#behind the mask (musings & inspo) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zepskies · 1 year

Text

Break Me Down - Part 10

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: Song inspo for this one is “Caught In the Balance” by Toto!

Word Count: 5,300 Tags/Warnings: Violence, hints of past trauma, hurt/comfort, angst, and a (mean) cliffhanger...

Part 10: Caught in the Balance

“Christ on a cross,” Ben muttered.

He was just trying to start his morning with some huevos rancheros.

He hid behind a mask of impassiveness, while his stomach turned at the sight of the open cooler Frank had been forced to show him.

Saul’s bloody severed head was stored inside. Ben had asked for a report on the man’s reconnaissance mission, but this was a bit thorough.

“Black Noir took out his entire unit,” Frank informed him. His tone was stoic, as usual, but his dark brown eyes betrayed his solemnity.

Ben shook his head and peered inside. “I fucking figured…yep, that’s Noir’s handiwork all right.”

The cut was clean at the neck—sliced by a blade.

Unfortunately, that was when you entered the kitchen in search of breakfast. Ben looked over at you, taking in your matching purple pajamas with a hint of a smile. Your hair was a bit messy, your face still tired with sleep.

But when Frank swiftly snapped up the cooler, you still raised a perceptive brow.

“What’s that?” you asked. Ben shared a brief glance with Frank.

“Just some steaks for later,” Ben replied. You didn’t look convinced, sniffing the air with a grimace.

“Is that why it smells like a meat locker in here?” you said.

After you grabbed a mug of coffee, you took a seat at the far end of the kitchen island. It left an open seat between you and Ben, and he noticed the distance.

“What’re Saul and Loco up to today? Think they’d be up for some Texas Hold’em?” you asked Frank.

He shook his head and tucked the cooler under his arm.

“They’re on a job,” he said.

You warmed your hands around your coffee mug and nodded. “Ah, yeah. Trying to figure out how Black Noir pulled a Lazarus?”

Both men stared back at you, confirming your assumptions.

“You do realize this begins and ends with your buddy, Stan Edgar,” you said, turning to Ben. “Vogelbaum was his chief geneticist, the Head of R&D during your time. But Stan was the Steve Jobs to his Wozniak. Together they created Homelander.”

Ben didn’t know who the fuck you were talking about there, but he got the gist of what you were saying.

Stan had played him from the beginning; he’d masterminded what went down Nicaragua, replacing Soldier Boy with Homelander, creating him in some petri dish with Ben’s DNA.

Now, it seemed Stan was partnering with the CIA to take him down. He’d even brought that cunt Noir back to life to do it. Also, likely, with the help of Ben’s DNA. (Well, probably Homelander’s, but that was still partly Ben’s.)

He couldn’t let that fucking stand, now could he?

His hand fisted on the counter, next to his forgotten plate. His brows fell over his eyes as he contemplated. He knew what he had to do next, just not exactly how he was going to do it.

“I’m gonna have to cut the head off the snake,” Ben mused out loud.

You watched him wearily, hiding a measure of concern at the darker shift in him.

Ben nodded at Frank and the cooler still under his arm, dismissing him. “We’ll talk later. Take care of that.”

Frank went with a nod, leaving you with Ben in the kitchen. You frowned.

“If you go back to the U.S., especially to New York, they’ll have a much easier time finding you,” you pointed out.

Though part of you kicked yourself for doing so. An idea was forming in your mind, and it could just mean your freedom…

And that was when Ben looked over at you once more. His eyes were guarded, more so than they had been with you of late.

“Why do you care?” he asked snidely. “You’ve barely said two fucking words to me in days.”

Which was true. You’d been carrying your grudges and your anger, both at him and at yourself, and your own conflicting emotions ever since you’d arrived at this new house.

The effects of V24 had long washed out of your system, but it still stung—that that poison had saved you. And so had these men, who had kidnapped you in the first place.

Shaking your head, you frowned at him to cover up your ongoing internal circus.

“Because you’re about to go on a fucking warpath. With, I imagine, a lot of collateral damage in store,” you replied, maybe more sharply than you’d intended.

Ben’s green eyes were dark and narrowed.

“There’s that self-righteous fucking tune,” he said. But his next words cut into you like so many knives. “You’ve been a fucking lapdog your entire life. Doing whatever daddy, Vought, or the CIA tells you to do. So remind me, why the fuck do you care so much about what I do, huh?”

For a moment, you were speechless.

Soon enough though, your shock melted into an angry glower as you tried to hide how much that actually hurt you.

A harsh breath expelled through your nose. Maybe he expected you to blow your top, like you usually would. Because that had worked so well at getting through to him in the past.

So instead, you tried to go with what seemed to work before.

“I didn’t used to,” you replied honestly. It seemed to make him pause, a little.

“When I joined the S.A., it was just my chance to break away from Vought,” you continued. “But…I don’t know. The more out of control supes we took off the street, the more I felt good about it. The work that I was doing.”

You let out a sigh, glancing down at your hands still wrapped around your cooling cup of coffee.

“You were right before, about me. I was part of it too. I helped cleaned up Vought’s messes. I made their supes look good, behind the scenes,” you said. “But I’m trying to do something that matters. Something honest, that actually makes people safer. It makes my family safer.”

That fell between you two for a while. Ben seemed to take it with his usual stoicism, but you knew him well enough by now. He’d been listening.

And eventually, he spoke.

“Then you should be grateful,” he said. “Noir. Stan. Vought. All those cocksuckers…I’m going to take them all out for fucking good.”

Are you, really? You couldn’t help but wonder. He’d been successful with Payback, and Homelander (with help from Butcher and Hughie).

But Vought was a machine. It had been an institution for decades. A multibillion conglomerate with a thousand and one hydra tentacles of ways to fuck people over…but if anyone was powerful enough to try to bring it all down, it was Soldier Boy.

Still, power isn’t everything. You thought of how he’d lost control against Noir, and how he’d blown up a hole in your bedroom ceiling and couldn’t remember much about it afterwards. Ben was still a mess.

But you considered a world where Vought couldn’t create supes anymore, like pop tarts coming out of the damn toaster. You considered what Ben could accomplish, now that he was properly motivated to end his six-month sabbatical.

And you considered what would happen if you helped him do it.

This is not the time to be reckless, the more rational part of your mind reminded.

And yet, you just had to continue following the impulsive voice that had led you for weeks.

“You can’t just run at this head on, guns blazing,” you told him. “Stan’s too smart for that.”

Ben eyed you with guarded interest.

“You look like you’ve got something in mind,” he said.

You nodded, though your lips pursed. You hated this idea, even though it had been growing since this conversation began. And you couldn’t even believe you were suggesting it, really.

“We can get into Vought under the radar, if you let me make a call,” you said. Ben’s expression tightened. Yours did too, with the beginnings of anxiety.

“Who do you need to call?” he asked.

“My father,” you replied.

As Stan Edgar’s Chief of Security, Jon didn’t often receive calls from phone numbers he didn’t recognize. Certainly not to his personal, blacklisted cell phone. He took the call into his personal office and shut the door behind him.

He answered it with a healthy measure of suspicion, “Hello?”

The last voice he expected to greet him was his eldest daughter’s.

“Hey. It’s me,” you replied.

Jon’s expression slackened. He sat down heavily at his desk, and your name fell from his lips in disbelief.

“You’re alive,” he said in genuine wonderment. “I thought…I thought you were dead.”

Your response was dry. “Before or after you sent Black Noir after us?”

Jon frowned, shifting back in his chair.

“That was Stan’s call,” he said. “There was no sign of you in any of our reports.”

“Then you weren’t looking very hard,” you said.

Your tone was matter-of-fact, unyielding. It was so like you that he had to smile.

“If nothing else, you were ambitious going after Soldier Boy,” he said, rubbing his chin. It reminded him that he needed a shave. “I should’ve known you were still alive…it seems I taught you better than I thought.”

On the other line, you had Ben’s cell in your hand while you spoke to your father on speaker. Ben and Frank were both in the room with you, sitting in chairs on either side. Frank suggested this conference room beside the study to conduct the call.

However, you tried not to look at either man while you tried to focus on getting through this.

“I managed to grab a phone from one of my guards,” you said into the speaker. “I can’t reach out to the CIA. They think I’m a damn turncoat at this point. But if you really want Soldier Boy, I can tell you where he’s going to be.”

“…Where?” Jon asked.

You glanced up at Ben before you replied. He gave you a nod.

“He plans to be in New York in three days.”

“Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you said wryly. “To find Black Noir. It’s all he’s been moaning on about. He’s kind of a simpleton that way. Tit for tat on the vengeance beat.”

Ben gave you a dark look for that one, but you ignored him.

“Well, I can certainly give him a meeting with Noir,” said Jon. His voice shifted into that calculating tone you knew all too well. “That, and much more.”

“Good. Give him a big enough distraction, and I can lose his crew,” you replied.

There was a beat on the other line. You and your companions waited, for his agreement, for some kind of confirmation, but he didn’t give you that just yet.

“Are you all right?” Jon asked. “How’s your sister?”

Your lips pursed. “Clearly, I’m peachy. Are you in on this?”

“Of course, sweetheart. I’ll help you get out of there, don’t worry,” he said. He almost sounded like a father. It made anxiety crawl up through your lungs, into your throat.

“It’ll be good to see you,” he added. “What’s it been, a year? More?”

You swallowed your unease.

“Let me make this clear,” you said. “This is just business. If you want to help me, fine. But don’t make it more than that.”

There was another pause, a heavy sigh.

“Oh, believe me. I know you wouldn’t be calling unless this was your last resort,” Jon said.

You tried to swallow, and found resistance.

“Good,” you said. “I’m glad we have that understanding.”

“See you soon,” he said. You ended the call afterwards.

Both men had been monitoring you throughout the exchange, but it was Ben’s gaze you felt, hot across your profile. Even now, he watched you behind impassive eyes. You wished you knew what he was thinking.

Regardless of things you’d said when you were angry, Ben knew too much about you now. There was no way he didn’t see it—how you were putting your all into keeping yourself together.

You stared back at him, but he didn’t ask if you were all right. He just nodded.

“Are we done?” he asked.

You scoffed, hiding your disappointment, and maybe the beginning of tears burning in your eyes. You blinked past them with an unsettled breath.

“Yeah,” you replied. “We’re done.”

Ben watched you get up, and you let the cell phone clatter on the table before you left.

Late that night, Ben wandered the dark halls of this house. He was trying to familiarize himself, and remember why the hell he bought this gaudy thing.

It was another big, empty shell that didn’t have much life in it—even less than the last place in Medellin. At least that one had character, surrounded by the mountains and wildflowers.

This house, while beautiful, felt stale; like an old photograph in sepia tones.

He found himself stopping outside your door. It was late, and he couldn’t hear your TV on, so you were probably asleep by now. If he stood close enough to the door, his superior hearing could just make out your soft, even breaths.

He knew you were pissed at him, but really, he thought you were being a bitch about it.

I fucking saved her, he thought sourly, and not for the first time. She should be fucking grateful I lifted a finger.

But then, he remembered just how pale you were when he found you in the helicopter, after the blast, and after he made his escape. Ben saw how wide your eyes got when you saw what had hurt you—that giant fucking piece of wood embedded in your body.

He remembered the sound of your scream, blood on his hands. He could feel your life slipping through his fingers…and for once, he wasn’t okay with letting it happen.

So he stopped it. Or at least, he ordered Frank to do it.

And afterwards, Ben couldn’t believe how you turned on him. That you were actually angry at him for saving your life!

What kind of idiot are you. He’d wanted to grab you and shake you until you saw good sense.

You were stronger on V. You were powerful, almost his equal. And Ben could admit, if only to himself, that he craved that: having an equal.

When he’d had Countess, that bitch, he thought he had his life sorted. He’d figured he had time to settle, to have a family…

But now that life was gone. His asshole team was gone. What the fuck was left?

Ben leaned against your door, as if he could brace against the depths of thoughts he hadn’t allowed himself to fall into since he left the U.S.

Still, he couldn’t help but think…after he became a supe, he’d reveled in standing alone, in the spotlight. When did it start to get harder?

Just then, his sensitive ears picked up on something: your breath hitched. He paused, listening closely. Soon enough, he heard a whimper.

Ben debated for a few seconds, but he decided to open the door, quietly twisting the knob and pushing it open. His eyes found you in the dark, curled in on yourself on the bed.

He drew closer until he reached your bedside, and even heard your pulse starting to race. His lips drew into a frown as he read the distress in your features. You were dreaming, and whatever it was, it didn’t look pleasant.

Ben hesitated, but he kneeled by your bed and carefully slid your hair away from your face. You were an angry, stubborn, mouthy little thing. He could just hear your voice now.

You still haven’t even apologized!

The audacity you had, to demand shit from him.

But then, he almost sighed when he realized he was glaring down at your sleeping form.

What the fuck’re you doing, anyway? He shook his head at himself and got up to leave, but your voice stopped him.

It was a pained whimper, a shuddering breath. Ben’s attention shifted back to you as he watched you tighten in on yourself, your hand curling into a fist that pressed against your throat. He didn’t know if you were trying to choke yourself, or fend someone off—

And then, Ben had to struggle against a firebrand of anger under his skin.

He finally realized what you were probably dreaming about; who you were fighting, even in your sleep.

He regretted letting you call your father. Maybe he even regretted pretending he didn’t notice…how talking to your dad had clearly fucked with you.

But he wasn’t about to show weakness. Not in front of his men…

With a quiet sigh, Ben reached out and soothed a hand over the top of your head. His fingers slid through your loose hair, stopping when they reached some tangles. Slow and careful, he repeated this. Until finally, your breathing seemed to ease up.

He unclenched your fingers out of their loosening fist, and he absently stroked his thumb over the back of your hand. You’re one deep sleeper…

You sighed and shifted in your sleep, resting your cheek easier on the pillow. Your brows were still knitted, but after a while, even your face relaxed.

Ben placed your hand down, giving the back of it one more tentative swipe.

And then he left, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. You never woke up to catch him.

A helicopter took you from the house to a private jet with Ben, Frank, Loco, and a few other hired men for the mission. You sat across from Ben, both seats facing one another. Your eyes were narrowed as you watched him accept a glass of whiskey.

“Where’s Saul?” you asked. Ben gave you a side glance, and with a quiet exhale, he answered you.

“He’s dead.”

You nodded through your sad, angry frown. You’d had a feeling that was what he and Frank had been hiding the other day, but you hadn’t wanted to face it.

“Black Noir?” you asked.

Ben nodded and sipped at his whiskey. “Yeah.”

“Do you even care?” you asked. Ben eyed you a bit sharper, but he didn’t comment.

“A couple of knocked banks didn’t get you this jet, on top of everything else,” you remarked, gesturing at your surroundings. “Where’s the money coming from?”

He’d bought back at least two properties from Vought, along with all the other shit he’d likely been blowing his money on for the last few months.

Ben sipped at his drink. You imagined it was hard for him to cross his legs in his super suit, otherwise he might’ve, to complete the air of asshole-ish nonchalance. You’d decided to dress comfortable, but prepared in yoga pants, sneakers, and a matching activewear jacket.

“Why do you think I settled in Colombia, of all places?” he asked you. His lips curved into a smirk and he shot you a wink. “Best drugs in town.”

His assets were frozen by the government, which meant he’d gotten the money from somewhere…

Your face soon fell as you realized your own stupidity. The shady characters he’d recruited, not just Frank, Saul, and Loco, but other men too that would occasionally traipse through the house. Plus the mysterious “jobs” they would routinely disappear on, sometimes for days on end.

Ben had infiltrated a drug cartel.

“Frank and his men were the muscle for some hot-shot kingpin, until I cut the head off the snake,” Ben revealed. “Which is what I’m about to do to good ole’ Stan.”

You crossed your arms with a deep frown.

“Every time I think I’ve got you figured out, I discover a new scum-ridden layer,” you said.

His lips quirked humorlessly. “Disappointed?”

You just shook your head and looked out the window of the jet.

“Mostly in myself,” you replied.

Ben didn’t show how your words sunk into him. He continued drinking.

Hours later, you all arrived at JFK Airport in New York. The jet landed far enough away from the larger commercial planes, but somehow that made you even more nervous.

You felt like you were stepping out into the Wild West as you disembarked from the jet and landed on the concrete ground of your home city.

Ben’s presence burned behind you, guiding you with a hand on the small of your back. Frank and Loco had the bags (and weapons). But before you could ask where to go next, Ben paused with a thoughtful frown on his face.

You opened your mouth to ask what was wrong, but then you heard it. A thin whistling in the air that couldn’t be attributed to an aircraft.

Ben pulled out his shield from its sheath on his back, and with his free hand he grabbed you, yanking you into his chest. He all but dragged you several steps away from the jet and then kneeled to cover both of you when a missile soared overhead.

It speared into the jet, destroying it with an epic explosion that seared across Ben’s back. He felt the heat, but it only singed the back of his neck without even burning his skin. His suit and helmet protected him from the rest, just as his shield and body protected you.

You could claim to hate him all you wanted, but your hands were braced against his chest as you leaned into him. And when you looked up, your eyes were wide with shock and fear.

“Go,” he ordered, pushing you towards Frank. You went with him, but you still looked back at Ben as worry undeniably claimed your heart. Loco and the rest of his team stood behind the supe.

Meanwhile, Butcher had appeared on the tarmac. With a rocket launcher, naturally.

He wore a smirk along with one of his customary, glaring Hawaiian shirts and long black trench coat. The hem of it fluttered as the wind blew between the long span of distance between him and Ben.

“So the CIA’s partnering with Vought now? How does that fucking work?” Ben remarked.

Butcher was joined by Hughie, Kimiko, and Frenchie, and then entire units of CIA and SWAT teams piling out of several armored cars.

“I’ll admit, you’re a tricky bugger to track down,” Butcher said. “But consider this your debt to fucking society paid in full.”

He launched yet another projectile from his gun. You gasped, but even though Frank pulled you towards the airport building and away from the fight, you still craned your head back to watch Ben bat away the missile with his shield. It landed far away, spilling concrete where it hit and shaking the ground.

Then a warning star bolt hit in front of Frank’s feet, stopping both of you short. You looked up and found Annie and M.M., the latter with an impressive gun in both hands.

“Stop right there, motherfucker,” M.M. ordered. “Time to let her go.”

“You okay?” Annie asked you. You had to smile, despite yourself.

“Yeah. It’s good to see you guys,” you said. Frank’s hand tightened on your arm, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you from leaving his side. He was stronger than usual once again, with the help of V24. He wielded his own gun trained on M.M.

“Step aside,” he ordered.

Annie pursed her lips at shot a star bolt at him. You took your opportunity and kicked at the back of Frank’s knee. It made his grip falter just enough that when M.M. jumped in to fight him, you scrambled away and Annie took your hand.

While the two men fought, you finally noticed the black sedan the pulled up on the tarmac behind you. The tinted driver’s window rolled down, revealing your father in black sunglasses.

Annie followed the path of your gaze in confusion. “Who the hell’s that?”

“Annie,” you squeezed her hand. “You know I’m your friend, right?”

Her brows furrowed, especially when you let go of her. “What’s wrong? What’re you about to do?”

“I need you to trust me,” you said.

You knew she didn’t understand, nor did she want to let you go. But you ran away from her, towards the car. She meant to follow you, but Frank held M.M. at bay long enough to aim a few well-placed bullets between you and Annie.

It stopped her long enough for you to climb into the black sedan before it peeled away, speeding around to the private gate of the airport. While you caught your breath, Jonathan’s gaze peered at you through the rearview mirror, after he lowered his sunglasses. The car was empty except for you and him.

Good, you thought. That meant he was the only one you had to watch closely.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Just fine,” you breathed. “Where to now?”

“Let’s get you to safety,” Jon said. You nodded. And when his focus was back on the road, you discreetly retrieved a tracking device from your pocket and placed it on the side of your seat, hidden from view.

Ben had given it to you before getting off the plane.

The device was small and flat, with a smooth back that would attach to almost any surface.

You rolled it experimentally between your fingers and looked up at Ben. His face was harder to read than ever.

“Why are you trusting me with this?” you asked.

Ben’s lips quirked wryly, but there was little humor in it. His hand, half-covered by his glove, reached up to brush your chin.

“I’m not,” he replied. “I expect you’ll jump at the chance to get back with Butcher and your asshole friends. But either way, I’m gonna find out if you were worth it.”

You frowned up at him. It was hard to believe that for all you two had been through together, this was really how it was going to be from now on.

“If I was worth saving?” you challenged.

He didn’t answer you, but his hand fell away from your face.

The car soon made its way out of the airport and onto the open road. There you were greeted by the familiar highways and approaching skyscrapers of New York City. You would be relieved to be home (almost), if you weren’t so tense.

“I need to see Stan Edgar,” you told your father.

Jon’s gaze met yours in the rearview.

“I have intel that he’ll be interested in,” you said.

“Okay, and that is?” he asked.

“About Supe Affairs, Soldier Boy, take your pick. But it’s the kind of information you don’t play Telephone with.”

“Mr. Edgar is a busy man,” Jon started to say.

“And you’re his Chief of Security,” you cut him off. “Who’s wiping his ass while you’re here with me?”

Jon sighed. “Always with that fucking mouth. Do you want me to relocate you? Put you in a safe house until we finish dealing with Soldier Boy?”

And give your father abject control over your life? I think not, you glared at the thought.

“I want to speak to Stan. I don’t care if it’s here, or Vought HQ, or in the middle of Times fucking Square. Take me to his damn office,” you demanded.

Maybe Ben had rubbed off on you a little.

“Or pull over right now, and I’ll make my way to the Tower myself,” you said. Jon came to a red light and had time to regard you in disbelief.

“Jesus…all right, let’s see if Stan will see you,” he said.

You let out a breath and finally allowed yourself to sit back in your seat. When the light turned green, Jon took the correct fork in the road that would lead you to Vought Tower.

And before you left the car, you made sure to grab the tracking device from the side of your chair, carrying it with you into your bra.

It was strange to enter this building again. You had worked here for five years, but it had been a year and a half since you’d returned.

It was still as busy as ever in the halls. Though you noticed the ratio of employees to tourists was about 30-70. It was incredible what taking out Vought’s golden psycho could do to a company’s profits.

Now they just needed to put the final nail in the coffin.

Jon led you to the elevator, and all the way up the Tower to Stan’s office. You had only been to this room once, when you were hired, but it was more or less how you remembered. Very spacious, minimalist furniture in a desk and a slim couch set, complete with a long glass coffee table.

But Stan was nowhere to be found. You frowned.

“Where is he?” you asked. Suspicion and awareness pricked at your spine.

You turned around to face your father, just in time to slap away something metallic headed for your neck.

It was a syringe. You watched it spin across the floor, and you glared back at him incredulously. He had enforced his will on you before, but he’d usually managed that with his hands, not with drugs. Maybe Vought had changed him too.

“All right, easy,” Jon said, raising placating hands. He drew closer as you backed away from him.

“I had a feeling Soldier Boy let you go,” he said. “That you’d probably planned this little bait and switch with him from the beginning.”

Heat made your cheeks flush as you glared back at him. Your father quirked a smile.

“Despite what you’d like to believe, I know you better than anyone,” Jon said.

You begged to differ on that…but part of you knew he was right.

“You did what you had to do with Soldier Boy. I understand,” he said. “Playing both sides of the game was smart. But I’m going to make sure you’re safe.”

“By sedating me?” you shouted. Your voice quivered, both with rage and fear. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He knew that you’d tried to play him, but his mistake was thinking you’d been playing Ben too.

“Later we’ll talk. When you’ve calmed down,” Jon said.

He reached out to grab your arm, but you evaded him. He called your name in warning.

You just got into a defensive stance. And the next time he tried for your arm, you snapped back with a fist to the bridge of his nose. It sent Jon’s head back with a grunt.

When his hand came back bloody from his nose, his demeanor shifted, from placating to stern. His cool gaze met yours, and you stared back at him stubbornly, poised for a fight.

“You little brat,” he said, wiping his nose again. “I fucking pulled you out of the fire, and you’re being difficult. As usual.”

“You didn’t save me,” you retorted. Emotion burned in your eyes, but your anger (and a frisson of fear) allowed you to clamp it down. “You never have.”

You shot out a preemptive strike, but your father surprised you by grabbing your wrist. And he backhanded you hard enough to make you see stars.

AN: 🫣 Welp, we're back in the U.S. SB is storming the castle, but at what cost...

Next Time:

A moment later, Frank patched through while he struggled and fought.

“She needs help,” he said gravely.

Ben took his hand off the comm, gritting his teeth. Black Noir was still waiting on him, attuned to Ben’s every move as the other supe brandished one of his blades.

Shit, Ben thought. He needed to end this.

Right fucking now.

Keep Reading: PART 11

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @pallographsunspot @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@xoxovienna @magnificentnightmarehadi @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @karnellius @kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun @lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420 @beautiful-life-coded @tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67

#caught in the balance #soldier boy #the boys #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #the boys season 3 #soldier boy/ben x reader #the boys au #enemies to lovers #frenemies to lovers #private investigator!reader #the boys amazon #soldier boy fic #soldier boy smut #break me down #Part 10 #zepskies writes

576 notes · View notes

tonight-i-may-see · 5 months

Note

👄 + 🛌

Ribs (Aaron Hotchner x gn!reader)

(Note: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, TSYM FOR YOUR REQUEST MUAAAAH)

👄 + 🛌= first kiss + only one bed

inspo: ribs by lorde

cw: alcohol/drunk shenanigans, gn!reader

word count: 773

divider by: @cafekitsune x

“D’you think we’ll always be like this..?”

There’s a giggle in your throat as you lay on the floor, arms out like a starfish. You were both drunk off the bottles of wine you’d ordered from room service- A hotel night of celebration, though from how broke you both were you’d had to opt for a shared room with a shared bed. Not that either of you cared, you’d been roommates for four years now and had seen parts of each other you wouldn’t dream of bringing out till at least a fifth date.

So here you both are, you on the floor and Aaron staring down at you from the end of the bed.

“Like what..?” He asks, tilting his head slightly, he always did that with you and it drove you crazy how cute it was- like a puppy hearing its name. There was an excitement when he heard your voice that he masked so badly it was almost laughable, everyone saw it, but they didn’t get it. ‘Soulmates’, you’d called it once, making him snort and blast his coffee over his face. ‘Hippie shit’ he’d replied, and you couldn’t hide the cheek aching grin on your face, knowing deep down he definitely believed in all that shit too.

“Us…close…” You muse, reaching up to tap his nose and earning another smile from his gorgeous face.

“I hope so,” He replies softly, a thoughtful look washing over him. There’s silence between you for a moment, then he turns it back to you. “What about you?”

“Yeah…yeah, I hope so too…I’d miss you too much otherwise.”

He huffs in amusement, rolling his eyes playfully. “You’re soft.” and you sit up, shaking your head at the entirely true accusation. “You’re softer, you paid for wine when there’s a perfectly good liquor store down the street with the same shit for seven dollars.”

A small pout forms on his lips, and for a moment you think about how soft they are…memories of them pressed to your cheek on drunken nights out flood your mind, making you giggle before you can hold it back.

“Don’t look like that, Aaron, you’ll make me feel bad.” You tease, still grinning as you pick up and drink the last of the wine in your glass.

“You’re laughing!” He points out with a chuckle, but there’s a soft look in his eyes as you sip that you just can’t miss. “You want some more?”

It was a quick distraction, and soon he had moved to the small table in the corner and poured himself more wine, walking over to fill your glass too. “Don’t spill it, I’m not payin’ the cleaning fee-” You’re breathless with laughter as he wobbles, leaning on the bed when he can’t help cracking up too. Before you can move, he’s kneeling with your leg between his, leaned forward to try and pour it properly. The bottle empties, and he sets it behind himself, picking up his own glass from next to him to clink glasses.

“To graduating…and passing the bar,” You mumble, smiling softer now he's so close. He smelled amazing, but that was an afterthought to how warm he was, cheeks flushed by the alcohol.

“To us.” He replies, and you both take a drink, sighing after.

“You’re beautiful…” You whisper before you realise it, gazing up at him with your head against the side of the mattress. Aaron smiles softly, leaning on his elbow to look down at you…it was always gentle, the way he loved you. Always felt more than what you were told it was. ‘Best friends’, ‘Buddies’, ‘Twin flames’...you hated all of it. The two of you weren’t the same, and that was the beauty of it, the closeness you held felt so natural- felt like there was something of each other inside the both of you…he held your heart in his chest and you held his just as tight. You were both individual, but without each other it would be wrong.

It’s Aaron who finally makes a move, leaning down and cupping your cheek as he kisses you. The alcohol practically dissolves from your system when you kiss him back, your arms moving to his shoulders whilst your wine spills onto the carpet behind him- the stem of the glass still loosely between your fingers. His shoulders shake, the huffs of air on your cheeks cluing you in that he’s laughing.

“We’ll have to pay for that…” He murmurs, leaning his forehead against yours, your eyes both shut.

“Mm…” You consider, tilting your head to brush noses with him. “You’re a lawyer now…you can afford it.”

#leowrites #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x gn reader #criminal minds x gn reader #asks #requests

82 notes · View notes

creepswrites · 1 year

Text

❝ CREEPS ‣ 22 ‣ IT/ITS ‣ REQUESTS OPEN ❞ ‣ ALL WRITING ‣ MASTERLIST ‣ VIEW RULES AND REGULATIONS BELOW TO REQUEST!

I. ❝ RESTRICTIONS ❞

‣ The following themes are PROHIBITED: racism, homophobia, transphobia, inc*st, ped*philia, illegal age gaps, extreme/harmful fetishes and kinks, r*pe, self-h*rm, suic*de, & extremely graphic abuse/depictions of abuse.

‣ Topics such as mental illness, violent scenes, and mention/depiction of abuse may pop up on occasion and will be properly tagged. While violent scenes may occur, I try to avoid topics I know to be upsetting to read as well as topics I myself find upsetting.

‣ I will NOT write smut with underage muses of mine, even if the reader is the same age.

‣ I will write for AMAB, AFAB, TRANS, and GN READERS! If you have specific pronouns for your reader request, make sure to state those! I always default to gender neutral reader unless otherwise specified :)

‣ Please do NOT repost my writing anywhere! Ask to translate, do not unless I have given explicit permission for you to do so.

II. ❝ THEMES ❞

‣ Common themes I write for include but are not limited to:

fluff / slice of life

angst / darker themes

nsfw / smut

violence

multi-chapter stories

‣ I do write reader x canon OR canon x canon, so long as it does not violate any of my restrictions! I can be picky about what canon x canon pairing I write for though, it has to speak to me.

III. ❝ REQUESTING ❞

‣ I reserve the right to deny any request for any reason.

‣ Do not spam/pressure me to write! I write for what inspires me in the moment. Requests will be completed when I have the time.

‣ Requests sent when they're closed will be discarded!

HEADCANONS | 1-3K ONESHOT | 4K+ ONESHOT

‣ Headcanons : Five character max, one character min. If the headcanon prompt is specific enough, it can be combined with a small drabble! These vary in length/detail. Unless characters for headcanons are specified, I'll likely write as many/as few as I feel inspired for!

‣ 1-3k Oneshot : These vary in length & detail depending on the material provided. If requesting, please specify, otherwise I default to headcanons. These can take me longer than headcanons so I take requests for them more sparingly.

‣ 4k+ Oneshot : Meant for more specific scenarios with lots of ideas & content involved! I rarely do these unless I'm particularly inspired by the prompt given. Usually, 4k+ is reserved for long-term story chapters.

IV. ❝ MUSES ❞

‣ Michael Myers : Halloween (1987, RZ, DBD, & 2018/Kills)

‣ Jason Voorhees : Friday the 13th

‣ Bubba Sawyer, Chop Top Sawyer, & Thomas Hewitt : The Texas Chainsaw Massacre

‣ Brahms Heelshire : The Boy (2016)

‣ Billy Lenz : Black Christmas (1974)

‣ Vincent Sinclar, Bo Sinclair, Lester Sinclair, & Nick Jonas : House of Wax (2005)

‣ Stu Macher & Billy Loomis : Scream

‣ Leslie Vernon : Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon

‣ Pyramid Head : Silent Hill

‣ Carrie White : Carrie

‣ Danny Johnson, Anna, & Amanda Young : Dead by Daylight ‣ You may ask me to try any DBD character though!

‣ Corey Cunningham : Halloween Ends (sparingly)

‣ Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson : Stranger Things (sparingly)

‣ Bill Denbrough, Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon, Beverly Marsh, Ben Hanscom : IT (1990, 2017, & 2019) (sparingly)

‣ ICON + HEADER ‣ COVER IMAGE ‣ LAYOUT INSPO

#🔪 creeps writes #slasher fanfiction #slasher x reader #slasher x s/o #horror writing #halloween 1978 #house of wax #black christmas #behind the mask #the texas chainsaw massacre #friday the 13th #the boy 2016 #carrie 1976 #dead by daylight #silent hill #scream #halloween ends #stranger things #it 2017

152 notes · View notes

faotoni · 4 months

Text

Confessions of a Teenage Jester

Synopsis: Fizz wants to open up to Blitz about something important. Hi there. I like 21 Pilots and the new album has me in a chokehold. I AM working on Aftermath, it’s just taking a lot longer because my muses have a lot to say. This is just silly and pointless and i have about 100 things I SHOULD be doing but In the middle of all that I was like; “hey. I wanna write.” So I derailed my life to do this. Song Inspo: Backslide- 21 Pilots I have a BlitzFizz playlist I was using to entertain myself when I was working on preparing for my vendor spot at pride. Blame that. And me. And 21 Pilots. I own none of my free will. :P Ages: I head canon that Fizz is two years younger than Blitz. The end. I have no rhyme or reason for this I just think that way. They are both teenagers in this, maybe 2-3 years before the accident. Also YES this is the same Terri from Aftermath. Yay for tiny role OCs :D Happy Pride! :D see ya the 31st :D

“Hey! Hey wait up you two!” A voice echoed and bounced off the old, decrepit buildings that lined the streets that ran parallel to Cash Buckzo’s circus in Greed. The buildings were all abandoned, left to rot or become home to vulgar graffiti and even worse bugs and mold as the years went by.

The voice belonged to another circus performer, a tall Imp named Terri, who had one horn shorter than the other. He was a year older than Blitz and three years older than Fizz; he had been in the circus though around as long as the two of them have, his mom and dad falling on hard times, desperate to find success somewhere. Terri himself was ok; he was a tad loud and didn’t have the greatest “read the room” radar.

“Shh, be quiet, we aren’t even supposed to leave!” Blitzø hissed once Terri caught up to him and Fizz.

Fizz offered a little wave before wrapping his arms around himself, a look of disappointment on his face. He wanted this adventure to be just the two of them, Blitzø and himself, like it always was. The two were going down the road to the old carnival, to see if they couldn’t reactivate some of it and have a fun night riding some rides or just freaking each other out by hiding behind things, or finding old masks to scare each other with.

“Then what the fuck are you doing out?” Terri asked raising an eyebrow and Blitzø, who waved his hand at him and walked closer to Fizz.

“Come if you want, I’m sure you’d say something to my dad if you don’t…” Blitzø grumbled in response, quickening his pace and brushing against Fizz as he passed, causing Fizz to pause for a second and blush.

Lately, things have been… weird.

And they shared a room so it only made them weirder.

It wasn’t weird to Fizz when he found himself attracted to guys, he sort of always suspected that, it was weird when he started developing a crush on his best friend. They were almost always together, they relied on each other to make it through the day, through performances, Fizz always being there to comfort Blitzø from his dad’s abuse… it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that Fizz would fall for his best friend, it was just… weird. They were friends. They did friend things. Right?

Right?

Well… maybe that was a little bit of an understatement, they were more than friends some may say, and possibly why Cash didn’t like seeing the two together. They would sneak off at night to go swimming in unsuspecting demon’s yards, steal from local stores around the circus, sleep curled up together in the only tree in Greed, a thousand year old hard oak with no leaves left but the perfect bowed out perch to sit or lay in while watching everything from below.

That past part was what made Fizz suspicious of Blitzø. He wanted to think his best friend felt some sort of way about him too, because there were little moments like that, the compliments, the reassurance, the “intimate” goofing off, that lead Fizz to believe, to hope that Blitzø felt something, but he wasn’t sure. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if Blitzø knew.

“Dude. When have I ever done that?” Terri asked, leaning an arm of Fizz’s shoulder while they walked.

“Uh. Last week. When I gave you some of my dad’s booze and you fucking told him!” Blitzø complained, turning to face Terri. When he realized Terri was leaning on Fizz, Blitzø took Fizz by the wrist and pulled him to his side, prompting him to run by tugging at his wrist.

The two ran down the road laughing, with Terri running behind them trying to catch up.

Stuff like that.

The Carnival seemed darker than the street, even though the carnival had lamps and the street did not. The lights seemed to make everything darker, causing deep shadows over places that would otherwise wise be light. It was creepy, but also fun.

“Alright we’re do we start?” Blitzø asked turning to Fizz who turned to look at Terri who was looking up at a tall tower ride. “This was your idea, Fizz.”

“I know that, uh…” Fizz looked away and walked further into the park. One of the overhead lights caught his eye, the dim light shining on a round barrel looking ride. “That one.” fizz pointed to it, getting closer to it to inspect what it could possibly do. The pair of them and possibly Terri had never been to a carnival before, none of them could afford to go to Mammon’s “Loo Loo Land” but when that made the small park near the Circus go out of business, Fizz had the idea to at least go and check it out before Blitzø suggested they try to get the rides to work so they could at least try them out.

“Alright.” Came Blitzø’s reply, closer to Fizz than he thought he was. Blitzø was standing next to him, observing the electric panel that made the ride work. “I mean if I could read…” Blitzø started pressing buttons until the lights around the ride turned on and a loud horn blared, shaking the ground and causing the two Imps to jump back.

“Whoa! That one works!” Terri yelled from wherever he was, somewhere behind the two.

“Yeah hopefully.” Blitzø said; tongue out in concentration as he studied what button to press next.

“Big red button says start…” Fizz offered from over his shoulder, putting a shaking hand on it before smiling at him in reassurance.

“You’re a nerd.” Blitzø fired back making a face at him before turning back and pressing the button Fizz suggested. The barrel started to lift up, a couple of loud creaks from months of abandonment as it stretched up to its tallest position before the whole barrel started spinning, some obnoxiously loud dance music accompanying its ascent.

“Awesome!” Fizz said jumping up and down. Terri had joined them next to the ride.

“So how do we get on?” He asked. The three looked at each other.

“Well, I guess we would have to take turns, someone has to be out here to press all the buttons, so it actually works.” Fizz explained. He looked back at the panel and reached over to press the stop button. The ride slowly stopped spinning and returned back to its resting position. “I think Blitzø and I should try this ride out first, you can press the buttons for us.”

“Okay but I ain’t doin’ it every time. I want to try them too.” Terri said raising a brow at the pair. Blitzø smirked evilly, sharing the look with Fizz who took a second before realizing what he was thinking, causing Fizz to look down and blush, chuckling.

“You are NOT leaving me on one of these fucking things.” Terri growled, pushing Blitzø playfully. Blitzø and Fizz burst out laughing.

“Alright alright just promise us you won’t tell my dad shit.” Blitzø said, holding a hand out to Terri. He rolled his eyes but accepted the hand.

“Fine.” Terri agreed. Fizz regained his composure and walked Terri through the 3 buttons he needed to press for the ride to work before he and Blitzø entered the ride. They both looked at each other as they realized the ride didn’t have seatbelts, but it appeared that there was a ledge and the floor drooped out.

“Uh. Ha-ha…” Blitzø said walking in and standing against the wall. “Good luck to us I guess!” He giggled as Fizz closed the door, trying to figure out how the ride worked exactly before taking his place next to Blitzø, the two of them sharing a look.

“Alright Terri!” Blitzø yelled. The ride started playing its music and rising and the middle of the floor opened up. Fizz guessed that the spinning would keep the two of them in place and that they would both not be violently flung from the ride but he was nerv-

Blitzø took Fizz’s hand, linking their fingers together and squeezing tightly. Fizz blushed and the lights around them flashed before going out completely. The barrel started to spin and fizz felt his body press against the back of the wall. Blitzø let out a loud laugh before yelling; “Fizz! Try lifting your arm!” Fizz tried lifting the arm that wasn’t holding Blitzø’s hand, it wouldn’t move.

“What?” Fizz asked in disbelief, trying again and laughing. He tried to lift his head too but it wouldn’t budge.

The ride was over too soon.

“Woooo!”Blitzø yelled after the ride came to a stop. He started moving before the floor fully closed and tripped on his own feet, falling to the ground. Fizz moved forward, concerned before Blitzø let out another “woooo” before laughing and rolling over, looking up at Fizz.

Fizz smiled at him and held out a hand to help him back up. Blitzø took it and got up, their hands lingering together before fully letting go. Blitzø looked towards the door, which opened to Terri who was wearing a large grin.

“My turn!”

The night was exciting. Even with Terri there. The trio managed to get almost every ride to work, and spent a long time scaring the shit out of each other in a funhouse with broken mirrors and even more broken animatronics. Fizz just wished it was the two of them still. Before they had gone on this adventure, Fizz had tried to psyche himself up into telling Blitzø about how he felt, or at least about his feelings for guys. He thought he owed that to his best friend, being the first being he ever came out to. He was sure that Cash would give the two of them hell for it, Cash wasn’t the biggest fan of anyone “different”, though he wouldn’t outright attack Fizz for it, he would find a way to make it Blitzø’s fault. Fizz didn’t want that. He only wanted to tell Blitzø so that he might be able to help him hide, or maybe telling him might get rid of his crush, him finding out might just squash that. Fizz imagining Blitzø putting a hand on his shoulder and laughing at him saying something like; “that’s cool” would really kill the feeling.

Right?

Regardless it was moot now. Fizz couldn’t tell Blitzø the truth. Not with Terri there.

Unless…

“It’s getting late, huh, guys?” Terri asked, joining Fizz on the broken bench he was currently sitting on. Blitzø wasn’t too far away from them, standing on a fake plant and looking out over the rest of the park.

“It’s always been late!” Blitzø called from where he was.

“Yeah but don’t you think we should pack it up? They might start lookin’ for us.” Terri said. He wasn’t wrong, but, it was seldom that anyone checked around the sleeping quarters at night. No one really ever suspected Blitzø and Fizz sneaking off because they always knew around the time they should come back.

“Pussy. If you want to leave you can. Me and Fizz’is professionals.” Blitzø said jokingly, jumping off the plant and casually walking over to the bench. Terri looked at Fizz who was looking off into the distance; the dim lights of Mammon’s “Loo Loo Land” filled the grey sky.

“If you want to go ahead you can.” Fizz said. “It’s a nice night.” Fizz didn’t want to leave yet. He felt free and calm anywhere but the circus. Sure, he loved preforming but he didn’t love being abused, or being forced to diet, or being forced to practice for 13 plus hours a day, or being away from Blitzø… here, on the outside he could be free.

“Yeah I think I’m gonna head back.” Terri said standing up and brushing off his pants. “See you guys in the morning.”

Blitzø and Fizz both bid Terri farewell and watched him disappear into the darkness of the street. Blitzø joined Fizz on the bench and signed, scratching his head.

“Do we ever have to go back?” Blitzø asked almost miserably. It was a question that he asked almost every time they went on an adventure. Fizz felt bad for Blitzø. If anyone deserved to escape the circus, it was him. He got abused worse than Fizz was, once being sold to Royal snobs for 5$. Fizz couldn’t imagine having a family who you thought cared about you do that.

“We could stay here forever.” Fizz said reassuringly, even knowing they couldn’t do that. He took a deep breath before reaching over and touching the top of Blitzø’s hand. Blitzø looked over at their hand before turning his over and holding Fizz’s hand.

“We could run…” Blitzø suggested. Fizz liked the idea, imagining the two of them running away together, stealing enough stuff to buy a crappy apartment and being able to live together and do what they want, without the threat of being abused or starved for someone else’s gain.

“I wish…” Fizz mumbled. It wasn’t feasible. If Fizz agreed and stood up and tried to pull Blitzø up with him, he would stop and ask Fizz about Barbie, or his mom. Blitzo couldn’t truly leave. He couldn’t leave them. It left Fizz feeling lonely. He didn’t have the same hang ups. He didn’t have a family. It was just him.

And Blitzø…

“But we can’t.” Blitzo murmured, taking Fizz’s hand in both of his and playing with his fingers, causing Fizz to blush. He took a deep breath and looked away for a minute, figuring it was now or never. He should tell Blitzo the truth.

“Blitzø, I need to tell you something.” Fizz said nervously, pulling his hand away and inching further away from Blitzø.

“What’s up?” He asked, turning to look at Fizz who was looking at his knees.

“I’m gay.” Fizz started. He couldn’t make eye contact with Blitzø yet. “I’ve known since I was like 8 or so. I just don’t know, I didn’t know if I should tell anyone, but you’re my best friend, and…” Fizz stopped as he felt Blitzø’s arm wrap around his shoulders and squeezed them.

“I kinda figured.” Blitzø said laughing a bit. “Have you seen yourself? Haha, Barbie taught you to wear makeup because you asked!” He squeezed Fizz’s shoulders again and poked Fizz’s hand with his finger. “You’re wearing nail polish.”

“Those are just stereotypes! I like all that stuff!” Fizz defended himself weakly. Blitzø rested his head on Fizz’s shoulder.

“Uh huh. Yeah.” Blitzø said. Fizz sighed and put his head down on Blitzø’s. “I’m not surprised, is all I’m sayin’.”

“thanks, jerk.” Fizz grumbled, and pushed Blitzø away from him a little before smiling shyly.

Blitzø regained his composure from being pushed and slid back to his spot sitting next to Fizz, putting his arm around him again. “Thanks for telling me.” He said after a few seconds of silence. “I was just joking about all that, I didn’t really know… but it’s cool you know, I sure don’t…”

“It takes time I guess.” Fizz offered, not knowing too many other beings who had come out. He didn’t know if it was normal to know who he was so early. He figured it was more realistic for Blitzø to not know because of his dad, and his hang-ups on all that.

“Yeah, I don’t know…” Blitzø said almost sadly before shaking his head and standing up. “Now, it’s getting late, we should probably head back.”

“Yeah. Uh, don’t tell anyone else about…” Fizz started while standing before getting interrupted by Blitzø who hugged him.

“Of course I won’t. It’ll be our secret.” Blitzø said softly. “I know.”

-2 Years Later-

Dear Fizz;

Happy Birthday Circus-Pus!

hey, so, i wanted to talk to you about something important, but i didn’t know how to say it out loud, you know? the day we went to the pier, a few weeks ago when i told you i needed to tell you something, and i couldn’t? well, this is that, so...

remember when you came out to me? yeah well, it made me realize something... that i maybe felt the same way. i know now that i did, that i do. i really like you, Fizz...

Maybe we could try to work it out, maybe we could actually run away... escape all this and be happy somewhere we don’t have to hide from anyone. we could start up our own circus, both be the stars! or you know, anything.

Maybe we could try? Even if we don’t run away?

We can talk about it,

Blitzø

Confessions of a Teenage Jester - Electoni - Helluva Boss (Web Series) [Archive of Our Own]

its here too :) same with Fate.

see ya in 500 years. o/

#helluva boss #i guess blitzfizz #blitzo #fizzarolli #kinda angsty #kinda not #idk here #Jay Writes stuff #i wrote this while waiting for my hair cut apppointment today #i know the letter sucks but i wanted to add it in here as a sort of jump off point #like i have a follow up to this planned already xD

5 notes · View notes

unholynghts · 4 months

Text

and i thank whatever gods may be, for my unconquerable soul.

࣪𓏲ּ ֶָ 𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗 ⁝ leo woodall, 30, cis man, he/him. announcing the arrival of ELIAR of house HOUSE CARON, the LORD of NIGHTSONG. whispers among the court name them to be both BOLD and CUNNING in disposition, and those closest to them speak to their interests in history. if we bards could compose a song for them, it might tell stories of ink-stained fingers, mismatched rings on every finger, each with a story and eyes perpetually tired the seven whisper to their most devout queen as she sleeps, making her question where their loyalties truly lie. are they right to whisper? for their loyalties truly lie with THE LANNISTERS

about.

name: eliar caron

age: 30

pronouns: he/him

sexuality: bisexual

alignment: chaotic neutral

loyalties: the lannisters

character inspo: lord guildford dudley ( my lady jane ), dexter mayhew ( one day ), george villiers ( mary & george ), lucien carr ( kill your darlings )

bio.

charismatic and ambitious, eliar's aspirations transcend his family's expectations. unlike cautious kin who avoid the capital's machinations, he wields power as a tool to shape house caron's destiny. "wealth is power," he muses, guiding his path through westerosi politics. in the corridors of power, eliar is known not just for his political acumen but also for his unabashed love of wealth. a connoisseur of opulence, he revels in the trappings of success—lavish feasts, fine wines, and the subtle art of manipulation masked behind a charming smile. his ambition knows no bound. seeking to elevate house caron's stature, he forges alliances, expands economic influence, and eyes a role in the realm's councils. yet, behind the veil of ambition, he revels in festivities—a connoisseur of spirits, often found immersed in revelry and courtly gossip. known among courtiers as a rake, eliar thrives amidst the splendor of revelry—a spirited connoisseur, perpetually chasing the next toast and the thrill of courtly intrigue. his laughter echoes through grand halls, his wit a glittering blade in the dance of gossip. yet beneath the veneer of ambition lies a poet's soul, finding solace in clandestine verses penned with ink-stained hands. ashamed of his hidden passion, he cloaks himself in the guise of an ambitious nobleman, wrestling with a muse that now flits just beyond his grasp. beneath the veneer of ambition lies a guarded heart, shielded behind his rakish persona. he hides his vulnerabilities well, using wit and charm to deflect personal inquiries and maintain a facade of invulnerability. even as he indulges in courtly pleasures and revels in the intrigue of high society, eliar keeps his true emotions closely guarded, revealing them only through the pen strokes of his secret verses. his inner world, hidden from prying eyes, is a sanctuary where his poetic soul finds refuge amidst the relentless pursuit of power and influence.

#westeros.intro

1 note · View note

sarsvx · 4 years

Text

BTS.

#bts #behind the mask #behind the scenes #behind the muses #creative #inspo #inspiration #muse #camera #camera files #cameras #photography #photoshoot #photogram #photooftheday

1 note · View note

jikookiekosmos · 3 years

Text

Use My Best Colors For Your Portrait || jjk

➥Pairing: best friend!jungkook/reader, boyfriend!jungkook/reader, artist!jungkook

➥Summary: After surprising Jungkook with his own studio room for his paintings, he couldn’t be any more over the moon. All’s well and good until he’s struggling to find inspiration...which you happily provide him with. He’s ecstatic to find his muse in you, and painting your portrait brings him so much joy. Things take a turn however, when he suddenly realizes what else he wants to paint.

➥Genre: established relationship, tiny bit of angst if you squint, fluff, smut

➥Rating: 18+

➥Words: ~7.9k (small drabbles don’t exist for me apparently, oops)

➥Content warnings: most of this at the beginning is just cute fluff domestic times (finally not much angst!), blonde jungkook, jk ties his hair up at some point (my weakness), jk puts paints on the reader, making out, slight hair pulling, cursing, shower sex times, jungkook has a big dick, oral (m. receiving), very slight mouth fucking, dirty talk, fingering (very brief), unprotected sex (safe sex is great sex), biting, cumming inside, cute times in the shower, jungkook is actually the sweetest, reader and jk are so in love with each other it hurts, also jk saying ‘only for you’ is a thing i started and can’t stop now oops

A/N: hello! This is part of my Only for You (OFY) Drabble series, but it can be read as a stand-alone! Their relationship will make a lot more sense though if you’ve read OFY beforehand. This fic takes place roughly around six months after the events of OFY (so in between that and the dream drabble I also posted).

Once again, thank you to @dntaewithluv for her endless support and always giving me feedback, I forever appreciate you and your friendship is more than I could ever ask for 💜

I’ve written a few other drabbles and will list them below, along with a general timeline:

When I Dream of You - ~1 year after OFY

Stay With Me - a few months after the dream drabble

Also, I hope that if you read this, you enjoy it~

➥OFY Spotify Playlist (songs I listened to for inspo)

➥Series Masterlist

➥All Works Masterlist

taglist: @inlovewiththemoonn

⊱──────── ✬ ✬ ✬ ────────⊰

You would do absolutely anything in the world for Jeon Jungkook.

Seeing him happy had to be at the top of your list of favorite things in the world, as it had been for many years as his best friend, and now in the several months since the two of you started dating. Some things just never changed, you guessed.

Which is why you took it upon yourself to change one of the spare rooms in the house you two were renting into a space where he could thrive as the artist he was. Initially, the two of you thought it would be nice to use that space as a work area for you, since your job required you to sometimes do work from home. And for a little while, that’s exactly what you did.

But ever since you found out Jungkook liked to paint – scratch that, he loved to paint, and had been doing so for longer than you thought – the gears started turning in your head.

The current space he was using to create his art was definitely less than ideal. The house had a decent sized garage area, so there was enough room for him to store his supplies and be able to paint without it being too much of an issue. The downside, though, was it was cramped and even though Jungkook said he didn’t mind it, you still couldn’t help the frown from masking your features whenever you saw him huddled up so close to his easel.

For the last few weeks, and with lots of help from internet searches, you’d been slowly converting your space into something like a studio. You didn’t have to worry about Jungkook finding out, either, since he very rarely went into that room seeing as he had no reason to. He respected your privacy the same as you respected his, so this made everything infinitely easier for you in the long run.

The day had finally arrived where you would show the new space to Jungkook. Everything was set up as perfect as you could manage it – at least you hoped so – and you were dying of excitement to show him as soon as possible.

You were also, however, incredibly nervous at the same time. What if he didn’t like it? Even worse, what if he hated it?

Of course, you knew deep down that there was no way Jungkook could hate anything you ever did, unless it was something horrible, but you worried about everything because that’s just how you were. So, when the two of you were sitting at the dinner table one night, you tried hard to swallow the lump in your throat as you listened to Jungkook talk about his newest work.

“I really think you’re gonna like how this one turns out, angel.” Jungkook was offering you a sweet smile as he went to grab another bite of food from his plate. You managed to smile back, despite the hammering of your heart against your chest. He was basically handing you the perfect opening for you to segue the conversation!

“I know I’ll love it, Koo.” You watched as his small smile turned into a full grin, his nose scrunching up in that adorable way that had you falling in love with him all over again every time you saw it.

“Speaking of your paintings,” you started off, clearing your throat while he swallowed down his food. He looked at you with his undivided attention and it made your heart skip a beat.

Ok let’s be real, every damn thing this man did made your heart skip a beat.

“Yeah? What about them?” He twirled more of the noodles around his fork while he waited on your answer.

You gulped. “Wouldn’t you like it if you had more space?”

Jungkook chuckled and placed his fork down, shaking his head as he placed on hand on top of yours that was still resting by your plate. You’d barely touched your food and he noticed.

“Baby,” he started, “as much as I would love to have a bigger space, what I have now is just fine. I know you think it’s stifling my creativity in there, but I’m still creating things and am comfortable.” He squeezed you hand gently before returning to his food.

“I get that you think the garage is fine but what if I told you that- that you could have a bigger workspace.” You finally picked up your fork and were poking around at your own food now, avoiding his gaze. You could feel his stare boring into you regardless, though.

“I mean – yeah, hypothetically I could have more space, but it’s not in the cards for us right now and that’s ok, too. Maybe one day.”

The way he always was optimistic about your future together made you feel warm all over. Jungkook liked to look on the bright side of every situation, and it’s been enough to help you keep your own wits about yourself numerous times now.

But this time you wanted to show him that the future could be closer than he realized.

“Koo, can you come with me real quick? I have something I want to show you.”

You didn’t miss the confused look that flashed across his face for a second before his calm demeanor took over again.

“Of course.” He hopped up from the table, that smile you adored now plastered on his face. “Lead the way.”

“Ok but I also need you to close your eyes.” You reached out to take his hand and were rewarded with an eyebrow raise.

He hummed thoughtfully but did as you asked, closing his eyes and grasping your hand tighter so you could lead him wherever you planned to.

You walked through the house pulling him behind you, feeling your heartbeat quicken with every step to where its pace was almost concerning. Whether or not it was mostly from excitement or nervousness, you weren’t sure.

You finally reached your destination and let go of his hand so you could open the door.

“Keep your eyes closed, ok,” you asked. Jungkook simply nodded and you saw a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He had no idea what you were about to show him, but knowing you and how much he loved pretty much anything you did, he was sure it’d probably make him happy.

And he couldn’t have been more correct in his assumption.

At the quiet sound of you telling him he could open his eyes he did so, slowly at first, blinking to adjust to the light the now flooded over the both of you. It took him several seconds to register exactly what he was seeing, and when he did he couldn’t speak. All he could do was stare around the room, mouth agape.

Decorating the walls were the paintings he had given you, beautiful works of various sizes and themes. Alongside the far wall was a tall shelf that housed all his supplies (how had you managed to get them past him without him noticing?), and even some new things like paints he’d been eyeing for a while and other tools he hadn’t had a chance to get himself yet.

But in the middle of the room stood his easel and chair, set up in the similar fashion as it had been in the garage. His apron was draped across the back of the chair, and there was even tarp laid out underneath the workspace. You research had paid off because everything was set up in such a way that it created the perfect atmosphere for Jungkook’s creativity to shine through in ways it hadn’t been able to before.

You weren’t aware of this yet, however, because you were still watching Jungkook’s reaction. He still hadn’t said anything, and as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, you started to wonder if this was the right call-

Strong arms were pulling you up from the ground and spinning you around before you could process it, making you squeal with delight as Jungkook twirled you before bringing you back down to pepper kisses all over you face.

“Angel, I can’t believe this, you did all this for me?” He was still holding onto your hips tightly, beaming as he looked down at you. Your nod and giggle was all the confirmation he needed before he pulled you into another kiss, this one slightly more heated than the ones before.

“Do you like it,” you questioned when the both of you pulled away to breathe. Jungkook laughed before taking your face in his hands and brushing his nose along yours.

“Do I like it? Baby, I love it. It’s perfect! Thank you so much.” Another kiss. “I love it and I love you, I love you so fucking much.”

His happiness made your heart soar and you definitely knew that you’d do something like this an infinite amount of times if it meant he’d keep that smile on his face.

⊱──────── ✬ ✬ ✬ ────────⊰

A few weeks passed by and Jungkook had been using his new studio nearly everyday at this point. His creations had been increasing in numbers and he was starting to receive commissions from others thanks to his small online shop he’d set up with your help. He still worked at the bar as his primary job, but he was also grateful to have a hobby on the side that could potentially yield something lucrative.

Of course, Jungkook’s increase in his time spent on his art still didn’t take away from his time with you. If anything, it gave the both of you another way to spend time together, since now there was enough space for you to sit in and observe him paint when you couldn’t before. You often sat quietly and either did some of your own work or engaged in your own hobbies while he painted, and it was always peaceful.

There came a day, though, that you never thought you’d experience: Jungkook had run out of inspiration. He’d hit his first real artist’s block and it was taking a bigger toll on him than he would’ve liked.

You rubbed his shoulders as he sat in front of his easel one night, groaning in frustration about his current work. “It’s not turning out at all like I want it to. I’ve been struggling with finding new inspiration and it clearly shows in whatever this is.” He vaguely gestured to the canvas, prompting you to place a kiss on his cheek as you ran your hand through his pretty blonde hair. You knew that always helped to calm him down and this case was no exception.

Jungkook sighed heavily, turning to place a kiss on your palm that was still lingering around his face. “Sorry, I don’t mean to get worked up. It just sucks, you know? I’d been on this really good streak of creating things and now I just…can’t. It’s weird and I don’t like it.” He pouted slightly and the sight made you giggle.

“I know, baby, but you’ll figure something out. You always do.” You placed a kiss on top of his head before you walked around to sit on his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck and one of his hands cradled your waist to steady you.

He was humming thoughtfully as he looked you up and down, your hands now playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“What are you thinking about?”

He smiled slyly. “You.”

You rolled you eyes before returning the smile. “Ok, what about me? I’m curious.”

His hand was rubbing up and down your side. “Nothing in particular, just usually looking at you can help me with inspiration.”

His confession made you gasp. “Really?”

He nodded and smiled wider. “Really. You inspire me a lot.” He placed a chaste kiss on your lips before sighing again. “This time though it’s not really working like I’d hoped.”

You watched his eyes close and his brows furrow before an idea popped into your head. “Hey,” you reached down to tilt his chin up so he’d look at you, “It might be a long shot, but: have you ever considered painting portraits?”

He pursed his lips as he thought about it. The simple act made you want to kiss him but now wasn’t the time.

“Honestly…no. I’ve never thought about it before because I usually prefer to paint scenery.”

You searched his eyes as you asked your next question. “Well, if you want to try, maybe you could paint me? Even if it doesn’t go anywhere, maybe it can help spark a new idea or something?”

You watched as his eyes slowly lit up at your suggestion, his face morphing into a smile that you mirrored.

“That’s a great idea! It’s something new and it also includes you, so I already love it.” You chuckled in his lap as he hugged you closer, placing a small kiss on your neck. “Thank you.”

You ran your hands through his hair again before leaning back. “Anything for you. Do you want to start now?”

He thought about it for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, we can do that. Is there, uh – was there something specific you wanted to wear for it?”

You wiggled your eyebrows suggestively. “Are you suggesting you want to paint a nude portrait?”

Even though Jungkook knew your body better than you did at this point, your words still managed to make him blush as he groaned. “No, I wasn’t thinking that- not that I’d mind of course just you know, whatever makes you comfortable-”

You laughed at his flustered nature before hopping off his lap. “You’re so cute. I’ll go find something to change into, it shouldn’t take long.”

“R-right,” he stuttered, still clearly somewhat affected by what you had said. You shook your head with amusement as you went to your bedroom to find something to wear. You settled for a purple dress that you knew Jungkook loved, and considering a lot of his paintings involved shades of purple and blue, you figured it would be perfect.

You knew you made the right choice when you stepped back into the room and saw Jungkook’s face when his eyes fell on you. He looked like he’d never seen someone so beautiful (he looked at you like that a lot and it always did something to you) and your lips curled upwards into a smile before you could realize it.

You stopped in the doorway and twirled, giving him a full view of the dress. “Is this ok?”

You already knew the answer, but it was always nice to hear him say it.

He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, it’s perfect. You can, uh, you can take a seat whenever you’re ready.”

While you were changing, Jungkook had pulled one of the loveseats from the living room into the space so you’d have somewhere to sit or lay while he painted you. The loveseat was a dark blue color and it contrasted beautifully against the color of your dress. You decided to lay on it in a comfortable pose, and you couldn’t help the small giggle you let out at Jungkook’s reaction to your choice.

You had laid an arm behind your head, turning your face so you were looking at him while the rest of your body was sprawled out on the loveseat. One of your legs dangled over the side, making the skirt of your dress hike up somewhat. You were very comfortable, and Jungkook was very happy with your pose.

“Make it pretty, ok,” you joked with him. He smirked at your comment.

“You know I will. I’ll use my best colors, just for you.”

“Wow, I feel special,” you quipped back. You were rewarded with the sound of his beautiful laughter as it echoed off the walls.

“You’re the most special,” he admitted honestly. You gave him a brilliant smile and he felt his heart stutter.

With the way you were looking at him, Jungkook thought that if he didn’t start painting, he may never start. So, he forced himself to tear his eyes away from you so he could find the paints he needed to get started. He tied up his hair, a few of the blonde strands escaped and framed his face but he didn’t seem to mind it too much as he got to work.

Thankfully, since you’d chosen a good position, the process was easier than you thought it would be. You just had to lie there and watch him work, which you happily did. You enjoyed watching his face scrunch up in concentration before relaxing again as he brushed stroke after stroke onto the canvas.

You were so beyond proud of him that it made your heart swell inside your chest.

Jungkook had been painting for a little over half an hour before he announced it was time to take a break. He could paint for hours on end without stopping, but that was when he didn’t have a live subject he was working with. He walked over to you with a bottle of water so you could sip from it without having to disturb your position too much.

You sat up slightly so you could drink, and while you did so, one of your dress straps started falling down your arm. Jungkook immediately went to move it back into place, but as he did, he couldn’t help but stare at the dark contrast of the purple satin against your skin. He thought it was so pretty, and his mind started wandering to how the paint itself might look-

He shook his head to rid himself of the thought. He may have been covered in paint himself, but that didn’t mean he needed to go putting paint on you.

When you were re-situated on the loveseat once more, Jungkook strolled back over to this easel. Unfortunately, since that thought of you covered in paint first took up residence inside his head, he now found it hard to focus on anything else. While he stared at you to try and resume your portrait, he just kept picturing you with painted streaks covering your skin instead.

You must have noticed he was distracted because soon you were calling over to him. “Kook? Is something wrong?”

He gulped and shook his head. “No, nothing’s wrong! You’re doing great, baby.”

“Do you need me some other way?”

Such a simple statement and yet it was stirring something inside of him. Asking him if he needed you a certain way ignited that desire to once again paint you and he found himself unable to hold back from asking anymore.

“Yeah, I uh, I wanted to try something.” You were confused when he got up and started walking toward you, only carrying his paint supplies. At first you thought maybe he just wanted to get closer, but he didn’t bring the easel with him.

“What are you wanting to try,” your voice was laced with curiosity. He gave you a shy smile.

“I was just thinking about how pretty it would be,” he looked down at the floor then back up at your face before he continued, “if I used you as a canvas instead.”

You felt your breath hitch in your throat at the request. Jungkook was asking to paint you, not paint you on a portrait, but to paint you. The suggestion intrigued you a lot more than you thought it would, which is ultimately what led to you nodding your agreement. “I think I’d like to try that, too.”

Jungkook’s face broke into such a dazzling smile that excited you to no end. You watched as he pulled his chair close to you, as well as some tarp to place around the area. When he was situated where he wanted to be, he dipped his brush into some of the purple paint on his palette and gently lifted your arm. The feeling of the paint as it brushed along your arm was foreign but not unwelcome. There was something about it that was almost calming.

You were now also recalling all the times you’d told Jungkook how pretty he looked even covered in paint. The pretty colors contrasting with his beautiful, golden skin tone never failed to take your breath away no matter how many times you saw it. You wondered briefly if this is what he was experiencing now as he took his time painting your skin.

He was focusing on your with such intensity and taking great care to only get the paint where he wanted it, so as to not stain certain parts of you or your dress. The sight of his caution made that familiar warmth bloom in your chest again.

He took his time painting beautiful designs along your arm before moving down to paint on your thighs and legs. He was alternating between purple and blue hues now, and the swirling patterns reminded you a lot of his tattoos that you adored. You had spent many nights lying next to him in bed, tracing the lines of his tattoos until you were too sleepy to keep it up. Seeing the patterns against your own skin briefly made you think about if you would ever want to get a tattoo. Before you put too much thought into it, your attention was pulled back to Jungkook who was sitting up now and admiring his work.

The time had passed by much quicker than you anticipated, and it was starting to get dark outside as the light was no longer filtering in through the windows of the room.

He seemed satisfied as he nodded and smiled. “Wait here, I’ll be right back. Stay just like this,” he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead before leaving the room. When he returned, he had his coveted polaroid camera in his hands. Jungkook was also big into photography, and every one of his hobbies suited him perfectly in some way.

“Is it ok if I take a photo of you, baby?”

You grinned and nodded, being careful not to move too much from your current position. He snapped the photo and the polaroid was printing immediately after. When he pulled it from the camera, he laid it down on the table next to his easel so it could develop properly.

Jungkook wiped his hands off on his apron before taking it off and drawing his attention back to you. He could stare at you like this all day, but he knew it would probably be best to get you both cleaned up and paint-free.

He offered a hand for you so he could help pull you off the loveseat. When you were up fully, he wrapped his arms around you, careful to not get any of his exposed, paint-covered skin on your dress.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he murmured softly, brushing some of your hair out of your face as his eyes scanned up and down your body to admire his creation. “And as much as I love seeing it, we should probably get this paint off soon. When it dries too much, it can be a bitch to scrub off, and I don’t want that for you.”

You chuckled at that and simply nodded your head. You’d been lying there for nearly 2 hours at this point, so you were pretty tired and ready to just relax for the night.

The two of you hopped into the shower shortly after, helping each other rid your bodies of the remnants of paint covering you both. You always loved taking showers with Jungkook, because whether or not it was a short, regular shower, or one shared after a night of intimacy, these moments were some that you cherished the most and wouldn’t change for the world.

You got lost in the feeling of Jungkook scrubbing shampoo into your hair, letting out soft noises as your eyes slipped closed.

Your noises always threatened to drive Jungkook crazy, and this time was no exception. He couldn’t deny the stirring of his cock as he listened to the little moans slipping from your mouth at such a simple action.

Of course, since he was so close to you, there was no way you didn’t feel him. His cock was hardening against your thigh, and the fact that you were turning him on by not doing much turned you on.

You could feel the wetness start to slip past your folds, but you decided to not make any moves yet, wondering how far you could take this before either of you snapped. You knew that teasing him was one of the quickest ways to get Jungkook riled up.

“Feels so good, Koo,” you shamelessly moaned out as he kept massaging the shampoo into your hair. You heard him let out a small grunt at your deliberate words, feeling him twitch against your thigh as he got harder.

You leaned your head back to give him a better view of your neck, since you knew he loved to mark you up there. His hands were starting to tangle in your hair, but he took care to not pull too hard as he brought his attention back to the task(s) at hand.

He was currently focusing on two things: 1) getting the rest of the shampoo out of your hair, and 2) not fucking you up against the shower wall. Doing the first thing was currently keeping him from acting on the second, but you certainly weren’t helping with that.

Your head lolled around on your neck, your eyes still closed as your sounds got louder. He knew you were messing with him now, so as retaliation he pulled on your hair a little tighter, making you gasp.

“You’re doing this on purpose, angel,” you could hear the dark tone of his voice over the waterfall in the shower clearly, and it just made you more aroused. You chanced opening your eyes to look at him, and the sight you were met with made you moan louder, this time without trying.

Jungkook was staring at you, mouth slightly parted as he let out pants of his own, his blonde, soaked tresses falling in his face and covering his eyes. His tongue darted out to lick his lips as he tugged on your hair again, making you reach out to place your hands on his chest.

“You’re teasing me to get me worked up, hm?” All you could do was nod, his husky voice and the feeling of his hand wrapped in your hair making you wetter by the second. There was no use in playing coy any longer. You wanted him, and he wanted you.

The question now was: who would make the first move?

You realized that you wanted to be the one to make the first move, so you did.

“So, what if I am,” you asked sweetly, wrapping your hand around his length and pumping him slowly. His eyes closed and he leaned his forehead against your shoulder, fingers now digging into your waist.

“You know what happens when you do that,” Jungkook warned. You absolutely knew what happened, and you definitely wanted it to happen.

“Hmm, I don’t know, maybe you should enlighten me.” You teased him as you gently nibbled on his earlobe, increasing your pace as you continued to stroke him. You heard him let out a soft moan against your shoulder as he placed a kiss there.

With no more hesitation, you turned him slightly and sank down to your knees in front of him, delighted by how his cock jerked in your hold when you steadied it with your hand.

Jungkook stared at you wide-eyed as you started moving your hand around his shaft before placing a gentle kiss on his tip, the prettiest groan falling from his lips. “Fuck, Y/N, are you sure you want to do this?”

You peeked up at him as you fluttered your eyelashes, knowing that seeing you like this always aroused him beyond belief. You continued moving your hand in slow, languid strokes, and he was almost fully hard now.

He let his head hit the wall behind him, soft curses and praises for you tumbling from his mouth.

Seeing him like this had to be near the top of the list of your favorite sights to ever witness. And right then is when you figured it’d be the perfect time to surprise him. Without a warning you opened your mouth and took all of him in that you could reach.

Jungkook’s reaction was immediate.

“Hey wait what are y- oh my God, fuck.” His loud moan echoed off the walls of the room, causing a fresh wave of arousal to pool between your thighs. You sucked harder as you hollowed out your cheeks, ignoring the way your throat constricted around him.

“Y/N, shit, you feel so good, your mouth- fuck, angel, I don’t want to hurt you,” Jungkook was panting hard above you, eyes shut and brows furrowed, jaw slack as he unabashedly continued to moan at your actions. He was reaching behind him to try and hold something, but the smooth wall had nothing to offer him. His fingers were slipping against the tile, so he gave up and instead settled for clenching and unclenching his fists.

You pulled off him with a pop, a string of saliva left in your wake. You smiled up at him as you kept stroking him, not wanting his pleasure to disappear in the slightest.

“You won’t hurt me, Koo,” you reassured him, earning another groan from the man falling apart under your touch. He twitched in your hold, and you stuck your tongue out again to run it along the underside of his length.

Jungkook chanced looking down at you, only to look up at the ceiling a moment later while he muttered a strained “holy shit.”

“C’mon baby, don’t you want to look at me,” you taunted him as your tongue played with the head of his cock, swirling around him. The low groans coming from above you let you know that he enjoyed that a lot.

“Fuck, angel, I-” Jungkook’s sentence died as a moan ripped itself from his throat when you surged back down to take all of him in again. This time you continued moving, feeling the tears in the corners of your eyes but not stopping.

It wasn’t like you’d never sucked him off like this before, seeing as it was one of your favorite activities, after all. But it was a rare occasion where Jungkook would let you take all of him in one go for fear of hurting you. So, you took these chances whenever they presented themselves, and the reward was always, always worth it.

Tears along with the water droplets from the shower were coating your face but you didn’t care. All of your focus was on Jungkook and how he was trying so hard to restrain himself above you. You watched his fists clench and unclench and you could feel himself struggle to keep his hips from moving forward so he didn’t fuck your mouth.

Yeah, you weren’t having that. You wanted him to let go, wanted him to know that it was ok, that you wanted this. You reached out to grab one of his hands and placed it in your hair, relishing in the way his fingers immediately tangled themselves into the wet strands. You pulled your mouth off of him again, but not before letting your tongue drag slowly across every inch of him.

You looked up at him again as you pumped him leisurely, waiting until he brought his gaze down to stare at you, only for him to quickly close his eyes again.

“God, I can’t look at you, like I want to, fuck do I want to, but you look so fucking good like this, I’m not gonna last-”

You always found his stammering to be cute and you didn’t want to torture him too much longer. Deciding that you’d teased him enough, you took all of him into your mouth again, intertwining your fingers with his unoccupied hand and giving it a squeeze. The intimacy of this particular action was always enough to get both of you going, and it had Jungkook’s hips stuttering as you sucked hard.

“Fuck, baby, always take me so good like this. Always so good for me, I love you, fuck,” he was groaning as his head hit the wall behind him again, his hold in your hair tightening the same moment you felt him buck his hips like you’d been wanting all this time.

Unfortunately, for you, whenever Jungkook would fuck your mouth, no matter how much you wanted to sit there and take it without issue, his size always proved to be too big for you to handle and it had you coughing around his length in no time. Which, of course, always made Jungkook stop what he was doing before either of you had the chance to enjoy it much.

“Fuck, baby, I’m so sorry, are you ok?” Jungkook pulled you up while you kept coughing, brushing the wet strands of hair out of your face and looking at you with worry. You nodded and tried to reassure him, wanting to get back on your knees for him, but he held you in place.

“You don’t want me to continue,” you asked, your voice a little more hoarse than usual thanks to what your throat had just endured.

Jungkook shook his head. “No, angel, it’s not that. If you do keep going, I’ll cum in no time.” He brushed some of the water away from under your eyes, not knowing if it was tears or from the shower. He bent down to place a rough kiss on your lips, such a contrast from how his hands caressed your face.

“I want to be inside of you when that happens,” he murmured against you, gently biting down on your bottom lip and pulling a whine from you, in turn causing more wetness to gush between your legs. “If you’ll let me, of course.”

You almost laughed. “Koo, you know I’ll let you do anything at this point.”

He chuckled. “That’s a dangerous admission, baby. You sure about that?”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer. “Of course I’m sure. I’d let you do anything you want because I trust you. Because I love you,” it was your turn to kiss him this time, and it was filled with so much passion it nearly made him dizzy. Jungkook could never get tired of the feeling of your lips against his, of hearing you say that you loved him, of feeling your skin pressed against each other during times like these.

Jungkook was hooked on you and he never wanted to go back to a time where he wasn’t.

You pulled him out of his thoughts as you tugged on some of his hair, earning a delicious sounding grunt from him. You whispered your next snarky comment right by his ear.

“You gonna fuck me now, baby?”

Your bluntness had his cock quickly stirring back to life after it had softened some during your coughing incident. He growled low and dark as he started placing love bites on your collarbone.

“Sure you don’t want me to return the favor first, angel?” He was marking up your skin while he asked this, so you almost didn’t realize what he was asking specifically but then it dawned on you.

“As much I love seeing you with your head between my legs,” you responded, tugging on his hair again, “I’d rather have you fuck me up against this wall.”

He moaned against your collarbone, the action vibrating your skin. He pulled off of you and brought your lips to his in a filthy kiss. “Your wish is my command.”

Jungkook lifted you up then by placing his hands under your ass and you got the message, wrapping your legs around him as he held you up. He turned so your back was against the wall, the only things now holding you up being his strong arms and the smooth tile behind you.

He first plunged two fingers inside you without a warning, making you let out a silent scream. He smirked at the way you clenched around his fingers, scissoring them before pulling them out again. You whined at the loss and he shushed you with a gentle kiss on your nose.

“Had to make sure you’re ready, baby.” He had one arm wrapped around your waist, trapped in between your back and the shower wall. With his now free hand, he lined himself up with your entrance, moaning when the tip of his cock was sucked in by your velvety walls.

“Fuck, you already feel so good and I’m barely in yet,” he clenched his jaw as he sank further into you inch by inch. When he finally bottomed out and was filling you up in the best way possible, you clenched around him to tease him further, making him curse.

“Watch it, angel,” he growled. “You’re gonna make it very hard for me to not blow it if you keep doing that, and I want you there with me when I do.”

“Then I guess you’d better start moving,” you teased, wrapping your arms more tightly around his neck. You knew what was coming next; Jungkook would put you exactly in your place, just like you wanted. And for that you needed to hold on tight for dear life because that man could rock you like nothing ever had before.

Jungkook grabbed your hips firmly in his hold as he fucked up into you, making sure you were held against the wall and weren’t in danger of falling down as he did so. Despite this, each thrust had you sliding more up the wall until he would bring you back down again. When he found a pace that was he was sure he could resume without either of you getting hurt, he finally let go.

To say you saw stars would be an understatement. Jungkook was fucking you with so much vigor that you weren’t just seeing stars, you were sure you were seeing entire galaxies. Your sounds kept dying out on your tongue because the feeling was so overwhelming and it had your trembling around him in no time.

“Can’t make any sounds when I’m fucking you this good, angel?” Jungkook was taunting you now and quite frankly, he was right, he was fucking you so good that you were finding it hard to say anything. And the mixture of his dirty words with the sweet pet name you adored had you clenching even tighter around him, causing him to groan loudly and grip your waist tighter.

You eventually found your voice again when Jungkook hit a certain spot inside of you, pulling an embarrassingly loud whine from your throat. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, tears almost brimming in your eyes once again at how good he felt.

“Fuck, Jungkook, feels so good, oh my God-” your praises made him twitch inside you as he moved his hands now from your waist to hold you up by cupping your ass, squeezing tightly in time with his thrusts. He was bouncing you up and down on his cock now with his strength alone, and the thought of it made your orgasm start to approach at an alarmingly fast rate.

“I love feeling you so close like this, I love you, so fucking much, shit-” Jungkook cut himself off as threw his head back to get his hair out of his face, careful not to let his balance falter or his grip slip on you. He had to do it though because his hair was keeping him from seeing your face now that you were leaning your head back against the wall, and he couldn’t have that.

“I love you, Jungkook, I’m close, fuck,” you were breathing hard as you couldn’t control your moans any longer, eyes squeezed shut and tears falling from just how much pleasure you were receiving and also how much you loved this man. Jungkook was the man you’d loved for so many years before you were finally able to call him yours. He always took care of you in every aspect of life, and you reciprocated it as best you could. And it was because of this kind of love you two had for each other that made these intimate times all the more meaningful. You were sitting here, back up against a shower wall in the arms of the man you loved while he rearranged your guts, and it was such an emotional experience alongside being a pleasurable one that the tears actually made sense.

Jungkook bit down on your shoulder and pulled you out of your reverie, making you cry out as he muffled his own sounds against your skin. You could tell by his thrusts that he was getting close now, his grunts happening more frequently and louder, echoing off the tiled shower walls. The water had already started to get cold but neither of you cared. Nothing outside of the two of you existed in this moment, and that was exactly how you liked it.

“Touch yourself for me, baby, I’m close, want you to be there with me,” Jungkook breathed out, his grip on your ass harsher now and you were sure there’d be marks tomorrow. You loved it when he marked you up, and even though he always felt slightly bad about it, you knew Jungkook loved seeing the marks, too.

You obeyed his command and reached down to rub your clit, nearly shrieking at the new wave of pleasure that washed over you. The sensations on your clit, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside of you, the way he was holding you, and all the things he was saying to you was enough to finally push you over the edge.

“Jungkook, I’m cumming, fuck-” you barely had time to utter out your warning before you were cumming hard around his length, your body spasming as he held you through it.

He sped up then, chasing his own high now, the feeling of your walls clenching around him making his eyes roll back. “Fuck, I can feel you, always so perfect for me, I’m close-”

His eyes were closed now so he didn’t see you reach for him. You pulled him closer so you could kiss him, hoping to help him along this way, swallowing down every beautiful sound he was making. “C’mon Koo, cum for me, wanna feel you fill me up.”

“Fuuuuck,” he moaned out, loud and long as that was the last thing he needed to get him there. His hips stuttered a few more times before you felt him twitch and fill you up, just like you wanted. Because gravity was working against you due to your current position, you could feel some of it dripping out of you despite Jungkook still being inside of you. The feeling made you scrunch up your nose, and the action made Jungkook laugh and mumble out ‘cute’ as he placed a kiss on the tip of your nose.

He pulled out of you carefully before moving you away from the wall so he could set you down on your feet. Your legs were a little wobbly, so he let you brace yourself against him as he helped you clean up.

The water was nearing a very uncomfortable cold temperature, but the both of you would rather endure that than leave the shower without cleaning off completely. After the workout you both had, there was nothing more you wanted than to curl up with each other in the bed.

After helping each other get clean again, and stealing quite a few kisses while doing so, Jungkook helped you out of the shower since you still didn’t trust your legs and dried you off before taking care of himself. Your heart swelled at the sight of him as it always did when he would take care of you like this.

You just hoped that you were taking care of him in all the ways he needed as well. You were certainly trying your best and would continue to do so for the rest of your life.

Once you were both snuggled into bed, him with an arm under you and you with your face nuzzling against his chest, you broke the silence first.

“If that’s what happens when I let you put paint on me, we should do that more often.”

Jungkook, who was tracing invisible patterns on your back in between your shoulder blades, laughed so hard you shook along with him. When he finally calmed down, he was able to answer you. “I totally agree. Although, I don’t think that happened because I painted you. It happened because you-” he booped you on the nose “-teased me, knowing full well what happens when you do.”

You shrugged as best you could with his arms around you. “You love it, though.”

Jungkook chuckled. “Indeed I do.” He placed a kiss on the top of your head and resumed his earlier soothing tracing of patterns on your skin. You rested your cheek against his chest and could hear his heartbeat, slow and steady. The combined actions of his hands and the steady thrum of his heartbeat was enough to have slumber calling your name in a matter of minutes.

Jungkook had something more to say, however.

“Hey,” he called gently, making you look up at him with groggy eyes. He smiled at the sight. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For helping me. For being my muse. I’ve got more ideas now about what else to create, and I don’t think I could’ve gotten there without your help.”

You smiled at him before you placed your head down again and shut your eyes once more, breathing deeply. “You would’ve eventually. That’s just how you are. Maybe I sped up the process, but you would’ve done fine.”

“Perhaps,” he sighed and looked at the ceiling. His glance travelled down to look at your nearly sleeping form, laying on him calm and unbothered. Moments like these topped his list of favorite things, and he wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world.

“Goodnight, angel,” he murmured softly, not sure if you were asleep or not yet. You muttered something unintelligible back, but he knew you were telling him goodnight all the same, and it brought a smile to his face.

Jungkook wanted to tackle life with you, the good, the bad, all of it; he wanted to do it with you by his side. He wanted to make sure every day of your life from here on out was filled with happiness and love and everything you deserved in the world, just as you wanted to do the same for him. He knew you’d do anything for him, and he’d do anything for you.

Only for you.

#bts #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenarios #ofy drabble

542 notes · View notes

ironlvngs · 2 years

Text

— ✭ LINCOLN ‘LINK’ CRAWFORD !

— ✭ PINTEREST

— ✭ PLAYLIST

— ✭ CURRENT CONNECTIONS

— ✭ SUMMER 2023

highlights & keywords; manipulative, “people are temporary” mindset, independent at a very young age, became a mirror to almost everyone at ogden, fake it till you make it, grade A dickhead, abandoned, KIND OF EVIL, closeted nerd, nu metal whore!

is that LINCOLN 'LINK' CRAWFORD? A SENIOR originally from PORTSMOUTH, they decided to come to Ogden College to study JOURNALISM on an ACADEMIC SCHOLARSHIP. they’re THE PUPPETMASTER on campus, but even they could get blamed for greer.

FULL NAME: lincoln crawford

NICKNAMES: link, crawford

SEXUALITY & PRONOUNS: bisexual, he/they

ROMANTIC STATUS: single

BIRTHDAY: january 29th, 2001

HEIGHT: 5″10

BIG SIX: aquarius sun, aquarius moon, taurus rising, scorpio venus, taurus mercury, scorpio mars

HOMETOWN: portsmouth

OCCUPATION: photographer for the school paper + part-time cashier at record store + part-time tattoo artist at tattoo parlour

SIBLINGS: an older brother, very little contact after he moved out at 18 when link was 14

TATTOOS & PIERCINGS: a NOSE RING & a couple of tattoos of random line art from his sketchbook.

MUSE INSPO: jess mariano (gilmore girls), wayne mccollough (wayne), gary smith (bully) max broussard (do revenge), summer (500 days of summer), lucien carr (kill your darlings), eleanor shellstrop (the good place), jason dean (heathers), lip gallagher (shameless), jeff winger (community), steven hyde (that 70’s show), kai parker (the vampire diaries), hank jennings (twin peaks), dennis reynolds (it’s always sunny in philadelphia), weston bergmann (the challenge)

AESTHETICS: ashtray with finished cigarettes and empty bottles of alcohol on the windowsill, red LED lights, a collection of CDs, piles of books all over the place, printed out posters of horror movies, a laugh in the face of authority, dark greens and black filling your wardrobe, ripped jeans, thrifting for home decor and clothes, the smell of cigarettes stuck to clothes, an old camera slinging around your neck, lies that sound genuine, found family.

THREE POSITIVE TRAITS: cunning, charismatic & creative

THREE NEGATIVE TRAITS: kleptomaniac, spiteful & manipulative

THREE SKILLS: photography, lock-picking & persuasion

RELATIONSHIP TO GREER: while seemingly very different on the outside, greer and link found their way to each other and instantly, link read her like a book like he does with most people. while rumors flew, they were nothing more or less than friends — or, at least that's what he would tell everyone.

link is the PUPPETMASTER skeleton because he knew exactly what to say and how to say it to have greer lean towards him and his opinions more than anyone else's. he's skilled in persuasion and is not a stranger to spinning the way things were to make them sound pretty. not lying per se, but adding a bow to everything. he was rarely genuine, due to being guarded and due to his past with his family, and chooses instead to put a mask on. he's also extremely intelligent, so it was easy for him to read people.

EXTRACURRICULARS: photographer for the school paper

EXPOSED SECRETS BY G SO FAR: blackmailing his father that he claimed he didn’t know for money.

— ✭ BACKGROUND !

grew up with an older brother and a single mom. the dad was never in the picture — from what he knows, he split while his mother was pregnant with him.

his mother was basically narcissistic, didn’t give them any attention beyond feeding them and putting them in a school, always gaslit them and needed things to go her way completely. no affection, no support, and no love from their mother.

his brother moved out as soon as he turned 18, leaving link behind with their mother another three years in which they endured even more gaslighting and fighting with her. he did try so hard to see her in the way a child is supposed to see their mother, but that was too hard to hold onto the more they grew older. as for his brother, he hasn’t seen him so much since, and hasn’t quite forgiven him for leaving him behind so quickly. this is where he got his “people are temporary” mindset

learned from all her lying, learned how to fight back against her — everything that she showed him growing up molded him into the person he was today (derogatory). at a young age, link was able to mirror other people and allow them to hear what they wanted to hear in order to get his way, and to get by in his life. to him, it was about survival — but how long would he use that excuse for?

had an old, but still functioning, camera and mostly kept to himself, realizing he really enjoyed taking pictures and got better and better at it over time.

learned how to become independent at a very young age and that the world wasn’t going to do you any favors, applied to colleges on his own. luckily, he was an intelligent kid and had really good grades, which got him an academic scholarship at ogden — without that, he would have never been able to go.

moved into housing, got a job as a cashier and as a tattoo artist at the record store to pay that one off since it wasn’t part of his scholarship.

met greer, became suspiciously close to her despite their vast differences. they hung out with her crowd a lot more, and put those skills he learned in high school to use. link became a mirror to almost everyone at ogden, and climbed his way to the top through gaslighting, gatekeeping, and girlbossing (but in the male manipulator way)

they still feel like no one really truly knows who they really are, and that they need to put on a face for everyone. link fully believed that if they were going to be themself 100% of the time, they would be cast out and despised — if this boy loved himself don’t u think he would be healthy ???? damn.

— ✭ PERSONALITY !

ON THE OUTSIDE, link is a smug, sarcastic, witty guy who seems to be able to fit into most groups that he interacts with. a good number can probably see through his bullshit, but he’ll keep denying it. fake it till you make it is his motto, and it’s worked out well for him so far — it seems to have worked out great with greer. it honestly depends on who they’re talking to — they’ll either be a grade A dickhead, or the nicest boy you’ll ever meet, or someone who’s really into you. but whatever it was, it was almost always a performance.

ON THE INSIDE, he’s extremely smart, and in reality, is still just a kid who’s looking for someone to have his back the way that no one in his family ever did. his issue is that he wants someone to lean on so badly, but refuses to let anyone close enough for that to happen. he still feels abandoned by his brother, and unsupported by his mother... and that’s the kind of thing that he desperately needs but will make it extremely hard for anyone who tries — he trusts absolutely no one. all of his moves, everything he does and everything he says, are carefully calculated and crafted. he looks at people as a vessel for him to get to what he wants… attention, feeling in control, playing with people like puppets before they did that to him first.

OVERALL HES KIND OF EVIL DONT TRUST HIM

their moral compass has been fucked up their whole life — for example, the camera he has that they’ve had their entire life was actually stolen. and he’s not opposed to stealing / shoplifting some more. they’re definitely comfortable lying to people but also comfortable with telling certain people exactly how he felt about them and what he thought about them to their face, if he had nothing to gain from them.

he’s a closeted nerd. if they weren’t studying journalism, they would probably be doing something that had to do with astrophysics, but imposter syndrome is strong within this one.

he’s a lil emo gothy punky mf. some mix between all three, and it shows in their wardrobe and aesthetic (see pinterest board). nu metal whore!

black nail polish and shitty black eye makeup <;3

THE ONLY TIME you will see link being genuinely happy and most himself is when he visits his aunt, his mother’s sister, and her wife. sometimes it feels like she was the only person he had left in the world, and she had decided to take him in after witnessing all that shitshow with his mom and brother.

#ogdenintro

17 notes · View notes

vastayan--vigilante · 2 years

Text

Using tiny details from canon material as tenuous links to support your headcanons be like:

#behind the mask (musings & inspo)#rp crack #rp meme #listen canon material is a sandbox to play in and I'll build what i like with my sand

11 notes · View notes

writefightandflightclub · 4 years

Text

Wanderers: Orestes x reader

Summary: friends to lovers / hurt + comfort but make it Roman, I guess?

Author’s note: this will make more sense if you’ve seen the film, but it’s not essential. This is my first time writing for Orestes (or ever writing historical fiction) so please be kind! And PLEASE tell me if you liked it, loved it, or hated it so I know whether to ever put myself through this again. (This was fun but it took 1000x longer due to Googling a new question about the Romans every 30 seconds. But damn, I learned so much!) Also, I made some definite choices with Orestes’ characterisation and we may not love it, so let me know!

Word count: Why is this 9.5k? I hate myself.

Warnings: 18+only. Unrequited love, explicit smut inc. oral sex, handjob, massage, penetration, fingering, grinding, unprotected sex (wrap it up irl!), cumshot. Language. One mention of period blood. Outdated notions of virginity (one reference). Romans had slaves- this isn’t a key theme. Major historical inaccuracies, probably. Typos, definitely. Slight film spoilers?

Song inspo: Oh wanderer, I've been wondering / If your brown eyes still have color, could I see? / That night, that night with those hands, those hands (Wanderers, Cat Power)

Tagging: (PLEASE ONLY READ IF YOU ARE 18+ REGARDLESS OF TAGS!) @darksideofclarke @damndamer0n @veuliee2 @yougottakeeponkeepinon @himbopoes @phoenixhalliwell @lostgirlheather @justrunamok @aellynera @damerondjarin @blushingwueen @iamthe-shadow-on-the-wall @holybatflapexpert @arabellathorne @yourbucky084 @mandoplease @mylifeliterally @arkofblake @multifandomlife22

“News of it has reached you, then?” Orestes addresses you glumly as you enter the room, looking up at you from where he languishes in the warmth of his bath, soothing away his sorrows. Bright and delicate notes from a lyre resound around the room, the dappled light streaming in from the courtyard seeming to dance and glint in response across the surface of the water. The air is balmy and the room tinged gold as the desert sun sulks towards its dormitory.

You flinch. Of course you’d heard. The whole city had heard tell of Hypatia’s scathing rebuttal of his profession of love. You had come as quickly as you could in order to console the man.

You admire Hypatia, very much, and that admiration extends to her wicked sense of humour; however, you cannot condone any act which inspires such melancholy in Orestes’ eyes as that which greets you. He is a such a gentle, lovesick soul, after all.

You smooth your face, and continue towards him neutrally and calmly, obligingly pouring the large jug of sweet-smelling oils and petals into the waters. You purposefully avoid Orestes’ gaze as he watches you, his arms stretched out along the edge of the square bath. You have prepared his most preferred concoction, and you hope Orestes does not notice the sheen on your brow, resulting from your exertions in acquiring said ingredients from the market at such short notice.

Surreptitiously, you examine Orestes for signs of distress as you dip a hand in to swill the water and circulate the perfumed mixture, steam rising to meet your flushed face. You note his eyes are puffed and bleary as if he has been crying, his curls uncharacteristically mussed.

“You look as though you might offer me counsel.” Orestes breathes, reading the set of your face with ease. He knows it is unlike you to bite your tongue. Straightforwardness is a quality Orestes admires in women; or, at least, in the few he keeps close. Further, it is a quality he more than tolerates in you, despite your mismatched positions within the household.

“One as lowly as I could not dream of it, Orestes.” You speak coolly and liltingly, in well-rehearsed tones, your voice nevertheless imbued with a bite and authority beyond your station. Your eyes glint subtly with humour as you proceed. “Indeed, I am not as endlessly wise as the esteemed company to which you are accustomed.” You hope you have masked the condescension in your tone sufficiently. As much as you admire Hypatia, occasionally you do stray too close to envy.

“And yet, your eyes are busy with thoughts enough for ten scholars,” Orestes observes, inhaling the perfumes deeply as the sweet musk begins to circulate.

You merely deliver him a wry smile, eyes cast downwards towards the motion of the swirling petals and oil droplets beneath your fingers. “And yet I bite my tongue. It is a skill you may hope to emulate, one day, pupil.”

His eyes shine gently in response to the soft fun you poke at him. “Come, girl. I will at the very least have your skilful fingers calm me. I will accept that as a form of counsel, if you would deliver it.” You finally look at him, your gaze flicking towards his umber eyes and finding them soft and cautious. It is not a command – not in the slightest, although it holds the appearance of one, as befits your position. Instead, you alone recognise it as a plea for comfort, from one friend to another. “You may continue to mock me, if you so wish. Indeed, mockery of Orestes is the favoured activity of the day, for all in Alexandria.”

You may not be a slave, but neither are you Orestes’ equal. He could command you, but the man, ever since he was a boy and you a girl, has only ever treated you with kindness. Still, though he may lapse and appear to forget that you serve him, the thought that you are here only through charity seldom escapes you. Despite that you are of noble birth, your parents had died before you could be married off, leaving a burden of bad debt and ill-repute behind. Orestes’ father had taken you in, owing to the deep, brotherly bond he shared with your own father. So, in the years following, you have worked for your keep. You know you are lucky to find yourself in such a rare and happy position, still being able to enjoy a moderate level of freedom. Plus, your duties are typically performed in service of Orestes, which favours you greatly. You carry them out not only with dedication, but with a song in your heart.

“Certainly, Orestes,” you state, obligingly. “And rather than mocking you, I shall meditate on your superior qualities. I will pray that something comes to mind before the bathwater cools.” You can’t help but chide him fondly, as is habit, and you are pleased that it tugs a hint of a smile from him, at least.

You climb the marbled steps up to the edge of the raised bath, coming to perch behind him where he luxuriates. You lean, reaching for the metal vessel to your side, and from it you drizzle some aromatic oil onto your hands, promptly beginning to massage the meat of Orestes’ shoulders with your deft and expert touch. You take considerable pride in the fact you can usually alleviate the man’s sorrows. Tonight, however, his muscles feel particularly taut, and you must knead him with greater vigour than usual in attempts to dispel the anguish from his body.

Orestes hums against your touch as you settle into your work and find the optimum pressure, though he does not collapse against you to the usual extent. Your brow furrows in concern as you detect the day’s pain and no doubt humiliation in his body. Hypatia had handed him a rag soiled with the blood of her cycle, in front of the whole Agora, unequivocally dismissing his affections. You could not imagine a harsher public rebuttal. Still, there is something to be said for clarity, you suppose.

“I can feel the words in your fingers, girl. I can hear them in your clipped breathing. What is it that you would tell me?” Orestes prompts, and it causes you to still your aggravated breath. It seems that his body is more in tune with your touch than you might expect – seemingly, he can read you as well as you can read him. “Speak plainly, I beg you. Not one of the slaves will counsel me with truth - only theatre and deflections. They will not admit I am cursed.” Orestes complains in a cracked voice, with a wave of his hand towards the slaves standing by with bowls of lye soap and strigils.

“Orestes...” you whisper, softly chiding this dramatic, lovesick fool in hushed tones. “It is a shame you have not pursued a vocation in the theatre yourself, as you oftentimes tend towards the dramatic.”

He huffs out a breath. “Perhaps there is truth in that. Though when love plays out as a tragedy and a comedy -at my expense- what other option is there except to take the stage and denounce this cruel pageant to any who will listen?”

You dig the heels of your hands more firmly into his shoulder blades, satisfied as the ministration finally earns a grunt of pleasure from him.

“Orestes,” you begin as your hands continue to work him. “I would willingly provide an audience for you. Most men think and speak, and yet feeling is like thinking to you. Indeed, whatever is in your heart becomes breath, and I always delight in hearing it.” There is no man you know with such an active heart. “However, I implore you, for a moment now be still and let your heart rest. Let me soothe you, rather than stirring the waters.”

Orestes sighs deeply and then gestures to the slaves. “A moment, please? Leave us, will you?” Orestes asks with a waft of his hand, and they pad obediently out of the room. “And get this lyre out of here, for its happy, mocking notes only ail me further. I can safely declare that music is not the antidote to love I was promised.”

“Shush, Orestes. Still your passions and let me wash your hair,” you soothe. You lift a red earthenware bowl and have Orestes tip his head back, so that you may wet and rinse his luxurious crown of curls. Your fingers weave into the inky tendrils to massage his scalp, your ministrations drawing a contented moan from him. The sound comes like honey, warm and liquid, sweet on his lips, and it undeniably stirs your hunger. You can’t help but trail your eyes over his bare form. His curls are wetted and slick, pink petals clinging to him, making him appear alike to one of the muses, albeit in his male form. His shoulders and back gleam with the glistening concoction of oil and water, the low, golden sun from the courtyard deepening the tan tones of his skin. Orestes is beautiful. Truly beautiful.

Hypatia had spurned him, and you could not understand it. If you could have a man such as Orestes dote on you the way he dotes on his teacher, you are certain you would not be so quick to dismiss his affections. You are certain that you would welcome them. You would welcome his touch. You would welcome his lips. Your thoughts race towards forbidden, carnal ends, and you clench your thighs together, as if you may be able to contain the swell of your arousal.

You sigh involuntarily, a brief whimper of melancholy escaping you as well as you consider the hopelessness of your own plight, and the sound snatches Orestes from the surrounding calm you have instilled in him. Even so, when his voice finds you it is smoothed and steady; no longer as cracked. His tone is more informal, and casual, now that you are truly alone.

“What is it you wish to say, sweet girl? You insist that I still my breath, so I beg you to speak. You need not withhold the truth from me,” he insists. “Can you tell me what I did so wrong? I have been relentless in my pursuit of music-making, so much so that the Gods cruelly visit aulos upon me in my dreams. When it is not her I am seeing, of course… Or, sometimes it is both visitations, sent entirely to mock me, I am certain.”

He still holds out some hope then, even now? Bless his dear heart. You keep your voice soft. As soft as the waning sunlight and the hazy air. As soft as his curls.

“Sweet soul,” you begin, squeezing his shoulders gently to brace him for your words. “I speak the truth out of kindness.” Your words are thick; dripping slowly from your lips. “You seek something from Hypatia which she cannot and will not give you, Orestes. There are others who would freely give what she withholds. To them you must turn.”

“That may be true,” he concedes, “but I want no-one else.” The lovesick man responds dolefully, his shoulders slouching and his voice small. No-one else. No-one at all, then?

You do not hate Hypatia. The woman is free to love or not to love as she wishes. You do, however, hate Orestes’ pain. You hate the love which spawned it. This tragically wasted, unrequited love, which is so abundant within him that he has become alike to an overflowing jug, liquid spilling forth from his eyes as his muse remains unwilling to drink his love down. You would drink from him. You would quench yourself on him as if parched, if he would allow it. You would dance in the waters of his fountain and consider yourself blessed.

“Shush, Orestes. It pains me that you are hurting so,” you soothe, your heart shattering on his behalf as you feel a gentle sob wrack his chest. Your usual balms are evidently not potent enough, and so, it seems, you will be required to concoct a more fitting remedy. “Will you lay on the massage table? Will you let me soothe your whole body? Your anguish is so that I cannot work it from your shoulders alone.”

Orestes twists in his position, turning his head towards you, tears glistening in his eyes like stars in a night sky. What if the sky is perpetually crying, as all of its planets are doomed to wander?

“Sparrow, I will gladly accept your magic fingers, and whatever form of comfort they might offer. The Gods blessed you with such skill and in turn they bless me.”

You smile softly, a guiding hand on his shoulder. “Come then, sweet man.”

“Ah, she no longer mocks me? I shall have to remember the effects of my teary supplications upon you.”

Orestes’ eyes sheen softly as he launches himself from the waters, his nude body shining and as sculpted as the marbled statues of the Agora, not a hint of self-consciousness as he parades over towards the table. You allow Orestes to prepare himself whilst you fetch fresh oils, noting that your robes suddenly feel too heavy and stifling even for the subdued evening heat. You strip off an outer layer, knowing that you will become further flustered as your hands begin their roam all over Orestes’ body. A desire twists in your stomach at the thought and you try to push it aside, focussing whole-heartedly on your pledge to soothe him.

You tug the lush red curtains closed to form a partition around the table, and when you turn back toward him, Orestes has laid himself out on the stone massage table, face down, his crown of curls quickly air-drying and crinkling. As you approach, you can’t help but take in the sight of him all stretched out, in particular his shapely legs and the curve of his buttocks, which are more than pleasing to you. Beads of oil still adorn his skin like glistening jewels, and your urge to touch him deepens.

Clearing your throat gently to indicate your readiness you move close, and Orestes hums softly in acknowledgment. You gently position his legs with unobtrusive and swift hands, moving them slightly apart from one another, and set his arms down by his sides, his palms facing the sky. “Comfortable?” you ask, trying desperately to keep your voice even.

“Yes, sparrow,” he says, as if pre-emptively grateful for whatever relief you care to offer him.

Taking a deep, centring breath, you again pour oil into your palms and rub until it is warmed. Then, despite the stirring and chaos in the rest of your body, your hands are sure and practised as they greet his skin. Orestes is firm and smooth beneath your caress. The man is no gladiator; he is a scholar, a thinker, and his body reflects that. His skin is not marred by battle scars, nor do his arms swell with cultivated muscle. Orestes does have a pleasing natural meat to him, and his body manages somehow to be both soft and strong; alike to his heart, perhaps. You have had dealings with gladiators- many of them brutes, and Orestes’ rarer softness is perhaps what enamours him to you. He may not have cultivated muscles, yet he conscientiously cultivates his mind and his heart. Of course, he has yet to cultivate his tongue, and often speaks too soon, but you can forgive him that. You much prefer straight-talking.

Focussed on easing Orestes, you work your hands into every part of him, relieving all of the knots you can find. Your fingers and thumbs work and knead and strum the muscles beneath his flesh until blissed out sounds are all he can emit, as if you play his body like a lyre, plucking resonant tones of happiness from him.

A sense of satisfaction overcomes you with each contented noise. If Hypatia will insist upon making Orestes cry, making his overflowing jug crack, your caress will insist on moving like potter’s hands over him. Your hands will replenish him as if he were clay; will fill in all of the fissures and restore his shape. You will pledge to leave him more whole than you found him. In pursuit of this, your hands move over his shoulders, his back, his arms, his buttocks, thighs, and calves – even the palms of his hands and his fingers. The action is almost meditative, as you focus in your mind’s eye on turning him to clay. On pushing aside the fact it is Orestes you are touching in such an intimate manner.

“Hmmm,” Orestes hums in praise, once you have rubbed him into near boneless-ness. “They say the planets seek to orbit the earth in perfect circles, but I attest that it is your hands which move in perfect circles, sweet girl.”

Your heart flutters like a locust’s wings at his words of praise, even as you continue tending to him.

You do feel as if you have rubbed perfect circles into his flesh – simply because you feel no other flesh could be as perfect. Who needs Ptolemy or mathematics, when you have the path of your hands over his body? A path you could follow forever, your hands -through practice- finding their most perfect route around him. Learning him more deeply, as you so wish to. Still, to distract yourself from your wants, you focus intently upon the meditative quality of circles repeating.

Circles like orbits. Like cycles. Like a potter’s wheel. Like the circles of his eyes, as warm in colour as worked clay. Like circular breath. Like the mouth of an empty vase. Like gaping spaces wishing to be filled.

You attempt to calm your quickening breath as your thoughts wander, and before long, you wonder if Orestes -oblivious to your wheeling thoughts- has fallen asleep beneath your touch, until you hear him softly suspire. “You are too good to me, dove. I note how well you care for me,” he admits, tentatively. “Of the two of us, I at least pray to the Gods that you can find the happiness which I cannot. It is what you deserve.”

“Do you praise me merely that I might continue, Orestes?” you deflect, as coolly as possible, a thin smile on your face despite your shock at the earnestness of his words. “Turn over and I shall attend to your front now, do not fear.”

He turns over, gladly, as you set about applying more oil, your hands working over his form. You rub his shapely arms and chest, feeling his nipples pebble beneath your touch, inducing a throaty moan from him. You work down his toned stomach and the slight curve and softness of his lower abdomen. You carefully massage up his shins before dedicating greater effort and pressure to the meat of his thighs. The more that you touch him, the more acutely you become aware of the few places you neglect to touch him, until it is all you can think of.

You know he reads you well, and you fear you may be entirely transparent as Orestes reclines on his back, watching you with an intent fascination as you run your hands all over his body. The act, like this, feels a hundred times more intimate. You cannot tell yourself he is inanimate, like clay beneath your touch- now he is a finished work of art before you and his living, breathing presence causes a plague of locusts to flutter nervously in the pit of your belly.

Orestes is overwhelmingly beautiful like this. He has his arms folded behind him, his head propped-up on his interlaced hands. When you finally glance at him, it is merely for a fleeting moment. That is as long as you can bear to look into his deep, intense eyes, or see his tongue darting out keenly over his plush lower lip when your gaze snags there. A gulp trails down your throat and you quickly look down, focussing on where your touch conscientiously works Orestes’ upper thighs. This does little to ease your growing nervousness, especially as you see his exposed member begin to engorge, rising to sit proudly upon his stomach.

You suck in an involuntary gasp when you take in the size of him, half-hardened, feeling that his sword -if fully erect- would certainly be an intimidating weapon. You don’t mean to keep looking; however, once you are looking, you can’t seem to look away. Orestes is pretty there too. So pretty, and so readily responding to you. He is girthy and well-proportioned, plucked hair at the base of him giving him a smooth, clean appearance, and allowing you to see every veined, ruddy inch of him.

You gulp at the thought of him swelling to his full capabilities, and a heat overtakes your loins and you imagine what your hands might do to satisfy this very particular stiffness. As you imagine how you might oil him here too and feel him hard and slippery in your hands, hearing the obscene, wet noises of the slickness around his length as you work him.

Lost in your fantasies, the sudden absence of your touch signals to Orestes that you have concluded your efforts, and he props himself up on his elbows with a lazy, half-lidded gaze. Almost appearing drunk with relaxation, he hums contentedly and this time you swear you feel it reverberate in your core.

“How is it you are able to both soothe and arouse me? My whole body is singing obediently like a plucked string, resonating from your touch.” His breathy words curl beneath your skin and have you singing for him too, your arousal spreading through your body like the warmth of dawn over the horizon.

Orestes’ oiled figure appears like a cast of bronze in the subdued light, the contours of him gleaming and shadowed all at once. His dark eyes are blackened with lust like the mouths of caves, dark and inviting, and all you want to do is climb into him and be surrounded. He always looks so soft to you. So delicate and beautiful. But suddenly, laid out for you like this? He looks masculine and sharp. He looks virile and rough and…

Oh Gods, you think as you snatch your hands away from his body, lest you might cave to your weaknesses. You should not be having these thoughts about your master. About your friend.

You mind flails for a course of action, thinking that it would be proper to move away. To offer him some wine to further soothe him. To, at the very least, do something other than stare at him, yet you feel drunk on him too after so long with him beneath your caress. You don’t want to stop touching him. It is not enough to hold him in your hands. You want to tip him to your lips and drink him down, deep, deep into you.

“Give me your hands, dove,” Orestes asks softly, looking up at you from beneath the fan of his thick, dark lashes.

It is not often that you are lost for words, or that you lose your cool. However, at this moment, your breath is strangled in your throat as if your desire has made your very spirit wane. You can scarce muster movement. Still, you manage to offer your hands to him as he commanded, presenting them to him tentatively as if they are tied at the wrists, unsure what he wishes to do with them once he has them in his possession. Will he thrust his shaft into your hand here and now and have you pleasure him?

In fact, twisting to prop himself on a single elbow, sweet, sweet Orestes wraps his free hand around both of your wrists and brings your hands towards his lips, softly pressing a kiss to each palm in turn as he looks up at you, reverently. The gesture is so soft and so sensual that it brings tears to your eyes.

Oh, how you have longed for a kind touch from him. How you longed that he might press his hands or his lips to you. You routinely pour your comfort into him until he is full and free from cracks. If Orestes is an overflowing jug, by the Gods you are parched. You are an empty vessel and you need to be filled.

“My sweet dove and your magic healing wings,” he praises, his voice slowed and hushed. “If she is my injury, you are surely my balm.”

You huff out air at his words, looking down at the floor in an effort to control the burgeoning tears and tightness blooming in your chest.

“Orestes…” you protest, weakly.

His words are kind and sweet, yet they serve as nothing more than a reminder that you do not stir him. You are well aware you can make Orestes feel peace, yet you wish to excite him as she does. You wish you could summon a storm within him rather than calm waters.

Feeling a little raw and a little caught off guard, you continue, your frayed heart wanting desperately to assert some kind of dominion over him, however tenuous. “While I cannot rival her, I attest that I might provide you something which she cannot give to you.”

“Tell me. What?” Orestes asks, still clasping one of your wrists loosely in the grip of his warm fingers, unthinkingly tracing the pad of his thumb over your oily skin, his eyes languidly wandering previously untraversed routes over the contours of your body.

You boldly continue, a slight quaver in your voice. “Do you not wish to feel desired, Orestes? Do you not wish to feel loved, like you give but don’t receive in kind? I can make it so.”

Orestes laughs disbelievingly then – a warm, deep chuckle. The resonant rumble is jarring in the somewhat still night, evening birdsong and cicadas the only other sounds within the room. He breaks contact with you, and that jars you too. “To which God would I pray to achieve such a feat? Even the pagans do not possess numerous enough gods to make it so, no matter how I may try and appease them.”

Orestes swings his legs around and comes to a sitting position on the stone slab of a table, his hand coming to cup your chin in wonderment and concern that you still refuse to meet his gaze.

“I desire you, Orestes,” you state plainly, your words blurting from you like wine from the neck of an uncorked vessel, served by a drunken man. You can no longer contain them and you offer them indiscriminately. “To be desired - is that not tempting?” You look him right in his umber eyes, your voice faltering, your teeth worrying your lower lip. “Am I at all tempting to you?”

“Sweet girl...” Orestes deflects, caught off-guard himself, his brow furrowing in disbelief as his eyes search yours. He finds no hint of mocking behind them.

“I have seen your sword swollen with need whenever I bathe you, Orestes,” you continue, your voice husky. “While you relax beneath my hands. I know that there must be an inkling of desire within you.” Your voice is little more than breath billowing in the space between you. “Won’t you let me touch you, with my whole, willing body?”

A hard swallow bobs in Orestes’ corded neck, his tongue trailing along each of his lips in turn. The air in between you mingles and becomes charged. However, you know Orestes speaks with his heart. It will take more than a willing body for him to submit to you, you wager. As expected, you look into his eyes and find hesitation there.

Can you really not tempt him, then? Are you so unlovely that he will not take what you freely offer? The fear of such rejection flares in you, and so you offer an unthinking, last-ditch effort. “You can even close your eyes and think of her while I touch you, if you wish.”

At that, Orestes delivers you a grimace, as if he has tasted bitter fruit. “That would be wrong. You should know better than that.”

A flush creeps over you and you wring your hands together, your manner becoming uncommonly deferential, your head bowed. “I apologise. I know you would not soil Hypatia with such actions. Forgive me my insolence.”

You fear punishment. Orestes has never punished you, yet you have never gone so far in your disrespect of Hypatia. However, you are surprised when his hands travel to yours to grip them firmly in his instead.

“Dove, save your apologies. I would not soil Hypatia in such a way and nor would I soil you. You deserve more than that, beautiful, sweet thing.” Orestes’ eyes are soft and searching as he looks upon you, and you are floored again by his disarming sweetness. “By the Gods, why on earth would you offer yourself to me in such a way?”

“Surely you understand, Orestes,” you respond in a small voice. “Wouldn’t you give yourself to her, in any way she would willingly have you?”

Orestes clasps your hands a little more tightly, his thumbs smoothing over your skin in attempts to calm your evident agitation. “Yes, I would,” he admits, though not proudly. “Without doubt, yes. But I am an idiot; hopelessly, pathetically in love.” Orestes speaks plainly, in a self-deprecating manner, as if the situation is both obvious and absurd.

You tug in a breath on which to launch your confession, praying for smooth sailing as the air catches in your words. “And I too am hopelessly, pathetically in love, Orestes. Though I maintain it is only you that is an idiot.” You add insult to injury, just for good measure, hoping the teasing may lighten the burden of your confession.

Confusion then realisation dawn on Orestes’ face and you look bashfully down to the floor as you continue, an involuntary tear forming on your cheek like a glistening trail of a comet through the night sky.

“In that, at least, you and I are equal, if weighed by the measure of our unrequited loves.” you profess, solemnly. A delicate laugh at the comedy of your misfortune ekes out of you then, puncturing some of the tension. “Two of us in love but not desired by our muse. Perhaps the both of us are cursed.”

Orestes looks upon you with a melancholic smile. With sudden affinity. He knows all too well how it feels to be in your shoes. Yet, he similarly has no words of comfort to offer you. He can only counsel you with truth. You wonder, as you look upon him, whether the Gods cursed him with melancholy, yet blessed him with eyes that were beautiful enough to carry it.

“Aren’t we a lonely pair?” he asks, finally, and he leans his head into your bosom dejectedly, accompanied by a hearty exhale. Still, he allows your fingers to tangle in his hair. He does not pull away from the comfort offered as your arms wind around his shoulders. You accept his comfort, in turn, as his arms wrap firmly and pleasingly around your waist.

“We are alike to the wanderers,” you breathe, speaking of the lonely planets and their blind, unfathomable orbits through the dark. Then: “Orestes?” you venture, idly stroking the back of his neck as his hands slip further down your back, shifting to your hips, his breathing becoming more ragged. He looks up at you as you speak his name, his eyes brimming with a quiet vigour. “Tonight, instead of feeling like a wanderer, you could be the centre of the universe. Might we not allow ourselves to feel a little less lonely, if only for a moment? Don’t you want someone who orbits you?”

“Sweet girl...” Orestes breathes. “You want more than I can give you.” Still, he is tugging you closer to him, holding you more tightly.

Your eyes rove hungrily over him. You cannot help it. “I am no fool, sweet man. I know well that I do not have your heart… yet I venture there is somewhere else I might make you pump blood, is there not?”

Orestes’ tongue darts over his lower lip again, the planes of his face looking sharp and angled, half in shadow. Orestes looks at you. Really looks at you, with those glinting and dark half-moon eyes of his. You pump your eyebrows suggestively as his eyes land on you with a questioning gaze, delivering him your most seductive stare from beneath your lashes.

“You are tempting, aren’t you?” Orestes teases with the hint of a cheeky smile, his lips tipping up at the corners. His face begins to come alive with it, before his cheeky edge is blunted by reverence. “In fact,” he teases, shifting his hands even lower on your hips and gently squeezing, “you are beautiful. These hungry looks you bestow upon me? You provide a certain beauty she cannot rival. She will never look at me the way you do, with desire lighting your eyes.” You can but hope that she will seem henceforth like an unfeeling stone in comparison to the liquid desire flowing through you.

“Let me, Orestes,” you plead. “Let me look at you and beauty will prosper in my eyes with every inch of you my gaze falls upon.”

“You truly desire me?” Orestes asks, nestling his head into your bosom again.

“Yes, this is the truth of things,” you respond in earnest. “It is my desire to comfort you in all the ways I know how.”

Orestes becomes bolder with your revelation, his fingers skimming lower, ghosting over your buttocks and splaying over your upper thighs, squeezing you there. “Your legs are quaking, sweet. Is this all for me?”

Both of your breaths are coming quickly, heaving in your chests. You tip your head back and moan silently into the air as his fingers dig into the meat of you, expelling affirmatives from your lips.

“Then tell me exactly. How do you imagine I may achieve such comfort?”

“When you take yourself in your hand, how does it feel?” you question in sultry tones, your hands pawing at any inch of him you can reach, skimming down his back.

“It feels pleasurable.” Orestes responds obediently, a quiver in his voice.

“Now, imagine how my skilful fingers might instead relieve your stiffness. Won’t you allow me to soothe you?”

“Yes. Yes, I will allow it. Come then and soothe me, sweet thing.” A playful, tempting smile blooms on his face, and, sitting on the edge of the slab of the table, Orestes leans back on to his hands, creating space between your bodies. It causes you to double take at the sight of him all over again, nude and oiled and his sword brandished. His eyes flick down to his proud length and you follow his gaze there.

“My sword blazes for you, dove. I am on fire as I keenly await your touch, if you would give it.”

You swallow thickly and keenly oil your palms, again warming the lubricant before you touch him. Your heart thrums in your chest now like the wings of a songbird taking flight. Then, you touch him everywhere except there, brushing against his length with only your thumbs and fingertips, until he pleads that he can take no more teasing. Finally, and with disbelieving relish, you take his fully engorged member into your hands. Starting at the tip and wrapping your hand, you slide one hand and then the other down his shaft, all the way to the base of him, making him slick. Orestes’ hips stutter into your hand from this simple motion alone.

“Your hands are as magic as ever, sweet girl,” Orestes chokes, as if he might spill his seed for you in mere moments. He emits a deep rumble from his chest as you massage him there, both hands on his shaft. There are wet sounds as you coat him until he is gleaming, and as you circle your thumb over the head of him whilst you pump and tug him in the grip of your palms, as if you intend to milk him dry. You squeeze him firmly and add a slight twist to your wrists as you work him, fascinated by the size and hardness and contours of him. Orestes throws his head back, a strangled moan emanating from his slack mouth as his eyes flutter closed from the sensations. He looks as though he might collapse from them, his arms shaking and barely supporting him.

“My dove, the things you are making me feel are surely sent from Elysium.” His voice is like warm desert sand slipping through your fingers, rough and soft all at once.

“You deserve it, Orestes,” you gush. “I want to make all of you feel good. I want to give you everything,” you admit, your voice filled with veneration.

When Orestes tips his head back down from the skies his eyes are hungry. He’s never looked at you like this before. Like a wolf emerging from a cave. Just for a moment, he looks at you as he looks at her, and you feel as bright as the midday desert sun.

“Tell me. What might I give you? My head under your skirts? My fingers buried in you?”

“I am not finished giving to you yet,” you purr. With relish, you sink to your knees, placing your hands flat on Orestes thighs, dipping your lips towards his shaft.

Orestes moans in anticipation, yet tugs lightly on your hair to prevent you from sinking down on him, momentarily. “Your most sacred body part?”

“The Christians believe that. You’re a pagan, Orestes. Let me suck you?”

Orestes nods affirmatively and throws his head back in another open-mouthed moan as your wet mouth finds the tip of him, your tongue winding around his head and the contours of him. He feels warm and fleshy, and his girth strains and swells against your mouth, ridges and veins slipping past your tongue as you flatten it to dip you head all the way down the shaft of him. Sucking on him is divine, the uncharacteristically gruff and desperate noises coming from his mouth spurring you on.

Orestes flails and tugs helplessly at your hair after your continued efforts. “Ungg. Stop, my bird, else I will reach my peak. Your mouth is even more magic than your hands.”

You slide your mouth from his shaft slowly and with a pop, looking up at him deviously with cock-swollen lips. “Now you are trembling, Orestes. Is this all for me?” you purr, tone dark with lust. He moans again, merely from the sight of how carnal and delectable you look like this.

“I want to touch you,” he pleads, desperately. “I need to look upon you. Will you undress for me?”

Touching Orestes and giving him pleasure is one thing, though you don’t know if you can bear him touching you without becoming vapour. Without erupting. A gulp trails down your throat yet you nod keenly. You unfasten clasps and ties and slip the diaphanous fabric away from your body, your robes cascading to the floor in a gathered heap like a despondent cloud.

“Fuck.” Orestes intones gruffly as his eyes trail over you, and he appears to have stalled as he is met with the sight of you. Crude words from his lips are rare, in comparison to his profanity-loving brethren. That the curse is delivered with a voice full of grit and hooded eyes, that you inspired it, has your core clenching around nothing as he looks over every inch of your body in awe and obvious approval.

You move slowly and fluidly towards him, your movements sultry, and Orestes regains his faculties as the need to touch you rather than merely stare at you overtakes him. He takes the jug of oil and tips some into his own hands, rising to stand close enough to you that the tip of his erection presses enthusiastically against your hip. Then, after awaiting a nod from you, he reaches his hands up to rub oil over your breasts, seemingly fascinated by the way your nipples harden beneath his meticulous fingers. He pinches and rolls them and his touch has your core positively molten.

You moan for him, extending your arms out to his shoulders to steady yourself as he puts his hands on you. No-one has touched you like this. Not once in your life have you been touched with such softness.

“You swoon for me, sweetness?”

“I cannot fathom such a divine touch. I think that I must be within a dream for I have your hands upon me.”

Orestes spins you, so that you may steady yourself against the edge of the stone slab, moving to press his hot body against you, burying his head into the crook of your neck.

“Do not place yourself below me, sweet thing. I intend for us to be equals in our pursuit of pleasure.” He speaks into your neck as his lips drag along your skin, his sprouting stubble grazing you there- the only rough part of him. “Tell me that you desire me, dove.”

“I desire you,” you offer the words to him freely.

“And I you.” he says earnestly, laden with need, his admission sending a shudder all the way down to your core.

Your faces are close now, your fractured breath mingling in the tight space between you, and this heat, oh gods this heat growing between your legs. You cannot help but dip your head as if to kiss him, your forehead resting against his and noses brushing as you whimper and whine with need.

“I cannot exchange breath with you. We must not.” Orestes protests weakly as your lips skim his. Now you understand this regard for your mouth is not simply some Christian notion. You understand that Orestes wishes to save his own breath for Hypatia. Even now.

“She will not love you like this,” you reason, your bluntness a product of your furious need.

Orestes groans and looks perplexed by indecision, even as his hands trail wantonly over your buttocks.

“And yet, I orbit her all the same,” he says resignedly.

“The planets travel the most perfect path possible,” you bargain into his neck. “Yet you insist on travelling the path with most opposition.”

“My heart may be foolish, yet my hands might travel the smoothest path, hmm?”

At that, Orestes’ hands move between your legs, his oiled fingers skimming your clit and your drenched folds. You practically sob into the air. It feels too good. It feels divinely good.

“Will this do, then?” his cheeky smile resurfaces as you buck against his touch, your heat already so sensitive and responsive to him.

“Don’t stop, Orestes. Don’t stop,” you plead and moan, body lurching against him, as you become a trembling mess. You can scarce believe that Orestes’ naked body is held warm against yours, the promise of his erection still pressing against you - still rock hard for you.

“I think there is a way we can both be comforted, dove,” Orestes speaks, his voice overflowing with need. If you wish it, I would have you on top of me as you grind this delicious mess on my sword.”

“Yes. Oh Gods, yes.” Your request is breathy, as if your throat is parched.

Orestes shifts to lay himself out on the table again, taking your hand and guiding you to straddle him. You settle your core over the top of his shaft, your folds pressing up against the length of him. You glide yourself all along the straining mass of him, coating him in your juices; massaging him with your heat alone and shifting your hips in whatever pattern allows you to best caress and engulf him in your warmth and friction. Even without penetration, the sensations are blissful, and you writhe together as each stroke heightens your shared pleasure. Each time you dip your folds wantonly over the head of him, his cock twitches to meet you, as if in attempt to be swallowed entirely by your heat.

Orestes tips his hips up into you, pinning your own hips with his hands, increasing his pressure against your slick as his hardened length slips and slides against you. The way his head skims rhythmically against your clit, the way your folds swallow and caress the tip of him, and the blunt pressure against your entrance have you whimpering for him. You think the pleasure between your thighs must be at the centre of all creation, and you are enthralled by its force as you orbit it.

You loll forward, almost completely limp and unravelled by bliss already. Your hands fall to either side of Orestes’ torso to steady yourself, boxing him in and creating an intimate circle with your arms, your faces close, moans billowing right into each other’s ears, cheeks, necks. Lips hovering close.

“You make me feel so good,” you moan. “Kiss me, Orestes. Please. I beg you. Kiss me just once as if you love me.” your words are breathy and hurried and needy, your coolness entirely undone.

Orestes groans as he continues to grind against you. “I cannot do that, my dove.”

“Then please… please just kiss me?” you beg as you writhe your wetness all over him with increasing pace.

He folds his knees to the rear of you so that he may plant his feet and press himself even more firmly to you. The motion adjusts his angle and he strikes your clit just right, causing you to shiver and deliver a throaty, brazen “fuck” into the air.

At that, Orestes looks at your lips with a growl, and finally caves to his desire. First, he presses a chaste prayer to your lips. It’s as if he tries his utmost to kiss you like he loves you. Perhaps as if he attempts to will it so. However, the truth of it is, he desires you, and as soon as his lips taste yours his mouth returns even hungrier than he began. With his next kiss, your tongues mingle softly, like dissolving honey, before the kiss grows in intensity. With his next, his mouth is opening to devour yours, his tongue probing and tasting the cave of you, your moans stifled as his soft lips crush against you.

“I wish I could hold you inside of me,” you say longingly into his kiss as you approach your peak.

“I wish it could be so, my sweet. Alas, I cannot release my seed inside you, and nor can I take your innocence. That gift is yours to give to whomever you may marry.”

“Orestes, you sweet fool. I am not innocent. And there is no other I would marry. You may not love me, Orestes, but I orbit you all the same.”

As the sensations intensify, you enjoy the slick, solid mass of him beneath you. You relish edging him closer and closer towards his end. Lost in the throes of pleasure, Orestes clasps you to him so tightly, his arms surrounding you in a perfect circle. You writhe and moan and whimper for each other, your crushing embrace at once both melancholic and urgent, his lips meeting yours again and again in desperation, as if famished. You taste salt and you know not whether it is he who is crying or you, or some combination, but it doesn’t matter in this moment. You would drink his tears down. Drink all of him down.

“I will find my peak in only moments,” you warn. “I will reach it soon.”

“And I too. Come, get beneath me,” Orestes suggests, his typically smooth voice ragged.

He flips you urgently and you settle beneath him, legs spread open, more than ready for him to nestle between them.

“You truly wish to have me inside of you?” he asks, examining your face for any hint of hesitation.

“Yes, Orestes. Yes. Please.”

He rubs your clit skilfully until you are evidently on the edge of bliss, maintaining a blunt pressure against your entrance with the tip of him. Finally, he dips to plant kisses on your lips, your neck, your chest as he drives his whole length forward, sheathing himself in your warm, surrounding depths. One thrust is all it takes and you are clenching around him, writhing in a display of pleasure, moans directed at the sky in praise of the Gods as your release bursts through you like the birth of a flaming sun.

Orestes mutters strings of soft praise and crude profanities into the air. His breaths become laboured gusts of air as he attempts to stave off his end whilst you tighten so deliciously around him, his eyes screwing shut as he brings himself under control, his body trembling.

“Where, sweet? Where?” he manages to choke out.

“Let me taste you,” you invite, and he thrusts deeply into you once more before pulling out and coming to his knees, taking his shaft delicately in his hand, his needy cock twitching for some contact, some release. The head of him is ruddy and swollen and he looks fit to burst as he gleams with a concoction of oils and your juices.

“Unnggg. I need to find my end. Oh Gods,” Orestes begs, and you transfer your position as quickly as possible to all fours to oblige him, bringing your mouth to his shaft.

The first hot rope of cum spills over your lips and chin at the mere suggestion of filling up your pretty, eager mouth, and the remainder of his seed pumps into you, salty and sweet as your lips and tongue surround him. He moans and stutters as he fills you up with each pulse from his aching balls, grabbing your head as he sinks the length of him down into your throat as deeply as you can take him. Groans and praises tumble from his lips as you suck him dry, his relieved shaft throbbing in your mouth.

You tease Orestes with further kitten licks to his sensitive head, easing him gently down from his high. You hold him there until you are sure you have drained every drop from him; even until he has softened, feeling entirely unwilling to relinquish his delicious cock from your mouth. Once he is freed, you lick the stray salty release from your plump lips as he regains himself, looking down at you with something resembling awe.

“You are beautiful,” he praises, in disbelief.

“As are you,” you respond with a blissed-out smile, your tongue flicking to savour the residual tang of him on your teeth.

You collapse on to the stone slab together whilst you regain your breath, ending up top-to-toe. Orestes insists on tasting you too, nuzzling his head in between your hot thighs to lap at your own sweet release, sending shuddering aftershocks through your body as you feel his eager lips and tongue nestle over your core. When your clit becomes too sensitive you giggle in protest and shift on the slab until you are each stretched out on your side, using your elbows as pillows and looking into one another’s eyes.

You are happy. You are. And yet, a single disobedient tear rolls down your cheek, causing Orestes’ brow to furrow in concern.

“Sweet girl, I am sorry for your pain. How I wish that I could give my love to you, sparrow.”

“Shush, sweet soul. Don’t stir the waters. Simply let them still for a moment,” you counsel softly, an even smile on your face even as your eyes shine with sadness. He returns your smile and reaches out to brush your tears away with the pad of his thumb.

“I will try, though you have riled all the waters within me to a frenzy, my peak washing over me like a great wave.”

A broader smile blooms on your face then. You have stirred him after all. You snuggle close to him as he lazily traces nonsense shapes on your arms and back with his fingers, and you lie there together in comfortable, quiet contemplation, wanting to savour whatever this had meant to each of you. You remain there, until your heart calls you to fracture the silence.

“I must go,” you whisper reluctantly, shrinking from him as you withdraw, alike to a flower withdrawing its petals from a waning sun.

You push yourself up to a seated position on the stone table, yet Orestes’ hand flicks out to wrap around one of your wrists. “Don’t. Don’t go,” he pleads.

You look at him softly, with infinite fondness. “You and I both know that this afterglow you are feeling is not love. I wished to bask in this false sun for as long as possible, yet I do not wish to be here when it fades, Orestes.”

You look into his eyes and his admiration blazes so brightly for a false sun that you could almost be convinced of it.

“First, tell me- did it comfort you too?”

“It did,” you reassure, truthfully, hopping down from the table and beginning to gather your strewn garments. “Though, it is both a comfort and a torture to know that not only are you sweet as honey, beautiful as a muse, sharp as a scythe, and funny as a curse tablet... you are also skilled at swordsmanship. The Gods truly excelled themselves with you.”

Orestes’ eyes gleam, happy to see your playful nature shining through once more. He swings his own legs to retake his seated position, facing you as you redress. “Hmm. High praise from one usually so mocking. Though you evidently forget that I can now play the aulos. Another superior quality for your ever-lengthening list.” He grins broadly at you, and you find him disarming all over again.

Orestes grabs your wrist and tugs you into him in a swift motion, wrapping a single arm around your waist and looking up at you with new eyes as your laughter lilts down toward him.

“Though, in truth, dove,” he smiles fondly, “I think you brandish a sword better than I. You are all that I am and more, I venture.”

You settle your arms around him again, fingers twisting in the curls at the nape of his neck. “We are more alike than I realised, then,” you say pridefully.

“Yes,” he agrees, “It is so. After all, we were both stupid enough to fall for the wrong person.”

His eyes spark with humour as he delivers his words, but there is a sadness buried beneath which you are determined not to unearth. “And tonight, Orestes, we were smart enough to make the best of it, for once.”

You smooth your face again, trying not dwell on his insistence that you each fell for the wrong person. Hypatia may not be a match for him, but you still cannot accept the notion that he is in any way wrong for you.

Instead, you concentrate on the way Orestes’ eyes glow in admiration as he gazes up at you, a smile lingering still on his lips. He reaches up to your cheek to caress you there, but you snatch his hand playfully in yours before he can fulfil his intention.

“Careful, Orestes, do not fall for me,” you caution chidingly. “I have been told you are cursed. I, for one, want nothing of it.” You flash him a sad yet cheeky smile, before reaching out to caress him on the cheek instead, tenderly flattening your palm to his face.

You are reluctant to end your encounter on a sombre note, and yet there are things which must not remain unspoken.

“If you need me Orestes, I am here. And, it must be said… I love you. You are loved, and you are more than worthy of it, sweet soul. Some with the cheek to call themselves scholars of the stars evidently neglect some of the sky’s greatest wonders. That is their loss. What a dark night, I think, without the brightest star in the sky.” As a final gesture, you smile softly and dip your face to press a shy, chaste kiss to his cheek. Orestes’ eyes flutter closed as your lips brush against him, and he watches you with shining, grateful eyes as you pad out of the room.

You leave him, you hope, a little less overflowing. A little less cracked. He leaves you a little less empty. A little less parched.

Maybe Orestes will resolve to pray to the Gods that he can love you in return. Maybe one day soon he can. If it is your fate, then so be it.

Though you dare not invite hope in yet, perhaps you need not wander so alone along your path, now that you have spoken your truth. Maybe when the paths of wanderers do not run in perfect circles, all that remains is to create a new model of the planetary system.

For now, you glance back at him as you ready to leave and he is still looking at you in that rare way, even as tears pool on his cheeks. He is looking at you as he looks at her. As the sun sinks towards its dormitory, you feel momentarily like your star is rising.

For now, that will have to be enough, because he has nothing more to give you.

#oscar isaac #orestes x reader #orestes #historical fiction #agora

387 notes · View notes

jiseulws · 3 years

Text

what’s shakin’? 👋🏽 hi, i’m lune ( he & him ) and i’m really excited to be here !!! seriously, i’m really looking forward to getting to know all of you and your beautiful muses. ♡♡ that being said, i’m thrilled to introduce you to my first muse in the group— 𝒃𝒚𝒖𝒏 𝒋𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒖𝒍. you know, the one who’s fancam went viral during the ❝ you’re pitiful ❞ era! you may also know her as one of the reigning cf and brand endorsement queens. she’s ladybug’s maknae, lead dancer and sub vocalist, and a muse that i’ve grown to adore creating over the last few weeks! so, without further ado, you’ll find a little tl;dr description of her backstory, a few links to all of her important pages, and a few plot ideas ( while i work on a proper plot page for her ) underneath the cut. if you’re interested in plotting, 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 and i’ll reach out to you as soon as possible!

LINKS—

FREEFORM

DOSSIER

CAREER

TL;DR—

SHE WAS BORN AND RAISED IN JEJU-DO, SOUTH KOREA. HER MOTHER AND FATHER WORKED AS LIVE-IN STAFF FOR A FAMOUS, EXTREMELY WEALTHY COUPLE IN THEIR VACATION HOME. JISEUL GOT TO PRETEND SHE LIVED THIS LAVISH LIFESTYLE, BUT SHE FAILED TO REALIZE THAT THE HOUSE, ALL THE FURNITURE, THE CARS—NONE OF THEM BELONGED TO HER FAMILY. IN A SENSE, SHE FELT AS THOUGH SHE WAS LIVING SOME SORT OF DOUBLE LIFE. /// AS A TEENAGER, SHE GOT CAUGHT WITH THE HOME OWNER’S SON IN A PROVOCATIVE SITUATION. APPARENTLY, THEIR STAR-CROSSED RELATIONSHIP WAS BANNED IN THE CONTRACT HER PARENTS SIGNED. THAT MEANT THEY HAD TO MOVE OUT AND BACK TO THE CAPITAL CITY WHERE IT WAS A LITTLE MORE AFFORDABLE. SHE WORKED AS A WAITRESS UNTIL SHE WAS SCOUTED BY YUSEONG ENTERTAINMENT. /// SHE TRAINED FOR A VERY SHORT AMOUNT OF TIME—NINE MONTHS, TO BE EXACT. JISEUL HAD NEVER DANCED OR PERFORMED BEFORE, BUT SHE FOUND A NEW LOVE FOR IT ONCE SHE ADJUSTED PROPERLY. SHE FOUND IT IRRITATING THAT SHE WAS SOLELY PUSHED FOR VISUAL APPEAL ABOVE ALL ELSE, BUT SHE SIGNED A CONTRACT AND COULDN’T FIGHT TO MAKE A CHANGE. AT LEAST NOT YET. /// HER VISUALS CONTINUE TO BE PRAISED, AND LITTLE BY LITTLE, SHE FEELS AS THOUGH SHE’S ONLY A FACE AND A BODY—NOT A LIVING, BREATHING HUMAN BEING. HER CAREER HAS BEEN MOLDED BY HER APPEARANCE AND IT’S CREATED A LOT OF DISCOMFORT FOR HER. SHE’S BEEN ABLE TO KEEP HER HEAD ABOVE WATER FOR NOW, BUT SHE’S BEGINNING TO DROWN A LITTLE MORE AS TIME GOES BY.

PSYCHE—

MORE INFORMATION FOR THIS CAN BE FOUND ON HER DOSSIER PAGE, BUT SHE’S ESSENTIALLY A WOMAN WHO IS AN EXPERT AT LIGHTING UP A ROOM; CAPTIVATING AN AUDIENCE; MAKING YOU FEEL SPECIAL; BREATHING A FLIRTATIOUS ENERGY NO MATTER WHERE SHE IS; BUT DEEP DOWN, SHE’S EXTREMELY CRITICAL OF HERSELF. AFTER EVERY APPEARANCE ON TV, LIVE STAGE, MODELING CAMPAIGN, ETC. SHE’S KNOWN TO PICK HERSELF APART. THERE’S AN INSECURITY THAT LIES BENEATH THE FEIGNED CONFIDENCE, ONE THAT SHE KEEPS LOCKED UP TIGHT AND ONLY LETS OUT WHEN SHE’S ALONE. THIS MAKES HER RELATIONSHIPS WITH OTHER PEOPLE DIFFICULT TO MAINTAIN. WHEN SHE STARTS TO FEEL REALLY CLOSE TO SOMEONE, SHE’S AFRAID OF LETTING HER MASK FALL AND SHOWING THEM HER TRUEST SELF, SO SHE PUTS A LITTLE DISTANCE THERE—NEVER WANTING ANYONE TO CATCH HER ON AN OFF DAY. IT’S EXHAUSTING, LIKE, SHE’S EXHAUSTED ALL THE TIME BECAUSE OF IT. SHE MAY HAVE A FEW PEOPLE THAT TRULY KNOW HER, BUT FOR THE MOST PART, SHE’S A BIT OF AN ENIGMA, AND SHE PREFERS IT THAT WAY.

INSPO—

TRUTH BE TOLD, I WAS REALLY INSPIRED BY THE LIFE AND TIMES OF HOLLYWOOD’S BELOVED STARLETS FROM THE GOLDEN AGE—PRIMARILY MS. MARILYN MONROE. I’VE BEEN OBSESSED WITH HER, HER LIFE, AND HER TALENT SINCE I WAS IN MIDDLE SCHOOL, BUT IT’S ALWAYS BEEN DAUNTING TO THINK OF TRYING TO CAPTURE HER ESSENCE IN A MUSE OF MINE. NOW, I’VE DECIDED TO GIVE IT A GO. ADDITIONALLY, I PULLED A LOT OF INSPIRATION FROM KOREAN CELEBRITIES SUCH AS BAE SUJI, IM YOONA, LEE HYERI, AND KIM SEOLHYUN FOR HER BODY OF WORK.

PLOTS—

HERE ARE SOME BRIEF JUMPING OFF POINTS FOR PLOTS THAT I HAVE. I’LL MAKE A FORMAL ANNOUNCEMENT WHEN I’VE COMPLETED HER PLOTS PAGE.

01. A NEWER GENERATION IDOL WHO HAS CLAIMED HER AS THEIR IDEAL TYPE TO THE PUBLIC. THIS HAS CAUGHT HER ATTENTION, SO SHE REACHES OUT FOR FUN.

02. AN INDIVIDUAL WHO MAYBE CAUGHT HER CRYING IN HER DRESSING ROOM AT SOME POINT. SHE FREAKED OUT AND TRIED TO PLAY IT OFF AS IF SHE SIMPLY JUST MISSED HER FAMILY, BUT IT’S CLEAR THERE WAS SOMETHING DEEPER INVOLVED.

03. A YOUNGER FEMALE IDOL ( PREFERABLY A VISUAL, BUT OPEN TO ANY OTHER ROLES, AS WELL ) THAT SHE SEES A LOT OF HERSELF IN, SO SHE’S SORT OF TAKEN THEM UNDER HER WING. TOTAL BIG SISTER / LITTLE SISTER VIBES, LOTS OF LOVE.

04. AN OLDER GENERATION IDOL WHO SHE HAS A COMPLICATED DATING PAST WITH—CAN BE MALE, FEMALE, OR OTHERWISE. SHE’S DATED MEN AND WOMEN, BUT HAS A PREFERENCE FOR MEN. ALL OF THEIR HISTORY TOGETHER IS UP FOR DISCUSSION.

05. A STAFF MEMBER THAT SHE HAS A REALLY, REALLY CLOSE FRIENDSHIP WITH BEHIND THE SCENES. THEY WOULD BE CONFIDANTS AND THE STAFF MEMBER IS A PERSON THAT SHE FEELS REALLY COMFORTABLE WITH. BEST FRIEND ENERGY.

06. ANOTHER IDOL SHE MEETS TO DANCE WITH. COULD ALSO BE A WORKOUT PAL WHO SHE POLE DANCES WITH FROM TIME-TO-TIME, TOO. GENDER DOESN’T MATTER.

07. SOMEONE WHO SEES THROUGH HER FAKE SMILES AND HAS ALWAYS WANTED TO CALL HER OUT ON IT, BUT HAS NEVER SAID ANYTHING. IT’S NOT THAT THEY HATE HER, THEY JUST KNOW SHE’S A PHONY AND IT’S STARTING TO BOTHER THEM.

08. INFIDELITY TW / AN EX OF HER’S THAT SHE CHEATED ON WITH ANOTHER IDOL. WHILE SHE’S A ROMANTIC AT HEART, SHE CAN’T HELP BUT FLIRT WITH EVERYONE—AND SOMETIMES GET A LITTLE TOO INVOLVED WHEN SHE REALLY SHOULDN’T.

09. INFIDELITY TW / THE IDOL THAT SHE CHEATED ON HER EX WITH. THEY EITHER COULD’VE KNOWN ABOUT HER RELATIONSHIP AND CHOSE TO IGNORE IT, OR THEY COULD’VE BEEN COMPLETELY BLINDSIDED, AS WELL. TOTALLY YOUR CALL. THIS COULD ALSO BE BLENDED WITH PLOT POINT 04 FOR AN ADDED LAYER OF DRAMA.

10. AN ALL-OUT ENEMY THAT SHE DESPISES MORE THAN ANYTHING—WHO MORE THAN LIKELY FEELS MUTUAL—BUT TO THE PUBLIC, THEY’RE MADE OFF TO BE BEST FRIENDS. SHE KEEPS HER DISDAIN QUIET, BUT IT’S CLEAR THERE’S DISTASTE THERE.

#﹙ 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 / introduction. ﹚#ws:intro #so happy to be here!#i'm sorry that i'm late to the party! :///#can't wait to meet you. ♡

11 notes · View notes

fiiore-blogs · 4 years

Text

( lorenzo zurzolo , 20 , cismale ) i just bumped into fiore gattuso the other day while walking down north kingsboro , where he lives . i hear they can be charming and narcissistic , but when i think of them i immediately think of bloodshot baby blue eyes , luxury brands , an enchanting smile ( ari , 21 , she / her , est )

tw : homophobia , abuse

full name : fiore emiliano luca gattuso ( first name pronounced fee-oh-reh, also see here! )

nicknames : fifi, emmy ( by people who know his middle name ), some people might say… flower boy ( fiore literally means flower in italian ) 😳

gender : cismale

height : 5 ′ 8

age : 20

birthday : may 30 , 2000

zodiac : gemini ( aries moon, libra ascendant )

right handed or left handed : left handed

eye color : baby blue

hair color : basically dark blonde / light brown

piercing & tattoos : the gemini symbol on his left wrist, a cartilage piercing on his right ear

languages spoken : italian ( native tongue ), english, spanish, pretty decent sicilian

sexuality : bisexual / biromantic

place of birth : livorno , tuscany , italy

last 3 songs listened to : dimmi che mi ami by dj matrix, almeno stavolta by nek, west coast by lana del rey

character inspo : kat hernandez from euphoria ( huge muse ! ), adam groff from sex education ( think season 2 adam ), alyssa foley from the end of the fucking world, maeby funke from arrested development, lucrecia montesinos from elite

♡ so fiore was born to a spanish mother named martina & a fully italian father named gian gattuso in tuscany, but they later moved to rome when he was around four years old. his mother is a very well known politician & his father is a billionaire, heir of several gas, water & electric companies all over europe. besides that, he is also a preacher and very involved in church. both his parents are very well off financially

♡ fiore grew up with anything he’s ever wanted ( materialistically, of course ). besides that, his parents genuinely weren’t the best of people. his mother stole millions from the so called campaigns she ran & was a very corrupt politician, his father treated his employees like shit & was a pretty hateful person altogether

♡ they were people who expected a lot out of their only son, which made fiore feel an insane amount of pressure from the very start. at a very young age, he showed characteristics lots of boys his age didn’t show. he did things like peeing while sitting down instead of standing up, preferred to play with dolls instead of ‘boy toys’, favored the color pink, got along better with girls, preferred to watch shows that were considered ‘girly’, etc etc.

♡ they were very harmless things honestly, things that most parents would laugh about & turn a blind eye. however, fiore really wasn’t that lucky when it came to them any time he would do anything they claimed a ‘normal boy wouldn’t do’, he would get a huge lecture & a beating to go with it. needless to say, he learned to hide a lot of who he really was from a very young age

♡ he did a lot of things to seek the approval of his parents. he wasn’t smart academically ( dumb boi 101 tbh ), but he tried to make them happy in other ways. fiore was never fond of sports at all, but he started playing tennis when he was five, because it made his parents happy. truth be told, he hated tennis with every fiber of his being, but again, he did this, simply because it satisfied his parents

♡ he grew up trying to be the perfect son, often times putting himself in situations he didn’t want to be in or felt uncomfortable doing because he wanted them to be proud, but honestly? it was like? never enough. it was all smiles for the pictures, but behind closed doors, he really was pretty damn miserable

♡ simply put, he has always known that he likes boys. he likes girls too, don’t get him wrong, but he knew, literally since he could remember, that he also had a thing for guys too. of course, he was aware that this wouldn’t settle well at all with his extremely strict & unfortunately, very close minded parents, so he buried his feelings incredibly deep

♡ he has a lot of charm & wit & found himself getting into relationships quicker than most of his friends. he briefly dated a girl when he was fourteen, but it was when he was sixteen that things really began getting pretty #spicy

♡ there was a romanian boy new to his very #elite school & if you guessed it, they began to date! his first boyfriend at sixteen years old. fiore was basically living two lives at this point, sneaking around with a guy behind his parents’ back, but when he got home, the facade began. the way he would switch up as soon as he entered the front door to his house was honestly shockingly scary

♡ he really felt himself falling in love with this boy even though they were both fairly young. they snuck around forever. when no one was home, he would sneak him into his room to have sex, sneak out of his house when his parents were asleep, all that fun stuff. their relationship was forbidden ( at least to fiore’s parents ), but things go downhill pretty fast

♡ so one day, fiore & him get really really drunk & honestly? video record themselves having sex fjkgnfv they didn’t do this to post it anywhere or show anyone or anything, they really just did it for themselves. they made a few copies ( stupid boys, i know rip ), but they really felt like they would get married & all that gooey lovey dovey shit so they did it because yolo i guess? this was a pretty big mistake though

♡ one day fiore & him are walking back from his tennis practice. this is a time where fiore knows no one is home & no one is coming home for a while, so when they get to his house & see his father’s car parked outside, he lowkey panics a little. of course he makes the guy leave & goes inside to see what’s going on

♡ his father asks him to come upstairs & surprisingly, leads him into his room. this is when fiore’s entire life practically changes forever. his father turns on his tv & legit starts playing his sex tape with his boyfriend. just picture this though; your extremely homophobic, close minded & hateful father & you sitting on your bed, watching your gay sex tape with your boyfriend

♡ obviously, this news isn’t well taken by his father. to make a long story short, he gets his ass beat. like, literally almost dies type shit. when this happened, he was eighteen and had just recently graduated school, with plans to travel. he knew if his relationship was ever discovered by his parents, it wouldn’t go well, but he really didn’t think them discovering his sexuality would be that brutal

♡ his parents basically disown him at that moment. they bought him a ticket to new york & told him they never wanna see him again. it’s sad, but he packed his things & left in two days to go live with his cousin

♡ it doesn’t really take an expert to figure out that fiore did not take this move well at all. for months, he was really depressed. he wouldn’t go out & would just lay in bed for the longest time. he was really hurt by everything that happened & it took him a while to recover. he has also lived in italy his whole life & wasn’t really used to life in america at all, but after like the fourth month of just feeling sorry for himself, it was his cousin who snapped him back to reality

♡ he began putting himself out there. at first, he began working at a pizza place, but fiore slowly began to realize how much he despised working. his entire life, he received everything on a golden plater with pure solid gold spoons, he’s always had everything he’s ever wanted without working for it, so this? he was for sure not used to it at all. again, his life completely changed. he went from living in a three story mansion in the most prestigious part of rome to living in a very shitty part of new york, broke almost always, & working a job he hated with everything he had, splitting rent with his cousin

♡ fiore did not want this at all for himself. it wasn’t until he went out clubbing ( fake id & all ), that one his friends showed him the wonders of conning people. they walked into the bar with twenty bucks and left with four thousand dollars

♡ quickly, fiore began to learn his friends’ ways. his looks, personality & his thick italian accent helped him tremendously; it was like people literally couldn’t get enough of him. soon enough, he was conning & finessing the fuck out of older men & women for their money. he once walked into a casino with five dollars and walked out with over 12k

♡ finessing people became a huge hobby of his. he’s also very very lowkey done some camboy stuff, but with a mask on because he’s sneaky af ( legit think kat from euphoria ) like, these super lonely old men or even women are just sending him money for being hot? amazing! it was with all this money that he bought himself a luxury car & jump started his model & influencer career. it was also with this money that him & his cousin ditched the crap show that is south kingsboro & moved into a much better apartment up north. with his looks & persona, he gained followers like crazy & posted videos on youtube as well, getting sponsorships & recognition easier than he expected. he honestly makes a shit ton of money off social media & modeling, like, he’s basically living off his looks, personality & the content he post? we love to see it

♡ there is still a part of fiore that has a lot of issues & trauma. honestly mommy & daddy issues af, but he doesn’t talk about this at all. he literally refuses to talk about anything that happened to him before he was eighteen. no one really knows how he came up or where his family is & he keeps it this way, dodging questions about his personal life as much as he can

♡ in a way, he is kind of relieved with everything that happened with his parents because now, he’s completely free to be himself & do whatever the fuck he wants, knowing very well they can’t really touch him anymore. of course, it still left a mark that he’s never going to be able to erase or forget ( both in his heart & on his body too ), but he feels free for once in his life & he’s honestly kind of happier now, but also, low key needs therapy tbh 🥴

♡ relationship wise, he really doesn’t commit to anyone. after practically being forced to leave his now ex boyfriend, he kind of feels like he doesn’t deserve love? it’s really fucked up but he’s genuinely convinced that no one is ever going to really love him or want to be with him so he just avoids any romantic relationship of any kind, usually just hooking up with people & then leaving as soon as it’s over, or just stealing money from them and ghosting. the truth is that he really does want to be loved, accepted & cared for by someone he loves, accepts & cares for as well, but will it ever happen if he continues pushing people away? probably not tbh

♡ he is a fucking drinker & hella pot smoker!! legit give him some alcohol & weed he’s happy. he always has either one on him, or both tbh. he’s secretly a hella good cook too but this is something almost nobody knows really. he can make food or desserts, and he’s also taught himself to make weed edibles which is honestly iconic kvnfjvc even though he keeps this part of himself hidden

♡ he can be really sneaky & deceiving when he has to be, like, he’ll legit have 0 reason to lie but he’ll lie anyways? it’s like a defense mechanism lmfao

♡ very much conceited boy, honestly in love with his looks but it goes deeper than that. he feels like he has nothing to offer besides being hot so he dwells on looking good always, pretty sure he would rather die than wear sweatpants like vjkdfsvnfs literally always looks a1

♡ is actually? secretly blind af ndjvdfnv one of his many secrets tbh. has a vision of 20/50, nearly 20/60, but hasn’t worn glasses since he was seven, pretty much doing everything with contacts. he just thinks glasses look unattractive on him & honestly refuses to let anyone see him with them on. the only person who even knows he has vision as bad as he does is his cousin who is a npc sooo 🤡

♡ this is all that’s coming to mind rn but hmu for plots pretty pls jkfnvjnfv, this is his birthchart for some extra #tea

#kingsboro.intro #im so tired but this had to b posted #his tag drop will come tomorrow kvjnfsjvn #i've added some tings to this vkjfsnvfv

3 notes · View notes

ccvance · 5 years

Text

* ╰ sofia carson ; 17 ; she/her —— wow, emmeline vance sure has changed . i guess she is feeling isolated from the other gryffindor members . guess you can’t really blame them . i still remember them being so unwavering & self-sufficient now they just seem opinionated & abrasive . guess being a half-blood isn’t helping matters much either . i’m hopeful though . they’ll be just fine .

hello , i’m danvers and i hail in the pacific timezone . emmeline is a new muse for me , so please be patient . i’m still trying to flesh her out . but ok , here we go !

emmeline vance , that girl’s a hurricane . making a mess in her wake . breaking anything and everything ( on accident of course ! ) .

she was a handful growing up . running wild . her fathers forehead sweaty from the times he’d have to give chase . a proud grin present on adolescent features . she was stubborn even as a child . having two older brothers caused emme to grow a thick skin . legs pushing forward , hair whipping around with each stride . hands confidently planting into dirt soil . always making a point to keep up with the boys .

as much as her mother tried ( and she sure did ) , she could never get little emme to wear the cute , frilly outfits all the other neighboring kids were wearing . short arms would fold over a defiant chest , a single pout was all it took to sway her mum . what could she say ? she was a tomboy .

when her time at hogwarts came around , gryffindor welcomed her in . the sorting hat had nearly put her in ravenclaw . yep , she was three syllables away from wearing blue and bronze . it may have been the excessive whispering of : gryffindor , please gryffindor , that swung the sorting hat to bellow out the lions crest . but who knows ?

emme was a clever student ; having an uncanny hunger for knowledge . academics came relatively easy to the youngest vance ( unlike her brothers ) . this feat garnered the attention of slughorn . and so she participated in the never ending cycle of silly dinner parties alongside students she often couldn’t stand . oh , the joys of being in the slug club .

see , the vance name wasn’t one that was revered . nah . they were treated with disdain among other pureblood elitists who felt they were better . often calling her father a blood traitor for marrying a muggle . emmeline , herself , had never witnessed those words but her brothers had told her enough stories to suffice .

so yes , i imagine there are students who scrunch up their noses when she walks by . maybe talk behind her back like the cowards they are . especially now . i reckon vance is a rather intimidating girl ? most take the easy route ( though there are a brave few that say it to her face , which makes for an endless feud ) .

she carries a secret . one that hovers on the tip of her tongue , but stays pooled in the pit of her stomach . afraid someone might catch on . she hopes , no prays , no one catches on . how her chocolate hues stare a little too long at feminine hips . or how her daydreams fail to consist of boys , but rather girls ? she isn’t ready to admit it , but fears someone might admit it for her .

personality wise : she’s fiercely headstrong , and at times , closed minded . think big hermione granger vibes ! she’s also blunt and won’t hesitate to call someone out if they’re being a bigot . so yeah , she’s that friend ; keep her in your corner . loyalty and trust is everything , but if you break it there’s really no going back . she can forgive but never really forgets . is so clumsy . she’s that friend you never let hold valuable things , like ever . tries really hard to mask the fear of everything going on with a false bravado . doing anything not bend to it , but when no one’s looking , she bends .

character inspo : mary stuart ( reign ) , hermione granger ( hp ) , leslie knope ( parks n rec ) , emily fields ( pll ) , and sabrina spellman ( caos ) .

#incantareintro #finally !#couldn't fit everything but i tri ed #like this post and i'll hit you up to plot !

10 notes · View notes

onelastxtime-blog · 6 years

Text

⎝ . 8 PEOPLE I’D LIKE TO KNOW BETTER !!

tagged by: @smoakiism tagging: @theoneandonlytommymerlyn @mindmastered @ofhackeriisms @caitymd

01 . alias / name : Amber Dawn 02 . birthday : November 15th 03 . zodiac sign : Scorpio 04 . height : 5′6″ 05 . hobbies : poetry, writing, reading, cooking 06 . favourite movie : the princess bride 07 . last song i listened to : i have no idea 08 . last film i watched : The Body 09 . inspo for muses : Everything 10 . meaning behind my url : The episode Laurel was killed she held up the mask and said one last time. I don’t know why that resonated with me probably because had she lived she would not be able to give up being the black canary

#about: mun

3 notes · View notes

andtheywereroom-mates · 6 years

Text

inspo: I Know Those Eyes/This Man is Dead

Although he didn’t particularly like Midgard, the god of Mischief had to admit it was much better than the stuffy cell on Asgard. Stark’s penchant for the grandiose allowed him much more room to explore and many more opportunities to slip through the cracks unnoticed.

"Loki.” Mischievous eyes dart back to the scowling face of his brother, Thor. “Are you even listening to me?”

The trickster rolls his eyes. “Of course, brother: no trying to escape, no trying to murder people, generally no fun of any kind. I get the picture.” he retorts with a grimace.

Thor searches Loki’s face for a few seconds, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. He wants to trust him, truly, but he’s been fooled too many times by his blind faith. “Tony says there are others who reside here with the Avengers. Try not to give them more reason to send you back into that cell.”

Loki gives him an indifferent shrug. Thor hesitates a moment, standing stiffly in front of the door to the common area. There is so much he wants to say--about their mother, about everything that has happened between them since the last time they were in this place--but with a final nod he opens the door instead. Loki was growing accustomed to the rift increasing between the two of them; this measured silence between them is just another signal of their alienation.

“Stark!” Thor booms, coaxing the inventor out from the recesses of the immense loft.

“Reindeer Games! And just in time for Christmas. Ready to kiss and make up?” Tony calls as he emerges from around the corner, giving the god a once-over as he comes to stop in front of him.

Loki responds with a sardonic smile. He was not fond of being passed around like a bargaining chip, yet here he was. Perhaps at last this would be enough a show of good faith to win back his brother’s favor, if only for a time.

As they are guided through the many wings of the Tower, Loki tunes out as Thor and Tony discuss the details of their arrangement, thoughts receding into his own musings. He ignores the uneasy and even loathing stares he receives as Tony gives them the grand tour and instead tries to memorize the pathways and hideaways to explore later. “And that is our humble home. If you’re a good boy and play nice, we can even let you out to play with the others.” Tony was reveling in his advantage. Thor waits a moment for some kind of reaction, glancing between Tony’s spiteful glare and Loki’s bored expression. “Well, brother...is it to your liking?”

“It is certainly more square footage than my previous lodgings...though the neighbors are just as unappealing.” he finally replies with a teasing smirk, eyes falling on Tony.

Thor rolls his eyes as he moves closer to undo Loki’s restraints. “Don’t make them have to send you back. This is a kindness.” he jostles the chains as if to reinforce his point. “You’ll do well to remember that.”

“Threats, dear brother?” Loki meets his gaze intently for the first time since they’ve arrived. So this was all he thought of him now, then? Thor hesitates. His eyes search the softness of Loki’s expression and this time, there are too many reminders of their intimacy. How could those thousands of years of trust and affection crumble to dust in less than a decade, a split-second in their lifetime? The Asgardian reminds himself that he cannot let himself be fooled and closes his eyes against the onslaught of brighter memories. “Food for thought.”

Loki’s heart sinks; his dejection becomes apparent on his face for only a second before he carefully places his mask of indifference back up. "Very well.”

All at once, the weighted moment is interrupted by a sing-song exclamation from behind them. “Anthony Edward Stark!”

“Oh, Viktorina Anastasia Alexandrovich, what have you come to sucker off of me now?”

The Gods turn and there she is, a ghost Loki had never expected to come back to haunt him so viscerally. Her curls are tied back in a messy ponytail, swishing back and forth as she jogs down the winding stairs. She looks misplaced in this era’s clothing: a too-large leather jacket slung around her shoulders, a plain white T-shirt tied at the hip, teasing a sliver of toned muscle, and dark jeans rolled to her ankles. The kunoichi pauses when she notices the two brothers; there is a newfound mischief in her eyes when their gazes meet.

Loki’s heart is pounding against his rib cage. He feels like he has come alive, every synapse overloaded. Could it really be? But how? It doesn’t matter. The winding string of fate has brought them together again and for once he won’t affront the universe.

“K-Katya?” Loki whispers, already moving towards her, ready to sweep her into his arms once more, but Thor has caught him mid-step, a vice grip on his pale wrist. “Not this time, brother.”

His eyes snap to Thor’s grip, then scan his expression: his tone, his resistance...something is wrong. Thor stands beside him defensively, eyeing the woman as if she were a dangerous assailant ready to attack them both.

“Rock of Ages, this is Viktorina, our resident heiress and regular pain-in-my-ass. Vix, this is Loki, God of Mischief. Tried to wipe out mankind but is now in Villain Rehab here with us.”

“Loki...” she murmurs, testing the word on her tongue. Loki is frozen in place, eyes locked on her as she slowly descends the remaining steps and her smaller frame comes to a stop in front of him. “I’ve heard so much about you. Are you more fun than your brother?” Her voice is like honey, each word dripping slowly and sinfully from her lips; it is a side from her he has never seen. A smirk slowly unfolds across his lips, emerald eyes boring into hers, willing her to give him a sign, to remember. “I should certainly hope so.” The electricity between them is palpable from just a glance. Up close, he can no longer deny the yearning her visage stirs in him. From the way she keeps her eyes locked on his, perhaps she is just as entranced as he. It has been a hundred years since the last time he’d seen the same thin bridge of her nose, traced his tongue along the curve of her glossed lips, caressed the soft column of her throat with his fingers and-

Thor clears his throat, interrupting Loki’s wayward thoughts and jostling Vix from their raptured daze. “Viktorina, how is your swordsman?” Vix twirls a wayward curl around her finger and smiles sheepishly, recollecting herself from the unexpected captivation. There was the girl he remembered. A wide smile cracks the trickster’s lips; this imprisonment might work out for him after all.

“Ah, I nearly forgot! Tony-dear, we’re taking one of the cars. Telling not asking. Baby~!” she exclaims.

It is Zabuza’s turn to descend the stairs with his signature sword slung across his back, a duffel bag in one hand, and two ruby katanas in the other. “Almost forgot these,” comes his gruff reply as he tosses the swords to Vix.

“What would I do without you, my love?” she coos, the two exchanging a kiss as he meets her at the bottom.

Loki’s smile drops; Thor lets go of his wrist and lets his arm fall helplessly back to his side. He can sense his brother’s malaise immediately, takes comfort in knowing it will assuage at least this form of recklessness.

“Michi, this is our new roommate.” The two exchange words in a foreign tongue, the man’s response eliciting a wide smirk from the brunette. Loki finds his eyes darting from her delicate hand, sliding down the plane of Zabuza’s chest with such intimacy, to Zabuza’s fingers, delicately tracing the swell of Vix’s exposed hip. He can’t help the scowl that pulls at the corner of his mouth. The Asgardian finds himself standing straighter, mentally berating himself for loosing his senses so swiftly.

“Well, it’s been a real slice, but we’ve got work to do. Tony?” Vix smiles innocently and holds out her hand expectantly. Tony rolls his eyes and groans exaggeratedly before tossing her the keys from his pocket. “I want it back pristine. I mean, pristine.”

She grins, victorious, and casts a final, lingering glance at Loki. “'Da svidania, dorogoy.” The words sting; she is so close to the woman he loved, so familiar, yet so distant all at once. What cruel torture was this to have her right in front of him, only a hollow version, only smoky tendrils of a dead woman slipping through his fingers? Zabuza curls his arm around Vix’s shoulder as they leave; she nuzzles her nose against his neck and an easy laugh is shared between them. What fresh agony was this to watch her in love with someone else?

With the click of the door, Loki is transplanted firmly back in his own body, in his surroundings. Without her magnetizing presence, he can think a bit more clearly. He can recall how only one introduction was made, the familiarity between her and his brother, and the guilty way Thor is shifting from one foot to the other beside him. Loki’s eyebrows furrow tightly. “You knew...” he breathes.

“Stark, if we could get a moment alone-” Thor starts, but Loki’s tirade has already begun.

“Is this why I am being sequestered on Midgard? Here I thought it was for more freedom, but it seems that you have only wanted to find a more encompassing punishment.”

“Loki, please. I cannot assure that you will not get into more trouble. But Tony can, under Jarvis’ watch, and you can be more free here than you ever could on Asgard.”

“Keeping me locked up: just what Father would have wanted.”

“Keeping you safe: it’s what Mother would have wanted.”

Loki’s fists remain clenched at his side. His emotions threatening to break through the floodgates and get away from him.

Although he anticipated a reaction from Loki, The God of Thunder had to admit, he hadn’t expected Katya to still have such a hold on him after all this time. His intentions were genuine: to grant his brother as much liberty as he could have without giving him enough free reign to destroy another planet or make a play for the throne. He could have warned him, true. However, watching the turmoil rampaging beneath the surface, Thor wonders if preparing him for the blow would have lessened his pain any moreso. With a heavy sigh, Thor places a tender hand on Loki’s shoulder. “I know what it’s like to love a mortal, Loki. Jane and I-”

“Do not.” Loki snaps, shaking Thor’s hand off his shoulder. This understanding is a hundred years too late; in this moment, he no longer wants Thor’s earnest gestures. “Katya and I lived a lifetime together. Don’t insult me by comparing it to you and your paltry affair. Do not assume to know the depth of my feelings or lecture me, Thor. Or do you forget who warned you about your precious mortal in the first place?”

It’s just a heartbeat. This day, the next, a hundred years: you’ll never be ready. The only woman whose love you prized will be snatched from you.

Recalling the memory, Thor casts his gaze to the ground. At the time, he had assumed Loki’s words came from a place of spite, longing to hurt Thor as much as he had hurt him. It was not uncommon for the Gods to cavort with the mortals now and again; however, it seems Loki really had found something much more significant in Katya, a devotion that lingered still. There is nothing he can say now to rectify how wrong they’d been, to give Loki solace now when he needed it. All Thor can offer is the truth.

“Brother, understand...Katya is dead. Despite how she looks, that woman out there is not her.”

Loki remains silent for a long while. Folding his arms behind his back, in a moment of eerie calm, he walks slowly to the balcony.

“And that makes it all the worse, doesn’t it?” he hisses through his teeth.

#otp: amber & stardust #f: reincarnation

1 note · View note