up and outward. You're struggling to stay standing, to stay quiet now.

Your breathing comes out in ragged pants and your knees threaten to buckle the closer he brings you to ecstasy. You aren't the only one struggling, Chris's breathing is just as shaky and primal as yours and you hear him whisper something in another language before he murmurs “Fuck.” Into your ear, sending shivers down your spine. When your walls tighten around him he curses again and his gaze looks wild.

“Why do you feel so good around my cock y/n?” He asks but you don't dare respond. He smirks, grinding himself into you. “You take directions s-so well. So… obedient.” He whispers.

You can hear how he's losing his control. His composure has melted away and he no longer looks calm and collected. He looks like a man high on sex and chasing the release that's within reach.

“Y/n… fuck. Tell me, can I cum inside you? Will you let me fill you? Use your words beautiful.” He nips your neck just below your ear and you tremble.

“Yes. You can,” You bite your lip again to hold back what would've been a loud gasp when the train jerks Chris forward causing his cock to slam into your sensitive cunt. “You can cum inside. I'm so close Chris.”

“Then cum baby. Fucking cream on it y/n. Shit, so good.

Hearing him lose himself like that is your undoing and you're falling apart around him. The air becomes heavy with the heady scent of arousal, thick and intoxicating, swirling around you and Chris like a seductive veil. Each breath is laced with the taste of pleasure. Time seems to stand still as you stare at him. Eyes wide as you breathe through your nose squeezing your lips shut tight desperate to make no sound at all. Your cunt convulses around his cock begging to milk it of every drop.

The aftershocks of your orgasm shoot through you as he continues to thrust deeper and deeper. His own orgasm right at the edge. His arm tightens around you, hugging you closer to him. his breath becomes shallow and erratic as he reaches his climax.

“Fuck, fuck.” He whispers and he bites down hard on your neck over your fast pulsating pulse, sucking your flesh to keep himself from telling you how you belong to him now.

He bites you to keep the grunts and praises from tumbling out of his mouth uncontrollably. Because something about you makes him lose control. He doesn't do shit like this. He's careful, always planning and thinking things out. He just doesn't do spontaneity. He didn't plan this, it just happened. You just bulldozed into his life and he can’t get enough. What is it about you that makes him desire this cunt he's currently filling to the brim that he craves to make sore and swollen with his cock until the sun rises? Whatever it is, he's already addicted. He needs you in his own space, tied up nice and pretty like a gift only for him to unwrap. Fuck. He's already thinking of all the positions he'd have you in if you were at his place.

You watch in awe at how intense and irresistible he looks while he spills himself inside of you. His eyes hold so much power over you. You feel the weight of his possessiveness in his unwavering stare and it excites you immensely. You find yourself thinking of asking him to come back to your place where you'd be free to move around, cry his name out without anyone around. You're curious how sex with Chris would be in a more relaxed setting. If this orgasm was intense you can't imagine how it would feel when he isn't holding back.

He slowly pulls out of you, fixing himself as best as he can and then fixes your skirt back in place. He places a sweet kiss to the back of your head, chest still rapidly rising and falling. When you blush he chuckles.

“You're a cutie y/n. After all that, you blush from a kiss. So adorable.” He murmurs and you shift your feet. “If we don't get off soon I'll end up going for another round if you keep that up.”

You giggle and look back at him, “Sorry, I'll behave.” You sweetly say.

“What if I don't want you to?” He says instantly.

You blink at him, your face reflecting shock in the glass, and he chuckles. “To be honest with you y/n, I'd love to see you again if you'd let me.”

“Me? Seriously?” You whisper in disbelief.

“Of course. Preferably somewhere less crowded. I think after today I'll be just a little claustrophobic.”

You laugh and even after what just happened you can't believe how incredible of a guy he is. He wraps his arms around you, hugging you while you laugh.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a beautiful laugh y/n?” He whispers and you shake your head. “Why does something as simple as hearing you laugh make me so hard? What have you done to me?”

A shiver of pleasure runs through your body and he exhales quietly.

“I'd fuck you again right now if we weren't about to stop.” He tells you followed by the robotic female voice informing everyone to wait until the train comes to a complete stop and the doors open.

As the subway doors slide open, Chris grabs your hand and pulls you through them, dodging the rush of commuters that are eager to go home. With ease he leads you away from the hooded creep that's desperate to find you, vanishing into the shadows behind a massive pillar. You peek out from behind Chris who scans the area cautiously. When the man doesn't see you he hops back on the train, disappointment evident on his face but relief floods over you. Glad that's over.

"Thank you Chris." you say, sending a quick text to your best friend for a ride. “For saving me I mean.”

"It was my pleasure, y/n." he replies smoothly, grinning at you, his gaze lingering on your lips. His thumb brushes your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. "Anytime you need saving, or anything really just give me a shout, yeah?" He hands you a sleek black business card with fancy gold letters.

Maybe you will call him, because you really can't imagine that you'll get the memory of how he felt inside of you out of your mind. Besides, he made it very clear he wanted to see you again and how could you turn a man like Chris down?

After saying goodbye when your bestie arrives, you watch Chris walk away in the side mirror as the car eases into traffic. Glancing at the card in your hand, you see it reads "Chris Bang, CEO and Co-owner of CBO," and you feel a wave of shock and mortification wash over you.

“Who was that hottie?” Your friend asks bobbing her head along to the radio when she stops at a red light.

“My new boss…” You say, still feeling his warm cum still inside of you.

“Also... what the hell happened to your neck?”

[draconic-desire]

💥 Take My Whiskey Neat 💥

Yandere Boothill x Reader

Again and again, you find a way to escape, and every time ends with you peering down the barrel of a gun.

Warnings: Yandere behaviors, forced relationship and captivity, implied kidnapping, some suggestive content but mostly sfw. Mild spoilers for his background story; I want to write him both as a super attentive and protective guy but also crazy for you???

You’ve become all too familiar with the sensation of a gun being pointed to your forehead.

“Aw, darlin’, why the long face? Took me two whole days to find ya this round! You should be proud’a yerself. I dare say our time together has taught you well,” he concludes with a wink.

Somehow, his praise feels more like a taunt.

That’s because it is. Obviously you never had a chance at escaping from him, a Galaxy Ranger with a bounty on his head worth more than your life a hundred times over. He was born and raised to hunt, to track, to kill. You’re just the unlucky target.

He leans the gun ever so slightly closer to you, mere inches before it can graze your skin, and waits for your response. Although you know he won’t pull the trigger, the sight of the 9 millimeter colt aimed directly between your eyes still sends goose flesh skittering down your arms.

You grit your teeth and pin him with a withering glare. The last thing you’ll relinquish is your pride—you’re not intimidated by him, and it is impressive that you evaded him for so long, relatively speaking. Your other escape attempts lasted mere hours.

Unfortunately, the fact that the Ranger has always traveled alone doesn’t help your chances—especially when lately, his only occupation has been you.

“What, no clap back today? No, ‘fudge you, ya son of a nice lady’ or ‘fork you, shirtbaggin’ bootlicker’? I’ve gotten so used to yer colorful language that I’m almost disappointed!” Boothill tilts the gun and juts his hips, his bullseye gaze locked on your own.

Ignoring the subtle look of longing, of hurt, within their depths is getting harder and harder. He’s superb at hiding it behind jokes and attempted curses, but you know that look. He’s clinging to you after all that’s been taken from him, seeking love after it was destroyed in flames. If only he still held onto his human emotions and didn’t rely on that neuro chip of his; then he’d know that what he’s showing you isn’t love, but obsession.

You wish you had never extended your kindness to him that fateful day, when he’d burst into your home, sparks flying and wires exposed. One of his arms was barely attached, completely torn through with bullet holes. A shootout, he’d said, and he’d caught wind of a handy ‘machine doctor’—a mechanic, you’d corrected him—in town who could fix him right up.

It had taken a full two weeks for you to get him back up and running functionally. Two weeks of evading IPC grunts knocking on your door in search of him, two weeks of tolerating (and fine, maybe even enjoying) his crude jokes, and two weeks of stories over a glass of whiskey, about your hope to one day travel among the stars and his of finding a companion to do so with.

That’s when he’d seemed the most human. Voice tinged with sorrow, yes, but lips curved into a morose smile, eyes looking up at the stars. Reminiscing about when he was still fully human, nothing but a cowboy on a seemingly insignificant planet, surrounded by his adopted parents and siblings, and even that little girl whom he never got to see grow up.

After he’d shared his story, you’d felt the sudden urge to be close to him. Without thinking, you’d brought your hand up to his cheek, wiping an invisible tear despite the fact that he lost his tear ducts long ago.

He’d sucked in a breath and gone deadly still; thinking you misjudged the situation and overstepped a boundary, you’d quickly started to jerk your hand back, only for him to lock it firmly against his face with his metal palm.

His voice, normally loud and clear through the synthesized distortion, had been quiet, low, wavering. “I—please, don’t stop. That feels…nice.”

You were sad to see him go after those two weeks. You honestly expected to never see him again—he was a Galaxy Ranger, after all, the definition of a lone wolf—but to your surprise, his visits didn’t end there. He kept returning again and again, and not just for repairs. Sometimes he’d bring you gifts or tell you stories of his hunt, and you’d cherish those moments when the galaxy felt just a bit less lonely with him.

Then the visits started to increase in their frequency—and intensity. He’d show up while you were working with a client and brazenly threaten them to leave so he could occupy your time instead, or he’d appear on your doorstep in the middle of the night with your favorite bottle of liquor, winking at the sight of your embarrassed form, still in your nightclothes. Your world suddenly seemed to revolve around the gunslinging cyborg.

You’d had to put your foot down—as much as you did enjoy his company, you wouldn’t allow him to interfere with your career. You’d worked hard to gain your skills, and even though you were barely scraping by and living in a tiny, modest home by yourself, you were still proud of what you’d achieved on your own.

His initial reaction was an uncharacteristic and frightening bout of silence, his pupils blown wide, locked onto yours. Just as quickly, his typical smirk returned as he laughed it off. “Just watch out, lil cutie, ‘cause I know you’ll be missin’ me soon.”

Apparently, soon was imminent, immediate. You were pouring yourself a drink after a long week of work when he finally kicked down your door and announced you’d be coming with him.

“I’ve been waiting a long while now to claim you, darlin’.”

“And if I refuse?”

That was the first time you witnessed his gun trained on you.

Now, Boothill drags you along everywhere, hopping from one planet or system to the next, living together as nomads. What you believed to be a serendipitous friendship, he thought was the start of your romance and life together.

It would be thrilling in any other circumstance, treading the path of The Hunt, evading the law, tracking down the IPC members who destroyed his family…except the cyborg transferred that need to protect, to save someone, onto you. You have no choice but to be his now, and he’ll be damned if he ever lets you go.

“You just want to hear me curse because you can’t,” you growl. What a stupid argument to be having with a pistol to your head. Yet you can’t help but siphon all of your anger into this dumb little game of cat and mouse, of shark and minnow, of hunter and bird.

He forgets you’re not the only one armed.

You flash him the most vulgar gesture you can make. “Go fuck yourself, Boothill.”

The cowboy throws his head back in a laugh. “Haha! There she is. Wild as a newborn colt.” He grins, flashing those shark teeth you’d groan to loathe. You’ve lost count of the number of puncture marks and scars they’ve littered across your flesh.

That’s something he can’t seem to get enough of—the feel of your warm, organic, human skin against his cold, steel shell.

“Lan shoot me with an arrow, do you ever shut the fuck up?” you grumble, looking up as if the Aeon will give you an answer.

“Think ya already know the answer to that,” he replies, lowering his weapon to sling his opposite arm around your shoulders. The gun hangs languidly from his other hand, as if he’s not the deadliest shot in the galaxy.

His breath brushes your neck as he leans in and nips at your ear. “Now, how ‘bout we take this back home, eh cutie? Two days without you has got me pretty…” His voice drops an octave. “…pent up, if ya know what I mean.”

The tooth marks along your skin flare. Oh, you know all too well.

~*~

Trying to find the solution to your imprisonment at the bottom of a bottle seems like a really clever idea, at least until the room starts spinning.

The empty glass cracks against the wooden table again as brown liquor burns down your throat. What did he call it? Rocket fuel? Damn right, and you’d lost count of the number of shots you’d taken.

Boothill’s normal smirk is contorted into a small frown. “Darlin’, I know it’s been a long couple’a days away for you, but I think we should retire the whiskey for the time being—”

“Shyut up!” you slur, jabbing a finger at the Ranger, your neck still throbbing from all the love bites and hickeys he’d given you. “Thiz is your fault.”

He reaches for the bottle, but you snatch it away and instead start to take pulls directly from it. A deep sigh reverberates behind you as you stand and begin to spin around, hands extended. “Aren’t we celebrating you catching me again? You got what you wanted, you…you mudder…fuuuu…” You sway and just barely catch yourself before you tumble—wait, no, that’s him steadying your shoulders.

“(Y/n).” You blink out of your haze momentarily; only on rare occasions does he use your name and not things like darling or cutie. His face is controlled, mouth tilted downward. “Put the bottle down. I know the feelin’ of wanting to drown in liquor, but it ain’t right.”

“I’m only like this because you took me from my life!”

He bares his teeth, and you know you hit a nerve. “That little shack you called a home? Was that really livin’? All those nights we talked, you said how you wanted grand adventure and risk! To travel and see the stars! To be with me!”

“I didn’t ask for you to put me in a moving cage,” you spit back, trying to shake out of his iron-clad grip. “But you never asked what I wanted, did you?”

“Why’s this all so hard for you to accept?” One hand moves to grab your chin, tilting your face towards his tall form. “It could be just us, ridin’ through the galaxy for all time.” His lips brush lightly against your own, and you feel a tinge of warmth run down your spine. “Just be mine.”

In your drunken stupor, your anger morphs into something else, something more carnal. He wants to be the predator? Well, even the hunted fight back sometimes.

The bottle drops from your hand, shattering against the floor, as you hook an arm around his neck and kiss him fervently, your tongue running along the edges of his pointed canines.

Before he can kiss you back, you pull away, wiping the back of your mouth with your forearm. “That’s what could have been if you hadn’t kidnapped me. If you’d asked me first.” Skipping over the remnants of the whiskey bottle, you flip him the finger over your shoulder as you walk away. “Too bad that’s all you’ll get. Fork you, Boothill.”

As soon as you leave the room, Boothill raises a metal digit to his lips, savoring the sensation of your warm mouth against his. So that’s what your willing kiss feels like. The true passion he knows is hidden deep in your soul, buried beneath the dirt like an unmarked grave. He releases a breathy laugh.

Well fork him sideways, but he wants more.

Taking his hat off, he sets it on the table and moves to pour himself a glass of sherry. He’s nearly positive he’ll find you passed out in bed if he goes to you now, and knows he shouldn’t, can’t be in the same room with you when his self control is so near to breaking. Better to let you sleep it off and tease you about the kiss in the morning.

Boothill kicks his feet up and takes a long sip. So, it turns out your drunken self may actually be harboring some attraction for him. Yeah, he can use that.

“I’ll have you someday,” he whispers, a promise to both you and himself. “Whiskey ain’t the only thing that’ll be on your lips, darlin’.”

[eratosmusings]

Stolen Destiny (III)

summary: your limits are pushed until something snaps

warnings: adults only, all characters are over 18, smut in future chapters, blood, misogyny, dark themes, canon typical violence

word count: 2k

previous chapter / dividers / masterlist

Feyd-Rautha is in your dreams again. Black teeth, barking laugh. But it’s not the same. Eyes alight with something you don’t understand. Dress heavy and clinging. Nails dragging down your wet skin. Dagger in your hand pressing against his throat. Poisoned words on his lips. “You wear blood well, my darling.” His image fades as hands cup your cheeks.

The day that follows is endless. Finalizing preparations for the coming days of events. Fielding requests from the minor houses for a moment of your time. A meeting over concerns of recent tectonic activity that your absent father is supposed to attend. Two more run throughs of the dance. The swordmaster demands two more after dinner.

Irulan is entangled in conversation with Duke Leto throughout the meal. Nauseously you wonder when an engagement will be announced. It was the destiny the Atreides had stolen. Paul would be Emperor and you would be nothing but a disappointment. Your father toasts to how proud he is of the woman you’ve grown into. There’s no truth in it. You can only blink at the lemon tart that’s served for dessert as he promises he’s prepared a fun few days ahead. 

When the meal is over you do not seek Fandral. You do the opposite and duck out of his sight at the first opportunity. He knows you’re supposed to return to the Small Hall and practice again. As comforting as his presence has been, you don’t want comfort or encouragement or protection. You want to stab something. Repeatedly.

The training yard is empty. The weapons are locked away, but you have the dagger Feyd-Rautha had gifted. You’d carried it with you throughout the day. Tucked away into the deep pockets of the borrowed gowns. You aren’t sure why today you felt the need to have it and not any other. Maybe you knew you’d need it. Or maybe you made the need for it because you had it. Either way, it serves your purpose.

The mannequin takes the blade with little resistance. It was natural in your hand. No matter how much or little pressure you use, it doesn’t slip and slice your palm like others do. A well made dagger.

You flick on the mannequin’s shield to test how well it handles the added strain.

“I am glad to see you enjoying my gift.”

There’s little resistance as you sink it into the stomach of the mannequin. “I am sick of pleasantries and pandering, na-Baron. Leave me be.”

Feyd-Rautha is predictable. You knew he would follow. You know he’ll take the chance to attack.

There’s the slightest whoosh of air that warns you. You evade the blade in his hands by millimeters, dodging to the right. You push the mannequin towards him. It knocks into him, unbalancing him for a moment long enough to twist your own shield on. His black grin is wide again as he recovers and stands tall. The dagger he carries isn’t much different from his gifted one. The handle thicker and longer, a few teeth in the blade, but from what you can glimpse it’s clear they had been made by the same hands. 

He lunges, expecting your evasion and slices at where your throat goes. He’s too fast and it bounces off. You counter with a jab to his arm, slow enough that it strains his shield. He doesn’t give it the time to penetrate as his blade comes back again.

The dance continues. Both of you manage to knick the other occasionally. You feel blood seeping from a slash across your chest and more from one along your back. He has two along his arms and one on his hip. You’ve held well, but he is taller and stronger and you feel yourself begin to falter.

“Growing tired, my lady?” he teases as you barely dodge another attack. 

“As would you under the weight of this dress.”

“I have no objection to you removing it.” He’s quick even after the extended duel. He strikes, and in your attempt to get away, he catches your hand and turns your shield off. The humming of his shield silences as you're pulled and turned until your back meets his chest. His blade is against your neck with a familiar chill and fingers digging into your hip. “Though it may tempt me into distraction.”

An unfamiliar fire blooms with the confession. “Careful what you share, na-Baron. I might use that sort of information against you one day.” Something twitches against your lower back.

“Let her go.”

The hand gripping your hip, the blade at your throat, and the warmth on your back are gone in an instant. You’ve never heard The Voice before, but it’s unmistakable. It’s not even directed at you, but your mind blurs and your body is pliant, as if waiting for its own command to follow. Fandral’s face blocks your view. He’s questioning if you’re alright, if you feel faint or dizzy. You can’t answer. It’s as if you're treading through the water again. 

You’re turned and pulled again, but now you’re separated from Feyd-Rautha by your guard and Paul Atreides. The heirs point their blades at each other. Paul accuses him of taking and hurting you. As if you were some helpless damsel.

“Stop,” you say. It’s too quiet, your mouth numb. Fandral shushes you and tries to lead you away. You try again, louder, “Stop!”

Neither heir moves.

“I asked him to spar.” It’s only a half lie. Paul’s tense pose eases as he finally breaks his gaze off Feyd-Rautha. “I wasn’t taken. He didn’t hurt me.” Paul's eyes dip to your chest. “Not anymore than I did him, anyways.”

Fandral questions, “In an evening dress? Alone?”

“It is when she is most vulnerable.” Feyd-Rautha has lost his smile. “Given her security leaves much to be desired at the best of times.”

You can feel the loathing radiating from Fandral. But there is no denial.

You nod at your former opponent “Thank you for your time, na-Baron. It was very enlightening.”

“It was a pleasure, my lady. You fight like a Harkoneen.”

The fire he lit burns brightly on your cheeks.

“What was the point in asking for a personal guard?” Fandral huffs when you’ve returned to the palace. His jacket is around your shoulders to cover the slice in the back of your dress. He’d wanted you to see the doctor, worried again about poison, but you refused. “If you wanted to train, you should have asked me.”

“Or me,” Paul says on your other side. “He could have hurt you.” He doesn’t recognize the condescension of his concern.

“That was the point.” You have to stop yourself from touching the wound on your chest. “How am I supposed to know training has been effective if I’ve never faced real consequences?”

Fandral scolds, “If you stay with your guard, you’ll never be in a situation where you have to find out if it’s effective.” He shakes his head, pushing the door to the Small Hall open. It was the compromise he relented to. No doctor visit if you came here. 

“You’re late,” the swordmaster calls out from where he stands in the middle of the room with a guard you recognize as one the Atreides’. His eyes travel across your mussed form. “I hope the other person looks worse than you.” 

“He doesn’t.” 

You glare at Fandral as the swordmaster decides that is a personal offense against his training and decides that practice will be doubled for it. It’s only as you look for the woman who always carries your swords that you realize she’s not there. None of the others are. But Paul still is.

“I shall see you tomorrow?” You hope he understands it’s a dismissal.

The question amuses him. “I intended to practice with you tonight.”

“With me?”

He smiles as if you’re missing something obvious.

The dance isn’t silly anymore. Fandral had been right. It does tell a story. One of submission. 

There are no troubadours, only the sole Atrides guard who plucks at the strings of a Baliset. Your feet move in the familiar pattern, hilts of the swords bouncing against your hips.

Even without the additional instruments you recognize the melody. The blades gnash against their sheaths in protest as you pull them free. They shriek in the air, spinning easily between your fingers. Faster and faster they spin until the music nearly dies.

Once, twice you clink the blades’ together before you stab one into the plush stool. Fandral claps to the beat the drums usually play as you turn your back to it. The sword that remains drags its tip against the stone floor. Sparks follow when you twist quickly.

Paul stands there now, sword pulled free. He brings it in front of him as he drops into a defensive stance. The Baliset begins again now you fight. Thrust, retreat, parrie, circle, advance, lunge, parrie, retreat, parrie, parrie. On and on it goes until he flicks the sword out of your hand. You take the hand he offers and spin into him as the music reaches a subdued crescendo. Chest heaving, you stay there and stare into the eyes of the person who has taken everything from you until the music and the last of your dignity finally dies.

Three more times you are subjected to the humiliation. It will be once more tomorrow.

When Paul and his guard are gone, jolly at the surprise they’d sprung on you, you round on the swordmaster. He answers your unspoken question. “Your father did not want you to know until the last possible moment.”

“Perhaps you should wait until morning,” Fandral attempts to persuade you as he shadows you down the empty corridors. “Or at least remove your swords?” You don’t bother with a response. 

The guards stationed outside his door attempt to stop you, but you’re quick to dip under their arms and push into the room. You're unsurprised to find a courtesan in his bed. There’s a scandalized shout from her and curses from him as they scramble to cover themselves.

“Get out,” you tell her. 

Your father objects, but she is quick to comply. She pulls her dress from the floor and slips into it with practiced ease. She’s gone within a minute. The door closes behind her.

“You’ve gotten bold,” he growls.

“Why didn’t you want me to know?”

With a huff he says, “Because you wouldn’t have done it if you did. I told the Atridies you’d be too shy to do it if you knew and the boy thought it was enduring.”

“Why have me dance with him at all?”

He shrugs. “It was their suggestion.”

You stare at him. He’s pathetic. “You were wrong,” you tell him, bile on your tongue. “I would have done it if you asked. I would’ve done anything for you.” You leave before he sees the tears slide down your cheeks.

Feyd-Rautha doesn’t have a chance to visit you that night. Sleep never comes. Anger too potent to allow any rest.

When morning comes the maids work on making you presentable. There’s comments on the bags under your eyes and the new scar across your chest. You let them cover the former, but insist on keeping the latter. “Your father won’t like it,” one cautions. You're not inclined to care what he likes anymore. It’s something they soon realize.

They’re hesitant to style your hair in the way you instruct, but relent. Then the dress they offer, another of his choosing, is refused. You see their realization when you tell them what you’ll wear instead. Their efforts to sway you are in vain as you threaten to leave the room as bare as the day you were born.

Fandral stops in the doorway after the maids leave. “You look…”

You're still standing in front of the mirror. The dress is lilac, frilly and feminine in a way you’ve never been allowed. Your hair is braided, save for the pieces that frame your face. You look soft. Delicate. Like a painting that had been tucked away when you asked too many questions.

“Like my mother.” 

There’s only one thing missing. The rogue lies abandoned on the vanity. It’s vivid enough that a single dab of the brush colors both your cheeks.

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[ceruark]

ensnared. (yandere! prince! sunday x gn! royalty! reader)

synopsis: prince sunday invites you to dance the entwine with him. if you evade capture, he’ll finally leave you alone. but if you get caught, you’re his forever. cw: general yandere themes - obsessive & possessive behavior, implied stalking words: 3,991 disclaimer/inspiration: the dance “The Entwine” is not my idea! it's from the novel Entwined by Heather Dixon, an all-time favorite of mine :)

“The Entwine, also known as the Gentleman’s Catch, is an amusing and challenging redowa suitable for accomplished partners. [...] Similar to a trois-temps waltz, it is danced in open position with a long sash. The lady and gentleman each take ends of the sash, which their hands must not leave. In a series of quick steps (see below) the gentleman either twists the sash around the lady’s wrists, pinning them (also known as the Catch), or the lady eludes capture within three minutes’ time. STEPS. Twist (35), Needle’s Eye (35), Dip and Turn (36), Lady’s Feint (36), Bridge Arc (36), Under-Arm Swoop (37), Thread (37), Beading the Sash (38), the Catch (38).”

Excerpt from Entwined by Heather Dixon

It has been a year since the queen died.

You stand in the grand ballroom of your palace for the first time since your mother's death. It seems dimmer without her, lacking the light her laughter brought to it. Every shift of skirts has you looking for her, only to be disappointed when you catch yourself seeking out a ghost.

She ruled alone for nearly fifteen years. After your father died in battle when you were young, many other kingdoms tried to swoop in after she became widowed. They vied for her hand in marriage so they could expand their territory and get their hands on the lucrative gemstones that are excavated from your land's caverns. But the queen was unshakable, and she refused to remarry, continuing to keep her kingdom safe and opulent all on her own.

And she died last winter, an incurable sickness settling in her lungs seemingly overnight and stealing her final breath within the week.

You hardly had time to mourn her. With no one sitting on the throne, your mother's advisory court scrambled to find you a suitor so that you could marry and be crowned as soon as possible. There hadn't been a rush to find you one, but with the queen's sudden death, they need to get you on the throne before someone else came along to seize it.

Tonight, Welt— formerly your mother's personal advisor— had declared while you prepared for the ball. Tonight, we will find you a suitor. You will be coronated by summer.

You sigh as your gaze sweeps over the ballroom. Truthfully, you have no interest in any of the attendants. Most of them don't have anything noteworthy about their personalities, and those that do are individuals you've mentally decided are best kept at arm's length. You’re certain that more than half your selection pool were invited out of courtesy; none of them possess enough influence or value for your mother's advisory court to approve of a marriage between the two of you.

Except for one.

Penacony's beloved prince has been pursuing you for as long as you could remember. It started off innocent, a mere childhood crush. Long before you were adolescents, he would pluck flowers from the centerpiece vases on ballroom tables and hand them to you, ever the gentleman. You can still remember the sound of whichever court member was assigned to look after you cooing at the sight, endeared as you accepted the flower from his hands and spent the rest of the night at his side, discussing all the important matters that plagued the minds of young royalty.

And then, things changed.

As you two grew older, something about him shifted— you couldn't quite explain it. It made your skin crawl, the way his gaze trailed you throughout the ballroom, the way his fingers lingered just a little too long when he kissed your hand in greeting, the way anyone you shared mutual romantic interest with started avoiding you like the plague the second he heard of your budding relationship. There was something off about him— about his infatuation with you— and you distanced yourself from him as much as possible over the years.

Your mother's advisory court had been furious; they believed your eventual marriage to Sunday was set in stone given how taken you were with each other as children, and they planned for a prosperous future backed by Penacony's enormous and infinite wealth. They took your refusal to interact with him as rebellion and scoffed at your explanations, but luckily, you weren't alone in your suspicions. Your mother and Welt were also unsettled by the way he looked at you at formal gatherings, and your mother swiftly shut down her court's insistences on you trying to make amends with Penacony's prince.

We have no need for marriages of convenience. My child's happiness and safety will be valued above all else, she told them, and it was the end of the discussion.

Welt has upheld her and your wishes following her death, but the rest of the court are more willing to challenge him than they'd been to challenge the queen. Multiple court members have pestered you about marrying Sunday, stating that he would readily agree; you would get on the throne quickly, and the kingdom would prosper with his empire’s assets. Though they drop the topic the second you snap at them, you can tell they're still scheming, pulling at whatever strings they can to bring the prince back into your favor and push you into his arms.

And the undeniable proof of that stands across the room, piercing you with his golden eyes. Of course he's among the guests the court selected for you to choose your partner from. What else could you expect from them?

You sigh and swipe a glass of wine off a nearby table. It's going to be an incredibly long night.

As you sip at the bitter liquid and eye the blonde prince from Belobog, a familiar voice sounds behind you. "Something troubles you, Your Highness."

You turn around, relaxing at the sight of your faithful personal advisor. Veritas gazes down at you, face as neutral as ever.

"Someone," you respond, a frown tugging at your lips. "It appears the court is still refusing to let go of their little delusion."

He glances over your shoulder and hums noncommittally. "It appears so."

You swirl the red wine around in your glass, continuing your sweep of the guests. Certainly, Belobog's prince seemed like your best option right now. Albeit easily flustered, he was sweet and courageous— you would be able to fall for him given the time.

"Gepard Landau?" Veritas asks, his gaze having followed yours to the man standing beside his sister and her wife.

You look up, meeting his doubtful gaze. "Do you see any better options?"

He takes another glance around the room, then grimaces. You bring your hand to your mouth, covering your sudden laugh.

"Though he may be the most respectable of your options, there is not much Belobog can offer you." He tilts his head, still staring out at the crowd. "I suggest you reconsider."

You flash him a tight, sarcastic smile. "If that is the standard you suggest I go by, then my options are narrowed down to Aventurine and Sunday."

You get along fine with the blonde lord hailing from IPC territory, and he possesses charm like no other. He's gotten you more flustered than any other suitor has, but you know it's all fake. Something lurks beneath his picture-perfect exterior, and he keeps his cards too close to his chest for you to guess what his true intentions are. Someone like that can't be good news for you.

Veritas sighs. "I suppose Landau will have to do, then."

A flurry of movement and fabric draws your gaze to the dance floor. You light up as you watch two figures dance in the center of the crowd, one ducking and dodging out of reach while the other tries with fervor to capture them in their arms.

They've finally brought out the silk sashes used to dance the Entwine.

Your Entwine record is exemplary. When dancing as the gentleman, there were only a handful of people you hadn't been able to catch— Aventurine being one of them. Though your record dancing as gentleman is flawed, your skill when dancing as lady is unmatched and known far and wide.

In all your years, you have never been caught during a dance.

"Wonderful," you say, adrenaline rushing through your veins. You could already feel the exhilaration that came with successful capture and evasion. You turn to your advisor, eyes glistening beneath the lights. "Veritas, would you be so kind as to humor me with a dance?"

You think it's the light playing tricks on your eyes when he flushes red. Before he can respond, though, Welt strides up to the two of you and places a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"Perhaps you could get to know your potential suitors better through the Entwine, no?" The man you've come to think of as a father figure smiles down at you, the corners of his eyes creasing as he does. "You enjoy it so much, hopefully it can be used to bring you closer to someone— both literally and figuratively speaking."

Your smile matches his. "I think that's a great idea."

"Perfect." Welt turns toward the dance floor. "Allow me to announce—"

He stops dead in his tracks, freezing just in time to prevent himself from walking into someone. He backs up, and your blood runs cold at the sight left behind.

Sunday stands before you, pristine as ever, with a silver sash draped over his arm.

Welt finds his voice before you do. "Prince Oak," he greets, dipping his head into a bow. "A pleasure to see you again. We are very grateful for your attendance."

Sunday looks at him. The fond expression he had fixed on you smooths out into his perfect half-smile. He nods at Welt in acknowledgement. "Imperial Advisor Yang." He turns to your left, appearing less enthused to greet Veritas. "Imperial Advisor Ratio."

His eyes land on you again, and a chill runs down your spine. You force a polite smile onto your face, bowing your head slightly. "Prince Oak. An honor to see you again."

He sounds breathless when he responds. "The honor is all mine."

When his gaze starts to grow heavy on your shoulders, Welt clears his throat. He eyes the fabric hanging off of Sunday's arm. "I suppose you are here with... intent, yes?"

"Correct," Sunday says. He glances down at the silk, reaching up to pinch a part of it between his fingers.

He meets your eyes again, his face imperceptible. It's more terrifying than his openly longing and lingering gaze.

"I wish to dance the Entwine with you," he says, voice diplomatic and devoid of emotion. "If you are willing."

You clench your hands behind your back. "Will you be dancing gentleman or lady?"

"Gentleman." He pauses, voice lowering a bit. "I wish to try and catch you."

You smother a scowl before it can crawl its way onto your face. Of course he would want to dance as gentleman. How typical.

But there's something to his demeanor that tells you there's more to it than he's letting on. It's sitting on the tip of his tongue: his real intent behind asking you to dance with him.

"For what reason do you wish to dance with me?" In a quieter, harsher tone, you add, "Be honest with me, or I will refuse outright."

His fingers run over the fabric, smoothing out any wrinkles that snag them. He tilts his head to the side, and the desire that swims in his eyes leaves you shaking.

"If I catch you," he says slowly, "you will give me your hand in marriage."

Bile burns at the back of your throat, your anxiety clawing its way up and trying to escape. It's a bold declaration, especially when directed at someone who has never been caught before. Your faith in your skill is resolute, but the sheer desperation on his face is enough to make you hesitate.

Your voice trembles slightly when you speak. "And if you fail?"

He hums, flicking his gaze off to the side. "If I fail, I will never ask for it again."

You latch onto the statement like a moth to a flame. All you have to do is avoid capture— something you've done time and again— to get him to leave you alone. You've never seen him dance the Entwine, or show any interest in it; undoubtedly, your skill will lead you to successful evasion.

This is your chance to get him off your back, for good.

Before you can respond, a firm hand comes down on your shoulder, pulling you backward.

"Your Highness," Veritas whispers into your ear, barely contained urgency lacing his words. "Please consider this carefully. Is this a risk you are willing to take?"

You look up at him, eyebrows raised. "I have never been caught," you mutter back.

His brows pinch together. "There is a first time for everything, and you cannot afford to let this one be that time."

You clench your jaw and cast Sunday a sidelong glance. He stares back at you, his posture perfect and features serene despite the way his eyes drink you in, ravenous. There is, as always, truth to what Veritas is saying; you've never seen Sunday dance the Entwine, but that doesn't necessarily mean he doesn't know how, or that he isn't good at it. There's still a high chance you'll be able to evade him given your record, but the chance of him being able to successfully pull off the Catch, though small, is still a potential outcome that shouldn’t be overlooked.

After all, he wouldn't be asking you if the possibility was as slim as you believe it to be.

You bite your lip, hesitating. You look to Welt, pleading for direction. He locks eyes with you briefly, looking just as concerned as Veritas, before he steps forward and partially shields you from Sunday's view.

"Perhaps another time," he says, a polite grin finding its way onto his face. "We are just coming out of mourning, and though it is nice to be part of festivities again, perhaps dancing is still a bit too much for Our Highness right now— the late queen was very fond of the Entwine. Please understand."

Sunday's mask wavers, irritation seeping through the cracks at Welt's excuse. His sharp gaze cuts back to you, but you let your eyes drift back to the dance floor, refusing to meet it.

The tension is broken by the sound of clapping. You turn your head, frowning at the sight of a member of the advisory court approaching.

"Oh, how lovely!" She swoons, pressing a hand to her chest. Her face is flushed from the wine and she speaks loudly, drawing the ballroom's attention to the cluster of people around you. "Our Highness is going to dance the Entwine with Prince Oak!"

All eyes are on you. Your guests whisper to each other, their excitement tangible and filling the air with charged energy. A long time coming, they think to themselves, oblivious to the unfortunate predicament you've found yourself in. Sunday's affinity for you isn't a secret, especially not to the royal families who watched you two grow up at each other's side. To them, this dance is simply an age-old rumor finally coming into fruition, the first step toward solidifying your relationship with Sunday. And to the advisors scattered around the ballroom, watching you like hawks, it is their efforts finally paying off— the final nail in your coffin that will secure the future they envision for your kingdom.

Refusing him now, under countless pairs of hopeful eyes, would undoubtedly leave an ugly smear on your reputation and the integrity of your kingdom.

Your tongue sits dry and heavy in your mouth. You almost choke on it when Sunday's hand finds the small of your back, gently guiding you toward the dance floor. He practically preens under the attention and pressure. It makes you sick.

Another hand catches your elbow in a bruising grip, and you jolt back, only barely catching yourself to make it seem as though you tripped. You angle your body in a way that prevents the crowd from seeing Veritas's vice grip on your arm.

"My Highness has not agreed to anything yet," he bites out in a low whisper, venom dripping off his tongue.

Sunday's eyes snap to him. His scathing glare does nothing to deter your advisor, who glares back at him in response.

When he looks back to you, the deceptively serene look has returned. With the arm not holding the sash, he extends a hand out to you, tilting his head to the side in question. The guests closest to you all coo fondly.

There's a hint of a smirk on his face. "May I have this dance?"

You place a hand over Veritas's, gently prying his fingers from your arm. You can't bear to look at him right now. "It will be fine," you murmur. "I promise."

You run your hands along your sleeves, wiping off as much of the sweat as you can. You inhale shakily, trying to keep the ballroom tile beneath your feet from swimming.

You look up, a practiced, graceful smile tilting your lips upward. You delicately place your hand in his, suppressing a shudder when he brings it to his lips and presses it to them. The steadiness and strength in your voice surprises you when you say, "Of course, Prince Oak."

The ballroom erupts into a mixture of chatter and cheers. Court advisors pester the crowd surrounding the dance floor, ushering them back and trying to clear a pathway for the two of you. You swallow thickly as Sunday closes his hand around your trembling one.

You turn to Welt and gesture at his pocket with your free hand. "If you would be so kind, Advisor Welt."

He nods stiffly, reaching into his coat and producing a golden pocket watch. "Of course, Your Highness."

Your heart hammers against your ribcage as Sunday guides you to the dance floor. A numbness settles over you, and you robotically nod and smile at the guests that you pass. Their eyes shine with an adoration that you could never possess for this supposed relationship— for him.

Sunday releases your hand when you two reach the center of the dance floor. His eyes are dark as he holds one end of the sash out to you. You take it into your hands and back away from him, toward the other end of the floor. Sunday does the same, and you both stop when the sash is pulled so taught that it tugs you a few steps forward.

The familiar fabric and set-up do little to comfort you.

The crowd shifts again, and Welt emerges from it, standing front and center before the dance floor. He holds the pocket watch up to his face, and your breath hitches with anticipation.

"Your three minutes begins..." His voice reverberates off the ballroom walls, resounding clearly over the jubilant tune the orchestra plays.

"Now."

Adrenaline shoots through you like lightning, and you fly into motion. Your vision sharpens, focused in on every movement Sunday makes as you analyze the arc of his arms and the force behind his tugs on the sash. With each under-arm swoop, you dip beneath his arms and twirl away from him with ease, the steps of the dance coming to you the way breathing does.

He's an adept dancer, you'll give him that. Perhaps if his partner was anyone else, he would have already caught them already, within the first minute of the dance. But you are untouchable on an average night, and on this one in particular, you push yourself past your limits, propelled forward by a fervor and desperation to evade his every attempt of entangling you in his arms.

Twist. Needle's Eye.

"Two minutes," Welt calls out.

Approaching another under-arm swoop, you glance at Sunday's face just in time to see displeasure flicker across it at Welt's announcement. As you glide away from him once more, unfurling the sash between you two, he gives it a sharp tug, causing you to stumble a bit and lose your footing. Your heart skips a beat, but you quickly recover, forcing your limbs to move faster and smoother and match the rapid tempo he has now set for the dance.

Sweat beads along your upper lip as you duck under Sunday's arms repeatedly. You're managing just fine, but you've never had to push yourself this hard before; keeping a close eye on his movements while making sure the sash doesn't get tangled around your wrists is a delicate balancing act, and you can feel yourself teetering back and forth, dangerously close to falling off.

He's a far more formidable partner than you could have ever imagined.

Dip and Turn. Lady's Feint.

"One minute."

Sunday furiously yanks on the sash mid-twirl, and you stagger forward. The sash wraps around your wrists once, twice— three times before you regain your footing and lean back, narrowly avoiding Sunday's sweeping arm that almost hooks around your own.

A chorus of gasps ripples through the crowd at your near capture. It worsens your fraying nerves.

You exhale with exertion, trembling on unsteady legs as Sunday raises the stakes yet again. The tempo he sets is merciless, and your body is jostled between the last of your will and the harsh tugs from the other end of the sash. You grit your teeth. The silk digs tighter into your flesh and sends pinpricks of pain up your arms with each snap of his wrists.

Bridge Arc. Under-Arm Swoop.

"Thirty seconds."

The speed at which you weave in and out of spins leaves you dizzy, nauseous. The ballroom melts into incomprehensible shapes and colors around you. You bite down on your lip hard enough to draw blood, a pitiful attempt to ground yourself so you won't trip up. 

You do anyway; Sunday's movements are too fluid and swift to keep up with.

The sash binds around your wrists five more times, bringing you even closer to him— too close. You're not sure if it's skill, luck, or sheer force of will that allows you to continue to dodge his attempts at ensnaring you, but you know that you shouldn't be able to do it at this distance.

Frustration peeks through his graceful disposition. His golden eyes trail you, chasing after you as you elude his grasp once more.

Thread. Beading the Sash.

"Fifteen seconds."

You throw yourself into another dip, eyes locked onto the floor just beyond the arm obscuring your line of vision.

If you dodge this one, you'll be free.

Sunday lifts his arms suddenly and pulls, bringing the sash as far back as he can without letting go. Your arms twist in the air behind your back. A strangled gasp leaves you as you lose your footing. In a whirl of fabric, you stagger backward, away from the other side of his outstretched arm.

The Catch.

Your back slams into something solid, and before you can process what has happened, a firm arm snakes itself around your waist, pulling you flush against the body behind you. Your hands, still bound together, dig into your collarbone, suspended at an awkward angle from the sash held above you.

The crowd erupts into noise.

In front of you, a little girl pulls on her mother's sleeve and points in your direction. "Mommy, he caught Our Highness!"

Behind them, Veritas stares at you, petrified and speechless.

Snapping out of your stunned stupor feels like coming up for air after almost drowning. You suck in a shuddering breath and writhe, yanking your arms against the sash and leaning forward, futilely trying to escape. Sunday gathers the last of the fabric in his hands and gives it another sharp tug, keeping you in place against him.

He lowers his head, and his lips brush over your ear as he speaks. "Magnificent," he whispers. His voice rumbles with pleasure, almost to the point of purring. "You are truly a talented dancer."

"Let me go," you rasp out. You're physically exhausted, and your racing, panicked heart prevents you from catching your breath.

Sunday hums again, bringing the hand holding the sash to brush your cheek gently. "Why would I do that?" He chuckles softly, and it's so genuine— not the slightest bit mocking— that it leaves you all the more unsettled. "I caught you."

He brings his arm down, settling it around your waist. His fingers brush over your bound hands, and he presses a tender kiss to your cheek.

"You're finally mine."

[lafleshlumpeater]

Heyy could I maybe request something of Luke Castellan x child of posideon!reader? Maybe like reader was watching Luke train and was like “oh shit thats hot” and is just completely flustered because of their boyfriend and it just gets steamy from there- if you catch my drift. Possibly could reader be gender neutral and afab? And maybe reader has a bit of a thing for choking and Luke finds out? Thats a lot sorry for that lol

ty for the request x

not proofread

Warning: Mentions of weapons, r calls luke daddy towards the end, choking, sub/dom themes- lmk if I missed any

Requests are always open <3

luke castellan masterlist

Luke was training. Normally, this would prove to be entertaining as his training sessions were filled with banter and a lot of laughter (since he swordfought with Percy a lot, and something about watching your boyfriend and brother taunting each other was hilarious) but this time he was focused on violently slashing up dummies. And due to the lack of intimacy you two had suffered from lately since either one of you always had some important task to do, you found this incredibly, incredibly hot.

As you stood there holding his ice- cold water bottle, you shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot. How could you not find the view attractive? 

Sweat plastered his platinum blond hair to his head, and small rivulets of sweat lazily trickled down his muscular arms and forehead. He was wearing a thin, white vest which didn’t help matters, as this meant you could clearly see the outline of his abs and pecs. As his hands- oh, his beautiful, beautiful hands, with their long veins and rough skin- drove his sword into the dummies again and again, slaughtering them into shreds, you suddenly felt a lot hotter than you had been ten minutes ago… and it had nothing to do with the outside temperatures.

As the last dummy was sacrificed and sword sheathed again, Luke sauntered his way over to where you were standing somewhat awkwardly.

“Darling,” he greeted, before accepting the water bottle you offered him before chugging at it eagerly, unaware of the impact the nickname had on you. After he was done, he looked at you; taking in the lip biting and the anxious squirming.

“Babe?”, he questioned, “Are you okay?”

You nodded, but he was not satisfied.

“Look at me.”

Tilting your chin to him so it was impossible for you to evade eye contact any longer, he took in your mottled pink cheeks and lust- blown eyes. His mouth rounded in a silent ‘oh’, and cupped your chin.

“Oh, baby,” he cooed.

You squirmed even more, his subtle dominating behaviour sending an even more powerful wave of heat to your core. “Don’t.”

He smirked, and whispered into your ear. “Or what, dolly?”

Shuddering, you meekly attempted to push him away.

“Luke.”

You had thought it would come out to sound like a warning, but if anything it was closer to a desperate moan, or even a whine. Although he was playing it cool, it turned Luke on more than anything that the sight of him just training was enough to make you needy for him. It was with this thought that he stopped teasing, and smashed his lips onto yours.

You parted your lips immediately, allowing access for his tongue to slip inside; you moaned, and you thanked all gods that it was muffled by Luke’s hot mouth. You didn’t even try to fight for dominance this time- you had already entered into your subspace due to the multiple nicknames he had addressed you with, and you were too far in to pull yourself out. His lips left yours, and your boyfriend began to trail wet, scraping kisses down your jaw and down your jugular, at which you cursed yourself for allowing a pitiful, whiny sound to leave your mouth.

“Hush, pretty,” he muttered, now smattering quick pecks into the hollow of your collarbone, leaving you gasping. He reached his hand up to your throat, squeezing slightly- not enough to hurt, but enough to cut your oxygen supply off.

You gasped desperately, and were now turned on to the point where you were willing to fuck him there and then, in the arena. You let out a strangled whined, not even trying to disguise it now, and rocked your hips desperately into nothing, conscious of the fact that your panties were now so wet they were ruined beyond the point of return. Just when your head was becoming fuzzier and fuzzier (both from slipping further into your subspace and from the lack of oxygen), Luke stopped his assault at your collarbone and released your throat. 

“Luke, please.”

He gulped, and you looked down to see a raging boner straining against the fabric of his pants. You looked back at him to see his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down and his usual icy eyes now dark and stormy.

Grasping you firmly by your neck again, he whispered huskily into your ear:

“Fucking gods, I’m going to fucking destroy you.”

You gulped against his hand and let out a small, breathy moan. “Please, daddy.”

He constricted your throat tighter in his grasp, grunting- it was safe to say you were both in for a long night.

thanks so much if you read til the end xx feel free to request any time <3

READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.

[niki-phoria]

Hello! It's one of my first times asking for something, so forgive me if it seems strange or if I spell something wrong! Feel free to ignore this too!

I was looking at your Jjk list and realized that our beautiful boy Yuuji doesn't have a story there yet, so I had an idea!

something like Itadori and Reader (gn or male) were in a fight together, and Sukuna ends up appering to deal with the whole situation, and as a result, he ends up hurting the reader on purpose to bother Yuuji, so he is left feeling very bad and guilty , so ends up “ignoring” reader, because he keep blaming himself

I only thought until this part (srry), I would like an ending with something cute and fluff ig? 👉👈 (i like angst with a happy ending)

WEREN'T WE THE STARS IN HEAVEN?

pairing: itadori yuuji x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: angst word count: 758

warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of blood, poorly written fight scene

notes: thank you so much !! i hope you like it :)) split this into two parts to make it easier to write lol, possibly ooc sukuna but i did my best, title from adrianne lenker - anything

part 02 here !!

shibuya is empty. desolate, even. eerily so. even after spending only a few months in tokyo, ITADORI YUUJI had grown accustomed to the noise. the bustling crowds and noisy tourists had become commonplace - almost a comfort at the end of a long night. if nothing else, at least the people were safe. 

until they weren’t. 

your lungs burn as you race through the remains of shibuya station. the walls are splattered with a mixture of blood and curse remains. there are no longer complaints from people about being trapped inside of the station. there are no longer stray groans from mahito’s transformed humans. there are no longer screams of terror. 

you feel sick.

you force yourself to run faster when you see a figure standing in the distance, near what remains of the bathrooms. water seeps across the tiles from nearby, probably damaged in the midst of a fight. “yuuji!”

he doesn’t have a visible reaction. your footsteps slow to a stop as you take in the sight of him. his clothes are ripped and tattered but there are no visible injuries on his body. beneath the flickering lights above, you can just barely make out the blood stains littering his clothing.

“yuuji?” 

he turns to face you, smirking over his shoulder. you take a step backwards, shoes slipping on a puddle of water on the floor. there’s a dark glint in his eyes - one that you’ve never seen before. “not anymore.”

“sukuna,” your breath hitches. 

he frowns, mockingly pouting as he begins walking towards you. “that’s not how you should address your lord.”

anger flares in your chest. your hands curl into fists, nails digging into your palms. you grit your teeth, aiming towards sukuna’s jaw as you swing. 

he evades it easily, languidly pushing his hands into his pockets. “i’m hurt, y/n,” he mocks. “i can’t believe you would hit your own boyfriend.”

“shut up!” another swing. another miss.

sukuna laughs. he watches you with amusement; like you’re an ant beneath his foot he’s pushing around just for the sake of his own entertainment. 

he’s fast. almost faster than your own reflexes. your punches only ever meet air as he dances around you. “does it bother you?” sukuna asks. his breath ghosts against your ear as he leans in. “knowing that yuuji’s power comes from a curse. does it scare you?”

you swallow your insults, instead focusing your attention on aiming your punches at the right time. he frowns. “ignoring me now? that won’t do.”

sukuna raises his leg, swiftly landing a hit against your side. you’re barely given time to react before your body slams into the wall. 

the pain comes hard and fast. it’s agonizing. it feels like you’re on fire. every part of your body begs you to give up; to lay down and crumble into a ball on the ground. but you can’t. you won’t. 

blood pools in your mouth, dripping down the corners of your lips. debris surrounds you. you can feel pieces of rock and concrete digging into your hands as you push yourself up onto your hands and knees.

your attempts are quickly ripped away when sukuna kicks your side once again. you land on your back this time, staring up at the ceiling through blurry vision. your head aches. 

“pathetic human.” sukuna smirks over you. the heel of his boot digs into your chest, pushing your body down further into the rubble. your eyes flutter shut. if you’re going to die, you’re not going to give sukuna ryomen the satisfaction of being the last thing you see. 

the force of sukuna’s weight forces a weak cough out of your lungs. he raises his foot once again before he pauses, humming to himself. “i wonder what the brat would think of this.”

time seems to still as your consciousness begins to slip. you can feel yourself growing weaker. your breaths are shallower. it’s harder to get air into your lungs. your racing heartbeat has also slowed. it no longer pounds loudly in your ears. instead, a dull ringing has replaced the noise.

nothing feels real. yuuji is yelling your name. he’s on his knees; his face hovers over you. 

yuuji looks different. the black marks across his skin have disappeared, leaving only pale skin behind. hands that have the power to snap bones and destroy buildings are gentle as they cup your cheeks. he wipes away blood and dust and tears.

“yuuji,” you whisper. at least, you try to. and then-

the world goes black. 

shibuya is empty.

taglist (open! send an ask/dm to be added): @sunoooism @vamxpi @sad-darksoul @kamote-kuneho

if you liked this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, feedback, or rebloging !! and if you want to support me, check out my jjk masterlist <33

[ceilidho]

prompt: Soap being a funny, goofy flirt with his barista whenever he's on leave back home….super cocky and charming, then a couple months go by …. and he comes back sort of rougher around the edges after Las Almas. less trusting. a bit meaner when he talks to her….. [soap/reader] 2.5k; nsfw (on ao3)

-

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

He’s back again. It’s not a usual occurrence, but when it happens your heart kicks into overdrive. He appears like clockwork every couple of months, and then back to back over a quick succession of days. Like he’s in town one week and then gone the next. 

You look up from where you’re organizing the muffins in the display case to find him grinning down at you from the other side. His hair is freshly shorn on both sides, the stripe of hair down the middle likely barely long enough for him to work his thick fingers through it. He’s got a cocksure grin spread across his lips. A fresh cut over his right eyebrow, a butterfly bandage over it. 

“Hi John,” you say. It’s almost a struggle to say the words. Your hands shake a bit where they’re extended out amongst the pastries, fingers pressing into a carrot muffin a bit too hard. It dents beneath your fingers. You pull them out, rest the tongs behind you on the countertop. 

“Hi kitty cat,” he purrs, folding his arms over the pastry case, leaning as close to you as he can. If it were anyone else, you might be tempted to scold them for smudging the glass. It’s you that’ll have to clean that up later. “Not Johnny anymore? Have I been gone for too long?”

Charm like butter spread thick over freshly toasted sourdough, already melting into the bread, dripping onto the plate between the pockets of air. You know he could ruin you if he wanted to, if you let him in. 

You know it won’t be long until you fold. He hasn’t been subtle about it. “Sorry, Johnny, we’re all out of scones.”

“Aw, that’s how you apologize for tossing up my morning?”

You twiddle your thumbs. “Sorry.”

“‘Have to do better than tha’, kitty cat,” Johnny says, lips drawn into a faux pout that has your heart skittering in your chest like it’s been let loose from the stables for once. “I was waiting for those scones for near a month."

“We have cream buns,” you offer. He snorts.

“Not in the mood for anything cream filled just yet.” 

There isn’t a shade of red deep enough to describe your face. “Pardon?”

“Ye fancy going for a bevvy tonight?” Johnny asks instead, evading the question.

You probably look as gobsmacked as you feel. It’s not like you haven’t been asked out on dates before, but Johnny is leagues away from any of the men you’ve dated. He’s cockier, back straight and chest out, flaunting the muscles strapped across his chest and arms. You think it’s reasonable that you’ve chalked his flirting up to habit, something he does with everyone; whatever distance you’ve put between yourself and your inevitable nervous breakdown has been built on assuring yourself that Johnny surely didn’t mean for you to take his flirting seriously.

Apparently, you were wrong. 

“You want to take me out?” you ask, sounding a bit dumb. 

“‘Course I do.” He cocks an eyebrow, leveling you with an obvious look. “Haven’t been shy about it; s’a bit tough when I’m all over the place these days, but I’m in town for the next two weeks, so we’ve got some time. When you getting off today, kitty cat?” 

Johnny leans farther over the countertop, towering over you now that you aren’t standing on the raised platform by the pastry case. Palms spread wide over the granite; when your eyes flit down, you can’t help the way they’re drawn to the dark, livid tattoos crawling up his forearms. Dark ink like they’re new trophies on his skin. 

His attention is always like the sun; your whole body burns under his gaze. There’s something about being stared at so intensely, blue eyes raking down the front of you, that makes you unsure. 

He buys a croissant instead, tenner pressed gently into the palm of your hand. You're tempted to deflect, tell him you aren't interested.

“Seven,” you whisper instead, hands shaking when you hand him his change. 

His hand closes around yours, callused fingers rough against your skin. “Got it. Pick you up seven sharp.”

When he leaves, you barely hear the jingle behind him, the blood pounding in your ears. You have a date. 

Your chest is tight for hours, thinking about your date later that evening. He picks you up after your shift, just as you’re locking up; you thought you’d have a couple minutes to head back to your apartment and freshen up, but you find him waiting outside the coffee shop for you, clad in a black hoodie and the same jeans as earlier. 

He’s as slick and gentlemanly as you might’ve anticipated, walking you to the pub with a hand nestled against your low back. You talk for what seems like hours tucked away in the corner. Johnny makes good conversation, but sometimes it feels a bit like an interrogation. He’s talkative, but there’s a faint edge underlying everything he does; he makes you wait for him at your table while he orders for the two of you at the bar, taking the seat facing you so you’re ensconced in his shadow, hidden from anyone else in the pub.

He insists on walking you back to your place, boots splattering through the puddles accumulating between the cobblestones. He makes sure you walk on the dry side. Every light you pass under sweeps across his face in a golden arc, illuminating the corner edge of his jawline, the plush spread of his lips, the furl of his ear like a nautilus shell. Brows that slope over deep set eyes. 

When he leaves you off at the door, Johnny’s hand curls in the hairs at the back of your neck and tugs you up for a kiss that goes scorching hot. Fingers tangled in your hair, other hand coming up to cup your cheek, holding you in place. You feel trapped, helpless against the onslaught of him; a hot tongue flicks into your mouth and he groans, making your head spin. You feel it resonate through you. 

“Johnny—” you mumble when he pulls away for a second, cut off when he leans back in to suckle at your bottom lip. His beard is bristly against the soft skin around your mouth. 

You feel him smirk against your lips. He nips at the lower one. “I’ll see ya tomorrow, a’right, kitty cat?”

Johnny only looks the slightest bit disheveled when he pulls away. A thumb traces your lower lip. He briefly looks regretful, like he wants to bend down again for another one—you feel the intention when he presses his thumb ever so slightly past your lips—but then he pulls back, walking backwards down the street away from you. A hand raised in goodbye.

Then the next day, he’s gone. Vanished into thin air. You glance up whenever the wind chimes over the door jingle, but it’s never him, always someone with a different hat, a different face. 

You thought he promised you two weeks this time. Your chest collapses when the door opens and someone else walks in. Apparently he spoke too soon. 

Two days go by; you’re fighting the desperation to know. It oddly never crosses your mind to think that he’s ghosting you. Maybe it should. You hardly know him outside of the brief interactions you have every other month when he’s back from wherever he works (and you know that it’s all top secret, hush hush, you’ve seen the military tattoos and kept your questions to yourself), but it doesn’t feel—and you think this with no small degree of irony—like something he’d do. 

On the walk home, you often catch yourself looking for the familiar shape of him. Wandering past the shops closing up for the night, people piling into the bars, raucous voices tumbling up into the smoky sky; you stand on your tiptoes on the other side of the street and peer in, looking for the broad shape of his back. 

You never spot him. There is a cold gap in your life that goes unfilled. It smarts at the root of you; you didn’t think you could miss Johnny. You thought you could feel a twinge of regret every now and then for not indulging his flirting a bit more, but you had honestly shelved him higher than you could reach in your desires. Until he took you out and listened to you ramble on, listened deeply with his attention rapt, his cheek pressed into his fist as he leaned against the table towards you. Until he whisked you safely back home and held you in place while he sipped kisses from your mouth until your lips were swollen. 

It’s months later when you hear it. 

“Hi kitty.”

Your blood goes hot at the sound of his voice. When you whip around, Johnny’s on the other side of the counter like he never left. Black shirt that clings to the curve of his biceps, old jeans with fades around the knees and thighs stretched around his thighs. 

When you meet his eyes, they seem charged, steadier than usual. Flat lips turned up just at the corner, one side only. Johnny’s not usually so still, so grounded on his feet; there’s usually a frenetic undercurrent to him, like catching a live wire. You don’t know what he’s like out in the real world, but in your world he looks like he paces and runs to work himself free of all the extra energy. Maybe other forms of cardio.

“Johnny, you’re—” You catch yourself before the words tumble out, before you make it known that you’ve been tossing and turning late at night wondering where he went. Blue eyes sparkle like they hear it anyway, the faint note of desperation seeping into your voice like a hoarseness. 

“Fancy going for a bevvy tonight?” he asks you again. Less of a question this time. 

You feel pulled to him on a string. He doesn’t leave you in peace this time. He waits you out, sits at a table in the coffee shop facing you. Customers you’ve known for years seem entranced by him, and how could they not? They don’t make them like him often—tall and blue eyed, roguish; ruggedly handsome when the mood strikes. Pretty boy until he turns the full weight of his stare on you and you’re forced to contend with the fact that he is, in fact, all man. 

Your amity turns to enmity when someone stares at him for too long. Placated only because Johnny never so much as turns their way. 

Dinner is a long, drawn out affair. His conversation is rougher than usual, punctuated by bouts of silence. His eyes are murky waters. Something’s changed, you think, salad speared on your fork, hovering just in front of your mouth, studying him. Something happened in the months that he was away. Whatever it was, it’s left Johnny a bit more calculating, less trusting. He sits facing the door this time, eyes flicking up whenever it opens on the other side of the restaurant. 

“Sorry, angel, don’t have it in me to be sweet and gentle anymore,” Johnny says when he walks you to your doorstep. “‘Fraid it’s gonna be rough for you from now on.” 

His words make you tremble. 

The kiss at your doorstep doesn’t end there this time. Maybe this is all an extension of that moment months ago, the natural endpoint. You were never going to end up anywhere else but flat on your back under him.

“Pure gaggin' fer it, aren’t ya, kitty?”

Johnny’s voice is rough, barely a rumble over the sound of your own keening. Your whole body slides up the bed every time he ruts into you, thick cock spearing you open. Your hands slip over his shoulders where a layer of sweat has built up; your bodies slide together like you’ve been at it for hours, rather than just the thirty minutes since Johnny bodied his way into your place and made you guide him to the bedroom, shucking his clothes the whole way there.

“No, I would’ve—” You gasp on a particularly rough thrust, teeth clenching together, “—I would’ve w-waited. Oh god, oh god.”

“Haud yer' wheesht, bonnie, quit whining,” he grunts. “Dinnae act like you weren’t asking for a big cock in this cunt. Could hear her purring behind the counter. Needed it for months, didn’t ya?”

You knew this was in him somehow, this penchant for dirty talk. He’s always moved like it was in him. You feel swept away by it, scorching under his hands and tongue and dick. Tightly wound. Only capable of holding on, one hand clenched now in the lowest part of his mohawk while he ducks his head to suck your nipple into his mouth. When he gives it a mean bite, you squirm and cry out.

“Never thought you were s-serious,” you admit, whimpering when he nips again at the tender spot there. 

Johnny draws back onto his haunches, still deep in you. There are scars across his chest that you didn’t notice before. New skin frosted over, deep gouges across his arms; what you think looks like a bullet wound. Your eyes go wide. It’s impossible to think what he must have been through.

He looms over you, hand coming up to curl delicately around your throat. Just enough to let you know that he’s there, that he’s got you right where he wants. Johnny smiles wide, wicked, white teeth stark in the darkness of your room. 

“Oh, I’m very serious, kitty,” he laughs, deep and throaty. He thrusts languidly into your heat now, drawing it out. 

He makes a show of it when he comes, fingers tightening around your neck. Your breath hitches in your throat. It strikes you in the moment that you let him in bare, trusted him despite months of absence and no real excuse for it. When he pulls out, you feel it leak from you. Frustration boils under your skin because you haven’t come yet; you feel almost betrayed, a whiplash reaction that has tears welling up in your ears. 

“Don’t worry,” Johnny coos at the sight of your pinched face, “you’ll get yours, bonnie. Gonna treat this kitty real nice.”

You struggle against his hold when he forces your legs wide and slots himself between them, making his way down the bed. He tongues deep into your cunt to lick his own spend out. Your thoughts dribble out of you, head empty; there’s nothing left in you except bone-deep exhaustion and the feel of his bearded cheeks scraping against your inner thighs. 

You flinch like you’ve been shocked when he sucks at your clit, hypersensitive. He laughs when you do, doubling his efforts. His hot mouth on the place where he still drips from you might make you lose it completely. The most wounded sound bubbles out of you. Your hand trembles in his hair, torn between pulling his mouth closer and pushing him away. 

He doesn’t relent until you’ve come twice, your face flush with blood. When his tongue flicks over your clit again, it’s for the pleasure of seeing your legs spasm. 

“Johnny, please—can’t anymore,” you beg, trying to press your foot against his shoulder to push him away. 

His chin glistens with your juices. When he runs his tongue across his bottom lip, plump and swollen, you drag in a harsh breath. Maybe you could go again.

“Kitty, I’ve had a rough couple weeks,” he says, voice light but for where it descends into a memory, deep and dark. “Just let me eat your cunt and we’ll talk about everything later, okay?”

Your fingers tingle like they’ve fallen asleep in his hair. When you give in, it feels inevitable.

[arc-misadventures]

What are those: wallow decided to go to beacon academy with winter to go see how wiess is doing but instead meet with jaune

The Dragon’s Diamond

A small bullhead flew through the air towards, Beacon Academy. It was a privately owned airship that belonged to the, Schnee Dust Company, and right now it was carrying an assortment of precious cargo: The daughter of the founder of the, SDC, Willow Schnee. Her eldest child, Winter Schnee. And a locked cased filled with diamonds of various sizes, and quality. At least what they assumed were diamonds. For they had come here to see if they were in fact real diamonds.

Winter: I’m sorry mother, but I must protest; Why did you have to come along to handle this simple endeavour; you could have simply handed over your, and my diamonds to, Klein, and let him handle it. Why did you have to come along?

Willow: I needed a vacation. This seemed like a reasonable excuse why to do so. Besides, it also gives me an excuse to be around my daughters. Is there something wrong with me desiring to be with my family my dear?

Winter: …

Winter: No, no there isn’t anything wrong with that, it’s just unexpected is all.

Willow: I understand, but being away from home also keeps me away from drinking. I’ve managed to at least reduce the amount I’ve been drinking substantially, but being around your father long enough will lead me back to drowning myself in the bottle again. I cannot allow that to happen.

Winter: I… I’m sorry, I thought you chose to leave for different reasons.

Willow: Like trying fine, Valian wines?

Winter: Ahh! Yes… Yes I thought so.

Willow: Well, depending on what, and where we’re having dinner I wouldn’t mind a suitable wine to go along with it, but I have to stop drinking. Not so much for myself, but for you, your sister, and your brother. I… I want to stay a part of your lives, to see you grow old, and start families of your own in the future. It would be a shame if I am to deny myself these opportunities because I drank myself to death…

Winter: Thank you, Mother. Hearing you say that means a lot to me. But, if you want to give up drinking, why are you looking forward to having wine with your meal?

Willow: I’m slowly weaning myself off drinking. Not everyone can just go cold turkey now can they?

Winter: I would prefer it if you did.

Willow: Well, it would probably be for the best if I did, but… Oh, we’re here, let’s continue this discussion later, and find your sister.

Winter: Very well then, Mother.

As the ship landed the mother, and daughter duo grabbed their luggage, and made their way towards the academy. As they neared closer to the tower, Willow couldn’t help, but take in the sights around her.

Willow: Oh my… Beacon Academy is such a lovely place.

Winter: Yes, the warm breeze, and vibrant greenery give this place such a relaxing air to it.

Willow: I know, Weiss went to, Beacon to escape father in, Atlas. But, do you suppose this rich atmosphere contributed to it?

Winter: I believe it was more so her desire to escape, Father. But, this is a nice benefit.

Willow: I hope she is feeling happy here.

Winter: Me too.

Willow: But, where do you believe she is?

Winter: I have no idea, there should be an information desk up front we can ask.

Willow: Or, I suppose we could ask him if he knows where, Weiss is.

Winter: Who?

As they drew closer to the, Academy they saw the statue out front, and a student sitting on the base of the statue. They noticed that he was seemingly mumbling to himself as he ran his hands through his golden hair as he evaded the white horns poking out.

Winter: A faunas?

Willow: Excuse me, young man?

: Hmm, what? Oh, hello.

Willow: Hello. I was wondering if you could help us.

: With what?

Winter: We’re looking for my sister, Weiss Schnee, do you perchance know her?

: Weiss Schnee? Yeah, I know her, we’re friends after all.

Willow: Excellent, can you please lead us to her?

: Sure I can… I can…?! Hurk?!

His hand quickly came up to cover his mouth, seemingly trying to repress a gag. His luck failed him as he continued to dry heave until a he opened his mouth, and a belch of fire erupted from his mouth before he fell into a small coughing fit as small jets of flame escaping his mouth with each cough. As soon as his coughing fit ended he popped a small white marble into his mouth, before turning to address the duo.

: Jacques you cheap bastard! (Cough!) Ahem, sorry about that, upset stomach. Hehe…

The duo looked at him in stunned shock, taking a moment for themselves to collect themselves. Willow seemingly able to keep her wits about her.

Willow: A-Are you okay?

: Yeah, I’m fine.

Winter: But, you just belched fire?

: That’s a semi-common occurrence.

Willow: But…?!

Winter: Wait, Mother… Male, blue eyes, blond hair, horns, and can breath fire… You’re the, Dragon King, Jaune Arc, aren’t you?

Jaune: That’s me, well mostly. I’m not a king of any sorts, but I am a dragon faunas. Anyway, my name is, Jaune Arc, nice to meet you.

Jaune offered his hand for the pair to shake as they introduced themselves in kind.

Willow: Willow, Willow Schnee, it’s a pleasure to meet you.

Winter: Specialist Winter Schnee.

Jaune: So you’re, Weiss’s family? That explained the smells.

Winter: Smells?

Jaune: I have a highly, highly acute sense of smell. I can smell familiarity’s between people, to the point I can tell if someone is related to another.

Winter: That sounds like an impressive ability.

Jaune: It has its downsides… Like my little sister trying to use me as a bloodhound…

Willow: You said you are friends with my daughter, Mr. Arc, can you lead us to her?

Jaune: Uhhh… No, no I can’t. She went into, Vale with the rest of her team just a little while ago.

Winter: She did, why?

Jaune: I don’t know; I left to ‘throw up,’ and when I came back she, and her teammates had disappeared. My sister said that they had made an emergency trip to, Vale, and that was all there was to it. Do you want me to call her, and let her know you’re here?

Winter: No… Well, maybe we should.

Willow: Oh dear… I was hoping to surprise her with our sudden visit.

Jaune: You can still do that if you want.

Willow: We can, how?

Jaune: Weiss, and her teams room is just down the hall from my teams room. You can wait there until she arrives.

Winter: What do you think mother?

Willow: We might as well, this young man has graciously offered us his place to us while we wait for your sister to return. We won’t be in there for a few hours at most.

Winter: Very well, we graciously accept your kind offer, Mr. Arc.

Jaune: My pleasure, and please, just call me, Jaune.

Winter: Very well then, Jaune.

Jaune: Even if you rejected my offer you’d no doubt be taken to my room anyway so I could inspect those diamonds, and any other gemstones of yours. If there are any that is…

Winter: What are you talking about?

Jaune: Two things: Those are, Fortress grade safe-boxes, made by the, Gem Refinery. To which I own, I know my merchandise. Especially the safe-boxes…

Willow: Wait, you’re the owner of the, Gem Refinery?

Jaune: Yes, I am. Second I over heard, Weiss… screaming to her father on how she wanted her entire families precious jewels so they can be appraised. And, who is that appraiser, me: Jaune Arc, the Lapidary Master!

Willow: You’re the, Lapidary Master?!

Jaune: Yep!

Willow: I don’t believe you. You’re just a teenager, and you’re supposedly the worlds most renowned fine cut gem grader?

Jaune: Oh, just you wait, and see darling! Now then, lets go look at some pretty stones!

~~~

Jaune: Hmmmm…?

Jaune hummed in speculation as he examined a rather large diamond on a gold ring with a jewellers magnifier. Willow looked on in a chair besides him, while, Winter look on from his bed as, Jaune worked.

Willow: That was the engagement ring my husband gave me, he said it is one caret diamond ring.

Willow: …

Willow: It is a diamond ring… Right?

Jaune looked at, Willow, back to the ring, and then back to her. Their eyes stayed locked for a moment before he threw it into his mouth, and a hard crunching sound soon followed this action.

Willow’s face fell into her hands as she groaned in disbelief at what she had just witnessed, again.

Willow didn’t believe, Jaune when he started sorting her diamonds into two piles, one labeled real, and labeled fake. The ‘fake’ pile had grown considerably larger then the ‘real’ pile to the point she doubted he was actually genuinely grading her diamonds, and was trying to steal them. To prove his innocence, he grabbed a sizeable real diamond, and bit it. The sound it made was akin to bitting a jaw breaker: hard, and solid, as if one smacked their head against a wall.

Jaune, then grabbed one he deemed a ‘fake’ and bit into it. The sound was like someone bit into a hard candy, and wanted to chew it up, instead of sucking on it; Loud, and crunchy.

He made this a habit whenever she doubted his expertise, as a master gemologist. A habit she had come to dread because of the details that followed with it.

Luckily that was the second to last diamonf he needed to inspect, and she knew for certain that the last one wasn’t fake.

Willow: At least tell me the ring was made of gold?

Jaune spat out the piece of metal next to the pile of fakes, she grimaced as she looked at him as he regretfully smiled at her.

Jaune: Well… Pyrite, isn’t called ‘fools gold’ for nothing… hehe…

Willow: Gods dammit… My husband bought me a fake engagement ring?! How cheap of a man is he?!

Winter: More so then we could possibly believe…

Jaune: I doubt he was in this case.

Winter: What do you mean?

Jaune: Well… From what I’ve been told your father is a greedy whore. Uhh?! N-No offence.

Winter: None taken.

Willow: Please, feel free to continue badmouthing my husband at your leisure.

Jaune: Okay? Anyway, your husband is a greedy whore, from what I’ve seen. And, from what, Weiss has said about him is that he doesn’t commit to anything that doesn’t have a shiny price tag attached to it. I think he acquired these gemstones as a future investment. Liquid assets as you would put it.

Winter: That sounds like something father would do, but why would he buy fakes? My father is a greedy bastard, and will do everything to save a chip. He wouldn’t buy fake diamonds, there’s no value in that.

Jaune: Maybe he didn’t know he was buying fakes?

Winter: You believe someone swindled him?

Willow: It is a logically sound idea when you think about it.

Jaune: I’m well aware of several infamous gem pedlars. Give me a list of your sellers, and I could identify who is a legit seller, and who is not. Because there are some real ones here, so maybe he bought the fakes from one person, and the real ones from another.

Willow: I believe they were all acquired from one person, at least the vast majority were.

Jaune: And, that person’s name is?

Willow: Cartiff… Cartiff… Oh, I forget his first name.

Jaune: …

Jaune: It wouldn’t happen to be, Quintin now would it…?

Willow: Quintin… Yes, Quintin Cartiff, that was his name. How did you know?

Jaune: Quintin… Quintin Cartiff…

Willow: J-Jaune? Is everything okay…

Jaune: Quintin CARTIFF!!!

Winter immediately jumped in front of her mother pulling her mother back. Her hand stayed on her blade as she saw a truly terrifying sight. Within the space of a blink the calm, and happy boy revealed a monster of fire, and ash. His head realed upwards as he scream his name in a bloody rage. Winter got to see first hand the hidden fang he hide behind that warm, and inviting smile of his. The way his mouth shut, terrified her knowing full well he could bite down into someone in mere seconds, and could easily pierce through aura, and flesh like it was tissue paper. She marvelled at the sight of blue flames erupting from clenched fangs. The reports she had seen about the dragon faunas were fragmented, and vague, but even those brief insights paled in reality at the sight before her.

The flames, erupting from, Jaune’s teeth slowly fettered out as a finally deep exhale escaped his lips, he shook his head as if trying to shake off some sort of ill feeling upon him. He leaned back in his chair to look at the mother, daughter duo as he gave them a nervous, and embarrassed smile as he awkwardly scratched the back of his head.

Jaune: Ah haha… Sorry about that… I didn’t expect hearing his name to set me off like that… Hehehe… Sorry…

Willow: It seems you are well acquainted with this individual?

Jaune: As well as I would like to be. The bastard is an infamous counterfeiter, specializing in fake jewels. Particularly diamonds. I met him years ago after I just started out my… passion for collecting precious gemstones. He sold me some nice diamonds the first few times, but then he came back again, and the ‘diamonds’ he brought were all fakes. He denied it of course. Then I ate his ‘diamonds’ to prove to him that they were all fakes.

Willow: Oh, so eating fake diamonds is not a recent habit you’ve developed. I thought it was just for show.

Jaune: Well, yeah it kinda is. I mean what better way to prove if a diamond is a fake?

Winter: Do you often eat precious stones?

Jaune: No, I tend to eat, Dust more so then cubic zirconia, and the like. That’s why I was belching fire earlier, Weiss fead me some, SDC Dust that made me sick to my stomach. Jacques is such a cheap bastard…

Winter: Wait, you eat, Dust?!

Willow: And, what does my husband have to do with that?

Jaune: Okay, one box left to examine!

Jaune simply ignored the ladies questions as he took out the last box. It was a seven inch cube box covered in various locking mechanisms that, Jaune was quite intrigued on opening it himself. But, in the pursuit of time he just handed it over to, Willow who opened it herself. And, upon it’s opening, Jaune beheld a beautiful sight. The one diamond he had been hoping to see for ages.

The famous, Schnee Diamond.

The diamond was cut into an orb with a with a three diameter, roughly making it the same size as your average baseball. It shimmered, and sparkled like a star under the light of his desk lamp. He extended the talons on his hand as he picked it up, and inspected this prized jewel. Turning it over as he marvelled in its beauty.

Willow: …?

Willow: Do you like it, Mr. Arc?

Jaune: …

Willow: Do you like it, Jaune?

Jaune: …

Willow: Jaune!

Jaune: Huw? Oh yeah, It is such a marvellous diamond… I’ve been dreaming of seeing it, holding it within my hands to marvel in its splendour since I first saw photos of it, and I must say those photos do it no justice in its magnificent.

Winter: Are you sure it’s real?

Winter cheekily remarked as, Jaune was lost in the beauty of the diamond in his taloned fingers. Her smile fell as she heard the most beautiful ringing sound she had ever heard as he tapped the diamond with his talon before turning to face her.

Jaune: Hear that? Humans can’t here this sound, most faunas can’t hear it either, but I can. Most diamonds are too small to make this an audible sound for most people to hear it. But, this diamond is big enough for anyone to hear it singing. Only a real diamond can make such beautiful sounds.

Willow: It is such a beautiful sound, I had no idea such sounds can come from a diamond.

Jaune: Only a few bare such elegance… Oh I wish I could have this diamond for myself… But alas, I doubt your open to selling it. Are you…?

Willow: If I was… Hypothetically speaking, how much would it be…?!

Jaune: Three billion Lien.

The duo looked at him astonished at the thought that, that diamond was worth, Three Billion Lein. The sense of unquestionable authority as he stated this didn’t make them question the possibility that he was gaslighting them so he could get it for a fraction of the price.

Willow: Oh my… I… I did not expect that…

Jaune: Didn’t you have it graded before?

Willow: Decades ago, and back then it was nearly a billion lien. But, to imagine the price has gone up that much… it’s unbelievable…

Jaune: It would be the worlds most valuable diamond, but that title was taken away from it a few years back.

Winter: Oh really? What took it’s place?

Jaune: This…

As if appearing from thin air, Jaune held out before the duo a diamond; A diamond cut into a sphere with a diameter of five inches across. Winter’s breath was stolen away as, Willow at the beauty presented before her. She carefully took it from him, fearing the validity of the rumours that he would gut her if she touched it. But, it appeared as if he was offering it to her to hold, so she took it.

She was amazed by its hefty weight, as she saw the light sparkle across it surface. She was amazed when her father showed her the, Schnee diamond, but the splendour of this diamond put it to shame so thoroughly she couldn’t find it in herself to complain about it in the slightest.

Willow: The Translucent Apple… Oh she is absolutely gorgeous~!

Winter: You’re the owner of the world’s largest diamond…?! That makes sense because you’re such a gemstone lover… But wait, where did you pull that out from? Do you just keep it hidden on your person at all times.

Jaune: Not in the shower.

Winter: What?!

Willow: It is truly a marvellous diamond. It was an honour to hold it. Winter, do you perhaps?

Winter: Nnnno, no I wouldn’t. If our family’s diamond is worth three billion, it terrifies me to hold something worth…

Jaune: Five billion Lien.

Winter: Five billion Lien… Wait, what really?!

Jaune: I am not considered one of the richest men in the world for nothing.

Winter: Five billion… And, he just has that up his coats sleeves?!

Willow: Well, it was a pleasure, despite the sheer disappointment of it all, no fault upon you, Jaune. I thank you for grading our families diamonds, and other precious stones.

Jaune: My pleasure… If you want, I can set you up with a jeweller from my company. I can confirm whole heartedly their validity as the genuine article.

Willow: I would appreciate that very much. But, there is something I would like to ask you…

Jaune: That being?

Willow: I heard you were offered gemstones as a dowery of sorts… Does that offer still stand?

Jaune’s burning focus of ingraining the beauty of the, Schnee Diamond upon his mind had finally been broken. Not even offering up the, Translucent Apple for, Willow to marvel at had broken his singular concentration of the diamond within his talon fingers. But, that one question broke him from his stupor like a gunshot to the heart. For he knew all to well what the dowery for this proposal would be.

Jaune: A-Are you offering me this diamond for your daughters hand…?

Willow: Indeed I am.

Winter: Mother no!

Winter exclaimed in shock as she looked at her mother as if she had lost her sanity. And, worry as, Jaune eyed the diamond with a new burning intensity trapped deep within the very depths of his soul.

Jaune: This… This is a priceless family heirloom, you wouldn’t simply give it away for me to accept, Weiss’s hand in marriage would you?

Willow: The diamond would still be in the hands of a, Schnee if you married my daughter, so it wouldn’t be lost. And, I never said anything about you marrying, Weiss now did I?

Willow looked to her eldest child with a smile as, Winter’s voice failed her. She was dumbfounded that this conversation had taken such a drastic turn. Was her mother seriously offering up the family’s prized heirloom for her hand in marriage?!

It was unthinkable. That her mother would do this to her on seemingly a whim. It scared her. But, what truly terrified her was the deafening silence that followed as, Jaune looked between her, and the diamond.

At her, and the diamond.

At her, and the diamond.

At her, and the diamond.

And, then at her, and only her.

Winter gulped in fear at the sudden turn her life was about to make.

[spdrvyn]

nauseously nurtured: MIGUEL O'HARA

after getting discharged from work, miguel tries to give you as much as attention as possible while he's away. only to grow concerned, when you don't pick up his call on the last day of your break.

hurt/comfort. omg?! another post?! that's crazy, anyway time to disappear for a month! (just kidding, i have another fic to post on v-day)

Love is in the air? Wrong, gas leak! 

That was the clever message you sent to Miguel while he bombarded you with calls immediately afterwards to check if you were okay. It was as you described, there was a gas leak at work so you had the next three days off as they sorted the issue. 

He had insisted (if not, forced) you to quarantine in that duration for good reasoning, spoiling you with all of your favorite take out places while you two tried to keep in touch through call and messages. 

Concern had worn Miguel through when he got back home to you, he wasn't able to tear himself away. Checking your eyes, ears, mouth even for any signs of sickness and letting out the biggest huff of relief when you're completely spotless. You insisted that the only sickness in you was how sick you were for him, to that he wanted to roll his eyes at but he'll put up with your corny lines as long as it meant you were healthy and happy. 

Next morning, he dreaded having to go to work. Multiversal protection wasn't something he was feeling when you were home and all his for the taking, but you practically pushed him out of bed when he didn't let up on his grasp on you. Still, his attachment didn't evade you even when you were miles away from each other. 

You texted him the oddest things, Miguel found himself with a fond smile in the middle of a full cafeteria with multiple eyes on him because you sent him a stupid fucking 0.5 image of a stray cat. To which he had to glare other spiders down from sheer embarrassment, scarfing down his food to hide back into his office. 

The call time averaged on four hours, sometimes seven to eight if there wasn't any urgent business. Jess or Peter B. would join in too, but the latter was more intrusive if all else. 

On the third way, you don't call him. 

Nor do you pick up Miguel's calls, the worry came back to him like it always did. He texted you, over and over but you didn't even leave him on read either. 

Of course, he's unlucky enough to have more business that urgently needs tending to so he takes care of that first. Gruffly pushing buttons on his watch to call you again as the extraction team works behind him, he brightens up under the mask when you actually answer him this time. 

That little hologram he'd have of you doesn't appear this time, which means that your video was off. Again, strange. You always had your video on when talking to him, most of the time it wasn't even focused on you but whatever you were doing. Still, he wasn't going to waste the little time he had thinking about it. 

"Cariño," he felt the breath enter his lungs again. "You didn't pick up my call a while ago, que paso? Are you feeling sick from the leak?" That last question stuck to his suspicions as he heard the sound of sniffling and nose blowing on the other side of the call, the grip he had on his wrist tightening. 

"Migs, I need you." you sniffled, "Could you come home please?" You didn't need to say anymore than that. 

As the team begun to call for him, he cussed under his breath. Moving closer to his watch to wish you a goodbye before ending the call, sending you a quick text that he'd be home soon and he does. 

Two hours later. 

There were too many problems that needed taking care of. Injured spiders, broken equipment, not to mention that the signal towers were down for whatever reason so he couldn't find a way to contact you. It was maddening to maintain any sort of composure in those two hours, the thought of you all sick and needy at home was the only thing keeping him from simply losing it. 

He'd swung back to his home in a daze, nearly missing sight of the poles or buildings in his way that he'd almost bumped into them and probably would have caused him more time to get back to you. It was already dark when he slipped into the window, when he saw your shriveling form on the bed. 

You had a comforter draped over your entire body, a show blasting from your phone speaker. Multiple tissues were scattered on the sheets of the bed, littered on the floor too. An empty glass of water with a crumpled pack of chips on the bedside table, how pitiful it all looked. 

He approached the bed slowly, letting his presence be known by his weight being brought down on the mattress as it sunk slightly. The noises from your phone silence as he pulls the blanket up slightly, only to discover that you're not sick. 

Puffy eyes, messy hair, ruined makeup, outside clothes, and runny mascara were telltale signs of what had happened for you to be in such a state. His gaze had softened, but yours didn't. Your frown deepened as you yanked the comforter from his grasp and covered yourself with it again as another sob was ripped from you. 

"I– things were getting too crazy back at work," he begun to grovel. "Lo siento, por favor. I should've been there for you and I wasn't, please forgive me." 

He noticed the tremble as you growled in frustration, abandoning your hiding altogether as you seethed at him. "God damn it!" the ink from your mascara no longer had any sort of effect, clear tears streamed down your cheeks. "Why– why do you have to do this everytime? Ask for forgiveness, be so- so understanding and caring for- for other people—" 

His confusion is most imminent, but the fretfulness on his face overshadowed that as you curled against him, your hands fisting the nano-fabric of his suit. It glitches and bends around your manicured fingers, his own hands move to grip your waist and pull you closer to him in some form of a hug. 

"You know what they said about you?" your voice shook with unease, "They said that you're so perfect, too good for me, how it was even possible that I bagged someone like you." 

Disdain plagued each word that you spewed, Miguel wanted to be offended, he should have been offended. But deep down, he knows that all of his hatred was truly directed at yourself. "Who's 'they'?"

"My friends!" you pushed against him once more, but his hands remained steady on you. Moving up and down your sides in a gesture of soothing, you push a dainty finger against the hard muscle of his chest. "And they're right! I don't even know if it's all in good fun anymore because- because you—" 

No more is able to come out of your mouth aside from a pathetic croak, you shudder before your grip on his suit loosens and you become limp against his hold. "M'sorry," you whimper, "I'm being emotional again. Too much. You have too much of me." 

This hurt so much more than any wound he's sustained from battle, seeing you in this state was bad enough, but to know that he wasn't able to come to your beck and call the moment he'd heard about it probably stung even more. 

How could he be so careless? Why couldn't he go just a little faster at HQ? Maybe then, you wouldn't have turned out like this. A sad, shivering mess in his hold. His fingers curl around your cheeks, flushed and red. Either from crying or from being inebriated, it didn't matter.

"It's okay," he leans forward, your tears are salty as he kisses them away. Your breath hitches, eyelashes fluttering as his lips feel hot on your skin. "I think it's beautiful. You're beautiful." 

The moment freezes for a bit, Miguel's lips barely leave your face, neither does his hands as he calms you down. You think how someone could be so sweet, while barely even saying a word. He mumbles unintelligible phrases under his breath that you're too dazed to pick up on, but you can only hope he's whispering about how much he loves you.

And he really does, he loves you more than whatever "too much" meant. The rush of victory he feels after successfully completing a mission couldn't compare to the sheer happiness of getting home to you, safe and sound. Confiding in your presence, forgetting about everything and everybody else until the next morning. 

It gets harder and harder to move, to breathe, you go as limp as a ragdoll. Miguel still holds you, he moves his lips to your forehead in one long kiss. There's still some part of you that wants to be closer, closest, so weakly you pull at his bicep.

He shields you from all else for a while, the idle sounds of the city don't even make it to your ears except for the steady thump of Miguel's heart as your cheek is pressed against his chest. His hand tangles in your hair, brushing through knots while scratching at your scalp in the meanwhile. 

You don't think that you say anything to each other for the rest of the night, but that's okay. You're okay. You're beautiful. 

[hanasnx]

scott barringer headcanons.

MINORS DNI 18+

WARNINGS: enemies (?) to lovers | flirting | mentioned: fingering

He's a hot, new commodity on the Horizon market. At least two girls you know have their sights set on him. It's clear how gorgeous he is, but you tried to keep your distance. The last thing you wanna focus on is some boy with his own set of problems. Fate finds a way. Every time you'd pull back, it'd draw you in, pairing you with him on chores more often than not, conversation was inevitable. You had a suspicions it's because neither of you are particularly chatty, and staff thinks you're less likely to cause an upset. "Ever done a campfire?" he taunts. The sick innuendo makes you scoff, tearing up grass while you sit on the ground with him. "You just say things to shock people, don't you?" you remark. You brush your hair back, and he keeps his gaze on you. "What else is there?" his reply is wry, and you roll your eyes at him.

When you break the rules together, you serve the time together. Which means you and Scott work alongside each other scrubbing the bathroom floors. "What? Afraid to break a nail or something?" he tosses the phrase at you, regurgitated from the other misogynists he's heard it from. "Shut up, Barringer," you reply, just as unenthusiastic. The latex gloves catch on your manicure as you slide them on. "I'm not doing all this by myself. So make yourself useful." The vision of him on his knees is truly a sight to behold, the sudsy brush in his large hand. You have half a mind to kick him over by his chest, just to see what he'd do. It's not like you to exercise empathy, more like experimentation bred out of sick fascination. Besides, he deserves it. Him and his sour attitude. "Just get started without me." you tell him with a pinch of your shoulder, waving him off with a flick of your wrist. "Yeah," he scoffs. "you'd like that, wouldn't you?" He slaps the brush onto the tile, soap splatting out. You flinch, narrowly evading a stray splash on your shoes. "Watch it!" you admonish, "You almost got it on my Birks!" There’s an air of silence but you’re positive you can hear his eye roll. You have to fill it as you gingerly get down onto your knees next to him, dusting off your hands after. “I don’t get why we have to do chores. The amount of money my daddy’s paying for this place they should be able to afford a maid service.” "Yeah, I wouldn't expect daddy's little princess to understand."

Even if he makes it hard, you and him do manage to get closer organically. It came in the ways he mocked you for your upbringing or your supposed stupidity. Scott has a lot to complain about, evidently. It blossoms into a sort of teenage fantasy. You let him get away with messing with you because you kinda like it. Little excuses to talk to you, bump you, tug on your hair. It's not long before he's messing with you more physically too. Less plausibly deniable.

When things start heating up, you find yourself unable to stay away from him. The first time you kiss begins a torrid affair. Full of tugging him into dark corners to make out, sneaking off to the woods for “inappropriate touching” as the rules so clearly state to stave off of. He’s so frustrating all you wanna do is shut him up and make him useful. He’s a god at fingering you, makes quick work of it too, even if he is clumsy.

There’s not much he won’t do to get your attention on him, he can't stand when it's anywhere else when he wants it. A bag of frozen veggies in his hand while you reach for it. "C'mon, is that how high you can jump?" "Scott!" you scold, balancing on the tips of your toes as you brace a hand on his chest. "Gimme it." Each time you crest, he moves it out of your way. You don't notice him sneak a hand around your waist, spinning you so your back is flush against him. His body curls around you, his cheek against your head as you weakly fight him off, using his arm to propel yourself up for the bag. "Will you forget the vegetables already?" He tosses them behind the two of you, but keeps you in place when you try to chase them, nuzzling his nose into your neck in search of skin to latch onto.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Cupid

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: You're convinced that performing a short incantation is the solution to all your martial errs (and perhaps you're right).

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: fem!reader, arranged/forced marriage au, wife!reader, emotionally constipated!aemond, secretly smitten!aemond, chaotic!reader, stupid king!aegon, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: i suggest you listen to Lion Heart by Girls Generation just cos in my head it be their theme song Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @slavyanskiyahui

Boots against dirt, steel against steel, sweat upon brow.

Aemond rather idlily dodged the attack of his sparring partner and looked out to the ladies that squealed and cheered for him for it. He looks back to the man and evades him as he charges.

He was used to it, having people spectate his every move, garnering the attention of women. It was just another thing Aemond learned to get used to growing up. It never phased him, or rather, more accurately, he never cared for it, the doting while he trained. Not even when he got married.

The prince side steps then spins, promptly kicking his opponent into the dust.

I mean, it was not like he chose his bride himself.

Another loud round of girlish cheers ring through the training grounds.

And it was not like they have been married long.

His boots skid on some gravel and sand.

Well-- Aemond looks over his shoulder, releasing a breath through his lips --perhaps there was a change when he was married.

He looks into the crowd of ladies muttering and grinning with each other. He does not see his wife, who is normally at the center of the gaggle. In truth, he only recognized their faces as they were your friends. He couldn't care less about them and their giggles though.

He surveys the crowd, finally deciding he was not going to see you here anytime soon.

It was his final straw. You had been rather out of character as of late, and your disappearance during his training, a time of day you endlessly gushed about that his ears nearly fall off his head whenever you do, is no light matter.

"A good match, ser Bartholomew," Aemond says as the man stands and readies for another round. He relaxes as the prince nods, "I have something I must attend to."

Ser Bartholomew nods in regard as the prince walks away.

He gives his weapon to an errand boy and grabs a towel from a servant. As he wipes off his sweat, there was a bitterness attached it. He blinks as he imagines the smile of his pretty wife, murmuring praises to him while affectionately dabbing at his forehead and cheek. He thinks about he would look down your form, your lashes, your jewelry, your bosom. Now all he was looking at was the dirt on his shoes.

"Thank you," he dismissively hands the towel back to the servant and walks away as she curtsies.

Aemond traces the steps he knows you would take within the day, trailing through the gardens, the library, your shared bedroom, finding that you nowhere in sight.

He passes by Helaena's chambers, offering her a smile when her lilac eyes catch his. He makes an excuse to his mother as Aemond checks, thinking perhaps you thought of visiting the queen mother. Alicent brushes his hair back and tells him he should come by her room more often.

Aemond doesn't know why, but he even checks Aegon's chambers for you.

His soul nearly leaves him when he hears your voice before he even reaches the open door of his brother's chambers.

"GIVE ME BACK THE BOOK, YOU TOAD!"

"YOU DARE SPEAK TO YOUR KING THIS WAY?" Aegon laughs through a grunt.

Aemond is about to run into the room, but then he freezes when he hears Aegon's pained screech that is then cut off.

He shortens his strides.

... perhaps it's better there be no witnesses.

Aemond looks front and back, agreeing with himself no one was around.

Perhaps... he was now king.

Aemond slowly walks to the open door when the silence lingers too long. He knits his brows at the sight of Aegon face flat on the floor and you standing faced back to him by a desk.

"You know," Aegon pushes himself on his elbows slowly, "I'm and idiot, and even I don't think that would work."

"That's because you're an idiot," you mutter as you seemingly go through a book.

Aegon huffs then grunts as he gets up off the floor, "do you truly like that gremlin so much to be doing something like that for him?"

Aemond narrows his brows, knowing it was he, the gremlin, being referred to.

Aegon arduously gets on his feet as you push the book aside and raise your hand up, stroking something with your fingers. He could not see it, but he assumes it was possibly some thread, or something just as thin. You drag a candle closer.

Aegon walks over to you as you eye him, "if you do something to my hairs--"

"I'M NOT GOING TO MESS UP YOUR INCANTATION!" the king cries as he walks up to you.

Incantation.

Aegon leans on the desk, effectively blocking Aemond's view of his bride. Aemond cranes his neck and moves from his spot as he tries to catch sight of you.

"Lest I be magicked by you," Aegon adds.

You respond with something Aemond is unable to hear. Aegon responds with a laugh. He sighs, "my. My brother does not know how honored he is to have you has his wife."

Aemond scowls. Dare he?

Aegon yelps when you twist his arm after he tries to touch you.

Aemond beams as Aegon is shoved away.

"Hey," Aegon yelps, "I gave you one of my hairs! You ought to show some respect. I will blow those strands off the desk and you'd have to steal hair from mother, Helaena, and--"

"If you do that, I will tell your mother where you went last week."

Aegon does not respond.

Aemond chuckles under his breath.

You then begin to speak the words on the book as you spin the hairs in your finger and throw it into candle fire. There is the faintest sound of crackling, but Aemond hears it through the silence, even from where he stood.

A beat passes.

"Is that it?" Aegon asks.

You turn to him and shrug, "that should be it."

"So, what?" he crosses his arms, "Aemond's gonna be head over heals in love with you now?"

Aemond pulls his head back.

You wave a hand, "well the woman who sold me the book said this incantation would make him want to be around me more."

Aemond furrows his brows, but he does. Why would you need a silly incantation for that?

"I reckon we do it again but with more hair and more fire," Aegon offers unhelpfully.

Aemond jumps away when you gather your book and move past Aegon. He vaguely hears you mutter something to Aegon as he hurries down the hall and clears his throat. He then brushes himself off and casually struts back down the hall, as if he just got there.

By the time you walk out of Aegon's room, Aemond is just making his way toward it.

You jolt when you see him, clutching your book to your chest. Aemond halts, boots stomping firmly into the tiles.

"My princess," he nods.

You turn to him and feign a look, not at all nervous, "my love, I-"

Aegon walks out of the room and stops when he turns and sees his brother.

Aemond looks between the two of them, suddenly realizing how this would have looked had he not seen what happened mere moments ago. The two of you seem none the wiser of what to do in this moment, and so Aemond tilts his head then motions to the book, "has the king given you a hard time over your books, my love?"

You perk, mostly at the pet name, for he did not usually call you such things, and turn to your book in hand, back to Aemond, then to Aegon, back to him, "yes I-"

Aegon grabs the book and raises it over his head, so you would be unable to get it from him even if you tried, "it's quite exciting to see how red your girl gets over some bound paper, brother."

He oversells it by eyeing you and turning to Aemond with a goblin look. Aemon grits his teeth, walking over the both of you.

Aegon feels the ire radiate off Aemond as he inches nearer. He doesn't put up a fight and hands the object to the prince, who then snatches the book from Aegon, pulling you to his side along the way.

"I will skin you if you give my bride a hard time," Aemond openly threatens with a narrowed eye. The king pulls his head back and watches as the two walk off.

You gulp as you look at Aemond's flaming expression. You mutter a soft thanks as he hands you back your book.

"You must not allow yourself to be so comfortable around the king," Aemond says as he pulls you into him to link your arms together, "he enjoys negging and making an audience of pretty women."

You sniffle and smack your lips at the fact Aemond called you pretty.

Aemond turns to you as you turn away and hold back a smile. He, himself, finds his annoyance melting away at the sight of you.

When you turn back and find Aemond staring, your breath catches and your lips part.

He allows the smile on his lips to blossom. You find yourself smiling back at him.

Aemond's light brows furrow as he rubs your hand, "I did not see you amidst my training." He looks forward as you continue to walk the halls, "are you quite bored of watching your husband train already?"

He turns to you when you rush in front of him and shake your head, "never, prince-husband. It is my most favorite time of day."

"Mmm," hums Aemond, "as you remind me oft."

He holds back a chuckle at the way your face twists in thought.

"I was..." you offer weakly, "finishing an errand, is all."

"I see."

You nibble at your lip in agitation though Aemond does not press further. The two of you look forward as you take a turn at the end of the corridor.

"How will you make it up to me then?"

You pull your head back, turning to him, "what?"

Aemond catches your eyes and raises a brow, "you missed my training. I am wounded."

The prince brinks rapidly at what you do next.

Immediately you pull away from him and grab his face, "you were wounded?!" You carelessly drop your book to the floor as you press his cheeks in your palms and inspect every inch of him. Your face hardens and you practically steam when you say, "which treasonous fuck dare injure the pri-"

Aemond's chuckle and touch upon your waist hinders your next words.

He watches as you suck in a breath as he leans into you.

"I am not injured physically," he chuckles, nose brushing into yours. He pulls away to asses your face as the line between your brow fades. Aemond clicks his tongue, "my ego, however, is sorely bruised," he shakes his head and sighs, "I think I cannot survive it."

The prince feels the corner of his lips upturn at the sound of your soft, shaky sigh.

"I see..." you mutter, "then I shall do whatever pleases my husband most in order to make up for his... bruised ego."

Aemond laughs as he pulls away and picks up the fallen book on the floor. He gives it a quick once over before handing it back to you. He watches as you take the book, not even caring that, technically, now you were officially caught in possession of a spell book, a cheap one at that. Aemond can tell you were very much tricked into buying it. You don't seem to care or notice anything else but him though.

He basks in the heat of your gaze, your unwavering attention, suddenly realizing you had been giving it to him so freely, and yet it took your absence today for him to realize it. He wasn't very good at being doting, especially not if you were the standard. It, however, was not his intention to make it seem as though he did not enjoy your company altogether.

He had to get married, yes. And true, you were not married out of your own volitions. Yet, he was glad he was married you.

He would have to work on this... doting.

There is no way in seven hells he'd make you resort with teaming up with his dimwit brother again when it was his attention is all you wanted.

"Perhaps my lady love would massage my shoulders," Aemond rolls his shoulders back for effect, "they do so hurt after a long day of practice."

Without missing a beat, you eagerly respond, "I shall do my best to tend to your soreness."

"Mmm," he nods, "yes. And if I so enjoy it, then I will make sure tis you who is sore instead."

It takes a moment, but then your lips part.

Aemond smirks, "to our chambers then, love."

[gogotti]

Happy (late) B-day! Michael Myers/GN!Reader - NSFW

me writing a Michael fic again, who would have thought? Anyway, this was supposed to be for his birthday but I did not finish it in time. This was also gonna be a kinktober thing, and even though it's November I'm still gonna post it under my kinktober tag lmfao.

This fic's prompt was Tied Up & Nipple Play

Warnings: Reader is def giving dom vibes in this one, Michael is tied up and he loves hates it, he growls a lot too, obviously lots of nipple mentions, Reader praises him a lot, I'll say slightly subby Michael cause that's the vibe I was feeling writing this, Michael cums untouched.

The sight before you, Michael decorated with pretty rope, and the redness of his skin was enough to make your knees weak. You couldn't help but ignore his silent grunts and stare at him as he leaned against the headboard, staring at you with a mixture of hatred and desperation. You sat between his spread legs and slowly trailed your fingers up his thighs, watching as his muscles tensed and flexed as you got closer to his aching cock.

You cooed, “Don't worry baby, the birthday boy will get his present very soon.”

He growled at you, and you knew he was regretting letting you tie him up. You simply smiled at him, narrowly missing his teeth as you attempted to brush a piece of hair back behind his ear. You gave him a disappointed look, and for a moment he looked to the side, ashamed, before huffing at you in anger and continuing to glare like before.

“I thought you were gonna play nice Mikey?”

He rolled his eyes, and a part of you did too; how are you going to ask the boogeyman of Haddonfield to play nice? Michael never played nice, you knew that firsthand. You shrugged, deciding to let him keep his attitude, you were already pushing your limits by tying him up. You couldn’t help but sit back and look at his tied-up form and feel a bit of confidence at the fact that you had managed to capture THE Michael Myers; a man who has been evading the law for a long while now.

He huffed at you again, his long hair flying for just a second and revealing his pale eyes. You slowly reached forward and cupped Michael’s face, this time hissing at him when he nipped at your palm.

“Look at those pretty eyes, let me see those eyes baby.”

He let out a sharp exhale and tilted his head upward, allowing all of his hair to fall back and reveal his eyes. You hummed in approval, and you just barely caught his cock bobbing slightly at the attention.

“You're such a pretty boy, Michael, y’know that?”

He continued to stare at you, and you let your hand fall to his chest, then let your fingers dance along him until you brushed past his nipple. Michael didn't react, but his cock bobbed slightly at the feeling, giving him away. You lightly brushed your fingers back and forth and watched as his eyes fluttered shut at the sensation. The light touches didn't last long, as you suddenly grabbed his nipple, twisting slightly. His head lurched forward, and he bucked his hips toward you the best he could.

You smiled, and you pretended not to hear the growl that Michael let out above you. You continued playing with his nipples, watching him huff and grunt while trying his best to get some sort of friction. You brought your other hand up to his nipple, making sure to lightly touch his cock on the way up. He bucked his hips again but failed to get any friction, his sigh of anger soon turned to one of pleasure as you now had both hands playing with his nipples. You leaned in toward him and kissed along his chest, listening to his soft breaths and gasps.

“You want me to use my mouth, Mikey?”

You could feel his hair move as he nodded his head, and you quickly indulged him. You swiped your tongue around his nipple a few times before pulling at it with your teeth, then moving over to the other one and doing the same thing. You smiled at the light feeling of his cock bobbing against your shirt, and you continued to tease him with your tongue, now changing the rhythm of your biting. You hummed as you felt the tip of his cock brush your stomach, and suddenly he lurched forward, your humming pushing him over the edge. He twitched as he came, painting your stomach with his cum and whimpering above you. You slowly came to a stop, letting your hands fall to his thighs and rub them.

He huffed above you, and you leaned back to look at his face, which was completely red. You smiled at him, watching as he avoided eye contact. “I didn't know you liked that so much, Mikey. I didn't even have to touch you.”

He looked up at you, his face slightly twisting into a glare, and lunged, a low growl coming from him. You heard the unsettling snap of what you hoped was not the pretty rope you tied him up with, and you could only smile at him nervously as the loosened rope began to fall from his body.

[glutengoblin]

Too Sweet (Part 1) - Sebastian Sallow X Reader

A/N: Hello everyone! My name is Ari! I used to write fanfiction back in the day, but took a break for a while. I've recently decided to restart my writing journey. This is the first of many pieces I have in my drafts - please let me know if you enjoy it, if you'd like to see more from me, and if you have any suggestions! I would really appreciate it.

This story is inspired by "Too Sweet" by Hozier, which I have been playing on repeat for days at this point.

Also, if you'd like to be friends, please reach out! I would love to get to know you!

Summary: Sebastian has a problem, and that problem is his best friend. She is simply too sweet for him, and can't get her out of his head. Will he do something about his feelings, or choose to continue to keep them a secret? (She/Her Pronouns, House Neutral)

Word Count: 2.6 K

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10 am was typically when Ominis could expect his dear friend and roommate to show his head on a Saturday morning. Though Sebastian always managed to get up for classes for time, the weekend struggle of being left to his own devices never seemed to evade him.

Ominis raised an eyebrow as he felt the brunette sit in his typical spot, with a bit rougher descent than usual. To the casual observer, Sebastian’s hair looked particularly unruly this morning - a sure fire sign he had an “interesting” night.

Without even bidding Ominis good morning, Sebastian poured himself a large cup of black coffee. He inhaled the scent as he brought the mug to his lips, hoping it may bring him back to life. The first sip was always the best to him - his now typical 3 am escapades had made him dependent on the bitter substance. And at this point, he honestly wouldn’t have it any other way. Sebastian reveled in the night time, enjoying the time away from prying eyes, time where he could truly focus on his work.

Even without sight, Ominis could tell Sebastian had a rough night- The tell tale smell of smoke covered him, a sure fire sign that he had been up late practicing confrigo in the undercroft, or perhaps a more dangerous location.

Despite the events that had occurred during the end of his fifth year, eventually Anne had chosen to forgive him. After many long conversations, Anne had also given Sebastian the okay to continue with his research, but only if he swore to Merlin that he would no longer go anywhere near dark magic. So far, he had managed to keep his nose clean- but his desire to help his sister his sister was strong as ever, so he opted to spend as much time as he could looking for a cure. It being his seventh year with N.E.W.T.S quickly approaching, Sebastian had been struggling to find time during the day to work on anything other than his studies. Despite the common misconception, Sebastian was actually one of the best students in his year. Having grown up with professors for parents, a jest for learning was instilled within him from early life.

So far, Sebastian had managed to stick to his plan: study during the day, research at night. The one downfall to Sebastian’s focus was Y/N. Ever perfect, sickeningly sweet Y/N, who seemed to be unaware of how absolutely mad she drove him.

Though he wouldn’t admit it to himself, Sebastian had been in love with her since she first knocked him on his ass during Defense Against the Dark Arts. Being one of the best duelist at Hogwarts, Sebastian was not used to being beat so easily- Especially by someone who had only know of the existence of magic for less than a year. Though they were good friends and spent exorbitant amounts of time together in the undercroft, Sebastian still could never get enough of her. Her presence was like a drug to him. He often found his eyes stuck to her during lessons, during meals, basically any time she was in the near vicinity of him. Right now, his eyes tracked her across the great hall, as she had an animated conversation with Garreth. He stared, trying to determine what topic had gotten her so excited, hoping that one day he may be able to bring it up “accidentally”. His focus was so great that he barely noticed Ominis’s hand waving in front of his face.

“Earth to Sebastian… Are you still in there?” The blonde looked at him, puzzled, until he followed Sebastian’s gaze. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a slightly disappointed sigh.

Sebastian startled a bit, and turned to look at his friend. “Yes, what exactly did you want to talk about Ominis?” Ominis muttered something to himself about Sebastian’s inability to listen to any one but himself, before responding.

“I had asked if you were still planning on going to the Three Broom Sticks tonight. Natty, Poppy, Imelda, and Amit are all insisting we go.” Sebastian looked down at the table, taking another sip of his coffee, trying to weigh his options.

“You might just have to go without me, I have a very interesting lead that I-”

“Y/N will be there.” Ominis cut him off with a slight smirk on his face, waiting for his friend’s reaction.

“On second thought… Perhaps you could count me in. I could also read more of my book from there.” Sebastian let out a sheepish smile as Ominis tisked, not surprised at Sebastian’s sudden change of heart at all.

Sebastian looked away, drawing another long sip from his coffee, before looking up. To his surprise, he found the object of his unadmitted obsession standing right before him.

Y/N had walked over, clearly excited about something, as she eagerly took a seat across from the boys at the Slytherin table. “Well if it isn’t my two favorite friends! How are you on this fine moment.” Sebastian let out a soft chuckle, studying her face with a gentle smile.

“Nothing much… What’s got you all excited today?” Y/N grinned, leaning in a bit more to whisper to the two.

“Well, I just found out its Imelda’s birthday today. And I was thinking it would be a wonderful idea to throw her a surprise party! We’re all going to the Three Broom Sticks anyway- might as well set up a few decorations while we’re at it.”

Ominis let out a slight huff, looking at Y/N with a puzzled look on his features. “Are you sure she won’t have your head for doing that- I mean, this is Imelda we’re talking about. I don’t really want to clean up whatever blood is spilled from the after math.” Y/N let out a chuckle, taking Ominis’s hand and squeezing gently.

“While I appreciate the concern, I’m sure it’ll be okay. I’m going to make it Quidditch themed!” She grinned in excitement, sending a small shiver down Sebastian’s spine. He longed to be the cause of that type of grin one day.

Ominis shook his head, giving her a small smile. “If you say so, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Sebastian choose to chime in at that point, “Let me know if you need any help. I’m not exactly sure what I could do, but I’d be happy to assist in any way possible.” Y/N looked thoughtful as she poured herself a cup of coffee from the same pitcher Sebastian had used earlier - the only difference being that she choose to dump an exorbitant amount of sugar and milk into her mug too. She preferred her morning beverage sickly sweet, quite the opposite of Sebastian. Still Sebastian found it endearing, he loved watching her try to make the perfect concoction… Gosh, he was a goner.

Ominis, a bit disturbed by the silence at the table, choose to elbow Sebastian in the side at that moment. “Anyway, it was great to see you Y/N. Sebastian and I must be going. I need to pick up some supplies from Pippins.” Ominis stood, waiting for Sebastian to join him.

Sebastian stood as well, flashing her one last smile. “Send an owl if you need me.” He followed Ominis out of the great hall, much to his dismay.

_____________________________________________________________

Spring had just begun to show its face as Sebastian and Ominis approached the path to Hogsmeade. The sun was out, which added a bit of warmth to an otherwise chilly day. The trees still hadn’t recovered their leaves from the fall prior, but the grass was beginning to show hints of green, a surefire sign that warmer days were soon to come. Lost in silent contemplation, Sebastian had his arms crossed behind his back as they meandered at a casual pace. Eventually, Ominis broke the silence with a question that Sebastian had been dreading asking himself.

“So, when are you planning on divulging your feelings to Y/N?” Ominis said expectingly. Truth be told, he had begun to grow a bit tired of his friend's endless pining. At first, it was heart warming to see 5th year Sebastian focused on someone other than Anne for once. But at this point, especially with graduation approaching, Ominis hoped his friend would build up the courage to do something about his feelings that seemed to be almost all consuming.

Sebastian sighed, running a hand through his hair as he often did when worried - it was his nervous tick. Sebastian considered his options, but he was long past being able to lie to Ominis about his feelings at this point. Everyone with eyes, except for Y/N of course, seemed to be aware of the brunette’s strong feelings for a certain ancient magic yielder. “Honestly Ominis… Probably nothing. Truth be told, I think she’s too good for me. You see how selfless she is- she constantly puts everyone before herself, running errands for them. How could she possibly like someone like me? I mean,” he let out a small chuckle, “I can barely keep up with my work. And I almost drove her down the path of dark magic once… Who says she even really trusts me at this point? She’s too sweet for me. She be better off with someone like Garreth.”

Ominis let out a small sigh as he continued to walk, a bit displeased by his friend’s ignorance of the situation. After all, it was pretty obvious that Y/N returned his affections if one took the time really observe the situation. After all, Y/N had told Ominis just last week that she had actually turned down Garreth when he asked her on a date. Ominis considered telling Sebastian this tad bit of information, but decided to keep it to himself instead. Sebastian needed to figure this out on his own.

By this time, they had reached the bridge and were joining the busier streets of Hogsmeade. “Whatever you say Sebastian, but I think you’re wrong about her. Perhaps you should try a make an advance at the party tonight.”

Sebastian let out a chuckle at that, shaking his head. “You’re impossible… but perhaps I’ll try, should the opportunity present itself. Its also funny, I think this is the first time you’ve actually admitted you have feelings for her.” Sebastian punched him gently in the arm at that, letting out a small huff.

They made their way to Pippins, only stopping to throw a spare coin in Ernie’s hat as he put on yet another one of his magical street displays. Truth be told, Sebastian had a decent feeling about tonight. Though he was still hesitant to potentially affect their friendship, his feelings for Y/N had reached a breaking point.

______________________________________________________________

After their Hogsmeade excursion, Sebastian and Ominis had made their way back to the castle to prepare for the recently declared surprise party. Typically Sebastian wore whatever he could pull out of his closet first. This time though, he took his time trying to decide between his limited collection of jumpers. Growing frustrated, he flopped back on his bed in the dorm he and Ominis shared, startling his roommate a bit.

In typical Ominis fashion, Ominis was already ready to go and looking rather dashing at that. Sebastian often found it ironic that his blind friend could clean up better than he could - not that it was hard to do, Sebastian tended to rely on his decent looks to make a good impression.

“Are you almost ready to go Sebastian? We need to leave in 5 minutes if we don’t want to be late for the festivities.” Sebastian let out a groan, staring up at the dark green canopy that covered his plush bed.

“Almost, I just can’t decide what jumper to wear. I’m thinking maybe the green one?”

“How very Slytherin of you. I think that’ll be fine, Sebastian. If you’re worried about Y/N, I think she’ll like whatever you wear.” Sebastian relented and pulled on his favorite green jumper, running a brush through his hair a couple of times (for the first time in longer than he’d like to admit), and even added some the woodsy cologne Anne had gifted him for Christmas as a special touch. Looking in the mirror, he felt his outfit was suitable enough for a party. His brown boots, khaki trousers, and dark green jumper all suited him nicely. For good measure, he grabbed a book, just in case he should find himself in a situation where he needed it. It was rare nowadays to find him without one, anyway.

Once he was fully ready, Ominis ushered him out the door, eager to depart the Slytherin common room before Imelda had the opportunity to try and hound them for information as to why everyone was suddenly acting strange.

Thankfully, they made it out of the castle interrogation-free, and started making their way towards Hogsmeade for the second time that day.

______________________________________________________________

Not that he had ever doubted her, but what Y/N had managed to pull off in just a day was truly amazing. As Sebastian and Ominis walked into the Three Broom Sticks, they were greeted with a full range of decorations - green streamers crowded the ceiling, confetti containing mini brooms and snitches was splashed across the tables, which were also covered in deep green table clothes. Music was playing in the background, a testament to Y/N’s ability to plan. She truly thought of everything.

As the pair made their way over to the bar, Y/N ran to meet them, engulfing them in a massive group hug.

“You made it! I was getting concerned that you wouldn’t show up. I wouldn’t be a party without the whole gang here!” She gave them a toothy grin that made Sebastian’s stomach turn. He had to admit, though he typically regarded himself as a strong person, she had a way of making him turn into absolute putty in her hands. If she flashed that smile at him, he would simply do anything she requested, without hesitation.

Ominis broke Sebastian’s pining thoughts with a small chuckle. “Well, I’m sorry if we were almost late. But I’ll have you know that its because our dear friend here couldn’t decide on a jumper. For twenty whole minutes.” At that, Sebastian laughed sheepishly, rubbing his neck with his hand as his eyes pointed towards the floor.

“What can I say, I dress to impress.”

After a few more pleasantries, Y/N had to return to host duties and disappeared from sight. This left Sebastian and Ominis to the bar, where Sebastian intended on staying. Typically, he would have a drink and hand and start making the rounds, perhaps sliding a few flirtatious remarks towards any fellow Hogwarts students that caught his fancy. In this instance, however, it felt almost traitorous. It had since he had developed feelings for her. Honestly, it had felt that way since the day he met her. The first day, when she handed him his ass in DADA and still had the audacity to be nice about it.

Giving Sirona a proper greeting, Sebastian soon enough had his beloved butterbeer in hand. The sickly sweet syrup of the drink always seemed to sooth him, reminding him that no matter how dark his thoughts may sometimes get, at least sweet things exist. One of those was Y/N. His thoughts simply couldn’t escape her at this point, replaying her like the melody from a song one has heard multiple times, but could never place. Somehow, he instantly knew her and didn’t - but he certainly longed to learn more.

Ominis let out a small huff, tapping Sebastian’s arm lightly. “Sebastian, you are still there, aren’t you? You’re rather quiet… Especially for you.” Sebastian sighed, and gripped Ominis’s arm, mulling over his next words.

“Yes I am… and I think it’s time that I finally do something about my feelings for Y/N.”

[runa-falls]

scratches and bites - 4

pairing: miguel o'hara x spider-girl!reader

cw: suggestive scenes, insecurities, a bit of cussing

wc: ~2.1k

a/n: god i am SO sorry how long this chapter has taken. i'm not the type of writer to have multiple chapters in a series done before posting them every week, i literally post chapters right when i finish them lol. thanks for sticking with me and being patient!

series masterlist | main masterlist

----

Miguel is still a grumpy man, sneering at anyone who dares to get in his way, still stressed out about keeping the multiverse on track and recruiting capable Spiders to assist him, but at least you’re no longer the main culprit of his frustrations.

Well, you’ll take that back, you’re no longer the one being yelled at.

Your transgressions are dealt with in another way…

Miguel is…insatiable to say the least. Since the day he reprimanded you through very unconventional means, seven suits have fallen victim to his desperation, shredded until they slipped into a pile below you.

Before he could destroy another one, you demanded a nanotech one of your own, tired of having to wait days in between for another one to be tailored, but he refused to give you one because he’s concerned about the unstable WIFI.

Eager fingers tug at the neckline of your suit. He groans, listening to the delicious sound of his claw tearing at the fabric. Red eyes darken as he watches each thread give out to the sharp point of his claws, slowly revealing the supple skin of your throat. He only gets down to your collarbone when you suddenly move away with a huff.

“Mig! Stop.” He frowns when you pull away from his touch, confused as to why you’d reject his advances.

“Sweetheart?”

“You’re always tearing up my suits.”

He’s still confused. You’ve never complained about it before. Actually, you seem to enjoy it, flushing with desire when he uses his claws on you.

“Look, I’m done wearing the extra shirts you keep in your office, Miguel. It’s…awkward having to navigate through HQ to get home without real clothes.”

Miguel’s frown grows deeper. He loves seeing you in his shirts, watching how your smaller frame practically drowns in the fabric and brushes against the softness of your thighs. There’s a hint of domesticity in a sight like that, one that he’s longed for since losing his family. It brings out a whole new side to him and he’s stubborn to let it go.

“Plus, all the Spiders wear their suits 24/7 so it’s even weirder that I’m only in a shirt!” You don’t seem to notice how lost in thought he is, how much your words are impacting him. “...so how about getting me one of those nano-suits? That way I don’t have to worry about bothering the seamstress for the fifth time this week…”

Miguel’s hands pull you closer, cradling the back of your neck as his thumb fiddles with the small tear against your throat. “Mm…no, nanotech isn’t super reliable…” His hand drifts down and cups over one of your tits, “and I’m not letting anyone see what’s mine under here.” He squeezes gently, watching avidly as your lips part with pleasure.

“Yes, but–”

“No ‘buts,’ honey. This isn’t up for discussion. You know exactly what I’m talking about…”

It’s true, you’ve seen the risk of technologically powered nano-suits first-hand when Miguel gave the Spiders a glimpse of his impressive *cough* stature *cough* during a debriefing meeting.

Needless to say, he was the talk of the city for reasons other than being the grumpy boss…

“Okay, fine. But still…I’m serious about the suits.

That’s when you established the first ground rule of the relationship: no ripping suits unless there’s another one ready to go.

Sure, Miguel sulked about it for a week, making sure you saw his pout when he’d peel your suit off you, but he still made an effort to follow it, carefully evading the sharp tip of his claws when he’d get too eager to see what’s underneath.

You weren’t surprised when you returned to your apartment a few days later to boxes full of suits. Miguel stood there with a proud grin, fangs and claws ready, eyes glowing like rubies. You barely got in the door with your suit still intact.

You also made another rule: no touching during work hours.

You were surprised that you had to make the rule as Miguel is universally known as a strict boss, but similarly with your shredded suits, sometimes he just can’t help himself.

There were enough instances of almost being caught and having to scramble for one of his shirts (or tug on the biggest piece of suit left on the floor) because Miguel forgot to lock the door, that you had to put your foot down.

You grumble as Miguel attempts to pull you onto his lap.

“You know the rules, baby.”

His arms loop around you as you stand between his legs, “But it’s five o’clock!”

“Mm…check again.” He looks up at the holographic clock, you were right, it isn’t five. “It’s four fifty-five.” He raises a brow, unamused.

“Hm…” He yanks you against him causing you to fall over his seated figure, “Fuck it.”

“Miguel!”

—

Sure, being with him is hot and fun, but Miguel isn’t exactly ‘boyfriend’ material.

But it’s not like you’re any better.

Back in your dimension, you were never interested in relationships. You preferred to coast through flings and crushes rather than get emotionally involved with someone.

So this, whatever it is, is all new to you.

That being said, you had zero expectations when it came to this thing between the two of you. You’re like an eager puppy, enthusiastically taking everything he gives you and returning it tenfold. This could mean everything…or nothing.

You assume it’s been a while since Miguel has been with anyone. He’s…hesitant with you, sometimes, like he’s holding a part of himself back. Like it would be too much if he were to fully commit to you and show you what he wants deep down. There’s a constant push and pull with Miguel and it’s either very intense or barely there at all.

It’s a dynamic you’ll never get used to.

Sometimes you spend hours curled up on his lap, content with enjoying his company without a word exchanged between the two of you as he works on his computer, matching anomalies to dimensions and answering messages from different Spiders.

It’s peaceful and oddly domestic. You can almost forget about the collapsing multiverse, the worries that loom over all Spiders, and pretend it’s just you and him.

But then, there are the other times.

Moments that you’d like to forget.

Sometimes he needs space. He needs time to methodically plan out missions and brood in his office until it gets late enough that you know he isn’t coming to your apartment.

Sometimes he disappears for days, or even weeks at a time, never giving you a hint of where he’ll be, just an, “I’ll be back,” thrown over his shoulder. And then you’re left at the entrance as he shuts the door behind him, desperately waiting for him to return so you can be happy again.

You don’t know why he turns cold, and you’ll probably never find out because he doesn’t talk about his past.

It could be your fault.

You never ask.

You never push him to tell you about that little girl whose photo floats on his desktop, or the ring that sits in a drawer right beside his side of the bed.

Sometimes you wonder if you should. If that’s what you’re supposed to do in a ‘relationship’ like this. If you deserve even a crumb of vulnerability from him. But you’re too afraid to lose the fragile thing you have.

You left everything for Miguel. Without him, you’d just be a girl floating in a sea of spiders.

For some reason, you’d rather constantly be on the edge of your seat than lost without him. Because that’s how it would end. You convince yourself that the good times outweigh the bad.

Your infatuation blurs the blue waves and disperses the confusion and hurt until it barely feels like a pinch. He buries your seeds of worry with delicate kisses and numbs the creeping feeling of defeat with the heat of his touch.

With every cold shoulder comes a warm embrace, and you’ll wait weeks in the chill if it means you’ll be in his arms again.

—

Hobie is back, again, despite claiming to quit a couple of weeks ago. Always expect the unexpected with Hobie because consistency is not in his (very British and barely decipherable) vocabulary.

“Oi, Black-Widow, long time no see, eh?” His eye must’ve caught on to your new outfit, a custom dark-gray suit with nano-tech details. Miguel finally reimbursed you after carelessly shredding through your one and only suit.

It’s really nice, and you’re finally more recognizable with this one than the old red and blue traditional you sported before. You turn, spotting his iconic hair and piercings.

“Hobie! You’re back!” You practically jump into his arms, and he catches you easily. “Where’ve you been?”

“Ah, you know, here and there.” A cleared throat echoes through the room and he sets you down on your feet before slightly stepping away from you. Right, you’re still in his office. Whoops.

“Brown.” Miguel acknowledges Hobie, barely, despite talking directly to him. Hobie looks between the two of you, picking up on the change almost immediately. Whatever he’s thinking, he doesn’t show it.

“O’Hara.” He replies with an amused expression.

“Ready to get back to work?”

He shrugs, clearly not shaken in the slightest. “S’why I’m here, innit?”

“Good. Go report to Drew, you’ll be leaving in 20.”

“Right…” Eyes back on you. “I’ll see you later, then?”

“Yeah, we can catch up later! Be safe.”

“Will do, Spider-Woman.” You catch Hobie sending Miguel a teasing smirk as he draws away from the two of you and leaves the room. 

Freaking bugger, he’s trying to rile him up!

“I don’t like that guy.” He says it after a few seconds of silence.

You sigh, “I know.”

You turn to face him, meeting his signature scowl as he continues to glare at the door.

“With you.”

“I know.”

—

You’re still trying to do things your way, which, in your opinion, is the right way. And Miguel is still webbing you to any convenient surface and telling Parker to watch over you so he can get back to work.

“Not today, sweetheart.” You tug against the wisps of glowing red webs, nearly growling in your struggle. He’s clearly upgraded their strength after you’ve been able to escape and secretly tag along behind him.

“Wait, but, Miguel–!”

“This operation is especially sensitive. I can’t have you window shopping in a crumbling mall again.”

“That was one time! And we weren’t even on a mission.”

He raises an accusing brow, “Exactly.” He starts to walk away, ignoring your groaning and moaning. “Don’t forget you’re still on thin ice after you disobeyed orders last time.

“Ugh! C’mon, that was eons ago. I think I’ve proven myself.” He walks away, clicking a few buttons on his watch before a portal appears.

“Yeah, on unauthorized trips.”

“Still!”

“Brown, you ready?”

Hobie pushes off the wall he is leaning on and gives Miguel a teasing salute, “Aye-aye, sir.”

“What?! I’m stuck over here, but he gets to go?” The Brit sends you a teasing wink.

“He’s dispensable, cariño.”

“Ouch.”

You look over to the other side of the room where Peter sits.

“Okay, and what about him?”

“He's on babysitting duty.”

“Really? We’re still on this?” You raise an annoyed brow.

Peter holds his hands up in surrender, “Don’t look at me, look at your boyfriend. You’re not the only one suffering from this arrangement.”

“Boyfriend? More like father…” You mumble grumpily.

Hobie’s mouth quirks up, “Father? More like d-”

“Don’t fucking finish that sentence, Brown.” Of course, this doesn’t discourage him, if anything, the low growl only makes him smile wider. Miguel sighs, releasing the sudden tension from his body with a quick roll of his shoulders. “Alright, we should be back in a handful of hours.” He begrudgingly looks over at his mission partner, “Let’s go.”

“Okay, call me if you need help!” You yell as Hobie disappears into a flash of neon lights and pulsing sounds.

Before Miguel follows and slips through the portal, he stops and looks back, not at you, but at your babysitter, “And Parker,” He pulls his mask on, always ready for battle, “Make sure she behaves.”

“Oh, come on–”

Peter grins and sends Miguel a half-hearted thumbs up, “You got it.”

[ozzgin]

So I was wondering how Lisa Lisa, Caesar, and Joseph react to accidentally awakening Pillar woman reader( who is EXTRA Buff) . And while the three of them think Reader’s a threat, the reality she’s just a gentle giantess. And just pats Joseph head, and doesn’t seem to understand that they’re humans per say, but thinks their younger Pillar men?

Love the idea! After writing the Baki x JoJo crossover my mind has wandered to a Pillar Woman, too. A proper one. I also played around with Midjourney to see if I could get a glimpse at a potential Pillar Woman, and it’s not as muscular as I would’ve wished but it looks interesting nonetheless.

JJBA Headcanons: Pillar Woman! Reader

Featuring Lisa Lisa, Caesar, Joseph, and an awakened Pillar Woman that’s not as threatening as her male counterpart.

Joseph and Caesar are not only irritated by each other’s company, but by the sheer pointlessness of this task that has interrupted their training. Three Pillar Men have emerged from this site and fiddling around unturned stones only serves in delaying their fight. Their whines are quickly silenced by Lisa Lisa’s orders to continue their search. If they have time to moan, they have time to look for clues. The UV lights have long been discarded after the gory incident, so the narrow rays of flashlights only add to their frustration.

A faint sound catches their attention and they simultaneously turn towards a pillar at the end of the chamber. “Is that an unfinished sculpture or something?” Caesar ponders as he gazes as the bizarre block of stone with a vaguely chiseled arm protruding out of it. “I can’t believe this. I should be perfecting my deadly moves and here I am listening to your art commentary instead. Should we have a little séance session so you can ask them directly?” Joseph responds in a mocking tone. Their bickering continues under the scolding glares of the woman supervising them.

Her sigh of annoyance is abruptly drowned by the loud cracks of collapsing rubble. The bulky pillar seems to be disintegrating and they quickly cover their faces, scrambling to avoid the thick clouds of dust rapidly flooding the room. Once the smoke clears out, their faces twist in shock at the sight of yet another Pillar person that has somehow evaded the previous investigations. Although this one seems to be a woman.

The group is taken aback by the colossal size of this specimen. She’s significantly larger than all the Pillar Men they have encountered, with impressive muscular mass. Joseph and Caesar have already positioned themselves in strategic fighting stances and Lisa Lisa bites her lower lip, stressed by the unexpected encounter. They haven’t managed to lay a finger on the original Pillar Men. Would they stand a chance against this behemoth of a creature?

You stretch your limbs and lazily scan the area. How long has it been since you’ve gone to sleep? You don’t recognize a single thing. The humans before you are small are slender. Children? You’re not quite sure. You hear them mumble among themselves and you realize it’s a language foreign to you, although you quickly pick up the vocabulary. You approach Joseph and place your large hand on his head, trying to reassure the young boy of his safety. “Are your parents nearby? Perhaps they could explain my situation better.” You state in a soft voice. Caesar cannot help the laugh that erupts out of him, having to rest on his knees to manage the convulsions. Joseph barks at him, annoyed and embarrassed, and politely removes your hand, explaining he’s a grown man. You can only stare in shock.

Once it is confirmed that you are indeed no threat, Lisa Lisa describes the recent events to you. You listen intently, arms crossed. You don’t particularly care for humans, but you don’t like the cockiness displayed by the awakened Pillar Men, nor their supposed intentions. In your current state, you could use some entertainment. You might as well lend a hand to the amusing individuals that found you.